Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

A Foot In The Door

Morgan had passed your name, and application with a neatly organized resume, to Hotch not long ago.  It was outside the hiring season for the BAU, and a lot of the general staff was filled with local interns, but you’d already interned at a field office in Boston.  Almost more importantly, you were just a few months away from completing a doctorate in Anthropology from MIT – with the specialization and training required for you to be a trained Forensic Anthropologist.

You had a clean record.  A few behavioral issues in high school, but high grades and managed to get into MIT despite that, and you were young to be completing a PhD too.  He’d made a few calls to the field office in Boston, which transferred him to the Medico-Legal team of the local government institution that employed the Forensic Anthropologist that had taken you under her wing – to the point she’d taken you to Sarajevo to identify those buried in mass graves from the war in the 90’s.

It was a risk hiring you, especially considering Morgan had openly admitted you’d become a baby sister to him over the years as your father was his father’s partner in the force.  As much as Morgan didn’t want you to experience the evil the BAU faced on a daily basis, even before you left for college and began studying psychology as an undergraduate degree, you had a way of deciphering how people work and why.  You’d make your way to the BAU one way or another.  At least this way, he could make sure you were safe.

Hotch passed your file along to Gideon, looking to get his opinion to make sure.  You were about a year younger than Reid, making the risks bigger than they already were as rules would have to be pushed and fudged to give you the rank of Supervisory Special Agent right out of the academy.

It was a risk Hotch was willing to make, on a trial run, but that decision changed when he met you.

************

After your mom died, brain cancer when you were a teenager, momma took you in as her own.  You’d already looked at her like a second mother as she was your mom’s best friend, but you hadn’t realized just how much you still needed a mom until you lost yours at 15.  Your father…

He’d taken off right after you graduated high school.  No warning beyond quitting CPD that very day.  Just packed everything up, mailed a few things to you, and left.  You couldn’t exactly blame him, things had been rough and he needed to find a new start as much as you did, you’d just wished he let you know where he was going or how to reach him.

You’d texted Desiree that you were running a bit late, you’d hopped a flight from Boston to Chicago after your classes finished for the day and your flight had arrived late the night before, and would meet her and Derek down the block from the corner store.  You’d, admittedly, gone a little bit too far getting ready for momma’s birthday.  It was just momma, but at the same time, it was momma.  She was worth straightening your chocolate-brown hair, getting the lining around your dark brown eyes just right,

You were passing by a mural – it was new from the last time you’d been in town – painted onto a brick wall and covering the graffiti underneath when you caught sight of Desiree and Derek.

You were familiar with Derek’s history with the local gangbangers, he’d caused a lot of trouble with a lot of the ones that were making their way up in the local criminal society, and the fact that he’d turned over a new leaf into Chicago P.D. – and subsequently the FBI – garnered a bad kind of attention.  Derek was between Desiree and Rodney, a fight brewing as Desiree tried to keep Derek out of trouble by telling him it was nothing.

“Oi!  Rodney,” you joined in as Desiree moved to stand by the trunk of her car, confident that your presence would help…end things.  The local Mexican community was tight-knit, and to top things off, your brother’s rebellious streak had included running around with the same crew that made up a lot of the local cartel, even a few that had moved up the ranks and down south.  Your brother had disappeared into the cartel, there was no telling where he was or what he was doing, but there was a code.  If he heard his baby sister got rolled over in his hometown, there would be hell to pay.

Berto couldn’t be there to protect you as your brother, but his sure as hell would be.  Even if it meant getting revenge.  So, you made your move.  A calculated move.

You stepped in.

One wrong move, and Rodney would have a gang war on his hands.  He wasn’t stupid.  The cartel wasn’t nearly as big up north as it was in the south, but they were just as dangerous.  “What’s wrong, getting sick of paying for it?”

If Derek pushed much further, he’d be in trouble with the local cops.  Even though his record was cleared, the cops who’d arrested and charged him still remembered.  You had a clear record, even if something came of it, the assumption would be that you were jumped first.

That’s the hand you were playing anyway.

“I was just saying hi to an old friend, no big deal,” Rodney stepped back, holding a confident swagger as he continued to stare Derek down.

“Well, you said hello, I think it’s time you moved on,” you wedged yourself in between Derek and Rodney, “Don’t want interested parties thinking you’ve been hanging around too long.”

You recognized the dealer across the street, he’d been buddies with your brother years ago.  Well…sort of.  He paid your brother a fee, and he was allowed to continue dealing in the area.  Doubtless his landlord was someone your brother trusted.  You hated playing on that, but you knew you had to.

Rodney laughed, feigning control as he made his exit, “Des, I’ll get at you a little later, huh?”

“Go to hell,” Desiree scoffed, jackasses like Rodney had always turned her stomach and made her taste bile at the back of her throat.  The three of you watched as Rodney led his group away, Derek keeping his eyes glued to the corner they’d turned.

“You okay?”

“Just a fool,” Desiree crossed her arms as she sneered, uncomfortably, at the corner Rodney had just turned, grateful you’d turned up when you did to guarantee there’d be no fight.

“Come on, I’m taking you home.  There’s something I gotta do,” Morgan silently promised the both of you he’d be there soon before snapping his attention to you, “And don’t you think I’m letting you get away with what you just did.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Quit with the attitude and get in the car.”

************

Momma was smiling wide as the four of you sang happy birthday to her around the small dinner table, not the traditional happy birthday but one with a beat that had the four of you dancing as you sang, while Desi placed the round homemade cake in front of momma.  The four of you were giggling and grinning at her smile as she leaned into a half-hug with Desi.

“Did you make this yourself?”

“Sarah and [Y/N] helped me,” Desi smiled, as she’d admittedly done most of the work as you and Sarah did a lot of talking, but you had helped with the mixing and the decorating of the cake.

“Momma, they wouldn’t let me help,” Derek swore, still grinning and laughing as he sat back in his seat, “So, I dunno how good that’s gonna taste.”

“Oh, no, no, no.”  Sarah wasn’t about to have any of that, pointing an accusatory finger at Derek as she reminded him of just why he wasn’t allowed in the kitchen anymore, “You remember that Christmas fiasco of 1994.”

“I remember that,” momma turned to Derek as she started to laugh herself.  It had been chaos at the time, and they all had to pack up and move Christmas down the street to join your family, but it had become a funny, and dear memory over the years.

“Whatever, that was twelve years ago, let it go.”

“No, no, no,” Sarah insisted, smiling but still planning on never letting the incident go, “We still get cards from the fire department.”

“Momma, momma, you see how they treat your baby boy.”

“No, no.  No, no,” you jumped in, leaning in closer to Sarah as you pointed your own accusatory finger at Derek, “You don’t get to do that.  You did the same thing just a few months ago and scared the shit out of my roommates when they thought you were burning down the apartment trying to make a cake.”

Derek had been the first to make it to Boston for your birthday, and asked your roommates if he could borrow the kitchen to make you a birthday cake.  You’d forewarned your roommates that, while not biologically related, you had a family that would absolutely cross state lines to celebrate your birthday and they’d all recognized Derek from the multitude of family photos you had decorating your bedroom.  There were pictures of momma, Derek, Desiree, Sarah, your father, your mother, only a scattered few of Berto when you were very young, a few of uncle Hank before he died, and you weren’t even in half of the photos.  They recognized Derek from the photographs, you just hadn’t thought he’d try to make a cake – without the okay of Desiree or Sarah.

“You little snitch.”

“Says the baby,” Sarah backed you up, causing Derek to come back with a muttered ‘you know what,’ before scooping up some frosting from the cake as he got up to reach across the table to try and smear it on Sarah’s face as you ducked to the side as Sarah leaned back.  Laughter filled the dining room, only separated from the living room by a single wall, and momma reached in, with her own smile, to stop the beautifully homemade and decorated cake to become fodder for a food fight.

Wouldn’t be the first time that happened.

Momma’s rule was law, and as you kept grinning and giggling a little, you all sat down and watched with excitement as she blew out the candles on her cake and the four of your cheered in your own way, clapping as the family birthday festivities truly began.  Giggles and laughter, just like every year, as you shared cake, talked about recent events in your lives, and gave momma her presents.  It was a great evening, just like every evening you and Morgan were able to make your way back to Chicago.

It all came to a screeching halt when Detective Gordinsk took Derek into custody.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Meeting Over An Uphill Battle

You’d called your internship supervisor, who called her connection in the FBI, who called Agent Hotchner in Quantico.  You couldn’t count on Gordinski to give Morgan his one phone call within the first hour, and you had the freedom to make that call as soon as the door shut behind Morgan.  While you were still an intern, you were still cleared to meet the team outside of the precinct and assist them as needed.  They were also instructed to expect you, as there was reason to believe the charges Morgan could be facing went back years.

You recognized the black FBI issued SUVs as they parked across the street.  You’d been in a few, it was a bit sketchy for an intern to be in the field, but your mentor thought it was worth the potential backlash, and she was really putting her ass on the line for this one.

“Agent Hotchner?” you asked as the man leading the agents across the road came closer.  Stern, determined, neat dark hair and crisp dark suit, even as his tie and jacket blew in gust that permeated the Windy City.  He clasped your hand in a stern shake as he nodded in affirmation.

“Miss Castillo,” he greeted before introducing the rest of the team, “These are agents Gideon, Jareau, Prentiss, and Dr. Reid.”

“I’ve heard a lot about all of you from Derek, but that’s not exactly why we’re here,” you greeted as well as you could with a polite smile.

“What’s the situation inside?” Agent Gideon switched the topic to something that would prepare the team for what to expect.

“Detective Goldinski made a call to your team not long after the Chicago field office reached Agent Hotchner, but he still expects your team to support his findings.  However, I’ve avoided going inside on my own to prevent stressing the situation further as I have a personal relationship with the entire Morgan family,” you reported on what you knew so far.  You were technically cleared to go through the evidence Detective Goldinski had against Derek, but considering your relationship you deemed it best to let Derek’s team be there when you did so.

Hotch could see why your supervisors gave you such a glowing testimony, even before you’d completed your doctorate.  Even without considering the current situation, your demeanor was highly professional and there was a level of calculation behind your actions that was surprising for someone in their early twenties.

“I will admit there are…personal reasons for Detective Gordinski to have a personal grudge against Derek,” you warned, knowing Derek would be pissed you brought this up while also well-aware the team would come across this eventually.  “He will do everything in his power to make sure Derek is held responsible for this.  I won’t claim to know if Derek is innocent or not, but I can tell you Gordinski is not seeing things objectively.  You should also expect an excessive amount of flexing.  I know it’s not your unit’s style to use power moves, but I suggest you do.  It’s the only way you’ll be able to speak with Derek, let alone gather any information, unbiased or not.”

“Thank you,” Hotch nodded affirmatively, professionally but anxious to get inside and get the entire picture, and you nodded in response before waiting for the rest of the team to follow Hotch inside before tailing behind.  It would be best if you followed instead of lead.  If you lead them inside, the locals might not be willing to let them touch anything, whereas if you followed the only ire would be focused towards you.

“Special Agent Hotchner, FBI,” he announced as he reached the workspace for the homicide detectives, not wasting any time, “I’m looking for Detective Gordinski.”

“I got this Chuck,” the detective you’d been mentally referring to as dumbass Mr. Clean for the past few years stepped in before the one detective worth his salt could look up from the series of rape-homicides he was investigating.  He turned on the charm, introducing himself, “How you guys doing?  Wally Dennison, CPD.”

“Where’s Agent Morgan?” Hotch requested immediately, looking to get to the bottom of this mess.  There had to be a mistake.  There had to be.

“Detective Gordinski’s in with the suspect now.”

“I need to see him.”  Hotch kept your warning in mind, but still wanted to try.

“When my partner’s finished talking to him.”  Detective Dennison was already trying to pull an attitude with Agent Hotchner, and based on what you’d heard, as well as the reactions of the rest of the BAU, that wasn’t about to go over well.

“I have your superintendent’s personal cell number, and in the interest of not running roughshod over another police agency, I’ve resisted calling him so far.”  Agent Hotchner’s voice was calm and collected, calculated.  “I need to see Agent Morgan, now.”

Yeah, you were right.

Gideon waited until Dennison was out of earshot.  “I don’t like them calling him a suspect.”

“Me neither.”

************

So, Gordinski had sent in a request for a profile, and Gideon’s profile had pointed him right to Derek.  Any attempts to tell Gordinsky that there was a coincidence, that profiles were more useful in the exclusion than inclusion of suspects, met the same fate as a raw egg thrown at a brick wall.  Gordinsky was convinced Morgan was a serial killer, one responsible for a series of teenage boys killed over the last 15 years, one found dead every time he left town from a visit.  Almost most importantly, Morgan had gone around gathering a collection to burry the first victim properly.  While the rest of the neighborhood didn’t visit the boy with the blank tombstone, Morgan did.  That was the deciding factor for Gordinski, as he’d sent the file to Gideon and the profiler had sent a profile in response.

The unsub was 25 to 35, a black male, he’d always keep tabs on the investigation, and the first victim gave more information than the rest – especially since this was a guilt-ridden offender.

That just…Morgan found that first victim when he was fifteen, chasing down a football that had landed in a vacant lot.  The boy was never identified, he was laid on a mattress but buried under piles of junk, and he was never reported missing.  The last two victims…the last person they were seen with before being found dead was Derek.

Then it came to Derek’s criminal history.

You’d mentioned that Gordinski would have it out for Morgan, you’d never mentioned – clearly – that he had a criminal history.

Not explicitly, at any rate, but Gideon had already asked you to look over the forensic evidence gathered and see if there was anything.  Your training, studies, and experience had already pulled you into courtrooms to testify – on behalf of your mentor – and Gideon was well aware of how much work a decent intern does under the right mentor.  You were half-way through what little was gathered on the third victim, a boy named Damian found only hours ago, when you heard Agent Gideon call you to join him, Dr. Reid, Agent Jareau, and Agent Prentiss as they gathered to discuss the case.

“Is there anything in forensics?” Gideon immediately asked you when you joined them, keeping his voice low as there was no guaranteed private space for the team and there were still members of CPD everywhere.

“Nothing,” you quickly summarized before listing off the nothing CPD had, “No fingerprints, no DNA, not even a shoeprint.”

“And his criminal history?”

“Theft, vandalism, resisting arrest, one count of aggravated battery from a brawl he didn’t start,” you listed off the charges you knew of before looking Gideon in the eye and swearing, “The last charge was almost two years before the first victim.  If I thought it was relevant, I would have brought it up in detail.”

“We’re dealing with a desperate detective here,” Gideon warned, and you were a bit surprised at the fact it felt like he was including you in that warning, but listened as he continued, “Three dead boys, no evidence at all, so he applies the profile to somebody he already suspected.  It’s easy to get tunnel vision that way.”

Dr. Reid began, “One begins to twist facts to suit theories – “

“Instead of theories to suit facts,” you finished.  Your entire job was science, the raw science of people, and your natural ability for empathy or sympathy wasn’t going to change that, but you still felt the need to explain when you saw the looks you were getting.  “I’ve read every Sherlock Holmes story…at least twice…”

“We need to figure out who really killed these boys before they decide to charge Morgan,” Gideon guided the rest of you through the plan, while Hotch acted as Morgan’s attorney for the time being.

“What do you want us to do?” Prentiss asked, waiting for a direction to help.  It was a complicated situation, especially since Morgan was part of the team.

“Last victim was someone Morgan was seen with.  Conveniently, Morgan was already a suspect in the other two,” Gideon laid out the oddity of the entire situation, the underlying plot becoming clear.

“Someone set him up?” Prentiss clarified what Gideon was already hinting at.  The problem was, as rare as an occasion as that was, it was the only thing that made sense.

“Prentiss, you and Reid talk to his family, learn about him – especially around the time of the first murder,” Gideon began to split up the team, laying out a plan while Hotch was busy in the interrogation room.

“Do we have the address?” Prentiss asked as she and Reid prepared to leave, grabbing her coat as Reid grabbed his cup of coffee and got up from his seat on a nearby desk.  You got up from leaning back against a nearby desk and prepared to leave with them, you were part of Derek’s family and you knew where they’d need to go, but everyone froze when Detective Dennison jumped up to volunteer, like he’d been listening in on the conversation the entire time.

You wouldn’t put it past him.

“I can take you.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay – “ Prentiss tried to protest, only seconds before Gideon jumped in.

“No, actually that’s not a bad idea.”

Everyone stopped to look at Gideon before everyone else went along with whatever you were planning.  You could only reason, in your mind, that he was trying to split up Dennison and Goldinski in an attempt to keep things from getting worse than they already were, and without Dennison around it would be easier to see just what Goldinski’s personal beef with Derek was.  You were planning on leaving with them, before Gideon stopped you.

“We need you here.”

“Alright.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

A Risky Decision

You knew Derek’s history.  You knew his dad was killed off duty, trying to stop a robbery while Derek was right there.  You knew it wasn’t long until Derek got into trouble, a ten-year-old running errands for money, and people looked at Derek like he was one of them.  He got in a fight with a few guys, primarily Rodney, and Rodney needed stitches.  That was the first time Gordinski arrested Derek, and the detective was only a beat cop at the time, but he was determined to believe that Derek was involved in whatever happened in the neighborhood ever since.

Carl Buford, the man running the Upward Youth Center, and everything changed.  His record was expunged, he got into Northwestern Law on an athletic scholarship for football, blew out his knee and never played football again, graduated with honors.  You knew all of that.  You could have told them, so why in the hell did Agents Gideon and Hotchner drag you back to the interrogation room while Agent Jareau contacted Garcia – baby girl according to Derek – to look into all of that.

You were hoping to at least talk to the infamous Penelope Garcia, but it looked like that wasn’t about to be an option for you.

“You want me to what?”  You couldn’t help but look at the agents like they’d lost their fucking minds.

There was no other explanation for it.

“You know more about Morgan than any of us, and he’s under the impression you’d make a good profiler – “ Agent Hotchner began to try and convince you into doing this, but that didn’t mean you thought it was any less crazy.

“I’m not even an agent, let alone a trained profiler.  Even ignoring my personal relationship with Derek, this is insane.”

“Just tell us if anything is out of the ordinary for him.  If anything seems out of the ordinary, just bring it up,” Gideon bridged the gap between you and Hotch, “You have subconsciously become aware of Morgan’s patterns and behaviors, better than we do, and if we’re going to help him we need to know what he isn’t telling us.”

“Fine,” you huffed turning your head to look into the interrogation room, where Derek was sitting on the floor and looking at the photographs of the last victim, guilt wracking him.

************

You stayed back, just at the edge of the hallway, as you spotted Carl Buford in the detectives’ bullpen.  He’d brought Damian Walters’ mother to see Gordinski, just like he had with the last victim.  He’d been keeping tabs on the investigation…even found a way to slip in an accusation that Morgan could be manipulative as he spoke to Agents Gideon, Hotchner, and Jareau.  You turned and walked further down the hall, back to the interrogation room.  Derek never talked about Buford, never talked to the man despite his ritual of visiting the youth center every time he was in Chicago.

“Wait, wait,” you caught Hotch as he rushed back to the interrogation room, “You’re going to hit the same brick wall Gideon did when he tried to talk to Derek.  Harder if you go in there demanding answers, like you’re about to.  Just let me talk to him.”

“Miss Castillo – “

“I get it, it’s unorthodox and I’m just barely allowed to stick around after looking over the forensic evidence, and dealing with close-minded dumbasses like Gordinski and Dennison only make it worse,” you tried to convince Agent Hotchner that this was the right move, “But if there’s a reason Buford would have it out for him now, Derek isn’t about to tell just anyone.  I’ll be lucky to get an explanation, but I’ll get more than you can.”

You were right.  You were absolutely right about that, and there wasn’t much time left.  Especially since Buford knew the FBI was investigating and knew that Morgan didn’t do this.

“I’ll have to be in there with you.”

You nodded, stepping inside as Hotch held the door open for you before following you inside.  You placed a hand on Morgan’s shoulder, he was slumped over with his head buried in his arms as he sat at the table with his back to the door and one-way window.  He looked up and immediately brought you in for an exhausted half-hug, a few walls falling as he felt more comfortable with someone in his family around, but Hotch was still there and…

There were just things that Morgan didn’t want everyone to know.

“Derek, why don’t you talk to Carl Buford anymore?”  You asked the question gently, especially since Morgan was suffering from cabin fever on top of everything else.  He turned on the ball of his foot and snapped his attention to you.

“What?”

“You don’t talk to him, you don’t talk about him, he was just here, and not only has he been keeping tabs on the investigation but he’s the one that names you as the last person to see Damian alive,” you listed off the oddities surrounding the man behind the Upward Youth Center.  Morgan shot up from his seat and continued pacing, rubbing his face and head with both hands as he started to pace around, but you still continued, gently.  “After everything, it would make sense for you to remain close to him, but you can barely look at him and he’s talking about you like you charm people into thinking you’re not a murderer.”

“Don’t push this, [Y/N].  Don’t you push this too.”

“I have to, because the alternative is you going to prison for three murders,” you snapped, putting your foot down, “You used to trust people, Derek, you used to have faith, and you lost your ability to see the good in everyone long before you even left for college.  Now, that has something to do with Buford, and Buford is the reason you’re here, the only thing we don’t know is why.”

He wasn’t going to talk.  Mouth firmly shut, but eyes broken and pleading with you not to press this.  Just, for the love of god, let it be.  Hotch made his way back to the door, and you followed – you weren’t allowed in there without supervision – and stopped with your hand on the doorknob, the door almost shut, as Hotch made his way down the hall to update Gideon.  You swung the door back open and snapped, “Come on.”

“What?”

“You think I’m stupid?” you immediately countered.  You’d figured it out.  You’d figured it out before you even stepped foot into that interrogation room with Hotch, but you also knew that nobody was going to believe it unless Buford said it himself.  The wheels…the cogs in your mind were spinning, faster than Derek could ever keep up with, and he knew that.  You were clever, had to be growing up, and your intelligence and studies had only made you better at playing people like it was just a game.  “We don’t have long until they notice you’re missing, and you need a ride if you’re gonna make it to the Youth Center.”

Derek snatched his jacket, following you out of the interrogation room and through the back door down the hall as you led him to your rental car parked just down the street.  You risked driving down a few blocks before parking your rental and scouted ahead before waving Derek to follow as the entirety of CPD was looking for him.

“You know, if CPD finds us before my team, you’re gonna be in just as much trouble,” Morgan pointed out as the two of you neared the fenced yard, tucked behind the youth center and away from the public streets, where Buford’s current star quarterback was practicing on his own.

You shrugged, hands tucked in your sweater pockets as you stopped, staying back because it wasn’t your battle to fight but close enough to be there if needed.  “I’m not too worried.  Your team seems pretty smart, and Goldinski’s a dumbass.”

“Besides,” you added as you pulled your cell out of your pocket and held it up, “Agent Jareau gave me her cell in case I needed to reach anyone, figured I’d give her a call.”

“You’re not coming?”

“Not my fight, but I’ll be in your corner if you need me.”

************

You had accurately warned the team of what to expect inside the precinct, you had given information you deemed necessary as it became prudent.  In private, you openly voiced your opinion that Hotch’s request that you use what you knew to build at least a working profile of Morgan to try and figure out what he was hiding.  You also figured out the unsub and the team in time to break Morgan out, slip past patrols, and to the youth center where you called JJ. 

Then there was how you broke Morgan out – and the fact you’d done it in the first place.  It meant you were clever, clever enough to formulate such a plan on the fly, but even if you’d made a calculated decision it was reckless, but it was doubtless Morgan would have done it on his own once he knew who was framing him.  Having you there would help ensure he wouldn’t be caught, soften the blow, and guarantee the BAU would get there either before or with the local detectives.

Hiring you would be risky, you weren’t about to start anything until you finished your doctorate meaning your first day wouldn’t be for the greater part of a year, and you clearly weren’t above breaking rules for the best outcome – even if it put your ass out on the line.

“Miss Castillo, this is Agent Hotchner,” he’d waited until after you answered your phone to tell you just who was calling, “We have room for another profiler on the team, and I was calling to see if you were interested.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Dropped Into A Recovery Zone

This was an…awkward time for you to be starting.  Section Chief Strauss had just spent a lot of time and energy trying to put an end to the team to the point of putting Hotch in a position he either directly challenged a superior to protect or he put the entire existence of the BAU at risk, Prentiss had put in for a transfer and planned on changing her entire career to avoid being used as a puppet, Gideon just left with nothing but a letter addressed to Reid…

Then there you were.  The new kid.  Promoted right out of the academy at…almost 25-years-old.  The majority of your education being in anthropology – the study of humans – and in the forensics and sciences behind the scenes of an investigation.  All dumped onto the team…right after disaster just about ripped the entire team apart.

It was hardly your first day, though it was still your first week and Garcia still wanted to do…something to welcome you onto the team.  You’d told her it wasn’t necessary, that it could wait, she still wanted to do…something.

You hadn’t changed much in the months since you’d last seen the entire team, having seen Derek a few times since then, but some.  Your thick chocolate-brown hair was a bit longer, you left it to fall in waves to your mid-back instead of bothering with straightening it anymore.  The golden tint to your russet-brown eyes was still there, bringing more attention to your wide eyes you rarely bothered decorating with more than black liner and mascara, and the golden undertones of your tanned skin still had a glow even under the lighting of the halls that lacked the multitude of windows the BAU had, and you still painted your thick pillowy lips the same soft shade of pink you’d grown fond of in grad school.  You’d pull out another color if the need arose, you’d fiddle with your hair or bother with eye shadow if need be, but on the daily basis there just wasn’t a need.

You only knew bits and pieces of the story, the important bits, but you couldn’t say you could offer anything…helpful.  It all came down to the same thing.

This job is emotionally taxing, and after things got personal Gideon couldn’t stand to do it anymore.  He needed out, so he left.  Maybe not in the best way, but he did.

It sounds morbid but…you were almost grateful for JJ calling you into the round-table room.

“Okay, we have four victims in Oregon,” JJ started as she handed copies of the case file to everyone, Hotch following close behind her as he stepped around to the table, “Two male, two female – “

“I got this,” Hotch cut in as he stepped in front of the two case boards already set up with crime scene photographs and a map of the local area surrounding the case, “I know that we’ve all been wondering what this was all about and uh…you know I’ve known Jason for many years and I can tell you…I have no idea.  But it doesn’t even matter.  What matters is we’re here, and we’re gonna continue.”

There was a quiet pause for a brief moment, the solemn mood settling into a focus on the case, everyone else pushing the questions that still lingered to the backs of their minds.

“Portland field office uncovered a mass grave with three bodies killed six months ago,” Hotch brought up a map of the area onto the screen, centering on where the bodies had been found before flipping to images of the burial site, “Nearby they found another body.  Causes of death range from burning alive, to asphyxiation.  No sexual assault.”

“Well, the torture’s clearly sadistic,” Morgan started as he put down his mug of coffee, sitting forward and leaning against the table.

“The lack of sexual preferences is gonna make it hard to tell if the unsub is male or female,” Reid warned the rest of you, statistics and figures running through his mind.

“Typically, female serial killers stick to the same M.O., this guy is all over the place,” Prentiss countered, narrowing the chances that the unsub was a female.

“But why.  Even unorganized sadistic killers and professional killers have a set pattern or signature,” you brought out the underlying question about the wide range of the causes of death.  Everybody had a pattern, even the insane, so what was the pattern here?

“Most recent victim is Jenny Wittman,” Hotch continued, “Asphyxiated, discovered yesterday.”

“How long was she missing?” Reid asked to try and establish a pattern, something that would speak to how long the unsub had the victim before they were killed.

“She was never reported missing,” Hotch answered as he moved to join the rest of you at the table, not taking a seat as the rest of you looked over the file, gazes at least flicking up to Hotch as a piece of the puzzle manifested itself.

“Where any of them reported missing?” you questioned, taking a break from looking over the forensic and coroner’s reports to see if you could spot something you could pull from using your own experience.

“Only one.”

“One of four?”  It was hardly the first case he’d dealt with that involved so few being reported missing, but three of the victims had been dead for six months.  That just struck Reid as odd.

“Rick Holland was reported missing nine months ago, but the search was called off,” JJ explained as a copy of the missing person’s flyer was brought up onto the screen.

“Family discovered his car at the train station, but more importantly, they received emails from him saying that he needed time to figure things out.”  Hotch finished, pacing closer to the screen as the four of you caught up with what he and JJ already knew about the case.

“And his family bought that?” Morgan immediately raised his brow at that, unbelieving that anyone would believe something like that.  Believe it enough to call off a search.

“Well,” Hotch offered a defense for the family, “I guess the alternative was too hard to accept.”

“Reaching out…could be a sign of remorse,” Reid offered a potential fit for the emails.

“This many people dead, with one missing person’s that was retracted?” you countered, briefly raising one neatly groomed brow, thick like the rest of your hair, as you offered a counterargument with your own suggestion, “The unsub’s a sadist, it’s more likely he’s covering his tracks.”

“Well, it’s working,” Morgan agreed as he kept looking over the additional photos of the burial site.

“So,” Prentiss got up from her seat, pointing to the photos pinned to the case boards – a temporary arrangement as you’d all be taking off for Portland later that day – and focused on what could be a pattern forming, “Three victims he buried in one grave, and then only Jenny Wittman in the other.”

“You thinking it’s a pattern”

Prentiss turned back to Morgan when he asked the question and shrugged, openly admitting, “Uh, it’s hard to tell.”

“If it is, it’s one down…” Hotch brought up the most concerning part of what could be a forming pattern, “Two to go…”

************

As soon as you were free to get up and move around the jet, Hotch called the rest of you to go over what Portland already found in closer detail only seconds after Reid got up for more coffee.  You couldn’t say you knew him well, but you doubted he’d been sleeping all that much.  As JJ got up to hand the rest of you files on the case, reciting the basics as she did so, you followed to join Prentiss on the couch while Derek got up from his own seat to lean against the back of Hotch’s seat at the larger table in the cabin.

“That sounds like three different M.O.s,” Prentiss brought up the oddity of the wide differences in the causes of death, trying to find some kind of explanation.

“Uh, Gary Taylor, the Phantom Sniper, was all over the map, just like this guy” Reid brought up another serial killer who had displayed the same type of range, presenting a possible theory to why this unsub was doing the same while balancing his open file on the back of the seat he’d vacated, “He changed his M.O. as his need to control the situation changed.”

“True, but bits of Taylor’s M.O. still remained the same, he tried to keep things similar as much as he could,” you added a smaller detail, before using what Reid had said as a sounding board, “Maybe what he’s changing is in response to the victim, a way to keep control once he has it.”

“What about the fresh grave?” Hotch added the latest victim into the mix of things.

“Female, 28, dead roughly 48 hours,” JJ briefed the rest of you on the basics, “She was asphyxiated.”

“It’s a good thing this guy’s dump site has been compromised,” Morgan brought up the one bright side in all of this.

“As soon as the unsub knows that, he may feel pressure that we’re onto him,” Prentiss looked up from her file in agreement, “It could push him to make a mistake.”

Your attention was grabbed by beeping from the open laptop on the table.

“Psst.  Hey, you.”

Reid looked up from reading through the file, looking around for the source of the voice before Garcia took pity on him.  “Uh, down here.”

Reid let out half a chuckle in his own embarrassment, moving the laptop to face everyone else as he returned to his seat at the table, “I knew that.”

“Good thing you’re handsome, doctor,” Garcia teased lovingly before she filled all of you in on what she had found on her end as you all crowded together to talk with Garcia over the video chat, “Attention team members – this killer guy continues to stoop to an all-time low of lows by posing as his victims.  He’s also manipulated two of the families into thinking that everything was okay, even after they were reported missing.  One of the fake emails was from their daughter.  She said she met this guy and was taking him to her favorite place, Australia, for a couple of weeks.  Family contacted the Australian authorities after too much time had passed.”

“This guy sure knows a lot of personal information about his victims,” Morgan pulled on the oddity that the unsub would know the victim’s favorite place.  That was information a friend or family member would have, not a stranger.

“How did he get access to their email accounts?”  Prentiss was hoping maybe there was a way Garcia could track him down, or at least narrow down the list of potential suspects from all of Portland to some of Portland.

“Screen name was the same, but the domain was different.  The families never noticed.”  Garcia gave one final farewell before hanging up and digging for more information.  “When I find more pieces of the puzzle I’ll let you know, Garcia out.”

“This guy’s creative,” Hotch surmised from the latest batch of information, “Let’s see the details one more time, just to make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

************

Special Agent Calvert had met all of you at the field office for a brief introduction before everyone got to work.  He was waiting for Jenny Wittman’s family to arrive, to speak with them, Prentiss and JJ stayed at the field office to work victimology after setting up, and you left with the guys to look at Jenny Wittman’s apartment and try to get some clues into her own profile.  You paused when you saw the elevator of her apartment building, Reid had just told the rest of you Wittman’s apartment was on the fourth floor…

You’d been in a mine-shaft elevator before.

You knew a death trap when you saw one.

Your heeled ankle-high black boots were hardly uncomfortable, and while the last time you’d had any real exercise was before you’d quit dance after high school, you figured four flights of stairs wouldn’t kill you.

Hotch had the same idea.

“You coming?” Morgan asked you after Hotch made his way to the stairs on the other end of the lobby.

“That thing is death on a pully system,” you gave them one chance to step out and follow you.  If they weren’t going to take it, there was no convincing them.

“What, you scared?” Morgan teased, still holding the door open for you, “Come on, it’s an elevator not a death trap.”

“I’ll let Hotch know you said that when we’re scraping your bodies off the floor,” you turned on the ball of your foot and leaving with that, making your own way to the stairs and catch up with Hotch, answering his questioning look with, “Dying in an elevator on my first day would be a pretty shitty way to go.”

Hotch couldn’t help but let out a little breath of amusement, crooked smile as he shook his head and the two of you climbed the stairs in relative quiet.  Not uncomfortable, just quiet…until you actually reached the fourth floor.  The two of you had split up to find Wittman’s apartment, and you reached a halt when you heard the emergency bell on the elevator ringing, taking a few steps back and waiting a beat until you just faintly heard Morgan yelling for Hotch through the door.

“Hotch!” you called down the hall, waiting for him to meet up with you as you figured it would be a bad idea to yell down the hall that two FBI agents got themselves stuck in an elevator and were screaming for help.  Hotch just reached you as the door to the elevator opened and you stepped aside as Morgan threw himself out and just about crashed into the opposite wall.  Reid was still shaking, steps slow like he was still in shock.

“Was that the alarm?” Hotch recalled the bell he heard from down the hall, reminiscent of a school bell to be honest, “Are you guys okay?”

“I’ll get back to you on that,” Reid answered between deep breaths, just barely off the elevator before he had to pause completely.  Hotch stepped past the rest of you, leading the way to Wittman’s apartment as the rest of you paused for a moment.

“Don’t you even.”  Derek recognized that look on your face, but you feigned innocence.

“What?  I’m just as surprised as you guys.  I mean, come on, it’s an elevator not a death trap.”

You little shit.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Murder By Fear

Jenny Wittman rarely left her apartment, she had no messages on her answering machine, moved into her apartment only two months earlier, and was so uncomfortable in tight spaces she wouldn’t even use her standing shower – opting to use her bathtub while the shower was used as a storage space.  That fit what you’d already found from the other victims, the unsub preyed on people new to the city with no strong social ties. 

None of the victims had connections to each other either.  They all came from different backgrounds, different jobs, different education levels…the only constant was the victims were new to Portland and didn’t even have so much as a roommate in their lives.  Agent Calvert was new to the area, so JJ got a good list of places the unsub might have looked for victims, and after presenting the profile to the rest of the locals you’d have to canvass the neighborhood.

“We know this guy’s been using Wildwood Trail as his personal gravesite for six months,” Morgan started as he slowly paced around the room, everyone involve in the investigation was gathered into the meeting room to take notes on what to look for, “That site’s been blown for him now, which means that he’s been forced to change part of his M.O.”

“Which won’t be easy for somebody who thrives on being in control,” Hotch warned from his seat along the side of the gathering.  “The reason that he’s gotten away with these first three murders is that he’s been meticulous at every stage, from how he chooses his victims to their torture and their burial.”

“To us, his victims appear to be nonspecific.”  Prentiss stood a few steps behind Hotch, arms crossed as she filled everyone else in on what had been gathered in terms of victimology.  “Other than being new to Portland, all they seem to have shared was a torturous death.”

“Despite that, this unsub still seems to be picking these victims for a specific reason,” you sat on the edge of the long table in the meeting room, not too far from where JJ was sitting at the table, your sweater shed and leaving you in a sleeveless blouse decorated in a pastel watercolor of blue and violet flowers not tucked into your fitted black pants.  “This is exhibited by the fact he takes the time to learn extensive details about the victims.  He felt comfortable telling one victim’s family that she had gone to Australia because he knew it was her favorite place to go.  He further uses these details to lead the victims’ families to believe nothing is wrong.”

“The tortures lack a sexual component, which is incredibly rare, I think it’s more about – not necessarily about exerting power, but more like overcompensating for a lack of it,” Reid brought up the suspected driving force behind this particular unsub, leaning back against the wall between the meeting room and bullpen.  His satchel was still slung over his shoulder, like he was about to take off the second the meeting was over.

“This guy craves control,” Morgan leaned against the other side of the table, half sitting on it, “He’s coming from a place of weakness, trying to demonstrate strength.  Now, we see this a lot in unsubs who have been abused.”

“The lack of sexual assault could be as simple as the fact that he’s impotent.”  Hotch stood up from his seat, stepping closer to the case boards and turning to face the gathering.  “Something that he’s trying to hide.”

“A man this obsessed with control most likely feels powerless in his everyday life.  So, he would crave stability, security.  He’s most likely married,” Prentiss narrowed down the field of potential suspects, crossing off anyone that wouldn’t have some kind of stable home life surrounded by others.

“If he is impotent, he most likely adopted children to keep up appearances.  They’d also add to his sense of stability, of a home life, something to fall back on,” you added, gesturing a bit before folding your hands in your lap as Reid continued the profile.

“Yeah, and someone this methodical has every moment planned.  If he is captured, he’d most likely take his own life rather than any sort of control.”

“The victims lack of defensive wounds suggest that they willingly put themselves in danger,” Morgan put in a piece of the unsub’s M.O., how he learned so much about his victims and why the victims didn’t fight back, “So, someone of authority or otherwise easily trusted put them up to this.”

“He’s calculating, and he’s intelligent, and…we’re going to have to do something that he’s not expecting,” Hotch warned the agents gathered to hear the profile, though Agent Calvert was the one to ask.

“Like what?”

“Like warn his potential victims.”

************

There were an influx of calls during JJ’s press conference, that was to be expected, and would likely continue as the message was repeated throughout the daily news.  Canvassing the neighborhoods had to wait so everybody could stick around and field calls, one of which was a landlady calling about her missing tenant.  He was more predictable than she was, stuck to a practiced routine, and was new to the city.

His name was Patrick Walker, and a jogger found him washed up on a riverbank, dead.

Prentiss had been the one that took the call, and wanted to go to the dump site with Morgan that morning.  The rest of you waited in the meeting room, trying to fill in the missing pieces of the profile.  By the time they called, you’d already shoved the sleeves of your fitted white pullover up to your elbows and pulled your cell out of the back pocket of your dark skinny jeans before sitting on the table with your feet perched on the edge of a nearby chair.

“Hey, that landlady Prentiss spoke to was right to be worried, we just found Patrick walker dead in a river,” Morgan filled the rest of you in on what they’d found at the new dump site, he and Prentiss talking over speaker phone on their end while the rest of you listened through the conference phone on the table.

“And it was exactly what you predicted.  He found a new place to dump the body.”

“I think it’s someone who was afraid of drowning,” Reid brought up the idea he’d been working on but had nothing really solid to work with, no real reason to suspect it until now.  “It hit me when Morgan freaked out when we were stuck in the elevator – “

“You got stuck in an elevator?”

“You mean the death trap on a pully-system?” you immediately reminded both Reid and Derek that you’d told them, and if they’d just listened to you…

“I freaked out?”

“It’s not important, here’s what is,” Reid immediately cut off any further discussion about the incident, “If you look at the M.O.s of the victims, what do they all have in common?”

“We can classify them all as anxiety disorders,” you answered, moving things along as JJ slipped past to add Patrick Walker to the timeline on the board.  “Add someone locked in a dark room, and we’ve got all the heavy hitters.”

“Exactly, it’s right out of The Diagnostics and Statistical Manual, it lists five subtypes of phobias.”  Reid didn’t normally get an answer when he posed a question to the team like that, normally a brief few seconds of silence before he continued.  It was actually…it was kind of nice having someone that jumped in with the answer, that kept up with him.

It was…fun even…all things considered.

Oh, god no.  That was horrible.  Not that you…but the job…you were talking about how five people were murdered.

“Most of these are environmental and situational,” Hotch chimed in as the last piece of the M.O. and victimology fit into place.

“Exactly.”

“So, it’s all about fear,” Hotch turned away from the rest of you to look back at the board, “These people are being killed by their fears.”

************

“You know, you’re doing pretty good,” Derek brought up as the two of you walked down the street, canvassing places Patrick Walker might have went that could offer a place for the unsub to find him.

“For the guy that passed my name to Hotch, you sound disturbingly surprised,” you teased as the two of you stopped and waited for the green light to cross the street.

“Yeah, but things have been…kind of a mess since then, and you got dropped in the middle of a recovery zone, but you’re still doing good,” he clarified, watching for the signal before looking down at you with a crooked smile, proud of you and happy his risk had seemingly turned out for the best.  “Even if you’re a wiseass.”

“I wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t a dumbass.”  You didn’t miss a beat, leaving Derek behind for just a second as you crossed the street as the light switched to green and Derek just gave you a jokingly affronted look for a second before quickly catching up with a few steps.

“Alright, you’re so smart, where should we go next?”

“Meet up with Prentiss and Reid at the laundromat and hope they found something because your suggestions have been getting us nowhere.”

************

Don’t live in fear anymore

A flyer had been left up at local laundromats, coffee shops, inviting people to participate in a controlled research project where they – the patients – were paid $100 for two sessions.  To make things worse, there were flyers dating back to summer the year before, leading Hotch to send you and Prentiss back to the trail with Agent Calvert and a forensic team.

“They’re not going to be buried directly next to the trail,” you instructed as you lead the team at the trail through the forest, sleeves shoved up to your elbows as you tied your hair into a ponytail before pulling a pair of blue latex gloves out of your pocket, “He’s organized, sticks to a pattern, and left the last victim in the river – start by splitting up the riverbank up into sections.  If there are graves a year old, it’s possible activity under the surface led parts to fall into the river during the decomposition process, so we need people combing through the river starting at the shoreline and moving further in.  Anyone on the dig team needs to be careful with the shovels, dig too deep or too hard and you’ll damage the remains.  If you feel you’re getting close to something, use a smaller shovel or a brush.”

It was one thing to know your studies, your educational training, gave you a history and expertise in situations like these.  It was something completely different to actually see it.  It wasn’t the first time Prentiss had dealt with a case like this, digging up an unknown amount of mass graves that dated back a year at least, but it was the first time she’d worked with a Forensic Anthropologist.  It’s not like there were a lot, and they tended to be spread thin between cases that urgently needed their expertise, overseas digs led by international organizations looking to identify victims or war or genocide, and archeological studies on top of everything else.

You were deep in leading the forensics crew deployed to the dig site, between giving them instructions and looking over any seriously maimed or highly decomposed bodies to get things started for the medical examiners that were going to be busy just trying to identify everyone let alone finding causes of death.  To top things off, there was absolutely no guarantee of a missing persons report to match any of the bodies to.

Eight graves and twelve bodies.

You couldn’t stay.  Not when there was a killer still on the loose, and certainly not when there was a lead.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

All Things Considered

The Goodman Institute

It was the ‘group’ that put up the flyers around town.  The website looked legit, advertised itself as the leading researcher of behavioral therapy and backed that up with well-written articles, but Garcia did some digging an found that it didn’t even exist.  There were no tax records, business license, no evidence it was actually real.  According to the website, it was run by a Dr. Barry Goodman – renowned for curing fears and phobias.

Then there was the online questionnaire, one he used to pick the specific type of victim he was looking for.

Once Garcia got that information for Derek, you and Prentiss were called back to the field office and left the dump site behind to gather with the rest of the team.

When the two of you returned with Calvert, the rest of the team was already pouring over printouts of the website lying on the table or pinned to a dry-erase easel that had been added on top of the two case boards already in use.

“Look at this, guys,” Reid brought up as he circled a bit of the page he’d already read through and pinned to the easel, “He calls them phobias instead of anxiety disorders.”

“Yeah, either this guy is an amateur or he studied psychology in the eighties,” Prentiss voiced the conclusion everyone had come to after going over the fake article and short descriptions of studies that willed the website in the attempt to make the institute look real.

“His phrasing of the questions are clinical, this guy’s a professional,” Morgan added as he lowered the page he was reading, standing at one end of the table as he just kept from pacing in the crowded meeting room.

“Well, he’s able to pick the perfect victims.”  From his seat at the head of the table, Hotch started listing off a few of the questions the unsub used to find his victims.  “Are you close to your family?  Easy making friends?  Just answer yes and you’re spared the torture.”

“We already know he’s calculated, makes sense he’d be efficient too,” you mused as you continued sifting through a few pages of the printouts in your hand, standing between the table and the wall of windows between the room and the bullpen.

“We figured out how he chooses his victims, but how does that get us his real name?”  Calvert’s question was a good one, you’d all just assumed the unsub wasn’t using his real name.  He was too smart for that.

“All right, let’s review,” Hotch called for the rest of you to drop the pages you were looking over and regroup, “JJ, can you get Garcia?”

As JJ dialed Garcia’s office number on the conference phone, you dropped the papers in hand back onto the desk, taking a seat at the table as Morgan started the review, taking his own seat.  “I think this guy’s a real psychiatrist.”

“Also afraid of being alone, so he’s most likely married,” Prentiss added, pen still in hand, seated at the other side of the table as she’d began pouring over the pages that had been printed out before the two of you returned to the office.

“May have adopted children,” Reid added thoughtfully as he stepped around the table, between you and Calvert, who had to wonder why the unsub would have adopted children.

“Why?”

“The lack of sexual component means he’s most likely impotent,” you answered just as Garcia clicked onto the line, the phone only ringing for a second before she answered.

“Hey guys.”  You faintly heard typing on the other end of the line as Garcia was already working on digging your unsub out of the woodwork.

“Also, if he’s desperate for a sense of community he’d definitely have kids,” Reid further explained as he took the last seat, between you and Calvert.

 “Okay, I’m crossing Portland doctors with adoptions.”

“And given the obsession to control his victims with torture, he might have been abused,” Hotch gave Garcia more information to further narrow the field.

“Okay, juvenile records are gonna be sealed, so you gotta give me a minute.”

“He uses antiquated terms like phobias, so he’s most likely in his forties,” Prentiss added, causing a realization to hit you.

“If we’re looking for someone in his forties, he’s from a generation where abuse was commonly considered discipline.  Bets are nothing was reported,” you were the bearer of that bad news, striking down something that could have otherwise helped narrow things down.  “It still affects him, so he probably does work with abused kids, charity organizations or volunteer work.  Things like that.”

“And…the creep of the moment award goes to…One 43-year-old Dr. Stanley Howard, psychiatrist.”

“This guy was killing his own patients?” Calvert looked to the rest of you, looking for some kind of confirmation or explanation why nobody caught that before.

“No, Stan Howard’s smarter than that.  That’s why he created Goodman and the research ruse.”  Hotch’s answer didn’t exactly quell Calvert’s discomfort, just replaced the cause of it.

“Married to Jane Howard, has one eight-year-old daughter Jessica…he started a center for abused kids.”

“Probably because he could relate.”

“One good deed’s not fortifying his karma sufficiently,” Garcia retorted as she continued pulling up everything she could find on Stanley Howard, “Looks like his practice shut down last year.”

“Right about the time the killings started?” Hotch’s suspicion was confirmed as Garcia continued on, filling you in on what she’d found.

“He still has a lease on his old office building.  City permits were pulled due to renovation, but what do you know?  They’ve been delayed.  Yikes!”  Garcia’s exclamation caused the rest of you to snap your attention towards the conference phone, listening and waiting for her to continue.  “His bank records show a seriously depleted savings account.”

“So, he’s keeping up appearances – where’s the building?”  Hotch was already bracing to get up and head to the building.

“427 Cedars Avenue.”

************

You left with JJ and Prentiss to talk to Howard’s wife, while the guys grabbed vests and made their way to the office building.  It was a pretty straightforward approach, the three of you would seem less threatening and lead Jane Howard to start talking faster.  Little Jessica answered the door shyly, her mother pulling her away and reprimanding her for opening the door for strangers.  It was hardly abusive, but if her bristly attitude towards the three of you – even after introducing yourselves as FBI agents – was any indication, this was likely the helpless situation Stanley Howard found himself in.

“Where is your husband?” Prentiss began the line of questioning, JJ kept Jessica busy with coloring in the dining room as you and Prentiss spoke with Jane in the living room.

“He’s with a patient.”  Jane didn’t sit down, standing between the two of you and the entryway, naturally defensive.

“No,” you replied, tone gentle to prevent Jane from snapping at the two of you, “His license is expired, and he closed his practice a year ago.”

“Excuse me?” Jane immediately questioned the two of you, her control of her husband slipping through her grasp and she crossed her arms defensively.  “No, that’s not possible.  He wouldn’t do something like that without talking to me first.

“He referred his patients to other doctors,” Prentiss presented the rest of the evidence, proof that Stanley Howard had closed his practice and quit psychiatry.

“What is going on?”

You and Prentiss shared a quiet look before leading Jane to take a seat before asking a question that never seemed to get any easier.  “Has your husband acting strangely lately?”

“Well…he’s had some issues since his mother died last year, but…” Jane insisted as she took a seat herself, trying to make sense and convince herself this wasn’t real.  That it was some kind of mistake.  “I mean, he refused to go to her funeral, but they were never close.”

Then she said something that caused you to get up and make your way to the hall to call Hotch.

“Stan always said it was because of her he went into psychiatry.”

You waited a ring or two before Hotch answered his cell, overhearing bits and pieces of the conversation of the background.  They were at the lot, it sounded like, but there was no building.

“Hey, Castillo, we’re at the office.  The building’s gone.”

“Of course it is, why wouldn’t it be?”  That news brushed right off your back as you touched base with Hotch and caught him up to speed on what you’d discovered so far.  “We’ll keep talking to the wife, see if she knows where he is”

“All right.”

“What do you mean it’s gone?”  Jane wasn’t taking any of the news well.  You couldn’t exactly blame her, but she wasn’t exactly what you’d call cooperative either.

“We need to figure out where Stan’s been going every day,” Prentiss tried to ask politely, but that wasn’t working.  Jane eyed the two of you for a long moment, watching out the corner of her eye, before averting her gaze once again.

“I don’t know.”

There was no time for this, and you couldn’t exactly say you cared that Jane was a typical alpha female unfamiliar with being out of control.  There was no telling if Howard had another victim, he knew the FBI was onto him, and his calculated nature created reason to believe he might lead you onto a lengthy chase if his obsession didn’t make him stay still.

“Where’s your husband, Mrs. Howard?”

Prentiss kept her own reaction to herself, that was a tone she hadn’t heard from you before.  Granted, while she met you months ago, she didn’t really know you that well, but there was something in your voice that was…hypnotic?  Smooth, calming, and difficult to deny.  It wasn’t manipulative, not really, but it was almost perfectly calculated to convince someone to let their guard down.

“My family has commercial property downtown.  I – maybe…”

************

You remained at the Howard household with Prentiss and JJ, the later remaining with Jessica as the rest of you dealt with the darker matter at hand.  It was a tense silence, waiting for either a call from the others or waiting for Stanley Howard to return.  After getting the call, learning that Howard managed to climb to the roof and jump before they could get to him, you had the unfortunate task of informing both Jane and Jessica that he was dead.

Then there was the last victim, she was in the middle of a meeting with Howard when they arrived to apprehend him, which led to the question where was she?

As the three of you left the house quietly, you waited for the call, for the guys to meet up with you at the office and give the news –

“We got her.  Missy is in the hospital, but she’ll be okay.”

Not bad for a first case, everyone was pretty happy with the result as you all packed up the jet and took off for home.  Exhausted, as evidenced by the fact JJ and Prentiss passed out as soon as they found a place to sit, but happy.

“You did really good – “ Reid immediately caught himself when you looked up at him from digging through your go-bag for your mp3 player and headphones, his eyes wide as he seemed visibly shocked by what he’d said and started to backpedal, “Not that I didn’t think you’d do well – I honestly didn’t know what to – uh – Prentiss said everything at the burial site went smoothly and that you got Mrs. Howard to tell us where her husband was.  Not that I wasn’t impressed, because I was – am – but not because – “

Jesus Christ, shut your damn mouth you rambling lunatic!

Reid just wanted to slam his head into the nearby wall, kicking himself for once again putting his foot in his mouth.  All he wanted to do was congratulate you on a job well done, strike up a conversation, and then ask you a few questions about your training as a Forensic Anthropologist.  Things he couldn’t find answers to.  Instead, he made a mess of things.

“Okay, okay.  As amusing as this is to watch, I think you’ve suffered enough,” you cut in, all giggles and smiles, refraining from putting your hand on his arm to get him to stop.  Reid wasn’t big on touching, personal boundaries and all that, and you respected that.  “I get what you’re trying to say, and thank you.  You’re pretty good yourself.”

Reid caught the smirk growing on your lips just before you added, “You know, for Caltech.”

Ah yes, the rivalry between MIT and Caltech that took the form of a prank war between the two schools despite the fact they were on opposite sides of the country.  Well, Caltech calls them pranks, you know, because that's what they are.  MIT insists on referring to them as hacks and their pranksters as hackers - Reid wasn't going to get into the psychology behind that.  He’d been tempted to bring it up, but with everything…the two of you practically just met, there hadn’t exactly been a time to bring that up and he’d been desperately trying to figure out…everything that had happened...

“That’s right, MIT,” he tucked his hands into his pockets as a smile began to grow, “Now I'm really impressed.  You know, considering - ”

“Hate to break it to you, but that’s just the standard for MIT,” you shrugged casually as you plugged your earbuds into your mp3 player and put one earbud into your ear, “Show up, show everyone how it’s done, and raise the bar for everyone else along the way.”

“You sure about this?” he gave you a chance to back out, hoping you wouldn’t take it.  It was nothing vicious, nothing ill-hearted, just a little rivalry.  A few teasing comments made with a laugh, the occasional harmless prank…could be fun.  “You might start something you can’t win.”

You put the second earbud into your other ear, unphased and unbothered, confident.

“Bring it.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Not The Best Meeting...

It’s the most wonderful time of the year.

Time for spooks and carved pumpkins,

Costumes and ghost stories

And candy sold in bulk.

It’s the spook-tacular time of the year.

You were quite pleased as you placed your hot latte on your desk and untied your tan knit scarf before pulling off your matching knit cap.  October was always a good month for you – always.  Besides Halloween, it was the one month where everything went right and nothing went wrong.  Considering, throughout the last 25 years of your life, things going wrong was pretty much a daily occurrence until you reached college, having an entire month of things going well was a much-needed respite from the other eleven months.  Then there was the fall chill, not too hot but not too cold, the September rush of pumpkin-spice everything dulled down, the leaves were really hitting their peak with gorgeous fall colors.

And had you mentioned Halloween?

This October hadn’t been any different.  You were finally able to leave Morgan’s guest room, which was just as good for him as it was you because if he woke you up during his early-morning routine of heading to the gym one more time you were going to murder him slowly.  Sure, you picked up Yoga when you didn’t have time for dancing anymore, but you’d do it in the afternoon, at a time when it was acceptable to be awake.  Not in the early hours of the morning before the sun was up.

It wasn’t a huge apartment, spacious for a one-bedroom with a large kitchen and living room leading to a balcony, but it wasn’t big and that suited you just fine.  You’d already put up a few decorations for Halloween as well, and binged a series of your favorite scary and Halloween movies as soon as you moved in.

You’d put up a few decorations around your desk – despite protests from Morgan as his desk was right across the partition from yours.  A few little plastic Jack-O-Lanterns, a little toy witch, a black cat, and a small bowl of candy for non-grumps only.  Nothing big, you didn’t want to push the envelope too far as you were still the new kid. 

To be fair, you’d never been told that Halloween is actually a pretty popular holiday in the BAU.

You were careful not to sit on your long tan cardigan as you sat down, only remembering to pull your cell out the back pocket of your jeans after you sat on the damn thing.  Just a few months ago, you only needed it a few times a month.  Now, if you went five minutes without it, you missed something massive.

You were still looking for a damn pen when Reid showed up for the day, catching you by surprise when he snuck up on Morgan, but you started giggling while the other profiler just barely kept from cursing and glared at the genius.  Prentiss joined in on the giggles, smiling wide at the scene. 

“Happy All Hallows Eve folks,” he greeted with a grin as he pulled the Frankenstein mask with a grin.  It looked like he couldn’t decide what he wanted to dress up as when he reached the office, between the monster gloves and decorative noose hanging around his neck on top of the mask.  You didn’t even know what he had in that paper bag.  “To paraphrase from Celtic mythology, tomorrow night all order is suspended, and the barriers between the natural and the supernatural are temporarily removed – Oooo”

Morgan was the only one who wasn’t laughing as Reid grabbed the shrunken head decoration out of the paper bag in his arm and tossed it to Prentiss, who caught it with an excited yelp and grinned at the silly decoration before putting it on her desk for the day.

“See, that right there is why Halloween creeps me out,” Morgan disapproved of the entire holiday, he always had.

“You’re scared of Halloween?” Reid found the idea baffling.  Who would be scared of Halloween?  He put the paper bag down and tossed each of you a piece of candy, so you grabbed the little bowl of candy on your desk and scooted across the aisle to offer some to Prentiss and Reid.

“I didn’t say I was scared I said I was creeped out.”  That struck a nerve.  Morgan was going to make sure you guys didn’t think he was scared of a holiday.  “There’s a difference there, youngster, you should look it up.”

“You might have a better argument if you weren’t in your thirties and already calling grown adults youngster, like a crazy old man using a baseball bat to chase kids off his lawn,” you deadpanned, entirely unimpressed and unafraid to push Derek’s buttons, scooting your chair back to your desk.  “If you call me whipper-snapper, I’m kicking your ass.”

“What creeps you out about it?” Prentiss asked, still highly amused from watching the rest of you.  She knew unique was a requirement to work in the BAU, but sometimes she wondered if crazy was a requirement too.  She was there…so it was entirely possible.

“I dunno.  People wearing masks.  I don’t like folks in disguises.”

“That’s the best thing about Halloween,” Reid argued, “You can be anyone you want to be.”

“Nah, I’m pretty good just being me.”

You and Prentiss shared a look, she spoke up before you did with, “I’m guessing your as surprised by those points of view as I am.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

If you’d known what Morgan was going to say next, you would have called off that morning.  Or the week…maybe the rest of the month…

You loved Derek, you did, but sometimes he’d say things that just made you cringe.

“You know what, though?  On the flip side, it does provide a pretty good reason to cozy up with a scary flick, and a little Halloween honey.”  His finger-gun, smirk, and the wink matched with a click of his tongue was all aimed at Prentiss, but you found yourself shuddering and gagging at it all the same.

“Congratulations, Derek, now everyone is creeped out,” you grimaced before turning back to your work, only for your attention to be grabbed once again as Reid nodded to the main doors of the BAU, where Section Chief Strauss was leading Rossi – the David Rossi – through the bullpen and to Hotch’s office.  Reid just managed to yank of the mask that was still sitting atop his head and tucked it under his arm just before they walked by.

On the off chance either Rossi or Strauss heard any of that, it could have been worse.

…One of you could have shot them…

************

An office space above ground, a communications liaison, two doctors that had to be in their mid-twenties, a jet…a lot of things had changed since the last time Rossi had retired – even without the fact that there weren’t enough people in the BAU to work in teams, and he had yet to meet Garcia.  And when the hell did the BAU start hiring profilers from a modeling agency?  Rossi was far from the man he’d been when he started out, being the reason there were seminars warning against fraternization in the first place, but he wasn’t blind either. 

Everyone filed into the round-table room, where JJ was laying out copies of the file for everyone with the blank notepads at each seat, leaving pens as well.  You couldn’t help but briefly wonder where all your pens had gone off to.  You had a whole pack of colored pens, you liked to make your own notes in colored pens.  There was no color-coding involved, you just preferred to use colors like aqua, green, purple, even pink or orange on occasion.  Just for the fun of it.  You still had a handful of black pens for official documents, but most of what you wrote by hand were personal notes scribbled down as you went through a file before writing up a report, whether it be your report on a BAU case or writing up a profile requested by a local department or field office.

You let Reid borrow a red one from your stash and…

Did he…

“Carrollton, Texas is a suburb just outside of Dallas.  Four days ago Micelle Colucci found this flier on her front door,” JJ started to brief the rest of you as you found your seats around the table, keeping an eye on the screen as she pulled up an image of the flier.  It was fairly simple, wouldn’t take anything more complicated than Microsoft Word to make – let alone Paint or Photoshop – just a cropped image of her with the text ‘have you seen me?’ in bold at the top.

“She found it?” Morgan was the first to voice the question you were all thinking.

“Meaning, she wasn’t actually missing?” Prentiss questioned herself.  This case was bizarre from the start, you had to admit that much.

“Yet,” JJ continued, “She took the flier to a friend’s husband, Detective Yarbrough, at the Carrolton P.D., who told her it was probably just a Halloween Prank, and he sent her home.”

“Well, I don’t blame him,” Morgan shot a look to Reid, still not quite over what had happened in the bullpen, “Halloween brings out the fool in everybody.”

That was tough talk for a guy scared of little kids dressed up as fictional characters and asking for candy.

“Still,” JJ stepped in before it became a whole thing, she’d caught bits and pieces of the conversation in the bullpen as she set up for the meeting, “He stopped by Michelle’s house later to check on her.  Thee door was open, and wen he went inside, he found this.”

The photos of the scene inside the house flicked onto the screen one by one.  The wall was covered in copies of the same flyer Michelle found on her door.  Then there was the mask laid out.  A simple white face-mask with one written at the top in red paint, it was too red to be blood.

“He still thought maybe it could be some kind of prank, until yesterday.”  JJ brought up pictures of the dump site, “Michelle was found floating in a small creek just outside of Carrollton.  She had been sexually assaulted…and her face had been removed.”

“Removed?” Rossi questioned for more details, “Was it animals or fish?”

“No, that cut’s too smooth,” you immediately recognized when you saw the picture of Michelle’s head, years of training, digs, and assisting the FBI from the Medico-Legal lab in Boston kicking in, instinctual like you were looking at a bookshelf and identifying what it was.  You grabbed your pen and got up to get a closer look at the photo, deciphering what you could without the actual body, chewing on the end of the pen a little before tilting your head and tracing the cuts in the air just a few inches from the screen.  There were copies of the photos in the file, but the image on the screen was a bit larger and had the backlight of the screen illuminating it, and you thought better on your feet anyway.

“Any insight into what he used or what his skill level is?” Hotch asked, the team watching as most of them knew what you were doing up there.  Rossi had, to his defense, no idea what your exact specialization or doctorate was in.  He knew you were Dr. Castillo, like he knew Reid was Dr. Reid, but beyond that he hadn’t a clue.

“I might be able to tell what he used when we get there, but there’s minimal bone exposed so the chances of narrowing it down to an exact type of blade are slimmer than usual and I’m willing to bet it would be a waste of time, especially since we have no sense of the unsub’s cooldown period.  I can say it doesn’t look like he cut all the way through the skin in some places, so while he was careful I’m still willing to bet he has no professional training.”  You slid back into your seat at the table, laying out your plan to meet up with the M.E. when the team got to Carrolton before getting back to the team.

“The M.E. also found water in her lungs,” JJ finished up with the rest of the findings as you took a seat, just a moment before Garcia rushed into the meeting room to catch up with the rest of the team.

“Oh my god,” Garcia froze and brought up the file of information Hotch asked for to block her view of the gruesome photograph on the screen, “What is that?”

“Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia,” Hotch introduced her to Rossi, everyone’s attention brought up to the squeamish hacker who had the misfortune of walking in while the worst of the photos was on the screen, something JJ quickly rectified.  “This is SSA David Rossi.”

“Is it gone, JJ?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” JJ reassured as she sat down at the table, “You’re safe.”

“Just to, um…” Garcia was still a bit shaky as she lowered the file and addressed the team, looking down at it as she held it in both hands before giving it to Hotch, “Carrollton, Texas, has nearly 117,000 residents, a diverse population with a – it’s all in there.”

Garcia took a pause before stepping forward to shake Rossi’s hand, putting on a smile even though she was still shaken from the image and just wanted to get back to her realm to recuperate, to chase that image out of her head.  “Very nice to meet you, sir…I’ll be in my office.”

She stopped half-way out the door before remembering to close the door behind her, leaving with one last sorry.

That was…that was a pretty bad introduction.  Derek ducked a little in his seat and hid behind his hand in his own embarrassment for her, baby girl could do better than that, as the rest of you offered sympathetic grimaces or furrowed brows towards the door, hoping Rossi would forget about that.

“She’s different,” Rossi aimed his comment, more an observation as there was nothing judgmental about it, to Hotch.  There was only one good response to that.

“You have no idea.”  Hotch wished there had been at least a bit of time to give Rossi a heads-up on dealing with the rest of the team.  Not that any of you were bad or difficult, you were just…odd in your own ways.  Rossi hadn’t even seen the half of it in this meeting.

“Uh, so, the unsub tells her she’s going to go missing to psychologically torture her, then tortures her physically.”  Prentiss returned the focus to the case and started on the basics of a profile.  “Clearly, a sadist.”

“A sophisticated one,” Hotch warned the rest of you.  You had to be careful, more careful than normal.  “That’s elaborate.”

“Number one…” Morgan had been looking at the photo of the mask for a bit, a few moments opposed to the one he’d taken to look over the other photos.

“That particular mask is known as a false face,” Reid informed the rest of you, “It’s most commonly worn during Halloween and Mardi Gras.”

“Creepy,” Morgan retorted as he dropped the handful of photographs back onto the table, “I rest my case.”

“He could believe she wears a false face, she’s pretending to be something she’s not and the face we all see is a mask,” you proposed, there was a reason behind the mask.  It was rare for unsubs to go through something this elaborate without a reason.

“Oh, and Hotch,” JJ wanted to give this one warning before even leaving the office, as it could wildly change any plan of attack, “Local media has the story, broke big.”

“Tell Carrollton we’ll be there first thing in the morning.  Let’s stop this one at one.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Masks and Riverbanks

You could have just bought another pack of pens, your average adult would have, but you weren’t about to do that.  You were going to get your pens back, and you also weren’t about to let Reid go anywhere near your pens ever again.  You were already working on a retaliation.  It would require stealth, more stealth than showing up early or staying late at the office, but you felt you could pull it off.  Reid did seem to prefer hardcover books over paperback…

If you had your Kindle with you, it would make for quite the punchline…

You hadn’t originally planned on going this far, but it’s not like it was a secret that you were emotionally attached to your colored pens.  You used them for everything!  The pink heart tattoo on the underside of your left wrist started out as something you’d regularly scribble onto your arm when you were in Guatemala.  Your mentor – Dr. Amelia Hannigan – had brought you along on a dig with a group of other Forensic Anthropologists to identify victims of the genocide during the civil war.  Sarajevo was hardly the only dig you’d been on, that was hardly a secret, it was just the only one Derek knew the details of.

It wasn’t the same pack of pens, and honestly losing them was like misplacing a tube of Chapstick as it was mildly irritating and a little inconvenient but hardly harmful, but those were nice pens.  They were felt-tip, never dried out, the ink didn’t smudge, there was a wide variety of vibrant colors that were really pretty…

You’d get your pens back, and have your vengeance.

“Let’s go over victimology,” Hotch began the briefing on the jet after everyone gathered around the table, either sitting at the table, you were leaning against the side of Prentiss’ seat, and Hotch was leaning back against the bar.  Everyone but Rossi, who had tucked himself into the far corner of the jet, alone, at one of the smaller tables.  He seemed distracted by something.  “Would you like to join us, Dave?”

“Reid, what have you got?” Hotch started things off.  Reid had already finished reading through the case file hours before the rest of you.

“Uh, Michelle Colucci was single, lived alone, no boyfriend, and no ex-husband,” he started off listing the characteristics that should have kept Michelle safe.

“Dating?” Prentiss asked, wondering if Michelle could have caught the unsub’s attention that way.

“There’s nothing in the reports,” Morgan answered without looking up from the series of photographs.  You had pulled the M.E.’s report out and focused on that, on top of the post-mortem photographs of Michelle herself.  Gruesome as it was, this was another one of those cases that might require use of your specific training.

“She was an architect.  Friends and coworkers say she’s a classic workaholic,” JJ added to the growing victimology, listing things that should have made Michelle safe.  “Basically, a loner who rarely went out of the house.”

“So, she’s extremely low risk,” Prentiss concluded.

“If it wasn’t someone she knew personally, it’s possible she was being stalked,” Reid proposed a connection between Michelle and the unsub.

“Interesting…”

“What’s that?”

All eyes turned to Rossi, having just mused aloud as he began writing in his pocket notebook, looking up at the rest of you when Reid had asked just what the older profiler was thinking.  You all shared looks, save for Hotch, as you all silently agreed on the same thing.  Rossi, whether he was used to working on a team or not, clearly wasn’t a natural team player.  He was obviously here for his own reasons, and those reasons were enough for him to endure working with the rest of you for the time being, but that didn’t mean he was going to put a lot of effort into being a team player – if any.

“Oh, I’m just thinking out loud.”

“Something to add?”  Hotch tried to get Rossi to share what he was thinking, as this was highly out of character.  Rossi had asked a few questions about the team in private.  What your specialties were, if anyone was cleared to enter with a SWAT team, when each of you had started, basic information that would help give him an idea of the team dynamic.  That much made sense, but remaining this quiet and reserved – even if he had just join the team that morning – was out of character.

“No.  Sorry to interrupt.”

“Well, she’s pretty.”  Morgan just went back to the case, that was all you could do at the moment and there was nothing telling you what the unsub’s cooldown period was.  Clearly, he was planning on attacking again, the question was when.  “It could be that the unsub met her casually and made her part of some kind of fantasy.”

“And he tries to act on it and she rejects them?” Hotch completed the potential idea, more like he was making sure that’s where Morgan was going than agreeing.  Nothing was solid at the moment, and it was rare for the team to arrive with a profile ready to go.

“So, he tortures her,” Prentiss adds to the growing theory, “Out of anger?”

“Masks often represent a state of mind, this one’s blank, expressionless.”  Reid turned the attention back to the mask, something that could tell you chapters about the unsub but could also mean must about anything.  “Doesn’t really coincide with anger.”

“Assuming mutilation to the body is automatically a sign of anger is a bit of a jump,” you agreed with the other doctor, “As bizarre or gory as it is, it could easily be more about the message or making a point.  The cuts might not be professional, but they’re still neat and careful.  If he’d done it in a rage, he would have made mistakes, skinned down to the bone in more places, cut into the eyes, tendons would be ripped in places…”

“Hey guys,” Garcia jumped in after opening a video-chat on the open laptop, sitting on the table back against the wall of the jet.

“What’s up?  You got something for us?” Morgan greeted, everyone turning their attention to Garcia in the hopes she’d found something else for you to work with.

“A list of Michelle Colucci’s clients.  She designed office space,” Garcia brought up a list of clients, and their contact information, onto your screen and continued to fill you in.  “She designed office space, mostly bog corporate remodeling plans.”

“No private clients, one-on-one contact?”  Hotch was hoping to dig something out from Michelle’s work, especially since that was where she spent most of her time and energy.

“Doesn’t look like it, no.”

“Thanks baby girl.”

Well…this was going well…

************

You’d all just arrived, and there was already news of a second victim.  Enid White from the Dallas Metro area, her roommate had called Dallas P.D. earlier in the morning when Enid never arrived home after walking her dog the night before.  You all skipped the introductions as Detective Yarbrough filled the rest of you in as you gathered around his desk.

“So, she is missing,” Reid concluded as you all prepared to work against the clock.

“Well, he wallpapered the neighborhood with fliers for two blocks around their apartment.”

“Outside, that’s different,” Morgan caught onto the fact that the unsub was changing his M.O. already.  It could be nothing, just an unsub adapting their M.O. in the beginning of their killing career, or it could be everything, like Enid managed to slip away and the unsub had to adapt his methods.

“No one saw him putting them up?”  Prentiss found that part particularly unbelievable.  Someone was posting missing flyers the entire Dallas area knew were connected to at least one gruesome and terrifying murder, and nobody even saw them?  While neighborhoods tended to become hyper vigilant and paranoid when they found out a killer was in their midst, to the point of potentially attacking anyone who seemed slightly out of the norm, they also tended to spot everything.  They were actively looking for things that didn’t fit, and the fact that nobody spotted the unsub was just weird.

“Dallas P.D. is still canvassing, but nothing so far,” the detective filled you in, “They’re waiting for you on the new scene.”

“Mind if I keep this?”  Hotch held a copy of the new flyer in hand, already prepared to split up the team and hit the ground running.  There was no time to waste.

“Not at all.”

“Morgan, you and Prentiss go to Michelle Colucci’s house.  JJ and I will talk to Enid’s roommate.  Dave, do you mind walking the disposal site with the detective, Castillo, and Reid?”

“Whatever you need.”

“We’ll regroup in an hour.”

************

You left your sweater in the car, leaving you in a gray U-neck t-shirt just warm enough for the Texas fall weather.  You immediately tied your hair up and grabbed a pair of gloves from the car before tucking them into your pocket and following the detective to the dump site.

“We went over this area pretty thoroughly,” Yarbrough warned as he led the rest of you through the brush, “There’s no evidence left.”

“I just want to stand where she was,” Rossi reassured the detective, though immediately changed the subject to something that caught your attention.  “Dr. Reid, do we still keep all the old files in the fourth-floor storeroom?”

“I think some are up there – you know, most of our information’s on computer now.”

“Right…”

“Have you had a chance to go through our data since you’ve been back?”  Reid was, arguably, the most excited about Rossi’s return to the BAU and joining the team.  It…it kind of concerned you.  It wasn’t exactly a secret that Reid looked up to Gideon as a mentor and father-figure, or that his own father had run out on him when he was a kid.  Going through that experience once can leave someone scrambling for purchase, but going through it a second-time could leave someone wildly unsure of everything about themselves and trying to find something familiar.  For someone with Reid’s self-esteem, even if it was unrightfully low, would openly welcome the presence of someone to look up to.

It wasn’t so much that Rossi clearly had no intention of making friends that worried you, it was the fact that Reid just didn’t need a mentor.  Yeah, sure, you’d only sort of worked with Gideon once months ago, but you still held firm to the opinion that Reid was a better profiler than the famed agent.  If you thought there was a chance Reid was just some kid in need of guidance, you never would have goaded him into a long-standing prank war to begin with.

“Not yet.”

“You’ll be amazed.”  Reid was rightfully proud.  “The original team – I mean, you interviewed something like, uh, 45 serial killers, right?”

“Something like…”

“Today we have interviews with over 1,000 offenders.  Serial killers, child abductors, sex offenders – “ Reid listed off before offering, “I’ll go through it with you sometime if you like, answer any questions – “

“Sounds good.”

The four of you stopped at the bank, though during your time at the Medico-Legal lab in Boston you’d learned it could just as much about the area around the spot the body was found as much as everything else.  You took a few careful steps, brown low-heeled boots almost reaching your knee and worn-in, before slipping around and through a few smaller trees and broken branches before crouching and balancing on a larger tree that had fallen over and reached to the middle of the river.  It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to from your time as an intern, that was part of the reason Hannigan needed good interns in the first place.  She couldn’t go crawling around dump sites with both a bad knee and shoulder.  So, you’d crawl and climb around collecting evidence, taking photographs, even collecting the occasional severed limb from a tree.

“Her body was found right here…” Yarbrough was wracked with guilt as he stared at the river bank, “I really thought it was a prank.”

“You can’t really blame yourself for that,” Reid tried to offer the detective some solace, that it wasn’t Yarbrough’s fault.

“She made herself dinner…”

“Excuse me?”  Reid knew he wasn’t going to be able to convince Yarbrough none of this was the detective’s fault.  That kind of guilt doesn’t just go away overnight, assuming it ever does, but the profiler wasn’t quite sure what Yarbrough was referring to, what bothered him about the fact that Michelle had made herself dinner for the night.

“I mean she was home for a while before he…there was time to help her.”

“Water…hides a body, destroys evidence,” Rossi thought aloud as he walked along the bank, reaching the tree you were crouched on as you took a look at the river itself, “But you weren’t in the water long, where you Michelle?”

“The water’s deep,” you spoke up as you tossed the stick you’d been using to try and measure the depth of the river before tossing it into the river.

“She had rocks tied to her to weigh her down,” Yarbrough supported your conclusion, but there was more to it than that.

“She floated to the surface before there was any other damage,” Reid pointed out the short period of time Michelle was submerged, especially since she wasn’t supposed to resurface.  The unsub had made a mistake in trying to weigh her down.

“Just what was done to her already.”

“The unsub screwed up trying to weigh her down enough to sink,” you explained the point to the detective, getting up and making your way back to shore as Rossi began to scribble in his notepad once again.  He used differently colored pens, but he’d put one back before grabbing another one at time – like it wasn’t the pen he wanted.  There was a color-coding to his note-taking.  He was working on something, working on theories he wasn’t sharing with the rest of the team.  “He didn’t want Michelle to be found, and with the symbology of the mask it’s a safe assumption that he didn't pick Michelle at random.”

Reid quickly caught onto the conclusion you were leading to.  The Green River Killer didn’t care if the bodies were found because he had no connection to them.  This unsub tried to hide Michelle’s body in the river, he didn’t want her to be found even if everyone knew she was taken.  A forensic countermeasure.

“He has a connection to her.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Pushing And Charming

Hotch and JJ returned to the precinct after you did with Reid, Rossi, and Yarbrough.  Morgan and Prentiss were still at Michelle’s house, while Garcia continued to search for Enid White in the hopes that she had taken off her own volition after seeing the news story about Michelle.  The first victim was kept for three days and found on the fourth meaning that – if Enid was kidnapped – there were only three days to find her before it was too late.  Rossi remained glued to his notepad, saying nothing as he flipped through the few pages of what he had so far.

Only a few short moments after sharing what you’d found with Hotch, Garcia called with some news regarding Enid White.

“I’ve been running all of Enid White’s credit cards.”

That wasn’t a surprise, Garcia was nothing if not thorough in her job, but like the rest of you Hotch knew that Garcia wouldn’t call if she hadn’t found something.

“And?”

“She made a purchase at 9 am this morning at a sporting goods store in Dallas.”

“This morning?” Hotch questioned.

“What did she buy?”  Reid had a point to ask, the item purchased could give you some insight into whether she was using her card or the unsub was using it.

“A shotgun.”

“She can buy a gun that easily?”  You couldn’t believe Hotch even had to ask, it’s like he completely forgot where you were.

“Hotch, this is Texas,” you reminded, giving him a deadpan expression as you leaned back against Yarbrough’s desk as you and Reid had been trying to narrow down exactly where Michelle had been dumped using a map pulled up on the detective’s computer.

“There’s no waiting period for most rifles or shotguns,” Rossi elaborated with the specific standing of gun laws in the state of Texas.

“Is there video surveillance of gun sales in sporting goods stores?” Hotch turned his question towards the detective.

“There’s supposed to be.”

“JJ call the store, find out if it was Enid or the unsub using the credit card.”

“Right away,” JJ nodded before stepping away to use a phone and get hold of the store, prepared to negotiate if she had to.  She wasn’t gone more than a second before a uniformed officer let Yarbrough know he had call from a woman.

A woman claiming to be Enid White.

************

Less than a half hour before getting to the motel room Enid was waiting at, and she was already taken.  The flyers were thrown around the room, instead of hung up like at Michelle’s house, and the mask in the center of the bed had two written on the forehead.  The unsub knew authorities were on the way, sitting outside the motel with a cell interceptor he likely bought from a local electronics store for a couple of bucks and waiting for Enid to call the hotline number.  He wanted to keep the mask between him and the authorities, the one thing that the media hadn’t blasted all over the news because they didn’t know about it.

There was enough for a profile.

The unsub was a white male, roughly average height at 5’11” and average weight at about 165.  The unsub was remarkably average.  Bizarrely so as even after the media coverage of the case nobody in Enid White’s neighborhood could describe the man they’d seen putting up the flyers around the neighborhood.  His plans were sophisticated and by waiting and watching his victims he proved his patience, even in the way he waited three days before killing them.  This made him dangerous, but it also meant he was somewhere between 35 and 40 years old.  He had access to a house, that’s where he held Michelle and it’s where he was holding Enid.  He was also relatively technically savvy, he made the flyers in a day when Microsoft Word was notoriously finnicky and used a cell interceptor to listen in on Enid’s calls.

Not only did this man look average, but he was average at work as well.  He had an average job, his performance was average, and he didn’t stick out.  That was part of his problem, his psychopathy.  Most people go throughout the day and ignore most people they deal with.  You ignore other shoppers at the mall, people in the coffee shop line, even just walking past people in the same place you work.  Unlike most people, the unsub took that as a personal offense – especially when he was ignored by the poor woman who became the object of his sexual desire.  He obsessed, she became all he could think about, and then he’d attack out of a rage from being ignored.  While the masks referred to the women, the phrase ‘have you seen me?’ on the flyers referred to the unsub.

He removed his victims’ faces because it gave him a sense of power, he was removing the thing he thought made them notable, and while that sense of power made him arrogant it didn’t make him any more noticeable.  The plan was to try and get the unsub to contact the authorities, especially since it looked like he wanted to communicate with them anyway.  He went out of his way to make sure the masks remained between him and the authorities –

Until Rossi leaked it to the press.

Well, sort of.  He leaked the masks, and then lied to the press saying you thought the masks mean the unsub is impotent.

So, not only did you have a ticking timebomb of an unsub about to call at any moment, you had Hotch pulling Rossi aside to lecture him and Rossi – being the senior agent and one of the men responsible for turning the BAU into what it was – did not appreciate that.  To top things off, the local department already growing frustrated with the case was noticing that the team was having a little trouble communicating at the same time Rossi’s little slip to the press made it look like the FBI was showing up to make the locals look like idiots.

The rest of you managed to end the meeting and dismiss the officers without further incident, before heading into the meeting room set aside for the team’s use.  You called Garcia to fill her in, she was scanning through both Michelle and Edith’s history to find something that connected the two, and found a single tech company.

“Garcia,” Morgan greeted on the desk phone put on speaker after JJ returned from grabbing Hotch and Rossi, “Talk to us.”

“So, Michelle Colucci recently drew up the plans for a remodel of three floors of a company called Techco Communications.  It’s a high-tech communications company in downtown Dallas.”

“And Enid White?” Hotch asked how the second victim fit into that discovery.

“Worked there until two months ago.”

“He’s on two,” Yarbrough didn’t wait to let the team know that as he stepped into the room, bringing everyone’s attention to him.

“The unsub?”  Hotch double-checked, to be sure.

“Demanded to speak to the FBI.”

Hotch looked to Rossi, deciding to trust his plan for now, and the rest of you followed Hotch’s lead.  That didn’t mean you trusted Rossi, but you trusted Hotch and he was taking that chance.

“This is FBI Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi.”

“You called me impotent.”  The unsub didn’t even have a voice that could be considered memorable, the man really was just…forgettable.  He was already irritated, though he was keeping his voice down like he was making sure he wasn’t heard by anyone around him.

“Did I?”  Rossi was pushing the unsub, because that was a good idea.

“I’m not impotent.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“You lied.  You lied.”

“Is someone around you?  Are you at work?”  That was the most likely scenario.  The unsub was, by his very definition, unnoticeable.  His performance at work was unnoticeable.  He wouldn’t call off work for days on end, he’d continue going like a dutiful employee.

“You have to tell the news the truth.”

“I’ll get you on the news and then you can correct me yourself.”

“No, you.  You – you correct it.”

“By the way, I was, um, looking at the police security tapes for the day Michelle Colucci went missing.”  Rossi was outright lying to the unsub now.  There were no tapes, that was the problem.  You’d been there when Rossi asked about the precinct security cameras, they didn’t work.  Profilers would know what to look for on those tapes, unremarkable man or not you’d recognize his behavior.  Tell that like to the wrong unsub, and that unsub would know you had nothing.  It was a risky lie, too risky considering the unsub had a woman in captivity.

“What?”

“You watched her long enough to know she didn’t have visitors.  She was a loner.  Yet you knew that Detective Yarbrough was coming over.  You must have been right here in this station when he told her.”  Rossi sat down and leaned closer to the phone.  “Now, your face is gonna be on one of those tapes, and when I find it, I’m gonna paper this city with it, just like you did with those women.  Everyone will see it.  They won’t be able to ignore you now.  But, you won’t inspire fear, you’ll inspire hatred and ridicule.”

While you remained standing out of nerves, reminding yourself you’d have to physically leap over both Prentiss and the table to stop Rossi, you noticed Derek was slouching back in his chair and clutching at the armrest of his chair with one hand, JJ had placed herself on the far side of the table from Rossi, Prentiss kept shooting looks at Hotch like she was waiting for him to say something, multiple times Reid had to stop himself from saying something because this was just a bad idea, and even Hotch was leaning forward to stop Rossi.  Experienced profiler or not, things weren’t the same as the last time he was in the field.  You had more data, more studies, more information that told you this kind of behavior was a horrible idea and was much more likely to end in another dead body.

“Because the only power someone like you has is a mask, and once that mask is removed, you’ll be as insignificant as you’ve always been – a loser!”

There was a brief silence before –

“You just signed Enid White’s death warrant.”

************

You remained huffy during the hurried drive to the Techco building, the team split up into two FBI suburbans and driving with a line of marked and unmarked cars, sirens running and lights flashing.  He had outright lied, left the team scrambling to catch up, and played a risky gamble that might end up with Edith White dead.  Even Hotch, an old friend of Rossi’s, was at the end of his rope and losing his patience.

The building had been locked down, but that didn’t guarantee the unsub was still there.

“Garcia, which floors did Michelle Carlucci remodel?  Got it – 7, 8, 9.” Hotch hung up and tucked his phone back into his pocket, everyone who worked in the building held inside by the police lockdown, everyone tucked into the lobby as they waited to leave and murmured amongst each other as they tried to figure out what was going on.  “Morgan, take 7.  We’re looking for a rank-and-file employee who made a scene in the last 20 minutes or was here and gone.  Prentiss eight, Reid nine, Castillo stay down here and see if you can pick him out of the crowd.  Don’t approach him, just try to get a name – maybe a picture.”

The four of you went your own ways, three of you heading towards the elevators as you stepped away to mingle with the crowd.  You spotted as Rossi and Hotch pulled out their badges and hung them off their suit jackets, looking at the flyer of Edith Hotch had in his jacket pocket like they were looking for the person on it.  Practically everyone was in the lobby, bets were he was there.  You sifted through, eyes darting around as you looked for a white male who fit the description of the unsub, narrowing it down to someone who looked like he was on edge.  You left your badge in your pocket, looking around – too tall, too short, too fit, too pretty, too calm, laughing –

Bingo.

You weaved through the crowd, catching Hotch and patting him on the arm and catching both his and Rossi’s attention before they followed your line of sight and the three of you made your way through the crowd as the unsub made his way back down a side hall.  You all split up, cornering the end of the hall as the unsub headed down it, Hotch’s cell ringing only once before he answered it, eyes still glued to the man trying to make an escape.  “Yeah Reid…Got it.”

“Sir,” Rossi called after the man, the both of you with your hands on your guns, and the unsub didn’t stop.  Hotch took the few steps to catch up to the both of you, the three of you unholstering your weapons and preparing for a shootout as the unsub walked past the elevators.  “Sir.”

“Max Pool,” Hotch called after him, getting the man to stop in his tracks.  “We have your address, Max, there’s no place to go.”

“This is Agent Rossi, Max.  If you do what you’re thinking, you won’t get to tell them I lied,” Rossi tried to convince the unsub – Max Pool – to hand himself over instead of trying to fight it or run.  “Come on, Max, slowly put your hands on top of your head.”

The guys trying to talk this guy down wasn’t going to work, so you decided to try and charm him into it.  “If you fight you’ll be forgotten the second someone else moves into that cubicle.  You come with us, and you’ll be remembered, studied even, people won’t know if you were forgettable by happenstance or on purpose.”

It was working, he was taking a pause, he was shifting his stance and was raising his arms – then the elevator dinged and Morgan started to step off, Max’s hand immediately reaching for his gun.  For what, you didn’t know, but there wasn’t a chance to think about it.

“Down!” Hotch ordered, and Morgan immediately dropped and rolled as he yanked his own gun out of its holster, guns firing as Max turned to face the rest of you.

Here’s to hoping Edith was at Max Pool’s house.

************

If, during your undergrad years, someone had come to you and told you the most useful thing you’d learn seeking your graduate degree would be how to charm someone, you would have thought they were insane.  Of course, that would have been long before the days when charm and a smile could be the only thing keeping you and the others identifying victims of a genocide from being shot by the soldiers under the command of the same government that committed the aforementioned genocide against the Mayan population.

It had almost worked, but happenstance had other plans and the team was left sighing in relief as Edith White was found at Max Pool’s address and rushed to a hospital.  Children were drawn to the lights of the police and FBI vehicles, dressed in costumes to trick-or-treat for the night, and even Morgan had to admit the kids were cute in their costumes.  With his sugar intake, you weren’t even surprised that Reid had candy in his satchel, though…he left it open so everyone could hand out candy…

“Hey – hey,” Reid protested as you reached into his bag after handing out the first handful of candy, “What are you doing?”

“I handed out all my candy and – what’s this?” you feigned shock as you pulled out a handful of pens.  Colorful felt-tip pens.  Your pens.  “Why, these look like my pens Dr. Reid, but what would you be doing with my pens?”

“I was gonna give them back!” he defended, “I figured out I needed more colors than just red.”

“To what?  Drive me insane?” you countered, knowing you’d caught the doctor red-handed, and he knew it too.  So, he shrugged and admitted it.

“Yeah.”  He smiled, rather proud of himself as you narrowed your eyes at him and gave him a half-hearted glare.  It was all part of the prank war, fun and games, but that didn’t mean you were going to just let him get away with it.  Sure, you deserved retaliation, and he probably held back considering he was still finding glitter around his desk, but your pens?

“You crossed into sacred territory, doctor.  You’re gonna regret that.”

He tucked his hands in his pockets, giving a half-assed shrug.  He was confident, which was a good thing honestly, and you liked that you already got to see this side of him - for whatever reason.  The clever man who drew a lot of amusement from a friendly prank war.

“To use your own words, doctor, bring it.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here

“Okay, I see your argument,” you continued the debate as you mixed another batch of mojitos for you and Penelope during a commercial break.  The two of you had a regular date every Tuesday, you’d pick up some takeout and head to your apartment to drink and watch TV.  Though, you were careful.  Most Tuesdays gave way to a Wednesday the both of you had to be at the office.  “But I raise you this, Sam’s hair.”

“Pretty hair?  Dean’s voice is like sex,” Penelope argued as you made your way back to the couch and took the drink you offered.

“Someone’s clearly never dated a guy with good hair before,” you snorted as you lifted the tall glass holding your mojito to your lips, distinctly recalling a boyfriend from a few years ago that had amazing hair.  You had been jealous, but then you had free reign to play with it all you wanted and just didn’t care that he woke up with amazing hair while you had to go through a whole routine to keep yours from frizzing up and becoming unmanageable.  Just brushing your hair was a workout.  Long and thick hair comes with a price.  “Have you ever pulled on a guy’s hair during sex?  It’s like flipping a switch and everything becomes all growls, sex bites, and kinks from there.”

“But every guy?” Penelope was a bit skeptical.  That sounded great, amazing even, but…

“You’re questioning this?” you countered, it was unlike your friend to be so cautious about something like that.  You’d had a series of conversations on similar topics, and every time it had been giggles and laughs as the two of talked.  Hell, last weekend you’d had a drunken conversation with Emily – JJ had gone out of town for the weekend to visit the boyfriend she thought none of you knew about – about what you thought the guys on the team were like during sex.  “What are you thinking?”

“Well…when we were talking about the guys last weekend you said all the smart guys were dated were really creative and guaranteed to give you an orgasm every time,” Penelope recalled the conversation, as the three of you had been laughing and debating over drinks on your balcony late into the night.  Out of all the sleepovers she’d had during her life, even those she’d had as a kid, that one was the best.

“Yeah, smarter guys tend to be more attentive, test things out and adapt, and in my experience getting their partner off gets them off,” you explained, sitting back against the armrest of your couch as the commercial break continued.  “Part of it is sort of topical too, considering it’s fairly recently that society is catching up on the fact that it’s the smart people that control everything and not the jocks.  Basically, you’re taking the nerd that was completely out of control as the underdog their entire life and fully aware of the fact that their control over a situation is based on their control over themselves and how they react, like calculating moves in a chess game, which is why they’re generally just better at controlling a situation.  They calculate the reactions to their own actions and go from there.  That’s what makes them more dangerous than the typical alpha male where the strategy is aggression and punching things.  So, when the rare occasion comes up where they can directly control a situation comes up, they have a field day with it.”

Garcia nodded along, profilers will be profilers, before voicing the thing that had been on her mind after you brought up the whole hair thing.  “Yeah…you’ve seen Reid’s hair, though, right?”

She wasn’t attracted to Reid, he was easily her favorite nerd and a great guy, but no.

The two of you paused for a moment, putting the two conversations together.

You only had one reaction to that.

“Well…huh…”

************

“What the hell are you doing?” Derek had to ask.  The second you arrived for the morning, you looked around the bullpen before grabbing your bag and launching your desk chair across the aisle and started digging through the other doctor’s things before fussing around with two different piles of books – one of which you’d pulled out of your bag.

“Shhhh!” you hissed before getting back to work snatching another book jacket and wrapping it around a book the same size as the book you’d snatched it from, “I spent an entire month planning my revenge, I’m making for damn sure he never steals my pens again.  So, you can either keep lookout, or stay the hell out of it.”

Prentiss just shrugged, deciding to stay out of it herself, and Derek just shook his head before getting up to get some coffee as you kicked your rolling-chair back across the aisle to your desk just as the genius entered the office for the morning – half awake as he normally was.  Derek wasn’t about to get involved, he wasn’t going to ask, he was just going to stay out of the lengthy prank war that had no sign of ending any time soon.

JJ was in a rush as she called the rest of you to the meeting room, only saying it was a bad one as the rest of you got up to follow.

“Bridgewater, Florida.  A local girl, Abby Kelton, 19, left her parents’ home to go to the local junior college.  She never came home,” JJ started as soon as everyone was gathered, still taking their seats around the table before she finished as pictures of Abby at the dump site were displayed on the screen.  “Three days later, joggers found her – part of her – in a nearby park.”

Her bottom half was just gone, cut off at the waist.  Her throat was slashed and a pentagram was carved into her chest.  She was obviously dead before being dumped.

“What did that to her?” Prentiss was talking about the fact you only had half of a body.  If it was the unsub…

“Bridgewater’s off of I-75, which is often referred to as Alligator Alley for reasons that are now apparent,” JJ motioned to the screen, specifically the picture that illustrated that Abby’s lower half was just gone.  “Everything below the waist had been eaten.”

“Ah, the circle of life,” Rossi commented on the nature-induced difficulty.

“Suddenly, I don’t feel so guilty about my Alligator wallet,” Prentiss added.

“Alligators didn’t cut off her fingers, slit her throat, or carve this into her chest.”  Hotch slid more detailed photographs, closer at multiple angles, across the table to the rest of you.  Morgan reached for the one of Abby on the M.E.’s table, focused on her head and the pentagram, while you grabbed a few of the other photographs the M.E. took to document findings.

“An inverted pentagram.”

“Some things never change.”  That was one thing Rossi had dealt with a lot during his first tenure at the BAU.  People faking a satanic cult as part of a murder.

“Killer satanic cults don’t exist.” Prentiss replied, turning to Rossi as she looked up from the photographs on the table, “They were debunked as a suburban myth.”

A brief silence took over the meeting room as you all looked at Prentiss in either pity or disbelief.

“What?”

“Rossi’s the one that debunked them,” Reid reminded her, the rest of you watching in amusement – despite the gruesome case that everyone knew the team needed to investigate – as Prentiss bore an embarrassed smile and turned to face the man who was arguably the most amused by all of this.

“Oh, right…thanks.”

“Cult or not, the killing was ritualized,” Rossi observed as he turned in his seat to look back at the pictures on the screen, “This will turn serial if it hasn’t already.”

“So, satanic cults don’t exist, but satanic serial killers do?” JJ questioned the rest of you.  It had been clear from the start the team was needed, immediately, but the details and complexities around satanic killings was something only people who needed to know in detail looked into.

“Lasciate ogni Speranza ch’entrate.”  Rossi recited in fluent Italian, getting up and lightly slapping the edge of his file on the table before leaving the meeting, preparing to leave for Florida.

“Topical,” you’d recognized the line from Dante’s Inferno, Italian wasn’t a far cry from the Spanish you’d been speaking as long as you could remember and had quickly picked it up during college, “That should probably be the Florida state motto.”

“Uh, it’s from Dante’s Inferno,” Reid filled everyone else in, interpreting the quote, “Abandon hope all ye who enter here.”

“So, that’s a yes,” JJ extrapolated the answer to her question from that, though a simple yes would have sufficed.

“A big yes,” Hotch warned before giving everyone the order to meet at the airstrip, soon, in order to get this under control as soon as possible.

************

You’d buried your excitement when you saw Reid tuck the books on his desk into his go-bag.  He likely wouldn’t have time to even look at them until the flight back home, but it would be worth it.

“We never found evidence of a killer satanic cult,” Rossi instructed the rest of you as everyone sat around the jet, a bit more spread out instead of crammed around the table.  Rossi had turned his seat at the far end of the jet to face the rest of you, you and Reid were comfortably on the couch instead of squeezed together with the others to try and see what was on the table, and it’s not like the jet was large enough that you’d have to yell across the cabin.  “In reality, there are only two types of violent satanic criminals.”

“Uh, type one – teen Satanists assume the satanic identity to rebel.  Minor crimes, theft, and vandalism to churches, schools, symbols of authority.”  Reid quoted Rossi’s book, word-for-word, feeling like the kid in class with all the answers.  “When combined with drugs and alcohol, they may turn violent.”

“Yes, in extreme cases, deadly.”  Rossi had been in the office for a few weeks, even heard a few things from Gideon, but Dr. Reid never ceased to surprise him.  “That was out of my book word-for-word.”

“Oh, trust us,” Morgan was just as surprised as the rest of you, which was to say not at all, and the rest of you just barely bothered to look up from your files to either shoot an amused smile at Reid or Rossi, “We know.”

“Killings are accidental, usually resulting from their hobby getting out of control.  Killings won’t turn serial – “ Reid continued until you reached over to pat his leg without even looking up from the open file in your lap.  You weren’t really thinking, just acting in impulse, and all Reid did was look down at your hand just before you pulled it away and he looked up at you for a second, recognizing the gentle signal to shush.

Morgan had to wonder…did you just find the off switch?

He looked up at Prentiss, JJ, and Hotch who were coming to the same conclusion.

You hadn’t even been in the BAU for six months, and not only had you and Reid quickly settled into a friendly prank war between shared interests and academic debates, but you’d also found a quiet signal to quiet him and invaded his personal space without the slightest sign he was uncomfortable.

“Alright,” Prentiss broke the short silence of realization before moving back to the case, “What’s type two?”

“The adaptive Satanist is the one you have to worry about,” Rossi warned, “The typical serial killer rationalizing his fantasies by blaming them on outside forces.”

“Like Satan,” JJ connected.

“Yes.  He adapts satanic beliefs to fit his specific homicidal drives,” Rossi further explained, summarizing it all.  “He doesn’t kill because he believes in Satan.  He believes in Satan because he kills.”

“Well, let’s hope it’s the teenagers.”  Hotch offered some hope that it might not be the worst case scenario, despite the evidence pointing to the unsub being an adaptive Satanist before offering a warning to the rest of you to keep your wits about you, “Whether you’re religious or not, the presence of satanic elements can affect even the most experienced investigators, and we’re not immune.  So, keep an eye on the locals, and keep an eye on each other.”

“Regular check-ins, make sure nobody loses their shit.”  You closed the file in your lap, putting it aside, “Got it.”

“My mother took us to church every Sunday until I moved out,” Morgan tried to reassure the rest of you he’d be fine, “This whole…devil thing doesn’t spook me at all.”

“Maybe it’s because you never truly bought the…god part either,” Reid offered an explanation, one that made sense.  Logic dictates if you believe in one, you have to believe the other.  That’s part of the religion, the battle between good and evil, and without the devil there is no evil to battle.

“No offense, kid, but you don’t know what I believe.”  Morgan was short of snapping at Reid, but he was defensive.  That comment about church as well…overcompensation for being spooked.  That was Derek’s go-to when he was shaken, you’d recognized it a lot over the years.  He was like a brother to you, but sometimes…sometimes he needed a little slap over the head – verbal or otherwise.

“The entire thing is based on the battle between good and evil, true faith in one requires at least respect of the other as a threat, if not outright fear,” you pointed out the logical flaw in his earlier claim, far safer from a backlash than anyone else on the jet, “The only way you can have no theological fear of the devil is if you don’t believe in the first place.”

“People’s reactions to Satan is what gives it appeal to these offenders,” Hotch stepped in as Derek shot a look at you, irritated that you couldn’t just leave it be for once, before things got worse.  The warning was for everyone, no matter your faith, as it wasn’t just you that could be affected.  It was everyone.

“It has power, and it would be a mistake to underestimate it.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Hope And Faith Don't Need Logic, They Just Need You

Hotch took you and Reid to the medical examiner’s office, for obvious reasons, to meet Detective Jordan while Morgan, Rossi, and JJ made their way to the local church to talk to Abby’s parents and the local priest.  You already had your hair tied back into a bun and blue gloves on your hands, sweater long-since abandoned after stepping off the jet into the Florida heat and leaving you in a sleeveless white button-up far more comfortable in the humidity.

“We found Abby’s car at a gas station near her home,” the detective filled the rest of you in, “No sign of foul play.  Dr. Fulton?”

“The gators got to her sometime during the night.  Her nose was broken at least 48 hours prior.”

“About the time of the abduction,” Prentiss put the pieces together.

“Blitz attack,” Hotch agreed.  You and Reid were listening, but you were more focused on Abby.  You were at the far end of the line, you’d peeked under the sheet to look at the bones that remained.  Specifically, at the edge, where her spine had been cut from the rest of her body before looking at the missing fingers on her hand.  The cuts…they were all clean.  Like they’d been cut by an instrument instead of bitten.

“What was the cause of death?” Reid questioned as you lowered the sheet, standing upright from leaning over to get a clear look of just what you were looking at.  He knew a lot of things, he knew the basics of things you looked at, but he wasn’t about to claim anything reaching the expertise and training you had.  The first thing Spencer Reid had ever learned was that there was always more to learn.

“Her throat,” the timid M.E. answered, “It was cut roughly eight hours prior to the discovery of the body.”

“No way to tell if there was any sexual assault.”  You pulled off the white latex gloves with a practiced precision before disposing of them in the red and white bin behind you.  “The base of the spine was cut, the edge is too smooth for it to have been bitten off.  I can’t say I know why, but the unsub did that, not local wildlife.”

Hotch nodded with your short report, that was why he took you to meet with the M.E., why you immediately checked in with the M.E. for every case and immediately introduced as a Forensic Anthropologist.  That was hardly the only thing you added to the team, and it was hardly a requirement for the team to have someone with your training, but it had become immensely helpful just on your first case with the team.

“The pentagram?” Hotch turned to the M.E.

“That was done postmortem.”

“And the fingers?”

“All severed at the first knuckle.”

“When?”

“I was unsure when the fingers were removed, until I found this,” the M.E. shifted his weight, uncomfortable with this part of the autopsy as he reached behind him to grab the metal bowl holding Abby’s stomach contents and placed them on the table.  “The contents of her stomach.  The condition indicates they were fed to her just prior to her death.”

You all peered inside the bowl, silent for a moment before Reid made the observation that let you know exactly what kind of unsub you were dealing with.

“All ten fingers…”

Adaptive Satanist it was, then.

Still…

There was something…odd about the fingers.  You asked to stay behind and take a look at them yourself, something the local M.E. was more than willing to let you do if it would keep him from becoming further involved in the case.  On the way back to the precinct, the others picked up Prentiss as Hotch also decided to stick around, and gave a quick update to compare notes. 

Abby’s stomach acid didn’t have long to work before she died, but it was powerful stuff, and then there was the state in which Abby was found in the first place.  Hotch remained in the waiting room just outside, staying out of the way, but Reid had remained with you in the lab.  Partially out of curiosity, partially to remain available to help if you needed – though he took a seat on a stool and waited until you said something.

It had taken you about a minute to finish setting up before you tossed him the cardboard box of latex gloves and told him to get to work.  He had to return the box of small gloves before grabbing larger gloves that would actually fit, but You had ten fingers to filter through, and the sooner you got that done the sooner you could catch the unsub – in theory.  It was…kind of fun being in a lab again, for both of you.  You were both hunched over, seated on stools on opposite sides of the metal table, as you got to work.

It was fun working together, to be specific.

Comfortable.

“Got a second index finger already,” you brought up just as the two of you were starting, immediately catching Reid’s attention as you grabbed another finger to examine, the other doctor looking up at you from across the metal lab table.

“I already found two,” he replied, causing you to look up at him as the two of you reached the same conclusion before you’d even found the other two or discovered that none of the fingers were Abby’s.

Abby wasn’t the first victim.

************

You’d taken prints from each of the fingers and sent them in to Garcia to run.  It didn’t take long for her to call with the ID’s, each finger belonged to a different woman, and there were over forty prostitution arrests between the ten of them.  Each one of the previous ten victims were picked up in the area surrounding Bridgewater, meaning the unsub was in Bridgewater and avoided killing there to avoid detection – maintaining his safety zone.

He violated that zone, and left the fingers, because nobody knew he existed.  He didn’t have any attention, he wasn’t scaring anyone, and the power he got from killing wasn’t enough anymore.  He had to be feared.

None of you had gotten any sleep the night before, and to top things off a young woman went missing as soon as your second day on the case began.

Tracey Lambert, according to her roommate she was going hiking in the area the day before, and her last known location was a public bathroom outside the hiking trail – her jeep parked outside.  The oddity – the proof it was connected – was in one of the bathroom stalls.  An inverted pentagram drawn inside, a few books left neatly balanced and lined up on the toilet lid.

The unsub had been in a mental institution.  He’d been closely watched, told to keep order while he was institutionalized, and like almost everyone else released from an institution he still held onto some semblance of order while his mind fell back into chaos and he stopped taking his medication.

Locals joining for a search was hardly new, but the appearance of the priest made Morgan wildly uncomfortable.  It was onto this again, and he was just short of lashing out at people in response.  You really didn’t want to hear it from the priest either, while you kept your mother’s cross necklace with you it wasn’t like you’d actually gone to church recently.  Still, you were polite, congenial, and while the man could tell you hadn’t gone in years you just brushed it off as work keeping you busy and the both of you left it at that.

“Father Marks tried to talk me into going back to church, apparently soup like the stuff the volunteers were serving is a common occurrence,” you started up conversation as you and Reid joined the search.  “That’s not why I stopped going, but it’s sure as hell a way to keep me away.  It smelled toxic, I just about hurled.”

“It was…pretty bad.” Reid agreed, he hadn’t asked why you went back to the car to dig the granola bars out of your bag, but the entirety of the team had been grateful as you either handed or tossed one to them.  He wasn’t religious, but he also wasn’t going to claim he had all the answers or that intelligent people can’t believe in a god – he didn’t, but he’d been wrong before and part of religion involves having faith even without proof.  “I didn’t know you were religious.”

“Privately, yeah, I haven’t gone to church since high school,” you admitted as the two of you walked through the brush of the surrounding area, looking for hints and clues that Tracey could have been through the area instead of just yelling like the civilians trying to help.  “I’m not…I don’t need someone to snap their fingers and fix everything, I honestly don’t even believe that’s possible – Butterfly Effect, you know?”

You didn’t have to go into the whole theory of the Butterfly Effect, there was no doubt in your mind that Reid knew the details better than you ever would.  He nodded, ducking under a low-hanging branch before turning back to you and holding it up so you could slip under with ease.

“I just like the idea that there’s someone who knows, someone who cares,” you shrugged, hands tucked into the back pockets of your jeans as you kept your balance with ease in your old gray ankle-high boots, comfortable in the thick and sturdy high heels.  You hadn’t even bothered with a sweater that morning, just throwing on the pale gray t-shirt you picked out for the day and went to work.  “Someone who cares that I do some good, someone who cares that I’m hurting or struggling.  Someone who has all the answers I can’t have and knows what will happen, even if it’s not part of some plan and I can’t possibly know.  I just…I find some peace in that.”

“And the devil?”  Reid had to admit, that was a…a beautiful way of looking at things, a sentiment he could understand.  Watching you work in the lab…working with you in the lab…it was hard to explain.  While his mind just snapped things into place, he pictured it as straight lines connecting things.  Like when a little kid draws a straight line between points on a ‘Connect The Dots’ puzzle.  Sharp, efficient, even if he had to take a moment to step back and see the massive picture, he still got it. 

You…it was more like swirls, like a vine of flowers twisting and twirling through a tree or a calm river bending and flowing to connect a series of small towns.  No…that didn’t quite fit either.  The image that came to mind were the vines in old Victorian patterns, the lines in the ornate patterns dancing through the image as branches and leaves bloomed from the main stem.  That sounded so…romanticized, but it was the only thing he could think of that adequately fit.

All that aside, Reid wanted to make sure you’d be okay.  You’d grown up with Morgan and admitted to being raised religious.  Though, while Morgan was overcompensating for being set on edge by the satanic aspects of this case, along with dealing with his issues dealing with the priest, you seemed…unphased.

“That’s just part of the deal.  You can’t have good without evil, you can’t appreciate it.  If there’s no dark, you can’t recognize the light,” you answered, the two of you having stopped to take a look at what looked like bothered brush before hearing a group nearby calling for Tracey.  “We face evil every day, the fact that the unsub believes that Satan told him to do this doesn’t make it any different from any other case or any other evil.  So, I’m not going to treat it any differently.”

There was a beauty in how your mind mixed logic and faith, in how it danced and weaved, and Reid couldn’t help but admire it.  You were clever, funny, and had a gift for bringing people out of their melancholy and putting a smile on their face.  You cared, you cared quickly and wholly, and even went as far as making sure you had little snacks for the entire team.  It came as a bit of a surprise, to those who knew him, that he opened up to you so quickly, but it had far more to do with him than with you.  He still remembered the first time the two of you met, months before you even started, and came out of nowhere finishing a quote he’d started reciting.

Was it the similarities or the differences that made it so easy for the two of you to click?

Maybe it was both.

The two of you froze when you heard someone blowing one of the whistles handed out to groups of volunteers.  Only a fraction of a second later you got a call from Hotch.

“He took another woman.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Everyone Has A Fight They Won't Back Down From

Father Marks was making no progress trying to find the unsub on the list of volunteers.  The team regrouped at the precinct, and you were getting yet another cup of coffee for a long night at the same time Morgan was giving you and Prentiss an update on the priest’s progress.  You dug your phone out of your pocket with a bit of surprise, not expecting a call, before spotting the caller ID.

“Hey, sexy thing, what’cha got for me?” you greeted Garcia, a bit surprised she called you when she called Derek whenever she knew he was available – unless someone else had privately requested she look something up.

“I’m still running the particulars of our homicides through VICAP, nothing so far.”  No witty answer, no lighthearted banter, just right to business.  Something was definitely wrong.

“That’s okay, Prentiss and I just sent over a list of volunteers from the search.”

“Okay, and I’m cross-checking the names against mental institution records.”

“Focus on people who were involuntarily committed, nobody outside of Florida.  Rossi thinks the unsub would stick close to home,” you continued, grabbing your cup of coffee as you stepped away to get back to work.  Though, not before settling something while you could speak with the technical analyst without anyone overhearing.

“Got it, talk to you later – “

“Not until you tell me what’s going on,” you caught her before she hung up, making her pause on the other end and leading you to explain.  “You haven’t talked to Derek since yesterday, you had no fun ‘I know I’m sexy’ retort when I answered the phone – a full minute without any lighthearted banter at all.  What’s up?”

“God, I hate profilers,” Garcia huffed on the other end of the line, and you couldn’t exactly blame her.  Profiling, even with the rules against profiling team members, wasn’t something you could just shut off.  That was part of the reason why the team knew so much about each other.  That, mixed with how much time you spent together even outside of work, made it inevitable.  Hell, a guy had asked you out just the week before and your subconscious had profiled him before you had a chance to hit the proverbial ‘override,’ leading you to saying no because there were things you did not want to risk finding out where right.  “I met this guy at the coffee shop I go to every day.”

“And Dee’s been a big ole’ bucket of man stupid.”  It was sweet that he wanted to solve all the problems and make everything better, he wouldn’t do that if he didn’t care, but he had to learn to just shut up and listen.  Not everything was something he had to solve.  “You do me a favor and have fun on your date, okay?  And take it easy on him, you could charm someone to death if you’re not careful.”

You heard a little giggle from the other end of the line, “I’ll do what I can, but I make no promises.”

“Hey,” you nodded your head towards a more private spot in the crowded precinct after catching Morgan’s attention.  It wasn’t odd for the two of you to step away for a conversation, whether it was related to work or not, so Prentiss didn’t think anything of it.  Neither did Derek, though you’d long since learned how to hide the fact you were going to give him a talking to.

“Not everything is something you can solve or control.  When Garcia came to you, she just wanted you to listen, and I get that you and Rossi don’t get along but you’re gonna have to learn to work together without killing each other before the rest of us pay the price.”  You kept your voice low, hands on your hips as you gave Morgan a mom look you’d picked up dealing with the other interns you worked with, both in the field or the lab, and stepped in once again before he could protest.  “And I can’t claim to understand what you’re dealing with in the whole religion thing, but you need to stop lying to yourself and deal with it.”

“Sis, I love you, but you need to know when to step back.  This is my problem – “

“We didn’t stop being family when I joined the team, Dee.  We need to set up new boundaries, I get that, but I’m not gonna stop caring about you just because our desks are next to each other.”  You weren’t taking it, you arguably should have told Derek to get his shit together earlier but you had no idea he had the fight with Garcia on top of everything else.  You also weren’t going to let this sit as a fight and walk away without a smile and at least half a hug.  “If you wanna talk, I’m here, but you’re gonna have to get your whole…cliché alpha male jock shit under control before we shove you in a cave with the rest of the Neanderthals.”

“Oh!” Derek exclaimed, smile growing as he chuckled a little at your lighthearted show of sass, to the point you were still standing there with a hand on your hip and head cocked to the side.  It was so purposely overdone he couldn’t help but laugh.  “Anything but the cave, doc, they draw on the walls there.”

“Then someone better get his shit together, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah I hear you,” the giggles faded, and Derek wrapped an arm around your shoulders to bring you into a hug.  “Thanks for the pep-talk.”

“Yeah, yeah.  Get back to work.”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re bossy?”

“I thought I told you to never say that again.”

************

“You’re awfully close to Agent Morgan,” Rossi observed as the two of you continued to work, acting like he was making ambient conversation when he was really just digging.  “Hotch said he looked into hiring you on Morgan’s recommendation.”

“Get to the point, old man,” you didn’t even look up from the papers in your hand.  “I know my worth, I know I would have gotten here one way or another, and I know that you know it too.”

Well…goading you into a conversation wasn’t going to work.  You’d been avoiding talking to him for anything outside of work, of cases to be specific, since the case in Texas.  It was a bit of a shame, really.  As much as Rossi hated to admit it…Hotch was right.  Rossi wasn’t about to spill his secrets to the team, and it looked like he was going to be in a battle with Morgan for a while, but there were certain…concessions if he was going to stay long enough to…settle things.  Reid seemed to have a saint-like patience, Prentiss had perfected a professional mask to hide behind that gave room for jokes and laughs, and JJ’s entire job description was working with difficult people.

You…were…odd.

More than that…you reminded him of someone…

You wore your heart on your sleeve, if someone asked about something from your past you’d answer honestly, but to attach yourself so quickly to the entire team made very little sense.  You were already attached to Morgan long before you’d joined the team, but the rest…

“Just, you haven’t been here long and you’re already close to everyone.  A bit…trusting for what we do.”

“This team is a family, and I went off to college at eighteen with a dead mom, a brother making a career as a criminal, and a dad who’d just taken off without a note or leaving a number to reach him,” you explained simply, putting the documents down on the desk in front of you and turning to face Rossi as you answered, simply and sternly.

Ah…that would explain some things…

You would throw yourself on a grenade if it would spare just one person on the team.

“You don’t like people telling you what to do – immense issues with authority but no evidence of mommy or daddy issues so it probably links to a childhood friendship.  Someone who you’d get in trouble with all the time.  You like to be unpredictable, go against the grain, you want to be anything but ordinary and you want to prove everyone wrong.”  You were throwing yourself on that grenade, but not how Rossi though you would.  “Well, we all think you’re going to become the weak link.  You actively fight us, expect us to just trust you without explaining things, you proved we can’t trust you on your first case back.  If your goal is to show us you’re not the great agent we all thought you were, you’re doing a hell of a job.”

You turned to leave.  It was late, you were hungry, and you wanted a shower.  You’d grab some food from the gas station on the way back to the hotel.

You’d left the bait, Rossi knew you were baiting him into actually making an effort at being part of the team, and you were fully aware that he knew.

You’d also just challenged him, and it would conflict with his very nature not to take the bait.

************

Your hair was still damp when you tied it up into a bun, Hotch had called you just as you rinsed out the conditioner to let you know there was another woman found – this time at the church.  The local M.E. was spooked by the case, and immediately stepped back as soon as you asked to take a look.  You had some experience dealing with tissue, not nearly as much and normally on bodies that had minimal tissue left behind, but you had some.  Enough to take a sample and look for something on the cellular level.

Hotch had shared his suspicion with you over the phone, and you were inclined to agree with him.

It was careful work, but you could do it.

“Her name is Maria Lopez,” Prentiss filled you and Hotch in, the M.E. leaning back against the counter almost tucking himself into the corner, like he was hiding from whatever evil might remain on Maria’s body.  “She’s 34 years old, numerous arrests for solicitation and prostitution just like the others, but she was reported missing nine months ago.”

“She’s been dead 72 hours, and I can say with certainty there was no sexual assault,” the M.E. reported his findings as you peered through the microscope at the sample on the small glass slide.

“The cells burst…” you observed aloud before standing upright and facing the others, “She was frozen 72 hours after she was murdered, but she’s probably been dead since she was reported missing.”

Hotch was right.

The unsub was a cannibal.

************

Garcia hadn’t been able to find any records of someone that was both a Satanist and a cannibal, but there was a fire at Hazelwood Hospital for the Criminally Insane in 1998 and most of their records went up in flames.  The only reason they would release a patient that disturbed was they were a minor who turned eighteen.  Dr. Lorenz was in charge of the adolescents at the time, he died in the fire trying to retrieve a journal.

A journal that detailed a single patient who matched the profile.

Floyd Feylinn Ferrell.

On the way back to the car, Hotch had called Rossi to get the rest of the team and look for Feylinn, starting at his house and going from there if need be before meeting back at the precinct.

Feylinn had been admitted at seven after biting a large piece of flesh off his nine-month-old sister and believed he was possessed by a flesh-eating demon.

He’d also dropped his last name before becoming a known member of Bridgewater.  He wasn’t bright, and he was confident that he’d be protected.

He’d been found at an alter in his basement, the last victim found alive and chained in a cell, other women found dead in a walk-in freezer, the woman who’d been taken during the search was found alive and able to make a full physical recovery, and no sign of Tracey Lambert.

Now, Feylinn was just sitting in an interrogation room silently, like a puppet controlled by strings.

“Francisco Goya, known as the Black Paintings,” Reid looked at the paintings that had decorated the alter in Feylinn’s basement, “Lorenz’s notes say that Feylinn was exposed to them as part of his therapeutic art therapy.”

“All the paintings in the world and he thought filling a disturbed boy’s mind with the Black Paintings was a good idea,” you retorted, pointing out the flaw in the theory as you looked at yet another one of Goya’s more disturbing works.

“He kills them after 72 hours, Tracey’s been gone for 24,” Hotch focused on the facts that could help, on treating this like a missing persons and focus on trying to bring Tracey home.  He handed the book of recipes to Morgan.  “See if you can find out where she is.”

************

It was worth a shot, but Feylinn would only speak to Father Marks.  So, the call was made, the team waited, and Morgan went right back in there with the priest.  The tension in the room had nothing to do with Morgan’s aversion to the priest, they’d settled things, but Father Marks was clearly on edge.  He didn’t know why he was needed, why he was asked for, and his entire living was based in his faith.  To him, he was staring down the truest evil.

“Thank you for coming, father.”  Feylinn still spoke like someone was telling him what to say, like a child being told to say hello.  That attitude was attributed to his belief in the smart friend that told him what to do and say, the demon he believed possessed him.

The team watched in a large meeting room between interrogation rooms, all eyes glued to the one-way mirror.

“Anything I can do to – “ Father Marks briefly forgot his instructions to stay quiet, let Morgan do all the talking, but remembered when the agent waved his hand as a signal before turning back to face Feylinn, sitting at the end of the table while the priest and the Satanist sat on opposite sides.

“Floyd, I had to pull some serious strings to get him here.  My bosses didn’t like the idea at all of sendin’ him in.”  That was…sort of true.  The locals didn’t like the idea, the team was fully aware that it was the only way to get any answers.  Morgan was just using an interrogation technique, leading the unsub into thinking you did them a favor getting what they wanted.  In this case, he was using it to try and settle things into a safer routine, into keeping Feylinn’s attention focused on talking to Morgan instead of Father Marks.  “Now, they’re gonna allow him to sit right here and listen, but you’re gonna talk to me, all right?”

“Okay.”  Feylinn wasn’t upset, wasn’t fighting, just went with it.  Just like he did when he was apprehended.  He didn’t even argue as you went through his things while he was being arrested in nothing but his underwear.  “I’ve done some really bad things.”

Morgan shot Father Marks a look, making sure the priest remained quiet, before moving on with the interrogation.  “Everybody’s done things they’re not proud of, Floyd.  The only thing that helps is to talk about ‘em, tell other people.”

Rossi had the volunteer sign-in sheets in his hands, going through them over and over again and looking more and more baffled every time.

“Not everything…”  That was the first sign of any fight since you’d seen Feylinn…

“This is strange.”  Rossi spoke up and drew everyone’s attention from watching the interrogation.  “When he entered the park, Feylinn signed the volunteer sign-in sheet, but his name’s not on the list of searchers.”

“There were other jobs to do, helping with the organization, basic first-aid, organizing the search grid and splitting up searchers into teams,” you only listed off a few, all of which requiring some level of leadership that you all knew Feylinn wasn’t capable of.  He wasn’t assertive enough for that.  So…what other job could he have done?

“Come on, Floyd,” you heard Morgan through the intercom leading to the interrogation, “Where’s Tracey Lambert?”

“Something’s wrong.”  Rossi told the rest of the team, admitting he didn’t know what it was just yet and looking to the rest of you to fill in the missing piece.

“You are not alone, my son,” Father Marks had been given the clear to try and talk to Feylinn, trying to console the man feigning helplessness.  “God is in all of us.”

“The stew…”  It was hitting you slowly, your line of logic working a bit sluggishly as it swirled around the points it needed to connect.  “It smelled wrong…the smell made me sick.”

“Yeah, we – we talked about that,” he recalled the conversation in the woods when you’d joined the search party.

You could hear it all connecting, like the screech of a violin when the bow is pressed too harshly against the strings.  Rossi tossed the file down as you turned on the ball of your foot to head to the interview room as Rossi made the call, “We need to stop the interview.”

Feylinn looked up for the first time, head cocked to the side as an eerie grin started to grow on his face.

“So is Tracey Lambert.”

He’d been feeding the volunteers with food from his restaurant.

********

You were…irritatingly right.

Rossi hated admitting when he was wrong, even to himself, but if you were right then he was – by default – wrong.

Working with Gideon hadn’t been easy at the start, but it had been easy to figure things out.  He’d have to push and prod here and there, push Gideon to what needed to be done or grow as he needed just as Gideon pushed him.  With this team…it’s different.  It’s not two agents, turned friends over the years, both just as egotistical and bullheaded as the other.

It had become a place where a group of oddballs, who couldn’t find anywhere else to belong, faced the darkest parts of the world so innocents didn’t have to.

A group of kids – some of them terrifyingly young – that Hotch was trying to look over while his own personal life was falling apart.

A bunch of kids with their own shadows haunting them along the way, all in desperate need of some sort of guidance or semi-parental figure in their lives.

Emphasis on kids.

“What, what?” you jumped awake as Reid shook you awake, you’d fallen asleep the second you sat on the couch and Reid had gotten up to grab the books from his go-bag to try and pass the time.  It wasn’t a long flight, and it would only be nearing the evening as the jet landed and he wanted to hold onto some…semblance of a sleep schedule.  Okay, that was a lie, but everyone bought it.  Hell, even he bought it and he was the one telling it.

You were still bleary-eyed when you saw the book – sans book jacket – that Reid was holding in front of you, your smile tired as you looked back up at him.

“Where are they, [Y/N]?”

He was referring to his books, the ones you’d replaced with the worst novellas you could find.

“Your desk, bottom desk drawer.”  You hadn’t even moved his books all that far, just tucked them away into a drawer he never used – never opened from what you could tell – and were always going to be returned unharmed at the end of the case.  You’d also been planning on offering your Kindle, filled with digital copies of the same books Reid was planning on reading.  That didn’t exactly happen.  “What are you doing up?  Get some sleep.”

“I’ll sleep when I get home – “

“You haven’t slept in days.  Go to sleep.”

“If I sleep now, my sleep schedule – “

“Bullshit.  I will steal all your books if that’s what it takes for you to get some sleep.”

It was a throw-down of wills.  Reid could be notoriously stubborn, to the point that even Gideon hadn’t been able to persuade the genius every time.  Nobody had a chance of winning when faced against a determined –

Reid grabbed a spare blanket before taking the space left on the couch after you’d curled up under your own blanket, just enough for him to comfortably curl up and get some sleep himself.

You picked your fights, carefully, but anything concerning the well-being of friends and family was something you would never back down from.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

It's Always Something...

You’d literally jumped out of bed when JJ gave you the news over the phone, telling you where to meet up with the others when you found Derek.  Repeated attempts to reach his cell had failed and nobody had found him at the places he’d normally hang out at when he wasn’t home – where they’d also checked – leaving them to as you if you had any ideas.  You ran through the ideas, the last few events, and immediately hit Google.

You needed to find a church in Derek’s neighborhood, Christian, narrow things down to the specific type his mom took him and his sisters to growing up…

Bingo.

It was almost terrifying how good you’d gotten at things like that.  Not because it was part of your job – if that was the reason it wouldn’t be so scary – but because that’s how you spent much of your youth, desperately trying to keep your brother out of trouble until he’d gotten promoted and ended up moving south.  It was a skill you’d figured out how to apply to anyone you needed to find, assuming you knew enough about them to have information that would be helpful, and you hadn’t even come to associate it with profiling until after you started your internship at the Medico-Legal lab in Boston.

You finished getting dressed, having only wiggled into a pair of low-rise skinny jeans before stopping to do a quick Google for information about the area you were still a bit new to, before throwing on a bra, white tank-top, old gray cardigan.  You shoved your badge into your pocket and clipped your gun to your belt by instinct, muscle memory, with fluid actions, but nearly tripped as you tried to keep walking while putting on your socks and sneakers.  You didn’t have time to bother with your overly nosey neighbors, if you’d known how nosey the other women in your building were you would have just dealt with staying in Morgan’s guest room for longer, and dashed right past them on your way to your car.  You had to drive to a different side of town, it took a few minutes and you’d had to dig your phone out of your pocket as Reid called to check up on your progress in finding Morgan, but you made it to the church.

The first thing you saw was a familiar car parked right out front.

You ran up the stone steps before slipping through one of the main doors, keeping quiet in the nearly empty chapel, taking quiet steps down the aisle towards the pew where Derek was sat, hands clasped as he leaned against the back of the pew in front of him and kept his head down.  You sat down next to him without a word, waiting, as much as you hated it the reality was prayers couldn’t hurt and while Penelope was still in surgery it was all anyone on the team could do.

“Everything alright?”  Morgan knew you wouldn’t be tracking him down if things were going well, but he felt an inexplicable nausea at the thought of asking what had happened.

“Penelope, she’s been shot,” you spoke softly, your long dark hair slipping around your shoulder as you turned your head to look at Derek, “She’s in surgery, I came here to get you.”

********

“You bring the stuff?”

“No,” you deadpanned as you placed the food on Penelope’s kitchen table before turning to give the injured technical analyst a dry look, “I completely forgot about the enchiladas and horchata I spent all day making.”

It didn’t actually take all day, but it was a noticeable chunk of a day you’d normally spend sleeping.

Not that you minded.  Everyone had been in to check on Garcia as often as possible, but you’d already settled into the role of mom friend.  You’d stop by Garcia’s apartment more often, bringing a range of homemade food from chicken noodle soup or macaroni and cheese to pozole or the enchiladas in question on that specific night.  You’d always loved helping your mom when you were young, long before she got sick, and she’d always made cooking fun.  Whether it was just the two of you, or Desi, Sarah, Derek, and their cousin Cindi were over in the small duplex you once called home.

Just like dancing.  She’d been a dancer for years, entered the US on the ‘Einstein visa’ given to people with a range of extraordinary skills, from science like Einstein, to the arts like acting and – in your mother’s case – dancing.  She never cared if you liked dancing for an audience or studying it in depth, as long as you remembered to take those moments to dance in the kitchen like nobody was watching.

When she got sick, your dad was always working, and Berto was…never home, so you just got used to taking care of everyone.

“It’s not my fault, you told me you were gonna make it a week ago and I’ve been daydreaming of it since, and you’re gonna want to be nice to me when you see what I found on the internet.”  Penelope shot back from her seat on the couch, wincing a bit as she reached for her laptop to begin typing away.  She hadn’t been looking for anything specific, just browsing, and she couldn’t believe her luck when she found it.  Then she started looking with a purpose, and boy did she find some stuff.

There was no way Chocolate Thunder knew about this.

You got to work carefully setting plates before reheating the food, grabbing two glasses from the cupboards and some ice from the freezer before pouring the smooth and creamy liquid and adding some dashes of cinnamon to the top.  Penelope wasn’t done with the medications she’d been prescribed to help her heal and further prevent potential infections, a safety precaution from the cautious doctor who’d treated her, which meant no alcohol.  The two of you normally spent at least one evening catching up on whatever episode of Supernatural you’d missed – because there was always a case – and it was normally done with a side of drinks, so you’d offered to make horchata in the absence of alcohol.

It was a bit thicker than your mom taught you, but you’d aimed for that in the hopes it would help cheer up your stir-crazy friend.

“Oh god…”

You froze when you saw the screen of Penny’s laptop, spotting one of many pictures she’d found in her search, all of them the result of needing income during your undergraduate years at MIT.  It wasn’t the only job you’d picked up during those years, though you weren’t about to tell Penny what your other job had been.  Your dad was gone, you weren’t about to contact Berto, and you didn’t want to trouble mama, Derek, Desi, or Sarah.  So, you figured it out on your own.  Started with modeling for art classes in the city, then modeling for photography classes, and then…well…

Somebody had to model the lingerie for online stores.  You were in shape, long legs with an hourglass figure, but you were still curvier than the girls that high-end international stores - aka Victoria’s Secret - would hire.  That worked out in your favor for the modeling job, smaller shops tended to hire a wider range of models, and made use of the theory that putting their product on a model that looked more like their customers would help sell the product.

“I have so many questions, but where’d the belly-button ring go?”  You loved Penny to bits, you truly did, but she could be a sly little shit sometimes.

“It’s gone, Garcie.  It was an angry, first college party, drunken decision I made when I was still mad at my dad,” you placed the glasses on the coffee table as you recalled the decision, “I wasn’t in that phase anymore, didn’t really want it anymore, and I felt like I was already pushing the point when it’s less cute and more…age inappropriate.  I did get a tattoo on my pelvis just before I got rid of the piercing, though.”

“Fair enough…did you get to keep the lingerie, or did they take it back?”

“I got to keep some of it.”

“Do you still get discounts?”

“Oh my god,” you couldn’t help but chuckle as you made your way back to the kitchen to retrieve the warm plates of food, “I needed a job that would pay the bills and work with my class schedule, It wasn’t my only job, I quit the second I got hired at the Boston Medico-Legal lab.”

“Who else knows?”

“...You already told the other girls, didn’t you?”

“It was just that first picture I found, I had to make sure it was you!”

********

“So, that thing in Philadelphia is a case now?” you looked up from the faxed copies of detailed fantasies sent over from the field office.  Rossi had taken Reid to look through a few boxes of papers found in a storage unit.  You were spending most of the day giving a bunch of guest lectures at the academy, from profiling to forensics and things in between, like when it’s safe to conclude the murderer acted out of rage and when the crime scene was just messy.  Knowing you’d be too busy to take a call, Reid shot you a text that the trip to the new Jeffersonian exhibit would have to wait.  Later that evening, he’d given you the heads-up that both he and Rossi concluded there was no proof a crime was committed, so you could reschedule for the next day.  The author of the papers was sick, definitely a sadist, but all the papers were written in future tense, no specific names, places, dates, nothing to even hint that a crime was committed.

You weren’t bothered you had to change things up yet again by texting Temperance that no, you were wrong, there really was a case.  Her lab was constantly working with the FBI on homicide cases, she knew they could pop up at any moment, and you’d met years ago.  Before you graduated, during her last years as a student before she started at the Jeffersonian, before you’d first met the team in Chicago.  She just wasn’t the type of person to be bothered by this, which was a large part of why the two of you got along so well, so quickly.

Even if she kept stealing your pens and hated psychology.

Cause psychology and sociology clearly have nothing to do with anthropology - the literal study of humans.

It was the fact that Reid had been wrong.  He wouldn’t lie.  Not like that, and certainly not about something like a case.  So, just what in the hell happened?

“There was a lock of hair found in the unit as well,” Hotch brought up the prospective souvenir the unsub stashed away with the papers, “Reid and Rossi didn’t know about it until after they read the papers.”

“The papers that were sent over by one of Rossi’s fans,” you repeated, carefully, making sure you made your point without having to actually say it, “One of his female fans.”

There was a tense silence as you, JJ, Prentiss, and Morgan watched Hotch carefully word his response.

At least you weren’t the only one with certain…suspicions.

That wasn’t the only thing that seemed off.  The unit was rented out under a false name – Louis Ivey – until the unsub just stopped paying rent for a full six months, giving the landlord the freedom to auction off the contents inside the unit.  The papers you’d seen already, the false name, the cash payments, it all implied an organized personality that wouldn’t just stop payment on a storage unit like that.

Maybe there was a case, maybe there wasn’t, but something was definitely weird about the whole thing.

********

Locals ran prints on everything in the unit, but the unsub wasn’t in the system, Philadelphia PD processed everything in the unit except the boxes of papers and pornography, leaving everything else back in the storage unit.  Morgan and Prentiss were on their way to the unit to go through what was there, build parts of a profile from that.  Hotch and Rossi were going through the images in more detail to pinpoint something the unsub particularly enjoyed, while you and Reid were going through the personal writings with the same intention.  All in the hopes of connecting it to unsolved cases in the area.

The handwriting was neat, everything written on graph papers, the sketches detailed and anatomically accurate, even the sketches of the imagined knots and homemade tools he’d use for torturing his victims.

“He writes a lot about electrocution,” you mused as you moved from one page to the next, “He’s got a whole page on the kind of battery, wires, and clamps he’d use, even sketched them out.”

“It’s technical too, he uses terms and phrases professionals would use, calculates the voltage – at some points he got so excited by it he ripped through the page,” Reid shared his own observations from going through the papers again in the dimly lit storage room.

“I’ll tell JJ to start looking for electrocution victims, you give Rossi and Hotch the heads-up.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Even Saints Run Out Of Patience

“This is Dana Foster, she’s a 34-year-old real estate agent from the suburb of Blue Bell,” JJ filled everyone in when you’d gathered in the meeting room set aside for the team, the victim’s photograph pulled up on a television before switching to photographs of the victim at the crime scene, “She was murdered five years ago when she went to meet a prospective buyer at a house in Bucks County.  Her nude body was found in a cellar, and she was strangled, and raped.”

“And here’s the torture behavior Reid and Castillo identified from the journals.  The contact wounds are burn marks, most likely from electrical current,” Hotch clued the rest of you in on the close-ups of the victim’s burn marks, highlighting what caused this case to stick out among the rest.

“Any leads on the buyer she went to meet?” Prentiss leaned to the side in her perch on an empty table, speaking around the local agent – Agent Morris – who’d called the team in and remained pretty squarely in the way.

“Fake name,” JJ shook her head, darting her head back to the screen to make sure there wasn’t anything else.

“Louis Ivey,” Morris read from the report in her hands, which the rest of you had yet to see, “Could this guy be any more perfect?”

“Yeah, sounds like the ideal profile for Sadists-Only.Com,” you couldn’t help but retort, a few members of the team already uncomfortable by how…excited Agent Morris was by it all.  She wasn’t getting off on it, but this wasn’t about stopping the bad guy or avenging the victims for her.  You were willing, and able, to put up with that kind of behavior to a point, but even you could only put up with so much before you got snarky.

“Were her clothes found at the scene?” Prentiss spoke up, shifting things back to the investigation.

“No, how’d you know?”

“He takes them as souvenirs, and he alters them to fit his own frame,” Morgan explained, bringing up the box of clothes he and Prentiss had found in the storage unit.

“So, he’s bisexual?” Agent Morris questioned, and you didn’t know where to start with that.  It was just…

Wrong didn’t seem like a strong enough word to describe it no matter how many expletives or adjectives you added to it.  Anthropologically, socially, psychologically…it was all just wrong.  So remarkably, incredibly, breathtakingly wrong.

“Actually, most cross-dressers are heterosexual,” Reid skimmed over the short answer, noticeably skipping over the chance to give the long answer, avoiding talking with Morris more than he had to, “It’s fairly common in sexual predators.”

Oh, great, you all wanted this to be over.

“What about her hair?” Rossi recalled the lock of blonde hair that had been found in the storage unit, a similar shade to Dana Foster’s hair, “Was any of it missing?”

“Not that was reported.”

“JJ, widen the victim search,” Hotch laid out the game plan from that point, “Rossi and I will go visit the crime scene.”

********

Three more victims, ages 34 to 38, scattered between Maryland, New Jersey, and New York.  They all had the same electrical burns, naked, disposed of across state lines to avoid detection, and all found between 2002 and spring 2003.  There were ten months between the realtor and second victim, then there was a seven-month-long cooldown period, followed by a three-month-long cooldown period.  It wasn’t much longer before the victims were connected to missing persons cases, giving names to the victims, and give you a solid victimology.

Female, thirties, attractive, Caucasian, moving up in her perspective career, college graduate with an above-average income.

It fit fairly well with the background Prentiss and Morgan had put together from the things in the storage unit.  The unsub’s mother left when he was young, based on the victimology it could be due to her own career moving upwards while her husband’s remained stagnate, a belief her husband and children would hold her down.  Something that wouldn’t have caused the unsub’s need to torture and kill his victims, but likely helped him target a specific type of victim.  As an anger-excitation sexual sadist, he wasn’t after the kill itself, but it was inevitable.  The goal was to seek these women out and punish them, turn them into base sexual creatures, and hurt them.  Their deaths were just…side effects to him.

Then, between victims, he’d wear the clothing he’d altered and relive the event for his own sexual pleasure, likely while watching or listening to a recording.

The latest of the known victims was found five years ago, but this unsub would only stop if he was arrested or killed, meaning you hadn’t found all the bodies yet, and then there was that homemade incinerator the unsub wrote about in his journals.

With what you’d already learned, after Reid quickly calculated the numbers, it was safe to say the unsub killed nineteen more women on top of the four known victims.

“It’s great stuff, guys, keep me posted,” Morris left with that, just as you entered the meeting room, nodding in a short half-assed greeting as she returned the sentiment with, “Dr. Reid.”

Morgan and Reid shot baffled looks at each other, then to you as you tossed the door shut with a huff, “The first time could have easily been an innocent mistake, the second time I really had to think about  whether or not it was a mistake, but this is just getting ridiculous.  I mean, it’s not the fact she’s calling me Reid that bothers me, it’s just the fact she’s gotten my name so wrong so many times in a day.”

“Have you tried correcting her?” Reid was still baffled that you’d been called the wrong name three times in a day by the same person.  It was obvious to everyone that Agent Morris was using this case to further her own career, trying to cast herself as the protagonist in some crime novel, but to get your name wrong all day – she’d never called him Dr. Castillo, but it was also a noticeably Hispanic name while he was noticeably not.  She had to know that wasn’t your name.

“I did the first time, and the second time was still before that Sadists-Only.Com joke, which I’m still defending.  She made us all uncomfortable, and she deserved to be called out for being excited over the unsub covering his tracks.”

“She’s gonna make you look like an antagonist in the book she writes about this,” Morgan warned as he got up from the table he was still seated on.

“Bold of you to assume she’ll bother to remember my name.”

********

You’d gone with Morgan, Reid, and Prentiss to a nearby diner to grab dinner before heading to the hotel.  You’d invited JJ, hoping she’d be able to join in, but she was still cleaning up the mess Morris had created with the press conference she’d not bothered to tell any of you about.  You all needed to talk things out, get on the same page, settle on a game-plan on how to deal with Morris when Hotch and Rossi weren’t around.

“No, I – I have no doubt that she’s highly capable, I’m just – “ Reid quickly defended his point after Prentiss countered his initial observation, “I’m saying that I find her excitement level at the prospect of finding more bodies somewhat…unsettling.”

“Thank you,” Derek flashed a smile to the waitress delivering his pie, your little one scoop of ice cream, and a cup of coffee for each of you, “Yeah, JJ said she was making up names for the killer.”

“And yet, if she was a man, you’d say she had balls,” Prentiss countered

“She called me Dr. Reid six times, Emily,” you shot back, dropping your spoon in frustration as you turned to shoot a dry look at her while you supported the guys, “Six times in one day, I’ve corrected her twice, and she remembers everyone else’s name, she’s even got the doctor bit right, but not once have I heard her say Castillo.  There’s a big difference between career oriented and that mess.  Twenty bucks tomorrow she calls me Cast-ill-o.”

Prentiss heaved a long sigh, silently relenting that maybe there was a point, maybe Morris was manipulating the case for her own career goals, and refocused to the map of the city Reid had in front of him, “Let’s get back to Reid’s map.”

“Alright – the nearness principle tells us that a killer won’t travel far to abduct his victims, but this one’s gone to great lengths to spread out his abduction and disposal sites,” he clarified just what you’d get from the map as he pointed out a few spots with an unused knife from the table.

“So, the sites are irrelevant to the geographical profile?” Prentiss rested her head on her palm as she looked down at the map.

“The only location I can attach a real meaning to is the storage unit.”

“Four victims and we got squat,” Morgan confirmed, head hung a bit as he returned to his pie, drowning his frustrations the best he could.

“For years he’s gone unchecked, I think it’s only a matter of time before he grows comfortable and starts killing closer to home,” Reid offered the one bit of good news he could, though you were all aware of the downside to that news.

“So, if we’re gonna do our jobs, we need someone else to die,” you looked up from stirring the few bites left of your ice cream, appetite thoroughly soured, as a heavy silence took over the booth.

Yeah, sleep wasn’t going to be something anyone on the team got that night.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

The Line Between Understanding And Empathy

“Philadelphia police department.”

“I think I saw something.  It might have to do with the killings.”

“What did you see?”

“My car broke down on I-76.  There was a field off the road.  A man was digging a hole.”

“What kind of hole?”

“For the body.  I saw it.  A bleeder stripped of its clothes.”

“Can I have your name, sir?”

“Mile marker 115 on the eastbound.  They’ll find it.”

Little to no sleep, everyone in the city saw the ‘announcement’ Morris made on the news and either went to the office or called to share something that wasn’t even remotely connected, and then that call happened.

“Anything strike you?”  The way Agent Morris asked the question, palms against the table she was leaning against as she listened to the recorded call with you, Hotch, and Reid.  The way she asked the question, looking up at Hotch, was…pretty typical for the way she’d been acting since the team got there.  Word spread throughout the team that Hotch had told her off for trying to use the case as a springboard for her career, and you’d spotted her in the hall as she made her way towards Rossi’s room the night before, but that didn’t seem to have done anything.  To top things off, her tone almost sounded like she was quizzing the rest of you, not asking for your expertise, which she absolutely needed to track down this unsub.

“’Stripped of it’s clothes,’” Hotch focused on the case, “Objectifies the victim.”

“Fits with the writings,” you cut in before Morris could keep acting like she was the star of some imaginary show as she pushed herself up to a standing position, your long hair draped over your shoulder as you casually leaning against the back of Reid’s seat with one hand, “He’s even using some of the same terminology used there.”

“The way he referred to the body as a bleeder,” Reid specified a specific term you’d both spotted in the unsub’s notes, something highly specific that would undeniably identify the caller as the unsub.

“Visible trauma to the corpse,” Morris jumped to the conclusion, completely ignoring that it wouldn’t fit with the unsub’s M.O.  The electrocution, the burns, were visible, and there was trauma, but the trauma itself was the internal damage caused by the electrocution.  If the victims did bleed, it wasn’t because he wanted them to.

“No, I – I don’t think so.  We noted usage of the same word in the pages from the storage facility, he refers to his targets as bleeders,” Reid corrected, specifying that the word was used far more widely than just explaining the state a corpse was in.

“It’s misogynistic, he’s referring to menstruation,” Hotch defined the unsub’s use of the term, taking note of how the unsub was inserting himself into the investigation.  It wasn’t uncommon overall, but the exact way this unsub was doing it was notable.  Like he was trying to lead all of you along.

“He’d use it as a weakness.”

“I think we need to see what’s in that field.”

********

There were two bodies in that hole, one buried on top of the other, both victims of the unsub.

“So, he stops payments on his self-storage unit for six months, and conveniently leaves behind enough from his childhood, his detailed plans, and even some of the altered clothes that would help us create a detailed profile.  We find his first five victims, the press conference happens, and then the unsub calls in to lead us to two more of his victims,” you listed off the series of events in the field office’s break room, down the hall and closed off from the rest of the office still dealing with the influx of tips that were flying in.  “He clearly wants us to know, it would have been easier to just call with the location of the dump site in the first place, and it would have guaranteed an investigation.”

“He’s too organized not to have known that or just forgotten to make the payments,” Reid quickly caught onto your line of thought, something that had been bugging him too, stirring the sugar into his coffee as you leaned back against the counter with your own cup in your hands.  It had been bothering Rossi as well, he’d voiced the thought to both you and Reid, and the way Hotch reacted to the 9-1-1 call indicated he was trying to figure it out too.

“The way this office leaks information, I’ve seen toddlers better at keeping secrets,” you added in the brief seclusion from the local agents, “There’s no way the unsub doesn’t know everything we know about the investigation.”

“He would have been very specific about when he called and what dump site he told us about – what if that’s what he wants?”  Reid stopped stirring his coffee, attention turned to you as the conclusion put a firm halt to everything else he was doing at that moment.

“He wants us to learn everything, starting at his childhood and moving through his life,” your groomed, thick brows furrowed as you shared a look with other doctor, “He’s gone so long without getting caught, he’s a Grade A narcissist, eventually even kidnapping two women at the same time wasn’t going to be enough.”

“He wants us to chronicle his journey, all the way to the end.”

Neither of you were fond of running, as you liked to point out dancing and running are two different things, but the two of you barely bothered to put your coffee cups down before taking off down the hall to tell the others.

If you weren’t careful, you’d play right into the unsub’s plans.

********

“I heard we got ID’s on these two bodies,” JJ turned the corner into the meeting room the team was using, taking a moment to step away from the nightmare that was dealing with a field office used to throwing anything and everything to reporters, and the aforementioned reporters used to that free flow of information, holding a photograph she’d been given by a potential informant during the rush.

“Mimi Adams and Sara Coswell,” Reid filled JJ in on the names of the last known victims, the two of you speaking with Hotch and Rossi as Morgan and Prentiss took their turn dealing with the continuing stream of calls and visits about the case.  Morris had stepped out herself, taking a call from a reporter at the Chronicle, and the shift in the team’s tone, stance, even vocabulary was noticeable.

“What’s up?” Hotch’s eyes shifted towards the photograph as he asked the question.

“This woman’s husband came in before,” she briefly showed the rest of you the photo before turning it to look back down at it for a brief moment, “She fits the victim type, I thought maybe…”

“If you have her DNA, you might want to check it against the hair.”  Reid didn’t even know he was opening a whole can of worms when he made that suggestion.

“What hair?”

“From the storage unit.  Agent Morris found it early on, it’s the same color so it might – “

“It won’t match,” Rossi nipped the attempt in the bud before it could go any further.  If they went through with the test, because every agent’s DNA is on file, it was going to come out anyway.  He seemed more troubled when he said that, something you and Hotch quickly picked up on, and Rossi was never one to stop a DNA test that could help identify a victim.

“I know it’s a long shot, but – “

“It belongs to Morris, doesn’t it?” you cut in with a groan as you hung your head to try and rub the irritation out of your eyelids, you didn’t need to see his nod of confirmation to know you were right, “Fucking seriously, Dave?”

“When were you going to tell us?”  Hotch was keeping himself composed, but if he had to tell Rossi off he would absolutely do so.

“Whatever she did to get us here, we’re here now.”

“It’s unacceptable behavior, why do you keep defending her?”

“Because I know what she is.  She’s me, 20 years ago.”

“She’s nothing like you, Dave.”

“Come on, Hotch, I know what people think.”  Rossi knew, partially because he knew people, but largely because he thought them himself as he got older.  “I took serial killers mass market.  Now, everyone knows their names, but not the victims.  Right?  Somewhere along the line, I put myself first – I admit it – I can’t go back and change it, but it’s not too late for her.”

“Babying her isn’t going to help, she makes one wrong move and we’re all falling for this unsub’s plan, and so far that’s exactly what’s been happening.”  It was risky for you to step in, getting stuck in the room while Hotch and Rossi argued was like getting stuck in the room when your parents argued and you had no way out, but it needed to be said.  Saving Morris from herself was one thing, but there was still the unsub to be worried about.

“Missing persons flagged a report that was just filed,” Prentiss rushed into the room, a print out of the report in hand.

“Possible victim?”  Hotch shelved the rest of the discussion for later, there were bigger problems.

“The subject’s car was found idling at a stop sign, and there was some damage to the back end.”

“Sounds like a bump and grab.”  Reid felt a lot more comfortable now that he wasn’t trapped in a room while Hotch and Rossi argued.  You and JJ could have slipped out of the room, but both of the bickering men were blocking Reid’s exit, trapping him in the room.

“Did she fit his profile, career, age-wise?” Hotch ran down the basics, routine questions.

“Katrina Townsley, 34, she’s a reporter at the Chronicle.”

Morris just left to take a call from the Chronicle…

********

The unsub had managed to lure her out, scanning a portion of a hand-written letter and using Katrina to email it to Morris, writing his own final chapter as he pleased.  Morris didn’t have GPS in her car, the unsub had ditched her cell in the parking garage where he’d grabbed her, and Garcia had tracked the email to the café the unsub had sent it from, using one of the desktop computers left open for customer use.

“There was this one guy…” one of the employees was unsure, but starting to remember a few things while Hotch questioned him and Rossi spoke with another employee, “Big…kind of blond hair, maybe left in a white van.”

“The parking garage where he took Morris, that’s gotta be in his comfort zone,” you spoke with Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid, the latter seated at a table as he quickly worked up a geographical profile over a printed map of the city.

“You’re not gonna abduct a federal agent outside your comfort zone,” Morgan quickly agreed, the clock was ticking until the unsub had two more victims to add to the list.

“Right – and this is where we are right now, and the third point is the storage unit right here.”  Reid circled the three points on the map before connecting them with one of the two markers he had in either hand.  You weren’t even surprised to learn he was ambidextrous.  “It’s a four-mile radius.”

“What do we have right here in the center?” Prentiss pointed out on the map as Morgan grabbed his phone to call Garcia.

“Looks like a large residential area,” you hunched over the map, vaguely overhearing Morgan speak with the technical analyst to try and find something while Reid pulled out his own phone to send the coordinates to her.  “If the unsub lives there, he’d be more than comfortable in this area.  It would be his home.”

“Is that Garcia?” Hotch and Rossi joined the rest of you, spotting Morgan on the phone and speaking up when the agent opened the call up on speaker phone, “Search DMV records, the manager thought he saw him leave in a white van.”

“Did you get that?” Morgan double-checked in the split second before Garcia spoke up.

“Yhatzee.”

********

The unsub was Jeremy Andrus, age 41, broken home after his mother left, grew up in poverty, went to trade school to become an Electrician, had a history of petty crime and lewd behavior…a perfect match to the profile.  It took all night to get a list of his victims, he didn’t say anything, Morgan could only lay out photos of the missing women reported and flagged as possible victims and wait to see if Andrus would point to it.  There was no telling where those women were buried.

Katrina Townsend didn’t survive, and it was…hard to tell what was going to happen to Agent Morris.  She was already in denial when Rossi visited her at the hospital, the agent leaving in the early morning, and instead of making a beeline towards the car waiting for her, she made her way towards the group of reporters asking about book deals.

“I don’t get it,” you sighed as you slunk into the passenger’s seat with a foot on the dash, riding back to Quantico with Reid as the car he and Rossi took to Philadelphia still needed to get back to Virginia.  Rossi just wanted to get home and isolate himself as quickly as possible, and considering the last few days you didn’t blame him.

“Don’t get what?” Reid spared a glance to you as he drove, lowering the volume of the radio and spotting the way you just…stared out the windshield.

“How can someone become an agent and be so obsessed with their career?  Even if you end up in a desk job, you have to work the field to get there, I don’t…” you signed again and let your head fall back against the seat, “It makes no sense…”

“It’s not going to make sense, you’re too empathetic to understand.”  That had to be one of the first things Reid noticed about you, back when you’d first met in Chicago, and it was just as undeniable still.  Even when you had to remain calculated, professional, you had this heart-wrenching capability to empathize and sympathize without making the other person feel like they were being pitied.  You could understand so much of the human experience, a particular reason why you were notoriously gifted in your field of study – Anthropology literally being the study of humans – except when it came to a few things.  

The need to hurt people, to cause harm, or to prioritize yourself over others at all costs, to block out the pain of others to get what you wanted…it was entirely antithetical to who you were.

You were the person who brought homemade meals to Garcia every day after she was shot.  You made sure to keep your purse nearby on the job because it was stashed with travel bottles of medication, snacks, gum, at least one bottle of water, anything that anyone on the team might need in the field.  All of that only after being friends with the others, save for Morgan, for a few months.  That sad and apologetic look you got when you looked over the remains of a victim, using your professional training when local medical examiners were out of their depth, and treated the remains with a delicacy and gentle touch that was unnecessary for the job.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Reid noticed you’d remained quiet for a few extra beats, “You care, a lot, you’re a good person, and it makes you good at the job, too.”

“I would have preferred to hear that from someone else, but I suppose Caltech will have to do,” you sighed overdramatically, thick lips already curved into a grin when Reid spared another glance your way and shot you a look of feigned offense that sent you into giggles, which Reid matched with his own laughter.

“If that’s how you’re going to be, I’m not cheering you up anymore.  Snob.”

“Calling me a snob implies I have something to be snobbish about.  Like, say, going to MIT.”

“No, it does not, it means – “

“Don’t you dare quote the dictionary on me, Spencer, I swear – “

“I wasn’t going to, but since you brought it up – “

“Oh my god, stop, you impossible man!”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

To Worry, Or Not To Worry

It was supposed to be a pretty quiet few days.  Hotch and Reid were out of town on a custodial interview of a convicted serial killer who’d previously refused any requests for an interview - apparently he’d changed his mind as his execution date drew closer and closer.  So, without Hotch, the chances of the team being sent out on anything but an absolute emergency - like the threat of a terrorist attack - weren’t likely.  It was a good day to get some paperwork done, give one of those guest-speaker presentations at the academy that each profiler was required to do.  You’d even managed to squeeze in some time to head down to the Jeffersonian and help Temperance work on the pile of unidentified remains that got sent her way between cases.  Her father’s trial - and there was a laundry list of crimes from various murders, to theft, to everything in-between - was getting closer and closer, and she wasn’t exactly keen on talking about it.  Her team, on the other hand, felt the need to keep asking if she wanted to talk about it.

Luckily for her, she had an old friend who was the FBI Agent with a brother in organized crime, who knew sometimes it’s more important to have the company of the family you’ve patched together than the people you share DNA with.

That late night, however, was exactly why you were running a bit late.  To top things off, Prentiss had already told the rest of you she’d be late due to a doctor’s appointment.  You’d been at the Jeffersonian until two in the morning, when you and Temp crashed in her office.  You were both woken up when Booth dropped in with another case.

“Dr. Castillo, hey, how about you take this case off Booth’s hands and take over?”  Hodge was teasing - this time.  Over the last two years the tension between Booth and the team at the Jeffersonian had eased, but that didn’t mean Hodge was going to stop teasing any time soon.  At this point you’d only heard of the infamous Agent Booth, but had yet to actually meet him, either at work or from one of your many trips to the museum.  He was attractive, and from the stories you heard he clearly cared about the team.  Nice guy, but not your type.

“Not unless you find some evidence the unsub is a sexual sadist or a cannibal.”  You were just awake enough to go back home and clean up before heading right to the office - you were definitely going to be late.  Thank god Hotch was out of town.

“Cannibal - BAU?”  Booth spotted the gun first on instinct, but it didn’t take much to figure out where you worked, Hodge’s tease implied you were an FBI agent, and there was only one unit that would regularly handle something like cannibals.

“No, White Collar, we’re branching out.”  You couldn’t help yourself, and you started to snicker at Booth’s exasperated reaction.

“God, you’re as bad as the Squints.”

“You’ve clearly never met Dr. Reid.”

********

Yeah, you were late, and but Penny was still waiting for you - in hiding - by the doors to the office.  She didn’t give you a chance to say hello before she grabbed your hand and pulled you down the hall to JJ’s office.  She didn’t even knock.  Just opened the door, dragged you inside, and shut the door.

“I might be in big trouble.”  Penny started as you stepped around JJ’s desk to take a peek at the file she was looking through.  You couldn’t help your curiosity.

The communications liaison hadn’t even looked up from the file in her hands, just acknowledged your presence with an almost lazy, “Come on in.”

“I can’t believe he showed up at my apartment.”  Penny immediately started pacing back-and-forth as JJ reached for a smaller stack of files on the counter behind her desk and handed them to you, all without looking up from her own work.  

You always felt guilty about this.  There weren’t a lot of Forensic Anthropologists in the first place, and a lot preferred to work in the private sector as consultants because it paid more.  So, when you also became an agent of the FBI, it became routine for files to show up requesting that you’d just look at the remains.  JJ never said a word about it, but since there hadn’t been time to set up a good way to get those requests to you without JJ having to deal with it, she got stuck filtering through, finding those requests with SSA Dr. [F/N] Castillo right at the top, and putting them aside.

“It’s not like I’m doing anything, here.”

“We just had a seminar on fraternization last week.”

“Last time I checked those are more guidelines than rules.”  You hoped that would help ease the analyst’s concerns, opening the first file in the small stack you’d been given, but she just kept pacing, “It’ll be fine.”

“I really have a lot of work to do, Garcia.”

“So you don’t want to hear how Agent Rossi showed up at my door in the middle of the night while I was enjoying a post-coital shower with fellow FBI technical analyst Kevin Lynch?”

Your brows raised, you shared a look with JJ to find she had the same look on her face, and the both of you put the files aside.  The two of you listened with rapt attention as Penny sat and told you the whole tale, and besides the bit where Kevin walked out of the shower naked and ended up showing Rossi his wang, it really wasn’t as sordid a tale as your friend feared.

“So, you were in the shower with Kevin Lynch?”

“Come on, I’m being serious, I need your help.”  Penny’s tone was quiet and reserved, very different from her usual demeanor, and evidence that she was in a full-blown panic.

“With what?”  JJ let out a little half-chuckle, trying not to smile.  It really wasn’t something to be so worried about, but Penny was in a panic, and laughing about it wasn’t the best way to respond.

“We’re not supposed to date fellow Bureau employees.”

“Castillo’s right, there aren’t any hard-set rules, they’re just guidelines.  From what I hear, Rossi is the reason we even have those seminars, okay?  He’s not gonna tell anyone, just relax.”  JJ sat back in her seat, smiling now that Penny had finally stopped panicking and calmed down, but that allowed the two of you to focus on the real question.

“What was he doing at your apartment, anyway?”  You watched as Penny started fiddling with the pens in cups on JJ’s desk, putting one back then poking through the others like she was looking for a specific one, gaze focused on what she was doing.

“Well, that’s a goo - “  Penny stopped and looked up at the two of you, taking the post-it note she’d written on with guilty eyes.  “I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

“Yeah, and he’s not supposed to show up at your apartment and see your boyfriend’s penis, I think that ship has sailed.”  You were pretty sure Penny had an idea why Rossi was there, but unless she felt sharing the secret was the best thing to do, she wasn’t going to share no matter how much you poked and prodded.

“I didn’t press the issue.  I was all naked, and all drippy.”

“Right…doesn’t showering with somebody always seem like a better idea before you’re actually doing it?”  JJ mused, clearly re-living a failed attempt at showering with a guy as you and Penny giggled.

“Yes, it is a bit of a workout.”

“So’s washing my hair, if a guy wants to help me, I’m not complaining.”  You giggled in response, leaning back against the counter behind JJ’s desk.  “In my experience, it works better in a shower stall.  The tub by itself is a hazard, at least with the stall you’ve got unobstructed walls, the floor normally isn’t as slippery, and there’s normally a bench or something.”

Penny and JJ were giving you the same sly look, even as the latter’s cell began to ring.

“Well, this is turning into some morning,” JJ almost lamented before answering, “Mrs. Hotchner…Well that - that would make sense, because he’s in a prison right now, so sometimes cell service can be…Oh - well…yeah, if I can get a hold of him I’ll…okay…”

“Everything alright Jage?”  It was the world’s worst kept secret that Hotch and Haley were having issues, and to top things off Jack had a few health issues when he was first born.

“She can’t get Hotch on his cell phone,” JJ sighed as she started flipping through the contact list on her phone.

“So, why’d she call you?”  Penelope was still concerned, and not quite sure why Haley would call JJ instead of leaving a message.

“Because she knows I can do this,” JJ put her phone to her ear, “Hey, Hotch…”

********

“Yeah, JJ…um - no, it’s -it’s a personal matter.  Yes, thank you, I will take care of it when I get back.”  Hotch was pacing along the far wall of the warden’s office, as far as he could get from the younger profiler in the small room.  Hearing it was a personal matter Reid’s attention from fiddling with the pink plastic gift-shop snow globe on the warden’s desk.  It wasn’t surprising.  With all the promises that you wouldn’t profile each other, there always reached a point where you couldn’t just shut it off.  Hotch always had trouble talking about personal matters, especially with the team.  It was uncomfortable.

“Everything alright?”  Reid, still fiddling with the little snow globe.

“Yeah, fine.”  Hotch’s answer was too rushed to actually mean that, as he stuffed his phone back into his jacket pocket.

“We can do this interview another time.”

“Well, he’s scheduled to be executed next week.”  That was the entire reason Hotch was there instead of you.  You were up next in the rotation to do one of these interviews, but you were already scheduled to give a guest lecture at the academy a the evening before, and you’d already promised to help Dr. Brennan at the Jeffersonian in identifying bodies that had been found by various law enforcement agencies all over the country.  The lecture could be rescheduled, and if it was for a case Hotch wouldn’t think twice about you canceling your plans with Dr. Brennan, but it was a custodial interview, and the families of the people you were identifying deserved that closure.  Between the prison’s schedule and your own, on top of the fact there was only a few days to get the interview before it was too late, you couldn’t make it.  It was just easier to put your name somewhere else on the rotation.

“I could take the lead if you need -”

“Reid.”

“Sorry.”  It was barely above a whisper, and only a fraction of a second before the warden almost threw the door open as he stepped in.

“Agent Hotchner?”  The warden guessed, pointing the file in his hand towards Hotch before shaking his hand, the small man looking more like he’d fit the life of a small-town banker than a prison warden, “And you must be Dr. Reid.  Abner Merriman, assistant Warden.”

That…explained a few things, Reid smiling a bit awkwardly as he stood and shook hands with the excited man.

“You’re here to see our infamous inmate Hardwick.”

“Yeah he agreed to meet with us as part of our Criminal Personality Research Project prior to his execution.”  Reid explained further, Merriman looking much like a starstruck fan.

“I’ve read some of your studies in police journals - serial killers are a kind of, hobby of mine.  Chester’s the only one I’ve ever met in person, though.  I - I bet you’ve met quite a few.”

Reid’s uncomfortable smile was back, he attempted to cut in to say something and failed, partially because he could already picture how you’d have reacted if you’d been there.  Standing behind Merriman so he couldn’t see you, brow furrowed, eyes wide, looking at the assistant warden before looking to Reid like you couldn’t believe what you were just hearing.  It made the genius sort of wish you were there, but considering Hardwick targeted women, he was a bit glad you weren’t going to be there.

“Sir, we’d very much like to start as soon as we can.”  Hotch cut in, looking more tense than usual - if that was even possible.

“Oh, of course, forgive me.”  Merriman ducked behind his desk to grab keys from a drawer.  “Uh - we don’t really have interrogation facilities, but I do have a small room that you can use.  You’re not armed…”

“We secured our weapons before we arrived.  It’s not our first time in a prison.”  Hotch meant that as reassurance, but Merriman was more amused than anything, apparently still starstruck.

“No, no I suppose that’s true.”  Merriman managed to pat Hotch on the shoulder twice, and there was a brief moment Reid wasn’t sure Merriman would survive that.  He stopped at the door, turning to the two agents, like he was sharing a thought he didn’t think was important.  “You know, when I heard he contacted you, I was surprised.”

“Why?”

“Chester Hardwick?  He doesn’t really much…to anyone.”

“Well, that usually changes when someone was about to die.”

Hotch was right about that…but Reid was still worried.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

It's always The Kids

You stood at the entrance of Rossi’s office with Prentiss, JJ, and Derek, looking at the mess of files on the floor.  It wasn’t disastrous, but for Rossi…it kind of was.  The guy color-coded his field notes.  He wasn’t so out of control he’d go around rearranging other people’s desks, but he was definitely a neat-freak.  This was a pretty blatant sign that he was having a serious problem.

“Hotch is in Connecticut, right?”  Prentiss double-checked before she considered calling him.

“Yeah, he and Reid are doing the Chester Hardwick custodial interview.”  You still felt guilty about skipping out on that, especially after that phone call JJ got.  It sounded like Hotch already had enough stress.

“Damn.”

“He doesn’t need anything else on his mind when he’s dealing with a guy like Hardwick.”  Derek voiced the same concern you all had, the four of you still staring at the mess of files on the ground.

“So, what do we do?”  Prentiss was right, this wasn’t something the rest of you could just leave be.

“You got any idea what Rossi was working on?”  Derek was looking for a place to start.  It might lead nowhere, but it was better than nothing.  So far, all you knew about the guy’s social life was he wrote books and had multiple ex-wives.

“I - I think Garcia might know…”  JJ was cautious, particularly because she expected Derek to turn his attention to her so fast it could have actually given him whiplash.  “He stopped by her place last night…”

“What?”

“Why?”

“I’m really not supposed to say…”  Garcia had snuck up on the rest of you, standing in the bullpen with a handful of files she was going to leave on Hotch’s desk, staying there as the rest of you stepped out to lean  to talk to her, “Cause…he said he wanted to keep it between us.”

“He might need our help,” Prentiss leaned forward against the railing, hoping to convince Garcia to help the rest of you.

“He didn’t ask anyone for help.”

“Penelope, Rossi is a guy who color-codes his hand-written notes in his notebook.  Blue pen for evidence, red pen for supposition in theory - the guy is a fussy, anal-retentive, neat freak who never needs anything out of its place.  I would say this -” Prentiss pointed back to the uncharacteristic mess, “is a scream for help.”

“He’s in Indianapolis, on a 20-year-old double-homicide.  He said it’s time someone pays for it, and he was…upset.”  She was more nervous about spilling Rossi’s secret than she had been about him walking in to find her and Kevin.  Not because she was scared of what he would do, but because she felt she was violating his trust.  Even if she was convinced it was the right thing to do, she didn’t like it.

“Indianapolis.”  Derek confirmed, wracking his brain for what case that could be.  There weren’t a lot of open BAU cases, though Reid was probably the only one that remembered every detail of all of them, but Derek was sure there weren’t any from Indianapolis from two decades ago.

“He took a commercial flight this morning, he picked up a bureau SUV half an hour ago.”  When she didn’t see Rossi at the office, she got worried and tracked him down.

“Jet’s available.”  JJ slid in with the final push.

“Let’s go.”

********

“You know, there’s not really much to this file, Garcia.”  Derek flipped through the file for a second time during the short flight from Virginia to Indiana, video chat already up and open on the laptop as the four of you gathered around the table.

“Yeah, there’s a latent fingerprint that’s making its second run through A.F.I.S. as we speak.  As soon as I get results, I’ll let you know.  And then, there’s also - apparently - some crime scene notes that Agent Rossi wrote that I’m still spelunking for.”

“So, he was on the actual crime scene with the local detectives?”  Prentiss clarified.  It wasn’t often someone from the BAU had that opportunity.  Normally, profilers were called in after there were at least three different murders at three different times.

“Could be why it bothers him, so much,” JJ suggested.

“Well, I highly doubt it was his first scene,” Derek replied, not really argumentative.  All of you had seen fresh crime scenes before, so there had to be something…unique about this one.

“Yeah, but it was a bad one,” Prentiss reminded the rest of you, putting down the pictures of the crime scene, “The weapon was a long-handled axe.”

“Yeah, but we’ve seen worse since he’s been back.”  JJ didn’t need to start listing off the crime scenes you’d all seen.  You’d seen worse just in the last year.  Hell, the Feylin case had been less than six months earlier.

“There’s nothing else cross-referenced, no other crimes tied to this?”  Prentiss turned the subject over to why it would be a BAU case.  Yes, it was a cold case, very cold, but local departments handled their own cold cases unless there was something to bump it up into federal jurisdiction.

“No, nothing I can find.  I mean, certainly not something with these signature elements.”

“Double-homicide, single occurrence, no issue of state lines, no bizarre calling card that would warrant a call to the BAU - was there a request?”  You listed off everything that pointed to it still being a local case, hoping for an answer you knew you weren’t going to get.

“No, I don’t think so.”

“So, then why is this a BAU case?”  Derek knew every profiler had that one case that got too personal, maybe even more than one, but this shouldn’t have even been a BAU case in the first place.  So what made it so personal for Rossi?

“I don’t think it was.”

“Alright, Garcia, I want you to double-check any unsolved murders in Indiana or the surrounding states near this time.  Something this brutal doesn’t feel like a one-time thing.”  Derek gave the rest of you something to start with.  BAU case or not, it was haunting Rossi, and the old man was part of the team.

“You got it.”

“Wait, Penny!  Did he say anything that stuck out to you?  He would have said it at your apartment last night, that’s when his emotions were at their peak.”

“That…that it’s been 20 years, that someone had to pay…three kids were orphaned-”

“Early morning - the kids were at the scene, they saw the scene.”  You looked up to the others, the big question looming over this case just slipping into place like silk on a wood floor.  “If he arrived on the scene with the responding detective, the kids must have still been there…”

Shit.

It’s always the kids that get to you.

********

“One night waiting tables at this place, and I could probably pay off what’s left of my student loans.”  You murmured to JJ when you found the bar Rossi was sulking at.  He’d called Garcia earlier, and then she called Derek to let the rest of you that Rossi knew you were coming.

“If you’re buying, I’m drinking,” Prentiss tried to open with a lighthearted greeting, particularly after she spotted Rossi sulking alone at the bar with a barley-touched glass of scotch.

“I don’t think any of us could afford this place otherwise,” Derek joined in, all of you still had your go-bags slung over your shoulders.

“I know I can’t,” JJ confirmed.

“Go home.”  Rossi wasn’t having any of it.

“We just wanna help,” you tried, “Everyone gets a case they just can’t let go of.”

“I don’t need help.”

“Come on, now, Rossi.  Bounce some theories off us, fresh eyes can’t hurt.”  Derek tried his hand, focusing on solving the case a bit more.

“This isn’t even a BAU case.”  He hadn’t turned to look at the rest of you, but his eyes shifted when JJ promised a solution.

“Maybe not yet, but I can make anything a BAU case if I want to.  It’s about paperwork, and I know the paperwork.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because you saw those kids at the scene, and that’s been haunting you, and your best chance at dealing with it is to get the guy that did it.”

Damn you, with those big brown eyes.  Day after day, and you reminded him more and more of…of her.  You were right, too, which really didn’t help his resolve.  He didn’t make a big show of it, though.  He still had his pride.  So, he just waved the bartender over and asked the rest of you, “Order whatever you want.”

********

“I was here on a serial rapist in ‘88, it was pretty short work.  The guy wasn’t gonna win any IQ contests.” Rossi started when you all had your drinks and found a table, a comfortable little half-circle couch around a polished wooden table about the height of a coffee table, “The day after we um - collared him, local detective was driving me to the airport and um…there’s a call on his walkie, of kids screaming in a house - not far from where we were.  He asked if I mind taking the job in with him.  We were first on the scene.  Inside we found…”

“Found this,” Derek produced his copy of the file and put it on the table.  Rossi looked at the file quietly, then continued.

“The axe had been left behind, but had been wiped clean.  Turns out it belonged to the family.  The uh…oldest daughter, Connie, told me her father bought it on Christmas Eve a few months earlier.”  It got harder to talk about when the kids had to be brought up.  “Cut down a Christmas tree…Now I uh…always associate the thing with Christmas.  Never been able to put up a tree up myself again.”

“So he- he never hurt the kids at all?”  JJ asked as Rossi took a drink.

“Not physically.”

“But he would have known the kids were in the house,” Derek voiced the oddity to that detail.

“He only hurt the parents, and then left.”

“Okay, so, using a weapon he found at the scene, not eliminating all of the potential witnesses, that makes him disorganized.”  Prentiss got to work

“But he left no evidence, which suggests he’s organized,” Derek countered.

“Not if there was more than one unsub,” you proposed, still trying to work out the basics.

“There was a fingerprint…” JJ brought up, suggesting the unsub cleaned up after the murder.

“But it was behind the bedroom door,” Rossi counter-argued, “I don’t even think he knew it was there.  There should have been prints in other places, but they were wiped clean.  An open back door, a drinking glass left in the kitchen, and that one good print was not a match anywhere.  I’ve been over this a million times.  I keep thinking, if there was just one more piece, one more thing to go on, the answer was right in front of me.”

“He might be dead.”  Prentiss was right, it had been 20 years.  Even discounting for age, it was possible the unsub had some sort of health condition or an accident that took his or her life.  They could have taken their own life.

“I have to be sure.”

“Rossi, if he’s dead, you may never really know,” Derek warned.

“When we arrived on the scene…before any of the other units got there, I could hear them…before I even got out of the car.”  Rossi picked up the small chain he’d placed on the table, it wasn’t anything large or flashy, maybe not even real gold, but it had three little charms on it with names etched into them - one of those names was Connie.  He wasn’t even looking down at it as he recalled that morning, just holding it as he struggled through talking about when he found those kids, his breath catching in places, eyes welling with tears.  “It was a warm morning and the um…the windows were open in the upstairs bedroom…and their voices floated out into the street.  They were crying, and calling for their mommy and daddy.  Three terrified children screaming for their murdered parents.”

He had to take a moment, but nobody spoke.  That was probably one of the luxuries of the job, that the rest of you were rarely the first on the scene.  That you dealt primarily with people that would take their victims somewhere else, or would kill everyone at the scene.

“I’ve seen so much death and pain…but that sound.  It’s been 20 years…and I can still hear them screaming every night…crying.  If I can’t tell them for sure, that whoever’s responsible will never do it again, that screaming might never stop.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

The Cuts Can Heal

You’d all caught the Galen siblings at a bad moment, but when Connie told Rossi to stop, he promised to never bother them again.  You all took a moment before stepping back to the car, ready to try and help Rossi deal with this without contacting the Galen family.  Then Connie mentioned the gifts they all retrieved on the anniversary of the murder, and all of you stopped like a scratch on a record player before turning back to Connie.  To the average person, that wouldn’t mean anything.

To the BAU, it could mean everything.

The moment they knew Rossi never sent them any gifts, you were all led into the house, the sisters and brother gathering all the gifts they still had over the years and putting them on the kitchen table.  They were all brightly colored, cheaply made, the plastic toys would crack and break in less than a year, the stuffed toys were covered in a felt that wasn’t soft and they’d likely fall apart in the washing machine.

“This is it?”  Rossi confirmed, looking over the pile.

“It’s all we could find,” the brother shrugged.

“We threw a lot of them away,” the younger sister further explained.

“I wish you would have told me about this.”  Rossi was more remorseful than scorning, still careful and a bit bruised after the outburst in the street outside their grandmother’s house.  They’d been staying there for years, Rossi owned the home their parents were murdered in, paid for a cleaning service to go in once every week.

“We thought you were sending them,” Connie admitted, just as unsettled as her younger siblings after learning the unsub was the one leaving the gifts, “At first we kinda liked it, but it just became a bad reminder.”

“These are incredibly cheap, aren’t they?”  You and Emily had pulled on some gloves to handle the toys, holding them up for JJ to take pictures on her phone.  There likely wasn’t any useful forensic evidence left, it was better to be safe.  JJ was taking photos on her phone and sending them to Garcia to see what she could find.  It was unlikely anything would come back, those toys probably came from the same void as candy corn and those hard candies with the wrapper decorated like a strawberry.

“Where would you even buy toys like that?”  Derek couldn’t think of a place that would sell something like that.  He had a few friends and relatives with young kids, he’d gone shopping for birthday and Christmas presents, but he’d never seen anything like that on the shelves.

“Or why?”  JJ added, still taking a photo of each toy, angling her phone to get a picture of another one.

“How did you receive them?”  Rossi asked, looking for clues in the unsub’s actions after the murders.

“They were left on the porch at night, mine was found in my car this time.”  Connie delivered what was probably the most disturbing news, and why the siblings had suddenly gotten so nervous when they found out Rossi hadn’t sent the gifts.

“So, he’s following you.”

“There was a pickup outside the…uh…where I work.”  Connie froze for a moment.  “I just, I always thought it was you.”

“What do you remember about the pickup?”  This was the best lead Rossi had in 20 years, but he was desperate not to seem too excited about it.  It was still easy to notice how much he perked up.

“All I saw was the shape, and the headlights.”

“Morgan, obsessional crimes are your specialty.”  Rossi handed the floor over to Derek, though it was a bit more…symbolic than anything.  It was all basic information on obsessional crimes that you all knew, but letting others in on the case was a big step for Rossi.  It was a particularly big step in cementing his place in the team, confirming he was going to work as part of a team, and not as a solo act.  He’d been struggling with that at the beginning, and working on it for a while, but there were still moment’s he’d slip.  The rest of you had gone so far to help him with something that wasn’t even a BAU case, it was worth putting in the extra effort.

“Well, there’s two kinds of obsessional offenders that would gifts to survivors.  Sadists, who want to make the families keep reliving the crime, or guilt-laden offenders, desperately trying to find some way to apologize.”

“A sadist would send things directly connected to the crime, newspaper clippings, pictures of the house, maybe even crime scene pictures, “ you pointed out, putting down the last of the toys, “Anything to make the survivor relive the loss and the pain.”

“These don’t look like things you’d send to inflict pain on someone,” Emily agreed, the toys were cheap, but there was nothing sadistic about them.

“So, guilt-laden,” Rossi confirmed.

“You know, they actually look like the kind of thing a child would send,” Emily looked over the toys once again, putting together the fact these toys had been showing up for 20 years.

“Well, it’s rare, but an unsub who feels this much guilt sometimes commits the crime unintentionally,” Morgan shot out a theory, “They tend to be developmentally disabled, extremely low IQ offenders, and generally - well, they’re physically large, and very strong.  Strong enough to hurt somebody accidentally.”

“Like Lenny, in of Mice and Men,” Prentiss connected to an example.

“Exactly.”

“They’ve normally got someone to look after them.  That must be who cleaned up the evidence.”  The pieces were all falling into place, as you jumped in with an explanation of the missing evidence.

“It’s almost always a parent, and this parent rationalizes that the unsub would never try to hurt anybody.  See, in a lot of ways, this type of unsub, they’re sort of…” Derek shrugged a little as he tried to think of the best way to put it, “Overgrown children.  JJ, when you get Garcia on the phone, tell her we’re not looking for other homicides, here.  Get her to look into a string of less serious offenses in this area.  Parks, playgrounds, involving children, but not necessarily children who’ve been injured or abused.”

“Okay,” JJ nodded and stepped away to make the call.

“See, an unsub like this, when they see children, they wanna’ play with them, but it’s their size.  Frightens people,” Derek explained to the siblings, hoping it might help in some way.

Prentiss turned to Rossi, “This could be the piece you were looking for.

********

Sometimes, Reid got tired of being right all the time.

He was right to be concerned.  Hardwick had reached out and drawn out the interview until all the guards were out in the yard with the other inmates, planning on killing Hotch and Reid because it would put off the execution until the end of the trial.  To top things off, Hotch was struggling with personal problems, which caused him to react to Hardwick’s threat with a challenge of a fight.  It all came to a halt, though, as Reid promised to explain to Hardwick why he’d done what he’d done, which gave the genius a chance to spend the last thirteen minutes until the guards could arrive running through everything, from neurology to psychology, that could explain thy Hardwick became a sexual sadist.

Admittedly, it could have been far worse.  You wouldn’t have actively antagonized Hardwick, but the fact all of his victims were female had to be put into account.  You weren’t helpless, but Hotch posed a bigger threat to Hardwick, and if he’d seen you he might have been pushed to attack sooner.

The drive to the local FBI field office was already quiet, and the flight back was likely to be as quiet as the flight there, but Hotch needed to get one thing off his chest first.

“It was smart to get Hardwick to focus on himself long enough for the guards to come back.”  Hotch wanted to show praise for Reid’s quick-thinking, it was well-deserved, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the road, and he still had the root cause of his behavior nagging at his mind.

“I find that I do some of my best work under intense terror.”  Years later, Reid still wouldn’t know if that was good or bad, and you’d never be able to give him an answer beyond an uncomfortable pause and “Well…it’s not great…”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I antagonized the situation.”

“No you didn’t.”  When you found out the details of what happened - again, years later - you’d be the first to point out that yes, calling Hardwick a coward to his face and being confrontational when it was obvious the sexual sadist was lying did, in fact, antagonize the situation.  That was, however, still years down the line, and as of this moment what mattered was Reid’s judgement of the situation.  Besides, it’s not like he could predict the future.

“Well, I certainly didn’t help.”  Hotch wasn’t entirely sure if he believed Reid or not, but he didn’t want to argue with the genius.

“I guess you didn’t really help.”  There was no point in trying to argue against a fact, and Hotch wasn’t the type to find comfort in white lies.

There was a brief pause, the tense air in the car shifted when Hotch let out a deep breath, and he let himself cross that line between personal and professional and just…talk, even for a little bit.

“So, Haley wants me to sign the divorce papers uncontested, so nobody wastes money on lawyers.”

“You don’t want to?”

“What I want, I’m not gonna get.”

********

“Okay, crimefighters, I got the information you were looking for, but it may lead to more questions than answers.”

“Well, of course.”  Prentiss wasn’t entirely sure why she expected anything different.  In every BAU case, more answers always led to more questions, no matter how good the answers were.

“There are scads of open petty crimes as described in the very area of Indiana in the last 20 years, but here’s the rub.  A large portion of them only occur in the last week of March and the first week of April every year, and then it gets weirder.  Cause the same kind of crimes crop up in Springfield, Illinois for the next two weeks, and then in Des Moines, Iowa in the couple of weeks after that.”

“So, hes traveling,” Derek concluded, just as confused as the rest of you.

“On a specific schedule for years?”

“Maybe he’s a salesman?”

“I don’t think so, it wouldn’t make sense to take a developmentally disabled partner on a sales call.”

As Rossi focused on the toys again, the rest of you faded into the background.  They were cheap, likely bought in bulk to be given away for a few coins at most.  They would still appeal to kids, though.  Things that couldn’t be found in stores, brightly colored, unique…

“What about a carnival?”  That caught the Galen’s attention.

“Carnival?”

“We went to a carnival the day before, it’s the last thing we did as a family.”

“Did anything happen?”  Prentiss asked, all of you fairly convinced the unsub you were looking for was at this carnival, but looking for the reason why.  Why them?

“No,” the brother couldn’t remember anything, but he’d been young at the time, and memories can fade.

“No, we had to leave early…there was this…clown that made me a balloon animal, it didn’t look right, but then he kinda followed me around.  He didn’t really do anything, but my mom got afraid, so we left.”  For a moment, Connie looked like a scared kid all over again, reliving that day with the knowledge that clown could be the unsub.

“You never told us that.”

“I didn’t even remember it until now…”

“Penelope, pull permits.  Find out if this carnival is still in business.”  Rossi was jumping back into the fray wholeheartedly.  He was so close - so close.

“This Betty is ready.”

********

Arresting developmentally disabled people was never going to be easy.  He kept crying out for his dad, sounding like a little boy.  His dad kept insisting he didn’t mean to hurt anyone.  Worse yet, he was going to end up lost in the system somewhere.  At best, he’d get a public defender that would argue not guilty by reasoning of mental defect, but that didn’t guarantee the prosecutor would be willing to play along, or the judge.  They would - they should - and the final decision is up to the jury, but that would mean the man spent the rest of his life in a state-run facility, and they could either be fantastic or horrific.

That was the job, though, and every case was hard, for one reason or another.  A victim that looks too much like you or a loved one, an unsub with a history too much like your own, a town that looks like home.  Even if it’s just the horror, the reminder that there are really people that do these horrible thing, every case leaves a cut.  At least, for Rossi, this old wound would finally be able to heal.

He’d handed the keys to the house over to the Galen siblings, told them he’d kept it clean and maintained.  They’d asked if they could call him, and let him keep their mother’s old chain with a little charm for each of the kids.  The cut was finally healing, not just for him, but for them too.

When the five of you got back to the office, Reid was already at his desk going through the files that had already piled up in his absence, Hotch was in his office and likely doing the same.

“Pretty boy!”  Derek dropped his go-bag at his desk, “How was Connecticut?”

“Ultimately…uneventful.”  Technically, that was true, but he snatched Rossi’s attention before you you could point out he thought about that answer just a bit too long.  “Uh - sir, there’s someone waiting to speak to you in your office.”

“Oh my god.”  You elbowed JJ to keep her from going back to her office.  You were having trouble keeping yourself from laughing, which made it that much harder for JJ to keep from laughing.

“Agent Rossi, we need to talk, about Penelope.  Man-to-man.”  It was sweet, it was very sweet, and it definitely put Kevin on your good side, but with the knowledge that Penny would be just fine it just became so funny.  Especially considering that was the last thing Rossi expected, and it was the last thing he was prepared for.  Prentiss, Reid, and Derek all shared baffled looks before the genius spotted you taking a deep breath and sucking in your bottom lip in an attempt to hold your poker face.

“Man-to-man.”  Rossi was already regretting showing up at Penny’s apartment, and he was just heading into his office to have this man-to-man talk.

“What about Penelope?”  Derek was back on-edge, worried about Garcia, looking your way when Reid pointed at you and JJ, only just barely holding back your giggles.

“Garcia and Kevin, sittin’ in a tree.”  JJ started glibly.

“JJ, they’re doing a bit more than K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” you reminded her of the conversation that seemed so long ago, dropping your own go-bag at your desk.

“[F/N]!”  Derek shot back.

“What?  We had a very detailed conversation with Penelope.”

“Yeah, you never explained how you worked out the secret to shower sex.”

“Oh, and you never explained that thing you did in undergrad, with the stockings and the garter belt.”  Prentiss jumped in.

“The what?”  Reid’s grin was already growing as he laughed, mostly amused at the time and place that conversation was brought up.

“I am happy to share, but I need wine and food first.”

“Lord,” Derek still wasn’t the praying type, but it felt like a good time, “If you’re gonna strike me down, now is the time.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Humans Aren't Meant To Be Alone

Something had been bothering Spencer for months, ever since that case with the kidnapped daughter of a mob hitman in Witness Protection.  The group of guys that kidnapped the girl had also killed her best friend, they were going to kill the other girl too.  Spencer had been trying to talk his way out of it, but the former hitman just showed up and murdered the last living unsub.  There was nothing any of you could do after that.  The hitman’s information was far too valuable, the federal Attorney General would knock down any attempts to arrest him.  You all just had to…leave.

He had good days and bad days, everyone did, and it hadn’t effected his work - so far - but there were moments where he just seemed…absent.  Not distracted, exactly.  Just…like his mind was somewhere else completely.  You wanted to help, maybe just be someone to talk to - or even just talk at - but you didn’t want to push either.  The genius was remarkably stubborn, so you had to be careful.  Besides, for as well as the two of you got along, you hadn’t known each other that long.  It had been less than a year.  If he didn’t want to talk to you, that would be perfectly understandable.

But then, things got worse.

It was the case.  It started with the bombing of a house in a small Texas town, the victim being the abusive drunk father of the unsub’s girlfriend.  The troopers that responded to the scene were shot only seconds after calling in the scene, and at the time the young girl had been presumed dead.  As things unraveled, it didn’t take much to figure out just why the unsub had snapped.  A father that blamed his dead wife and son for ruining his career, after having to be discharged to raise his young son.  A boy that was far too smart for his local public school, which only barely had the resources for Special Education programs, but matched with his trouble reading and his spacial awareness and poor hand-eye coordination, school was hell even without his father’s rage at his avoidance of sports.  He was the smartest kid in class, with no way to prove it.

He didn’t fit in, and in a small town with closed minds that’s just short of a death warrant.  He’d been bullied to the point of harassment, with nobody to turn to.  His father resented him, at best.  The school just said that ‘being bullied is part of growing up,’ the same thing you’d hear when dealing with school shooters.  He was acting out his revenge fantasy, the only thing that differentiated him from the average school shooter was his girlfriend.  Instead of taking out as many people as he could before preventing suicide, she gave him a reason to live.

He’d taken his girlfriend and took off, hiding at a ranch at the edge of town.

By a miracle, the girlfriend had been convinced to sneak away and make a mad dash for town.  She’d made it to the precinct, but that just sent the boy spiraling.  He walked up to the precinct, automatic rifle in hand, planning on a firefight between him and every trooper in town.  The only hope was that a large chunk of the troopers, and most of the team, were back at the ranch, looking for clues.  Reid had gone so out of line that Hotch pulled him aside and told him off, before sending him back to go through the unsub’s things.

The kid just wanted to forget the torment he went through, and Reid had…he had a lot of things he wanted to forget, high school only being part of the list.  Reid wanted to deal with it himself - the kid he connected to so much without even meeting him.  It was like he was trying to tackle his own demons, alone.  It was like he felt, even in that small town with the whole team, he felt alone.  The problem with that was…it was just…

In all of your studies, in all those years getting your PhD, there was one thing that kept being hammered home over, and over, and over again.

Humans aren’t meant to be alone.

It was stupid, and you’d be lucky if Hotch just suspended you for a few weeks, but you did it anyway.  Your gun was back in the precinct, you’d managed to lock JJ, Prentiss, and Reid in a small office for a few minutes and give yourself the chance to head out before them.  You didn’t even have a vest.  Rossi, Hotch, and Derek had driven up so fast the SUV had to screech to a halt, and you had to side-step to block their shot.

“I’m with the FBI, we’ve spent the last few days learning about you.  I know how your mom died, I know your dad resented you because he had to leave the Marines, I know you’ve been bullied, and I know you were the smartest kid in class.  I know you’ve been hurt, and I know you feel alone, but your girlfriend is in there, and she didn’t want to tell us where to find you until we promised you wouldn’t get hurt.  She’s so scared for you, she loves you so much.  So, put down the gun…and I can take you to see her.  You can say goodbye, like you never got to do with your mom.”

In Guatemala, you had the luxury of knowing what you were dealing with.  Soldiers following orders to point and shoot at whatever their superiors told them to shoot.  You knew most of them wouldn’t think twice about killing you until after it was already done.  You knew you weren’t alone.  There were over a dozen others working to identify the victims of genocide.

You didn’t have that luxury this time.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Just The Beginning

“For the millionth time, guys, I’m fine.”  You sighed as you sulked in your desk chair.  “I took the time off the doctor suggested, I’ve had a million CAT-scans and MRI’s - I was further back from the blast when the bomb went off.  I’m fine.”

You’d been repeating the same line over, and over, and over again since that hellish case in New York City, a series of random killings, which turned into strapping a bomb to an FBI car, which then turned out to be preparation for a terrorist strike using an ambulance to bomb a hospital operating on a government official.  You’d been heading out to the SUV with Hotch and Kate, you got held up for a bit, and that gave you about an extra yard or two of space between you and the explosion.  It wasn’t like you got away without any injuries, you had a few lacerations, a concussion, and sprained both a wrist and ankle, but you were cleared for duty.  You were honest with the doctors, you went through all the tests, the bed rest, the check-ups, and you were fine.  The ringing in your ears was gone.  You were cleared for field duty, you were cleared to fly, and you were cleared to be around loud noises again - not that you were planning on it.  Frankly, you were more worried about Hotch.

You all were, but if any of you outwardly expressed that concern to Hotch, it wouldn’t end well.  So, until Rossi knocked some sense into him, the team continued to irritate you.  Honestly, it was one thing if they were already on their way to get coffee when you ran out, but they were going out of their way.

“You got hit by a bomb,” Prentiss spoke like you needed to be reminded of that, but you were fully aware of what happened.

“Really?  Well golly-gee, and here I thought it was just a strong gust of wind.”  Your attention was grabbed by the mug of fresh coffee placed on your desk, and you narrowed your eyes at the culprit - Spencer.  “Did I ask you to get me this?”

“Well - uh…I was getting more for me, so I thought - I can take it back.”  He’d figured that you didn’t like to be taken care of.  A lot of people that make it a point to take care of other people are very uncomfortable with other people taking care of them.  He just hadn’t been prepared for how much you didn’t like it.  If looks could kill, half the BAU would be dead.

“...Fine, you’re off the hook.  For now.”

“If it turns out you’re not fine, I’m tellin’ mama.”  Derek threatened, lightheartedly but seriously, from his desk across yours.

“And I’ll tell mama it’s your fault.”

“Hey guys,” JJ rushed through, a pile of files in her arm, a familiar sight to all of you, “We got a case.”

********

You only had one victim, but it was weird enough that the BAU needed to jump in immediately.  Delilah Grennen was bludgeoned and raped at night, in her home.  Staged facing up, her arms folded across her chest, stabbed repeatedly - post-mortem - with a round instrument.  It was all the M.O. of a man who’d been executed for similar murders almost exactly a year earlier - Cortland Bryce Ryan, aka The Angel Maker.  The semen found on the victim was tested and matched to Cortland Bryce Ryan, aka The Angel Maker.

Yeah.

Weird.

You tucked your go-bag with the others and took a seat on the couch, looking through the compiled file of the original case, and the new one until everyone was pulled together for the initial discussion.

“The Angel Maker’s victims were beaten with the assailant’s bare hands, Delilah Grennan was beaten with a heavy instrument, maybe a hammer,” Reid started off with the most obvious difference between the two cases.

“Okay, so this unsub’s a weaker guy, or at least someone who perceives himself that way,” Derek concluded, still going through the pile of crime scene photos on the table.

“So, they brought along the weapon to make sure the victim wouldn’t fight back,” Prentiss proposed a potential theory, before Rossi jumped in with a question that caught everyone’s attention.

“They have parachutes on board, right?”

“They should, it’s standard on all federal air transport.”

“Then maybe we can give one to the elephant in the room, get him out of here.”

“That’d be the elephant with the dead man’s DNA,” Derek looked back down at the crime scene photos, looking for something the locals might have missed, or simply not known was important.

“Most biological samples from humans can be stored indefinitely if you keep them cold enough, semen is on that list, and Ryan was a very organized killer.  He could have prepared for his death and recruited an accomplice or protege nobody knows about.  They waited until everyone thought The Angel Maker was gone, and then they struck, planting some of the stored semen in the victim.”  It was the most logical solution you could come up with.  Frankly, it was the only logical solution you could come up with.  Everything else involved something out of a crime drama or a soap opera.

“That’s one theory.”  You were all willing to listen to Spencer’s theory, until he continued.  

“There’s another?”  JJ furrowed her brow, not sure where this was going.

“Think about who shares the exact DNA makeup of another person-”

“Reid, you’re not seriously floating around the idea of an evil twin, are you?”  Morgan was making that Hail Mary pass, hoping he’d get the answer he was looking for.  That the genius knew something the rest of you didn’t - which was very likely.

“No, I’m not.”  This would have been a good time to stop talking, but he kept on going.  “I’m floating the idea of an eviler twin.  Traditionally the concept is a good twin, and an evil twin, but in this case it’s evil twin, eviler twin.”

“Well…I think that just settled the Caltech vs. MIT debate for…forever.”  The heavy silence had been too much for you to bear, and you had to say something.  Then you spotted Hotch, holding his forehead in more than just a tired man’s reaction to a young employee.  “Hotch?  What’s wrong?”

“Hotch…you have been cleared to fly, haven’t you?”  Morgan was pretty sure he knew the answer to that question, you were too to be honest.  That look Hotch shot Morgan was just confirmation of your suspicions.

He was not cleared to fly.

********

The whole town was spooked.  Ryan had been the first murderer in that area for decades, and certainly nothing on this level.  They thought he was gone, but suddenly everyone was scared he’d found a way to return from the dead.  It made sense.  The entire town was nothing short of idyllic.  At least Mayberry had some dust and dirt in the area, it seemed a little more realistic.  This place was…spotless.  A shining cliche of the peaceful American town that you’d previously thought was just a figment of imagination dating back to the 50’s and 60’s.  There wasn’t any need for you to go to the corner, the autopsy seemed pretty standard and the victim had been murdered the night before, no need for someone with your credentials.  You’d be more help at the crime scene.

“Before Cortland Ryan, this town hadn’t seen a homicide in over 30 years.  He didn’t just kill those six women, he killed a way of life,” Sheriff Dobsonled the three of you to Delilah’s house, filling you in on the kind of terror the town was going through.  “Now this thing’s got people thinkin’ he’s come back.”

“They don’t really think that, do they?”  Spencer asked as the four of you stepped into the victim’s home and out of the sunlight.

“Spence, honey, do you really think you’re the one that should ask that question?  Cause I know you remember the flight here.”  You pulled a pair of latex gloves out of your back pocket, it would have been easier to keep them in your sweater pockets, but there was too much of a risk they’d get fibers on them.  Hotch shot you a look - now was not the time - and while you’d not noticed the ‘honey’ that slipped out, the genius most certainly did.

“Let’s stick to the facts.  There were no signs of forced entry?”  Hotch kept the sheriff focused on the case and away from you and Reid.  It was hard enough, considering the two of you were kids to most of the people you worked with.  The two of you had gotten along well from the start, which wasn’t surprising.  Ever since that case in Texas, however, Hotch had to wonder if there was something more - or potentially something more - going on.  It wasn’t against any rules, but it would have its effects on the team, and there was Morgan’s reaction to consider.  Those were all problems for later.

“None that we could find, but whoever killed Delilah Grennan opened up every window in this house before he left,” the sheriff filled you in on the part that disturbed him the most, and it didn’t take long to figure out why.

“That was a signature from the previous murders,” Spencer thought aloud, looking around the house, gathering more information about Delilah.

“A detail we never released to the public,” the sheriff stressed that this couldn’t just be some copycat.

“So, this is someone who had access to information that was never made public.  Reaffirms the theory this unsub had personal contact with Ryan, he could have told them everything,” you shot out there as Hotch made his way into the scene of the murder - the bedroom.

“They’d know the murders better than we do.  Ryan was meticulous about every detail, there was a reason for it.  We don’t have all of that information.”  Spencer backed you up, all teasing aside the eviler twin theory had been dropped before preparing for landing.

“As for the semen, bodily fluids can be kept for a long time under cold temperatures.  It could have been originally gathered before he was even arrested, or smuggled out of prison,” you tried to assuage the sheriff’s fears of a serial killer coming back from the dead by discounting the biggest evidence as nothing more than the results of preparation by an organized unsub.

“There’s an entire cottage industry based on serial killer effects and memorabilia.  You can find absolutely everything if you find the right people,” Spencer filled the sheriff in on an unfortunate part of the cases you’d handle at the BAU.  It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for a trial to be packed with fans, and these copycats tend to be the most avid fans of all.

“The question is,” Hotch returned from looking around the house, “Is this a one-time commemoration, or is it just the beginning?”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

All In the Prose

I give you a legacy, a breath of life from the Angel Maker himself.  Those who prayed to forget me will one day see my face and shrink in fear.

It was a part of a letter sent to a local newspaper.  Reid read it aloud, having gone through the hole thing in a second or two, and comparing it to one of the originals Ryan had written years ago.

“that’s the last thing people need right now.”  Dobson sighed, already reaching the end of his rope with this case.  He’d follow the team’s lead, but a lot of that was because he didn’t know what else to do.  He’d worked the last case, true, but he’d never worked a case where DNA at the scene matched a dead man.

“Reid, how’s it compare with the original correspondence?”  Morgan had a feeling he knew what the answer was going to be.  The guard at Hawkesville prison hadn’t been very helpful, and to make matters worse there were boxes of letters to go through.

“They share some compelling characteristics,” he focused on the letter and the photocopy in hand, placing them on the table you were sitting on and leaning over to get a different angle, “I’d obviously like to look at it under magnification, with a better light.”

“I don’t think I like where you’re going with this, Spencer.”  You leaned over a bit to look without getting in his way, anxious that you already knew what the answer was going to be.

Hotch stepped a bit closer, needing something to work with, “Best guess, Reid?”

“I’d say it’s authentic.”

********

A woman named Sela, a friend of the sheriff and mother of one of the original victims, showed up to ask just what was going on.  She wasn’t the only one, either.  The whole town was outside, afraid that Ryan was back.  In such a small town, it was only a matter of time until all the things the team were trying to keep quiet got out to the press.  A miracle worker couldn’t have kept a lid on it, and there’s only so much JJ can do against a small-town rumor-mill.  Hotch kept trying to convince the sheriff not to dig up the casket, even as they walked to the grave, where you stood with Rossi and Prentiss.

When you took this job, you’d never thought you’d be using your skills and training to identify a murderer, but the sheriff had asked, and if the sheriff wouldn’t listen to reason, Hotch wanted to make sure everyone knew exactly who was in that casket.

Thing is, it’s kind of hard to identify a body when there’s no body.

“Hey, wait, Rossi,” you just barely managed to pull him away from the others, “I’m worried about Hotch.  I don’t think he should be cleared for field duty, let alone flying.”

The noise of the crane used to heft the casket out of the ground had caused the team’s leader enough pain to make him walk away, clutching his ear as Prentiss caught up to him, trying to figure out if she could do anything.  You weren’t the only one to notice, either.  There was no ignoring that pang of guilt when you saw it.  Kate died as a result of the blast, and Hotch was still recovering.  You’d only managed minimal injuries because you’d lagged behind.

“I’ll talk to him about it, you focus on the case.  If I need someone to bring in the technical jargon, I’ll let you know.”  Rossi promised, walking back to the car with you, stopping when you were about to say something, “I know you want to talk to him about it yourself, but you got caught up in that blast too.  If you do it, it’ll just make him feel worse, but if I need someone to fill in the technical jargon, I’ll let you know.  Alright?”

You nodded, not exactly pleased with the agreement.  Rossi was right, it was the best approach, but you didn’t have to like it.

“Come on, I saw a diner down the street that’s still open.”

********

After the empty casket had been dug up, you’d gone back to helping Reid go through the boxes of letters to and from fans of The Angel Maker.  Morgan had filled you both in on all the complications of the execution, a procedure that was supposed to take minutes ended up taking at least an hour.  Garcia had managed to track down the guy selling all the memorabilia, specifically to the unsub.  Unsurprisingly it was a prison guard, Rutledge, but he’d been found dead in his bed - one shot to the head and one to the groin.  That was when Prentiss found the bottle of pills that gave away just what the prison guard had been expecting when the unsub showed up.

The unsub was a woman.

A bit of digging revealed why Rutledge was murdered.  He figured out who the unsub was after Morgan picked up the letters from the prison, then paid her a visit and blackmailed her - if she had sex with him, he wouldn’t tell the authorities.  It was something he’d done at the first prison he worked at - and all female prison - where he’d use his position to get sexual favors from the inmates.  What he hadn’t counted on was that this woman wasn’t in prison, she’d already murdered one person, and she didn’t have a problem doing it again.

This unsub wasn’t just a fan.  She was in love with Ryan.  Most women like this were well-educated, attractive, and fell into a few different categories.  The reformer, who wanted to help the guilty find redemption.  This unsub likely fell into the second category, as she had an intense case of hybristophilia, an attraction to violent men.  Specifically, criminally violent men, as they made her feel powerful.  She was prepared to follow Ryan’s instructions.  She had a kit she used to rape the victims before implanting the the preserved semen, the murder weapon, and a screwdriver used to stab the victims after they died.

There was one woman who’d visited Ryan over 70 times: Shara Carlino.

A marketing VP before she moved to a small-town for an outside sales job.  It was commission only, and a massive pay cut.  On the other hand, Hawkesville prison was right outside her window.  When Emily called she let you know that Shara also insisted on calling him Cortland during the interview, and said that they were lovers.  An emotional relationship, obviously, as Ryan wasn’t allowed to have conjugal visits, but that just baffled you even more.  She tried to insist she was the only one, but she did get one letter meant for another woman - someone Cortland called My Dove, but the writing of the letter was awful compared to the ‘seamless and beautiful’ prose he normally had.

“The man raped and murdered women,” you shook your head as you started digging through the boxes for Shara’s letters to and from Ryan, “The dangerous thing, I get.  Obviously, what makes a person dangerous has changed since the beginning of human civilization, but that’s not the point here.  Why the murderers?  Why not go down to a shady bar and find a guy that gets in a lot of fist fights?  Or a drug dealer?  Why the sexual sadist serial killer?”

It was a good thing you and Reid were working on the letters in a meeting room cut off from the officers, because it wouldn’t be good to hear you suggesting a woman with hybristophilia date criminals.  Granted, compared to The Angel Maker, they were harmless, but Hotch probably wouldn’t be a big fan of hearing that either.  Reid was…sort of listening.  He wasn’t ignoring you, he got the general point of what you were saying.  You just tended to rant out loud, sometimes, and at those times you just needed a body to talk at, not to.  The difference being, you didn’t want somebody to talk back.  If you did, you wouldn’t have built up a habit of ranting to the bodies you were identifying when you were back in Boston.

You were quiet for a few minutes, long enough for Spencer to look up from the letters and ask, “Is there more?”

“No, not for now anyway,” you sighed, dropping the correspondence between Ryan and his Dove onto the table.  “Any word from the others?”

While you and Reid were rifling through the letters, Rossi had joined the two of you while Prentiss joined Hotch and Morgan to check out the scene of another victim - Maxine Chandler.  She lived in the same house her entire life and ran a daycare out of her home.  The man who called 9-1-1 was dropping off his toddler and went to look for Maxine in the bedroom when he noticed something was off.  The M.O. was the same - bludgeoned with a heavy weapon, raped, stabbed repeatedly post-mortem in a different pattern, every window in the house left open.

“We’ve got another letter to Dove - November second, 2006,” you passed the letter over to Reid, Rossi pacing along the other side of the table while you and Reid took the lead on these letters.

“Same thing?”

“Yeah.  ‘Weather is good here, out in the garden all day.  Birds land on the fence.  The moon is full now.”  Reid handed the photocopy to Rossi as you slid another letter over to Reid.

“It’s like something an angsty adolescent would write.  She might be in love with the guy, but Shara Carlino is right, this is wildly uncharacteristic of how he normally wrote.”  You’d been leaning over the back of Spencer’s seat when he got that look he got when he was on the verge of a breakthrough, so you stood upright and stayed out of his way.

“He got an hour a day in a concrete yard.  There was no garden, there were no birds,” Rossi verbally tossed the line away as garbage, while agreeing that something was definitely fishy about these letters.  “Death row haiku.  I mean, you have to try to write this bad.”

“Maybe he was.  We’re talking about a very intelligent and organized unsub communicating with a woman so obsessed with him she’s killing for him after he’s been dead for a year.  It’s not unbelievable that they’d be writing in a code, especially if he was going to tell her all the details of his crimes.”  It was something you’d been considering ever since you heard that Shara noticed the letter to Dove was far inferior to the letters she’d get.  The Angel Maker was certain he was better than everyone else, he even claimed he’d return from the dead to kill again, this whole thing seemed so blatantly staged by Ryan himself, but with prison officials copying and reading all of his letters he needed a way to communicate without getting caught.

The best way to do that is by using a code.

“She’s right…”  Reid was still in thought as he spoke up, putting one letter down to look at another.

“Dr. Reid agrees with Dr. Castillo, I’ll try to contain my amazement.”

You chose to ignore Rossi - for the moment.

“The steganographic method would allow him to write letters that don’t appear enciphered.  The real message would be hiding in plain sight.”  Spencer looked up at the two of you to further explain.  He figured out the method, but there was still the matter of breaking the code.  That, at the moment, was what Rossi was most concerned about.

“What do you need to crack it?”

“The ability to clone myself and a year’s supply of Adderall.”

“How about an Anthropologist and an old man with a credit card that knows where to find good coffee and pastries?”

“I’m not old.”

“Shush, grandpa.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

A Twisted Love

Prentiss figured out where she’d seen the patterns of the stab wounds before - the Heavenly Waters constellations.  There were only a few of them, and only one more murder was necessary to complete the set.  All that was necessary was to figure out whatever was in those letters to Dove.  Rossi had been the last one to see what you and Reid were up to - though you were mostly grabbing things he needed after you figured out he was using the same code as the Aryan Brotherhood.

“Ryan was on Death Row with multiple high-ranking members of the Aryan Brotherhood, and they based their code on a 16^th Century book by Sir Francis Bacon.  So, I got a digital copy of the book, and then…I uh…” you looked back at the small whiteboard Reid used to figure out the code before looking at the others, “I’m not 100 percent sure what happened after that.  I mean I watched the whole thing, but it was like Robocop meets Houdini - I’m pretty sure I witnessed a miracle, I just don’t know what it was.”

“He got the code from the Aryans?”  JJ wanted to clarify, but she was still smiling from that little laugh she just had.  If that got out - and with this case it likely would - she’d need the details to handle the explosion in the press.

“Either that, or he read a lot of 16^th Century literature.  Bacon used a 21 letter alphabet, this one’s 24.  Each letter is assigned a bit-string of five binary digits.  This combination yields 24 possible encodings.  Normally, you’d use a computer to run all these combinations, but it was just quicker to do it long hand until I found the right one.”

There was a silence that spread over the rest of the team.  You all knew Reid was smarter than the rest of you - a lot smarter - but sometimes something like this would happen, and you’d be reminded of just how much his intelligence dwarfed the rest of you in comparison.

Emily slowly reached out to poke Spencer’s cheek, catching him off guard and baffling him.

“He’s so lifelike.”

With a disgruntled look, he brushed it off before grabbing some of the scattered decoded letters on a nearby desk, handing a few of them to Prentiss when she reached for them.  “We don’t have all of their correspondence, but I was able to make a chronology.  The woman he calls Dove established contact shortly after the trial.

My dearest Cortland, thank you for writing back to me.  The day the verdict was read, we shared a silent moment.  I knew then there was a force willing us together.

Every time I see you, I feel warmed, as if by the sun, and yet I fear if I come too close I’ll be consumed by your fire.

Ever since your visit, I am crazed with thoughts of you.  Already you’ve entered my dreams.  Each time you appear to me, I’m embraced by a feeling of trust and belief, as if I’ve known you all my life.

As always I am touched by your words, but I long to see you again.  Days pass quietly, one into the next…

My dove…

I can think of little else…

My secret wife…

If only they would let us marry…

All appeals are lost…

I could finally hold your hand…

The guards celebrated my defeat by clearing out my cell…

Here is my face…

Possessions matter little to a condemned man…

They die with you, the only man who will ever truly see me.

But I can’t leave this world before seeing your face one last time.

I will bring a part of you back into the world, and forever you will watch over us from the stars.

It would have been romantic, if it wasn’t all tainted with the blood of innocent victims.  You’d dated, you’d even been in love before, but this love was…something else.  Something you’d never experienced.  That kind of love that makes you jump into the fire with no reservations.  You’d never had that.  You hated to admit it, and you’d never say this out loud, but part of you was a bit…jealous, maybe.  You couldn’t say that the relationship had been a healthy one.  They’d first seen each other in the courtroom where he was convicted of six murders and sentenced to death, and then she continued his work after he died, likely even stole his dead body.  Yet, if they could have, they would have gladly spent the rest of their lives - together - and serial killer or not, they would have had kids, a family, together.

You’d never experienced that kind of love before…at least, you’d never dated someone you could clearly picture having that kind of future with, even with how much you wanted it.

“What do you think she meant by that last line?  ‘I will bring a part of you back.’”  Emily looked up from reading one of the last letters, all of you finally getting some of the missing answers.

“She was pregnant, or trying to get pregnant.  That’s why she has his semen, and the last bit - ‘you will watch over us from the stars.’  We don’t know how much he was able to smuggle out of the prison, and she wouldn’t need a lot to leave on the bodies, maybe…”  You paused, brow furrowed thoughtfully as you leaned back against the table again, “Maybe the plan had been to raise the child to commit the last three murders, but something went wrong with the pregnancy, or the birth.  The anniversary of Ryan’s death would be a lit match in a gas tank, someone that fits the profile wouldn’t have survived that.  There’s no way.”

“If she had is kid, we might be able to track her down through birth records,” Prentiss suggested a place to start.

“Agent Hotchner,” the sheriff stepped in, a recent call had caught his attention as it was likely related to the case, “We just got a report of a woman attacked in her house by a female assailant.”

“Is she okay?”  JJ’s brow furrowed and she stepped forward.  The team was so close to finding the unsub, to preventing another murder…

“Sounds like it, but I can’t say the same for the attacker, though.  Neighbors heard cries for help, pretty soon half the block was on her.”

********

The attacker wasn’t the unsub, but Shara Carlino, desperately trying to bring Cortland Ryan back and earn his approval - even after he’d been dead for a year.  You’d been getting a late dinner with Spencer when you got the call, JJ had gotten takeout and went straight to the hotel to call Will and get some much needed sleep.  Not all of the conversation over dinner was about the case, but it was most of what you discussed.  There was just…there were a lot of things over the past few days that Reid wanted to bring up, but couldn’t.  There were a lot of things he didn’t know how to talk about since that case in Texas where you talked down a kid with an automatic rifle.  This one, though, had been burning in his head, and would keep burning until he asked.

“Hey uh…before I uh…back - earlier, before we found out about Dove and started going through her letters, you were ranting about why women get attracted to serial killers, and you said you understood the attraction to dangerous people…?”  He didn’t know exactly how to phrase the question from there, and hoped as the two of you walked the short block from the diner to the hotel you’d catch on to what he was trying to ask.

“I guess a lot of it just comes down to the fact humans aren’t as evolved as we want to believe.  Obviously, the way humans define ‘alpha’ isn’t even close to the actual zoological definition, but there is some basis depending on how you look at it.  Back in the cavepeople days, the alpha male was the one that could provide meat for food and fight off predators, which meant he was strong and able to fight - dangerous.  In modern days, there’s unfortunately still a bit of that predilection left in the human mind.  The conscious mind is normally strong enough to overpower that, and when it isn’t the attraction is normally focused on a partner that can provide - which really just comes down to someone with a decent job.”  You took a breath and tried to figure out if you wanted to go deeper into detail, but you knew Reid would know you were avoiding giving him a complete answer, so you kept going.  

“There’s a wide range of things that can make someone dangerous these days.  If you look at everyone on the team - Garcia included - even without the job, we all fit into that category.  We all know how to read and manipulate people.  Hell, Garcia is a tech genius in the 21^st century, you know basically everything in the Age of Information, and I know how to dispose of evidence - bodies included.  We’ve all had at least one life experience that could have triggered us into doing the same shit our unsubs do, or worse, the main difference is we just care too much to do it.

You didn’t know everything in his past, you didn’t know the internal struggle he’d end up dealing with every time he connected to an unsub, you couldn’t know due to the simple fact he hadn’t told you or anyone, but for that brief moment he could have sworn you did.

********

With Garcia’s help, JJ narrowed down the list of suspects to Chloe Kelcher, one of the jurors on Ryan’s trial.  Capital punishment trials require a unanimous decision, Chloe must have voted to find Ryan guilty, they both knew that.  They fell in love despite that.

Which was why her trigger was the death of her baby, only minutes after he was born.  She was focusing on the baby to deal with Ryan’s death, but when the baby died her psyche cracked.  Her first murder was premeditated, she’d planned to kill someone on the anniversary of Ryan’s death, probably as early as when she left the hospital without her baby.

She was nearing the end of the ritual, she knows we’re investigating, and someone just tried to rival her for Ryan’s love last night.  There were hours to find her before she kills someone else.  Your heart started beating faster, that adrenaline rush you got when you were getting close to the wire, when you only had a short amount of time to stop a murder.  You stayed at the precincts with Reid and Prentiss, ready to head out, while the sheriff took Rossi, Hotch, and Derek to Kelcher’s house.  Among other things, they’d found Ryan’s body sealed in a large plastic bag and kept in a trunk against the wall in what was supposed to be the nursery, and a planner that detailed her appointments with the first two victims the day they were murdered, and her appointment that morning with the last victim - a CPA named Faye.

When you got the address of the last victim’s house, the three of you took off, getting there when Morgan was already sneaking around the back of the house and a line of cruisers were parked facing the house.  You had to buy time for Morgan to get her and get out, hopefully ending this without any more death.  The megaphone was just about shoved into your hand before every car flashed on their headlights and the sheriff clicked his siren on and off to catch Kelcher’s attention.

“Chloe, I’m Dr. Castillo, I’m an FBI agent.  We know you’re there, and we know what you want to do, you want to finish Cortland’s work.”

You waited a beat.  No gunshots, Kelcher hadn’t come out of the house, and there was no sign of Derek or the potential victim.

“You weren’t special to him, Chloe.  We read the letters, he wrote the same thing to you as he did dozens of other women.”  You snapped your fingers at Spencer before miming out writing something down, the other doctor quickly snatching a pen and paper to scribble out one of the lines from the letters.  “’Without the flesh, there is only the soul.  You don’t need to touch me to feel the love I have for you.’  He was a narcissist, a sexual sadist, he couldn’t love anyone besides himself.”

Another beat.  No gunshots.  No Kelcher.  No Derek.  So, you read the next line Reid had scribbled down.

“’Ever since your visit, I’m crazed with thoughts of you.  Already you have entered my dreams.’  He wrote the same thing to a woman named Carla.  ‘Each time you appear to me, I am embraced by a feeling of trust and belief, as if I’ve known you all my life.  It’s clear to me now that you are my fate.  We are destined to be together.’”

Still no gunshots.  Still no Kelcher.  Still no Derek.

“’And when I am gone, that will not change.  I will live on in you.  In death, our union will be eternal.  All appeals are lost.  The guards celebrated my defeat by clearing out my cell.  Possessions mean little to a condemned man, but I cannot leave this world without seeing your face one last time.’”

Fucking hell - where the hell were they?  You couldn’t keep her stalled forever.

“None of it is your fault, Chloe.  He manipulated you.  It’s not you fault that your son died.”

There was Derek, with a scared woman clinging close to him.

“We have Faye, Chloe.  It’s over.”

But it wasn’t, not to Chloe, not until the last murder, not until the constellation of the dove was stabbed into one last woman.

Even if it was herself.

********

You’d all stayed at the hotel for one more night.  You’d been so tired you woke up late, long brown hair still damp from your morning shower and tied up in a messy bun.  You were probably going to regret putting on makeup when you fell asleep on the jet, but you had to stop by the sheriff’s office before heading out.

“Anyone get directions back to the airstrip?”  JJ double-checked as she joined the rest of you around the car, while Hotch was saying final goodbyes to the sheriff and Sela.

“Well, Derek’s driving, so even if we did it wouldn’t matter.  We’re gonna get lost anyway.”  You’d given him your address and directions to your apartment.  It shouldn’t have taken him more than 20 minutes to get the moving truck there, and you still ended up sitting in an empty apartment waiting for your shit for almost an hour.

“The town’s only got one road, wiseass, we’ll find it.”

“Yeah…Morgan doesn’t like to follow directions,” Prentiss smiled a bit, fully prepared for the drive to the airstrip to take most of the day, “You didn’t know about that?”

“Yeah, he likes to vibe it.”  Eidetic memory or not, that was something Reid very clearly remembered from his early days in the BAU - back when it was just him, Morgan, and Hotch.

“Okay, smartass, you drive.”  Morgan tossed the keys to Reid, who’d barely managed to catch the keys before they hit him or the parked cruiser behind him.  There were collective groans in response, but at least Reid was guaranteed to remember where the jet was.  It was only cut off when Hotch handed the plate of brownies, gifted by Sela, to Prentiss.

“What?”

“I’m just gonna grab my bag.”

“You’re not coming?”  Rossi stepped closer after dropping his bag in the trunk.

“I - uh - think I’m gonna drive.”

“Your ear?”  You couldn’t help but ask, and your tone indicated you already knew.  You didn’t want to sass the boss unless you had to - so you didn’t - but it was a close call.

“Yeah, I really shouldn’t be flying.”

“I’ve done that drive before,” Rossi advised in that tone he had when he gave sage aged advice, you and Prentiss getting into the car, “You’ll see a lot of pretty countryside along the bi-ways.  You might consider…stretching it out a day or two.”

“Maybe I will.  Thanks.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

For Better, or For Worse

Scheduling a guest-lecture at the academy was tricky business for profilers, but at least at the FBI academy everyone was aware that cases come up and every instructor was sure to have a back-up in place.  Guest speaking at universities was…a bit trickier.  Even local universities, like George Washington University, normally had guest speakers and lecturers who wouldn’t cancel, people who practically make their living giving lectures about whatever educational book they’ve just published or research they’ve completed.  Yet, during recruitment season, not even the BAU was excused from giving appearances at various colleges in the area.

You’d given a presentation with Hotch a few weeks earlier, even the Unit Chief couldn’t escape this chore.  The first two questions students asked were if either of you had shot anyone, and if you knew Temperance - which quickly led to another student asking if the character Dr. Estella Martinez in Temperance’s book series was based on you.  You froze, the entire team knew of your long-term friendship with your fellow Forensic Anthropologist, but you weren’t quite sure how to answer that.  The answer was clearly yes, but Temperance continued to insist that none of the characters in her book were based on anyone she knew in real life.  Instead of answering, you just looked over at Hotch just in time to see him take a deep breath and pinch the bridge of his nose, making you feel guilty.  Like when your mom found out she’d been called to get you from school because you punched a boy teasing a nerdy girl in the grade below.  Then it ended with some guy asking if you were busy that weekend.

This week Rossi and Reid were giving a recruitment presentation, and you couldn’t help but wonder how that was going to go.  You’d heard his existentialist joke and giggled, but you also liked his nerdy and - frankly - bad jokes.  So, you adjusted your retaliation in the ongoing prank war and instead covered his computer and a sizable amount of his desk in pictures of your new cat - a one-year-old long haired black cat with an adorable fact that was a bit dumb and soft yellow eyes that were just a bit too big - and topped it with a post-it note that said “I named him Tybalt.”

Spencer Reid was, without a doubt, the only person in the office that would get the joke behind the name.  Tybalt was a character in Romeo and Juliet.  Specifically, he was a character also referred to as the Prince of Cats.

You were in the middle of carefully taping the second half of pictures into place when Hotch called you into his office to ask just what the hell you were doing this time.  Jordan - the substituting communications liaison while JJ was on maternity leave - just stormed right past you.

“You’re my boss, correct?”

“Excuse me?”  Hotch was actually blindsided, shooting you a quick questioning look as you stood in the doorway, and you just shrugged.

“I report to you.”

“That’s right.”

“Has my job performance been to your satisfaction, sir?”

“It seems fine.”  That was fair, Jordan hadn’t even been in the BAU for a month, but nothing had gone wrong.  At this moment, Hotch was just trying to figure out what was going on so he could put out the fire.

“And if it wasn’t to your satisfaction, you’d tell me?”

“I can promise you that.”

“Because I can do this job.”  It was at that moment, you vaguely recalled Derek making his way back from the back halls where the BAU’s communications liaison’s office was, looking annoyed, and you just knew what happened.  You loved him, always would, but sometimes you just wanted to strangle him.  Hotch caught that look of recognition on your face - you figured out what happened.

“I’m sorry, has somebody suggested that you can’t?”

“Have they?”

“Not to me.”

“Thank you, sir.”  Jordan turned on her heels and left, you slipped out of the way to let her leave and Prentiss step in ahead of you.

“You know what’s up with Agent Todd?”  It wasn’t so much a question as a statement of fact.  You’d been with the team a little over a year, and it doesn’t take nearly that long for profilers to pick up on characteristic traits, quirks, and patterns.

“Yeah, I gotta ask if there are any forensic requests for me to look over, I’ll let you know if I need help.”  You acknowledged Hotch’s quick ‘thanks’ with a short wave before heading down the halls to check on Jordan.  You opened the door and stepped into her office, catching her as she sorted through the endless sea of files that just kept on flowing in.  She didn’t turn to face you, shoulders tense as he held the stack of folders close.  “Hey, I don’t know if JJ had time to tell you, but people send in requests for me to look over the forensic evidence they have…”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve got some right here.”  She turned, putting the stack in her arm down as she grabbed the small pile put aside for you, not as tense but still guarded, “I’ve got some more filing to do, I can get the rest to you by the end of the day.”

“You’ve got enough work to do, just shoot me a text and I’ll come get them, or shoot Garcia a text and she’ll bring them down to me.”  You waved off the answer with a smile, the files addressed to you tucked under your arm.  “I’m guessing he said ‘you’re welcome’ all stubborn and offended after barging in here and playing the hero when you didn’t need or want him to.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s not you, it’s Derek.  I’ve known him my whole life, trust me I’ve dealt with it too.  He thinks he’s Superman, and everyone else is Lois Lane about to be crushed by a building, and to top things off he’s a stubborn ass.  Most of the time that’s great, in this job we need someone like that looking out for us.  He really does mean well, but sometimes it gets a bit condescending, and he gets a bit stupid.”  That caught Jordan’s attention, she started to relax a bit more, and even cracked a smile and let loose a little breathy laugh.  “For better or for worse, the job does get easier, everyone adapts at their own pace.  If you need anything, you know where to find us - I do suggest starting with the girls, though.  We’re more fun.”

That got a real smile and a laugh from Jordan, “Thanks.”

********

When you made it back to the bullpen you got the news.  After their presentation a man named Professor Rothschild approached Rossi and Reid with pictures of seven women who’d been murdered, before mentioning that acid is a very effective method of getting rid of evidence.  He then mentioned that he’d taken five more people, and there was only nine hours to save them.  Only minutes after Rossi first called Hotch about the case, having already taken the professor into custody, news hit about a woman named Kaylee Robinson, she ran a daycare center from her home in Loretto, Virginia the four children she was watching were abducted with her.

Something just felt off about Professor Rothschild, which was unusual.  Most serial killers went about their daily lives and nobody ever suspects them of anything.  This man - short, shoulder length white hair, a white suit matched with a button-up only a shade darker - just felt creepy.  He was calm, collected, he wanted the attention but he didn’t seem to be getting off on it.  The way he looked at you, just a brief moment before he looked ahead, made you sick.

Curiosity got the better of you.  Against your better judgement you made your way to the interrogation room and watched on the other side of the one-way window with Reid and Hotch as Derek recited Rothschild’s Miranda rights.  The man was calm, too calm, even after Derek slammed his hand on the table after the professor refused to pay any attention, then only briefly mentioned he knew he had the right to an attorney and didn’t want one.

“Some games are meant to be played by higher intellects.”

As if to drive that point home, to further insult Rossi, Rothschild requested that Reid be sent into the interrogation room.

“I never have any normal fans,” he responded as Rossi and Derek joined the three of you on the other side of the glass.

“This guy loves the attention.”  Derek just about glared through the glass.

“He has a god complex,” Rossi clarified.  “Sooner or later he’ll give up something about Kaylee and the kids, guys like him always do.”

“He’s playing a game.  He wanted to be arrested, he wants us to know about the abductions, but he didn’t tell us anything about the original seven murders and disposed of the bodies with acid.  If we put together a profile, figure out victimology, and identify the women he murdered we can use that,” you proposed the best plan you could think of, ready to hear a better plan if anyone had one.

“We use that to push his buttons, knock him off his pedestal,” Rossi agreed.

“Before he hurts the other five?”  Hotch had a point.

The shitty part was, there were no other options.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

It's All A Game

“I went through VICAP, there are literally thousands of open missing women cases across the country,” Penelope started the moment everyone was gathered in the meeting room, already seated with her colorful notebook and pink pen.

“It’s not the entire country, though.  Kaylee was abducted at 9:30 this morning.  He had time to take them somewhere, hide them, and make it to Fredericksburg two hours later.”  Reid was pacing around the table, coffee cup in hand, that was hardly unusual.

“You’d need a place with a lot of privacy to hide five victims,” Prentiss narrowed down the kind of area you were all looking for.

“A house.”  Hotch stayed on his feet, that wasn’t unusual either.

“He’s local.”  Rossi confirmed what team had figured out so far.

“He was late to the presentation,” Reid recalled after getting yet another cup of coffee, “You know, it was more like two and a half hours after the abduction.  He got there somewhere around noon, which puts him somewhere in that radius.”

“Garcia, work with a local map, I need to know the furthest he could have gotten from Loretto and still gotten to Fredericksburg by noon.”  With a brief confirmation of Hotch’s order, Garcia scribbled down the first item on her list of things to do.

“Alright, what do we know so far,” Rossi grabbed a marker and started writing on the clear board in the meeting room, scribbling things down as he went over the pieces of the profile already gathered.  “He’s obsessively neat and clean.  He’s done research on Reid and me at least.  He’s abducted five people and then gets to a scheduled recruitment session at a specific time, that’s extensive pre-planning.”

“Did you find anything on those pictures, Garcia?”  The photos Rothschild showed to Reid and Rossi were the best lead on the women that had already been murdered, but they were blurry, the women had been thrashing and moving.

“I can’t even positively say they’re dead.”

“What about hair color?”  Rossi kept scribbling down on the board.

“Of the ones that show color, they appear to be brunettes.”

“What about brunettes with brown eyes?  When he first came in here, he stopped looking ahead and gave me a…look.”  You didn’t know how to describe it, especially with Derek speeding down toe walkway to the meeting room.  He was already in a mood and you didn’t need him going into the interrogation room and murdering Rothschild.

“Yeah, Jordan and I saw that too,” Prentiss confirmed your fear that you weren’t imagining things.  You’d all have to cover the elephant in the room - the fact that Jordan and Prentiss were also brunettes with brown eyes - but victimology can be as general as gender and as specific as nose-type.  It all depends on the unsub.  At the very least, narrowing down the hair and eye color was a place to start.

“Kaylee’s a brunette with brown eyes,” Rossi brought up at least one confirmed victim with brown hair and eyes.

“I’ll start there,” Garcia added to her notes, “Brown eyed brunettes from central Virginia that are missing.”

“I got zip on his prints,” Derek informed the rest of you, shooting down one option you had of getting anything on Rothschild.  “He’s not in any system, he’s a ghost.”

“Alright, if he hasn’t been fingerprinted he hasn’t been arrested.”  Rossi started listing off things Rothschild couldn’t be.  “Which also means he hasn’t had a passport, driver’s license, or been in the military.”

“Never been a teacher either, you have to be fingerprinted to be a teacher,” Reid pointed out, adding another piece to the puzzle.

“So he’s a professor who doesn’t teach,” Rossi added to the growing list on the board.

“What kind of professor doesn’t teach?”  Jordan placed her own coffee mug on the table, joining in on the conversation after observing on the sideline.

“Researchers, mostly, but my old mentor back in Boston was a professor at MIT.  She didn’t teach classes, but she took in students looking to get certified as Forensic Anthropologists as interns and made sure we had the training we needed or coaxed us into other careers if she thought we’d do better there.  Most of what she actually did was work with various government agencies to identify bodies.”  You filled in.  When you started interning for Dr. Hannigan there had been a group of five of interns including you, after a year and a half it was just you.  That little trip down memory lane gave you an idea.  “The government gives MIT a pretty big grant to keep the lab and all that research running.”

“A grant would give him the time,” Hotch chimed in.

“There must be some sort of central grant database, I can’t see the government handing out that money and not che-,” Garcia started packing up to head back to her office, “I’ll look into it.”

“From past conversations we know he’s a narcissist and seemingly remorseless.”  Rossi started building the psychological profile a little further.

“Psychopath,” Derek summed it up.

“You know, we could narrow down a lot of these open missing person cases if we could just figure out how he met them,” Prentiss proposed a secondary approach.

“Jordan, contact the Loretta PD and get us an invitation to consult on the Kaylee Robinson case - be nice to them, they don’t have to let us.”  Hotch started laying down a plan to officially get involved in the case, already planning on Jordan to succeed he added something that had both Derek and Jordan looking almost panicked.  “Then you and Morgan go down and find out what you can.”

That was going to end well…but you had bigger problems.

“Castillo, I need you to do something for me.”

You already knew you weren’t going to like what Rossi asked you to do.

********

You really, really, really didn’t like it.

It was bad enough when Rothschild was giving you the creeps from across the room, but then you had to be in the interrogation room with him.  Rossi pushed and prodded the professor, who of course asked where Reid was.  Rothschild gathered his suit jacket to leave and opened the door to find you there, and he froze.  

“Dr. Castillo, this is Professor Rothschild.”  Rossi took pleasure in that, especially after Rothschild claimed he didn’t have a hand to play in this game.

You smiled, took his coat, and stepped inside as he backed up and crossed his arms with his back against the wall, more like a petulant child than a cornered animal.  He still gave you the creeps, but at least you had the high ground this time.

“Guy like you doesn’t have a problem with women, does he?”

“Are you nervous?”

“It’s okay, doctor, I think we have everything we need to know.”  Rossi called an end to the bluff as you draped Rothschild’s jacked over the back of the chair he’d vacated.  “This is not a man who can confront a woman on equal footing.  He sneaks up on them, gets them from behind - blitz attacks.  The original seven victims, well they - they were alone when they came up missing.  They had a routine, and he watched them, hiding in the reeds like a snake.  Like a coward.”

Rossi nodded up to you from his seat, and you had to put in effort not to leave too quickly.

“You alright?”  Reid waited until you closed the door, but he’d noted how you ran both hands through your hair and let out a huff when you got out of there.  His mom was right, you were pretty - very attractive, actually.  After you, Morgan, and Rossi had stayed behind in Vegas to help him figure out the cause of his reoccurring dreams - and solve the cold case connected to them - his mom had left him with one little nugget he wasn’t sure what to do with, so it just kept rattling around in his head.

“That girl, I wasn’t sure what to think about her - girls with pretty faces like that can be absolutely awful - but I like her.  Smart girl, big heart, hates Chaucer.”  She’d said it so nonchalantly as she looked out the car window he’d almost missed it entirely.  Then, a few weeks before that on that case in Ohio, you’d called him sweetie and honey within an hour of each other, all followed up by dodging his question after he asked what you meant about understanding having an attraction to dangerous people.  As a result, his thoughts about you had become a bit more…muddled as of late, and there never seemed to be time for him to try and figure them out.

“I’ll be okay, but thanks.”  You stood by him and watched the interview, a few things catching your attention.

“That was a waste of precious time.”  Rothschild relaxed, returned to casually pacing around the room, like he was just killing time.

“Oh, it’s all just part of the game, no.  Isn’t it?”

“You think you know what game you’re playing, David?  You aren’t even able to grasp what questions to ask.”

David.  When was the last time an unsub called Rossi by his first name?  Hell, the only person on the team that did that was Hotch.  He’d call Rossi Dave, and even that wasn’t consistent.

“Such as?”

“How about asking what the rules are, David?”  Rothschild placed his wristwatch on the table, facing Rossi.  “Two o’clock.”

Rossi just watched, waiting for something else.  Unsubs like Rothschild were always stunned by their own brilliance and in love with the sound of their own voice.  What the professor had to say next made your stomach drop.

“And then there were four.”

He never said all the victims would die at the same time.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Perfection

“Is there something else I need to know?”

“Only that I’m rooting for you, David.”

The three of you rushed back down the halls and caught sight of Garcia leading Hotch and Prentiss back to her office.

“He said one of them is already dead.”  Reid was the first one in the door.

“One of the five.”

“Oh god, it’s them.”  You caught sight of the live stream on Garcia’s computer.  It was choppy - consistently choppy - and only showed Kaylee and three of the kids in some kind of storage unit.  Each one of them was wearing a gas mask attached to the ceiling by a short coiled tube, keeping them evenly spaced.

“I had an anonymous site emailed to me,” Garcia filled you in on how she’d gotten hold of the live feed.

“He said one will die every two hours, not all five in ten.  When he said ten hours, I just assumed - “

“It’s a chess game, he’s two moves ahead.”

“Let’s not get diverted.”  Hotch course-corrected.  “How are we doing with the seven missing women?”

“Uh - “ Garcia brought up a of pictures of the missing women, “So far, I’ve got 39 missing brunettes in central Virginia.”

“Thirty years old, like Kaylee.  Narcissists tend to be extremely preferential.”  Hotch narrowed the field further.

“Twenty-eight.”

“He said he started this five years ago,” you brought up.

“Over the last five years…seventeen.”

“Alright, if he thinks he’s going to jail for even one of the seven homicides, maybe he’ll tell us where the rest of them are - give himself some deal room.”  Hotch turned to leave, “How long until the next one?”

“One hour, 48 minutes.”

“Dave, can I speak to you for a sec?”

********

While Rossi kept working on getting Rothschild, Derek and Jordan went down to the daycare to meet with the detectives investigating Kaylee’s kidnapping and her husband, and the rest of you worked in the round-table room narrowing down the seventeen missing women to the seven Rothschild had murdered.  You knew he used a blitz attack, got them when they were alone in their regular routines, and then looked at when and how the women went missing.  During that time Kaylee had switched places with the boy furthest away from the camera.

“Woah,” Prentiss stopped for a moment when pictures of all seven victims were displayed on the screen.

“They’re all incredibly beautiful,” Hotch actually put words to Prentiss’ observation.

“Almost unnaturally…”  It took less than a year to figure out how to tell when Reid’s brain was churning on something, and when he looked from the pictures of the missing women, to you, and then back to the pictures you had a feeling you weren’t going to like what he was figuring out.

“What are the chances that three of our seven victims are from the same town?” Garcia looked back at the rest of you after writing the last name on the board.

“What’s the population of Saluda?”  Prentiss wanted to know the answer to Garcia’s question as well.

“Middlesex county is small but it’s by water, a lot of people have boats there and weekend homes.”  Reid was looking back at the list of names and places, still working on whatever started churning in his head.

“And two from Gloucester Point,” Hotch added.

Reid pulled his beeping phone from his pocket and opened the text from Derek, toys all aligned in a peculiar shape - a circle with a line straight through it.  If it meant something, Reid was the best bet at making any sense of it, and it didn’t take long.  Whatever he’d started figuring out started snapping into place, recalling various things Rothschild had said to him and others during the last few hours.  He handed his phone to Hotch and grabbed a marker as he walked back over to the board.

“Perfection…” he muttered to himself before writing Loretto 5 at the top of the list and circling it, “One, one, two, three, five.”

“Reid?”

He didn’t answer you, which wasn’t entirely surprising when he had epiphanies like this, but he did take off to the interrogation room at a sprint.”

********

“Garcia, can you put a map of Virginia on the screen?”  Reid crossed the room and pushed the board aside, Rossi having followed after Reid burst in, grabbed Rothschild’s pendant, and told the professor “I know how to find them.”

“It’s an irrational number known as phi based on the ration of line segments to each other, and to the whole.” Reid started to explain before jumping to a term less mathematical and a bit more common.  “It- it’s called the Golden Ratio.”

“goldenrat, that’s the web address, goldenrat.net.”  It rang a bell with Garcia immediately.

“It’s a ratio found all through life - in fact many people that we find conventionally attractive are proportioned based on that ratio like Castillo - that’s why he looked at her and why he picked his victims.  He - he, uh, made a reference to Leonardo da Vinci, remember this?  Da Vinci used it in a lot of his paintings - as a matter of fact, The Last Supper is a perfect example of - “

“Missing kids, Reid, missing kids.”  You steeled yourself to keep from panicking over the fact you were in the same room as a psychopath who killed women like you, at least until the case was over and you could go home.

“Right - the whole concept is illustrated by this pendant, including the logarithmic spiral created by using a Fibonacci sequence - follow me on this.”  Reid turned back to the map and instructed Garcia through rotating it and overlaying a picture of the spiral over the map until it traced over the five towns the victims were from, and the one town where the abducted victims could be found - Chester, Virginia.

“Morgan and Todd are closer, Castillo you’ll call them and tell them to get to Chester.  I’m gonna get a chopper ready, Reid and Prentiss a city map and you’re with me,” Hotch was already on his way out of the room before he was done telling you to call Derek and Jordan.

“There’s still something bugging me…” Rossi mused as he stepped closer to the map.

“He’s been calling you David, nobody does that unless it’s personal,” you pointed out, dialing Derek’s number in your cell, waiting for him to answer.

“You think it’s a trap?”

“Yeah I - hey, Derek head to Chester, Hotch, Prentiss, and Reid are on their way already, they’ll tell you where to go from there - but be careful.  This whole thing is weird, I think it’s a trap - he said he used acid to dispose of the seven women, look out for that.”

“I was thinking the same thing, you’re pretty good at this.”  Rossi left with a lighthearted tease, “I’ll go tell Hotch.”

********

“So, Rossi arrested his brother then wrote about it in his book, calling him pure evil.  Then Rothschild ‘started seeing images’ and started killing women who were perfect examples of humanity because their faces follow this Golden Ratio thing.”  JJ just had to make doubly sure she followed the logical twists and turns this bizarre case took.  She waited for you to nod before she continued.  “And that was all part of some elaborate plot to lure the team out to a trap where they’d get burned alive by acid, the woman and four kids were always going to be fine, and this was all part of a big revenge plot against Rossi.”

“Yup.”  You’d called to fill JJ in on the latest bout of chaos within the BAU, technically it was Prentiss’ turn to call with the daily report JJ demanded - literally - but all things considered it felt like you should make the call.  “And that’s the story of why I’m not sleeping until I can find someone willing to drop a bowling ball on my face.”

“Good luck,” JJ snorted in response, her cell still on speaker phone as she did some last-minute tidying after putting Henry to bed.  Will was listening nearby, helping as quietly as he could having been sworn to silence until the call ended.  “It’s getting late, try and get some sleep.”

“Yes mom,” you teased with a few shared giggles between you and JJ, “Night Jage.”

“Good night Dr. Perfect.”

“Ugh!”  You quickly hung up, and JJ put her cell back in her pocket as Will smirked at JJ like the cat that got the canary, and she knew exactly what was coming next.

“Looks like I just won myself twenty bucks, told ya’ he’d say something first.”

“You did not - that does not count as a confession.  He was on a math rant, he’s not even going to realize he said that until someone points it out.  Trust me.”

“He called her perfect, how is that not a confession?”

In the end they agreed that Will hadn’t won the bet.  It wasn’t the first time they’d had this debate, and it would be far from the last.  Twenty dollars on who would confess to having more than friend feelings first, you or Reid.  It was only twenty dollars, but to be honest that wasn’t really what mattered as time passed.  Eventually it just became about finally getting an answer to the debate.  Will stood firm that Reid would get the guts to say something first, but JJ figured you and the genius would be dancing around each other for a while and then you’d just put your foot down when you’d had enough of the games.

It was still going to be a while before they got that answer.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Shock and Burn

You knew you were going to regret going with Hotch and Derek to interview Viper, a ‘pick-up artist’ that taught a class on how to pick up women that the unsub had attended, you just didn’t know how much you were going to regret it.  Everyone was heading out to the local clubs, handing out fliers of the sketch and telling women what to be on the lookout for, except you and Jordan.  You were going out to a club, but you weren’t going to be telling women about the unsub.

No, you were going to be coaxing Viper into trying to pick you up in the hopes he’d give you more information on the unsub.

You didn’t like going to clubs.  You didn’t like Viper.  The unsub was literally gutting women alive.  You didn’t like meeting guys at any location that served alcohol.  You didn’t have anything to wear, which meant you had to go shopping for an entire outfit in an hour.  The worst part was, you wouldn’t have been so mad if it hadn’t been so long since the last time you’d had sex.  Pretending to flirt with this slimeball dressed like a goth pirate with a modern twist was the closest thing to action you’d had in an embarrassing amount of time.  You weren’t the one night stand kind of girl, especially after becoming a profiler, and your relationships tended to end after the first date when the topic of your career came up.

Apparently, you making a living solving the most disturbing crimes in the country and identifying long dead bodies was just a bit much for most guys to be okay with.

“Alright, Jordan’s almost ready, we’ll be heading out when she is.”  You had thought ahead when putting together your outfit.  You were in Atlanta, but in November it could still get down to 41 degrees Fahrenheit - only nine short degrees above freezing - so you’d stashed your black leather jacket into your bag.  You added that to your outfit to hide a shoulder holster and your gun.  Sure, Viper wasn’t the unsub, but you didn’t trust him, and between this and Professor Golden Ratio you weren’t exactly having the best of luck lately.  Until you got that holster you were borrowing from a local detective, you kept your jacket draped over your arm.

“Oh, but you seem to have lost the rest of your dress.”  As your friend and coworker, Derek had been snickering about you spending the night interviewing Viper.  As the guy who’d been calling you his little sister for years, he did not like your outfit.  Your straightened hair was fine, the smokey eye shadow was fine, the darker shade of lipstick was fine.  It was your dress.  The sleeveless little black dress was just too tight, too low-cut, and way too short.  That was nothing to say about the black high-heeled boots that trailed over your knees and up to your mid-thighs.

“You can laugh about my part in the plan or you can bitch about my outfit, but you can’t do both.”  You smiled a thank-you to the detective handing you her shoulder holster, a few black leather straps easily concealed under your jacket.  “Besides, I’ve worn less in public.”

When you said that Reid had only just broken out of his frozen stupor and grabbed his paper cup of coffee in the hopes the caffeine would shock his thoughts elsewhere.  Instead, he just ended up nearly choking on the hot coffee instead.  It wasn’t even the dress that caught his attention, it was the simple silver body chain you’d matched with the outfit.  The snug fit of the choker, the glitter of the single strand that trailed beneath the neckline of your dress, the strand that trailed down your spine, and the barely noticeable wrinkles in your dress where the chain split into two belts that hung loose around your hips.  A flurry of thoughts - inappropriate thoughts - sped through his mind at lightning speed before he could stop it only a second later.

Unzipping your dress and letting it fall to the floor, leaving you in nothing but that body chain while he hadn’t even untied his shoes.  Using two fingers to tug on the long strand hanging from your neck to your hips and using it to pull you forward after you’ve shed the rest of your clothes.  Lightly tracing his fingers over the loose belts around your hips.  The contrast of the choker against your soft skin and soft ba-bum ba-bum ba-bum of your pulse under his palm as he cupped your neck and coaxed you to bare your neck to him and your breathy gasp and wanton sigh as you gripped his shirt with both hands.  Using the strand down your back as leverage after turning you over on your hands and knees to take you from -

No, no, no - stop.

Fuck.

This was one of those times an eidetic memory was really going to bite him in the ass.

There was no forgetting any of that.

********

“I’m just saying, it’s weird the sluttiest white dress we could find is a wedding dress.”  You kept your voice low as you walked down the sidewalk to the mansion ahead.  Every case the BAU worked was at least a little weird, but this one was really weird.  Violent crimes, anger-excitation offenders, narcissists with something to prove, they were all pretty par for the course.  This was none of that.  The whole thing led into the kind of secret upper-class sex club you thought were just works of fiction - Eyes Wide Shut Lite.  It was a party for rich people to all have kinky sex in the same building, swingers to find partners, single men to meet high-priced prostitutes, and of course the occasional business deal.

It was also a completely misogynistic bunch, which put all of you in a tricky spot when it became clear someone would actually have to attend one of these things to snoop out suspects.  Hotch and Prentiss had already approached a handful of members of this little club, introducing themselves as a FBI agents, which meant they couldn’t go.  The club was exclusive to old money owned and run by a man, which threw Derek out of the running seeing as black men in America didn’t come from old European families that were rich before they immigrated to America looking for even more gold.  JJ had already needed to give a press conference to try and contain the media frenzy around the high profile case, identifying her as FBI as well, and she was not upset about that at all.  Rossi having his own mansion wasn’t enough to make the members of the secret society hiring prostitutes ignore the fact he was also an FBI agent - specifically the FBI profiler who’d been publishing books they’d all been reading for years.

That left only two options - you and Reid.  The two of you had been busy trying to piece together the nearly obliterated paper-trail that led to the discovery of these little parties, the only locals you’d talked to were the detectives and the M.E.  Garcia managed to put together enough of an online trail to get you in.  A simple enough story, with just enough drama and intrigue to get you in the door.  A young heir to an old lumber fortune - played by Reid - inherited everything after his father died shortly after a disagreement after the son proposed to the Mexican girl - played by you - who he was only supposed to be wasting time with until he found a more suitable partner.  It was all very Harlequin Romance Novel kinds of cliche - but it worked.

“Well, we could have gotten you a black dress and let you spend the entire night pretending to flirt with old white guys who call you exotic.”  Reid kept his voice down, arm draped over your shoulders holding you close to his side.  The fat-cats inside thought they were being clever by color-coding their attire, and it all came down to a pretty simple rule.  A black dress or tie meant you were there to hook up with someone you didn’t go to the gathering with, white meant you were spoken for, and red meant you were up for the rougher stuff.

Again, Eyes Wide Shut Lite.

“Only if you were willing to help me frame the unsub for the murder I’d inevitably commit.”  You snaked your arm under the jacket of his black suit to wrap your arm around his waist.  In your own lives, neither of you would fit in with your crowd.  Even without the whole sex party thing, you would have felt wildly uncomfortable around these people.

There was an expectation, though.  The men ran this little community.  Even if you were spoken for, you were supposed to be eye candy - to put it lightly.  Your sleeveless dress was sheer, low-cut in both the front and the back, the long flowing skirt had two long slits that basically left both your legs bare, and you’d gone far enough to accessorize with the same silver body chain you’d bought in Atlanta.  To top things off, the two of you were easily the youngest people there by at least five years - not counting the poor staff and caterers working at the party.

You were never more than a few steps away from Reid, most of the night you were tucked snugly into his side pulling off a doe-eyed shy girl act - nothing like yourself.  Reid was, at least, a bit closer to being himself - depending on the situation.  He was confident, brilliant, but you could tell when he had to stop himself from rattling off some fact or statistic related to the conversation.  He’d pause for a second, swallow down the urge he’d normally never think about, and continue to play the part.  There was no leaving this party before the morning, but you were glad when you could finally retreat into one of the many prepared bedrooms.

Reid made a quick call to Hotch, letting him know you were still fine and everything had went well, while you collapsed to sit on the foot of the plush bed with a groan, “These shoes suck.”

“You could have said something, we could have found a place to sit.”  He shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it over to the pricey couch along the wall, his white vest following soon after before he tugged his tie loose.

“We had to make the rounds.  As fascinating as the young new members are, it’s pretty clear we weren’t looking to fuck any of them and we couldn’t guarantee they’d want to talk to us.”  You reached over to start unbuckling one of the wildly uncomfortable shoes and started hissing out curses when the buckle got caught on itself.  The angle was awkward, you’d already been feeling self-conscious enough about the outfit you had to wear, with the brighter lighting and how sheer the damn dress was maneuvering around too much risked flashing him the lacy white thong you were wearing - the only underwear that wouldn’t be visible through your dress - or worse, in the right lighting he’d see right through the sheer top of the dress and get an eye full of nipple.

“Here, let me help.”  With a soft chuckle, Reid knelt down in front of you and deftly fixed the buckle before loosening the strap and slipping your shoe off.  Without prompting he did the same with the other, one hand reaching around the back of your leg, gently pulling your foot closer before unbuckling and slipping off your shoe.  Your breath caught as you watched, having realized what he was doing too late to say anything, and then he looked up.

You remembered how to breath, but you were just entranced.  Your eyes were glued to his, watching as he got back to his feet and he placed a hand on your cheek to lead you to do the same.  His hand trailed along your cheek to gently hold your chin up, his gaze parted from yours to shift down to your lips as he brushed his thumb against your bottom lip before his darkened hazel eyes flitted back up to yours.  Those were already the most electrifying and heated seconds of your life.  Then he closed the distance between you, his lips pressed against yours and it was like being set on fire in the best way.

You shut your eyes and leaned into him, hands gripping his shirt in to keep you grounded there with him as he brushed the straps of your gown off your shoulders, pushing just a bit further until the entire thing drifted to the floor in a pile of white satin and lace.  A soft tug on the silver chain trailing down your front had you pressed flush against him before you felt the hand brushing the side of your neck before moving up to brush his thumb against your cheekbone as he cupped your neck, fingers tangling into your long dark hair.  You weren’t sure if he coaxed you into tilting your head and baring your neck, or if you’d leaned into his touch, or if it was both, but the result was amazing.

The teasing soft brushes of his lips against your neck before the jolt when he first nipped at your neck, the little squeak you let out when you tightened your grip on his shirt and tugged, like it was possible for the two of you to be any closer.  You felt him smirk against your neck before leaving another few nips and bites, staying clear of the body chain’s choker, fingers teasing along the chain belts of the body chain draped around your hips.  You dropped to your knees, the soft rug cushioning your fall, and looked up.  Your hands already unbuckling his belt as your lips turned into a cheeky smile at the surprise on his face.

He did nothing to stop you, instead combing both hands into your thick locks to hold it out of the way, gently scratching along your scalp to praise your own initiative.  You pulled his trousers down just enough to tug down his boxers and let his cock spring free.  You didn’t think twice.  Frankly, you didn’t think at all before taking him in your mouth.  You were eager and moved carefully, swallowing as he reached the back of your throat.  You grew more determined when you heard him groan.  You risked looking up, big brown eyes batting up at him and watching as he threw his head back, chest heaving as he took a few deep breaths to keep his cool before he looked back down at you.

Your eyes met his again as you worked your mouth and throat over his erection, his bright hazel eyes becoming darker and darker as he watched before it became too much.  He used his grip on your hair to tug you off of him before yanking you to your feet.  You felt weightless once again until you landed on the bed, your head hitting the feather pillow.  You were left alone for a second before Spencer was back on you, much to your excitement.  He wrapped two fingers around the chain down your front before pulling it aside just enough to start leaving kisses down the valley of your breasts as you pushed his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders and he pulled his hands away long enough to yank his arms free of the sleeves and throw it to the floor.  He kept kissing his way down your stomach, leaving a few nips along your pelvis, and then making his way to the hem of your lacy white thong.  He made quick work of it, pulling it down to toss it aside with one hand as he parted your legs with his other hand.

You had no warning when he parted your lower lips and took your clit in his mouth.  You took your breasts in hand, playing with your nipples, though you couldn’t recall if he’d told you to or if you’d done that of your own volition - but it didn’t matter.  He never let you get complacent, switching between your core and your clit before slipping one, then two fingers into your core.  It didn’t take long for him to find your g-spot.  As you got closer to your orgasm, your gasps and moans increased in pitch but not in volume, instead getting breathier and breathier.  You were tipping closer and closer to the edge, afraid he’d pull away at the last second, dangling you from a mind-numbing thread, until your orgasm crashed down on you.  Your hands shot away from your grip on the plush comforter and right to Spencer’s hair, your grip still tight and tugging on his hair as he eased you through your orgasm.

You got your wits about you once again when Spencer kissed you hard and heated, nipping at your lips as he positioned himself between your legs.  Then you tugged on his hair - hard.

He pulled away to drag his teeth along your throat before flipping you onto your stomach and yanking on your hips so your ass pressed against his crotch.  One hand splayed across your back as he took his cock in hand to brush his tip against your entrance.  You’d only just lifted yourself to lean on your elbows when he slammed into you and knocked an aroused cry out of you.

Spencer didn’t waste any time, one hand wrapped around the strand of your body chain hanging down your back as his other trailed up your stomach and trailed further upward to gently cup your neck and pull you up until your back met his front.  Your were still so sensitive from your last orgasm, but Spencer was determined to draw things out.  He’d let you tumble into another orgasm, but began to slow down and almost pulled out completely to hold off his own orgasm until you’d had your third.  

You were grasping at him for purchase, one hand reaching behind you to tangle into his hair, which only spurred him on further.  Your grip and the occasional tug had him biting at your neck and shoulder harder and even leaving marks.  His hand around your neck remained, a loose grip to keep you in place, while his other had trailed down to your clit, keeping the pressure constant while the speed and intensity alternated.  You kept a grip on his forearm, needing something to cling to on what you could only describe as one hell of a ride.  With one last drag of his teeth against the crook of your neck, Spencer brought you to climax and followed only a second later.

You threw your head back, mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut at the intense feeling, incapable of speech but perfectly capable of mimicking the beeping of your weekday morning alarm.

********

Your eyes shot open, hearing the screeching honk of the secondary alarm you’d set in case you slept through the smoother and far less jarring alarm you’d set for earlier that morning.  What the fuck was that?  Did you fall asleep listening to Led Zeppelin’s Since I’ve Been Loving You or something?  You were absolutely sure you hadn’t read any erotica or watched any porn the night before.  Was this just because you hadn’t had sex for a while?  A long while?

This morning was going swell.  You’d overslept, you just barely had time to shower and get dressed before you were officially late.  You’s also just had an incredibly erotic dream about a co-worker, and you felt that familiar buzz you’d feel after an orgasm.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Buried Secrets

First you did when you got to the office was drop your empty coffee cup from the cafe you’d stopped at and grabbed your mug to get another cup.  You weren’t at all surprised to see Prentiss and Derek already there.  Kevin was visiting too, a pretty common occurrence, as Garcia read his horoscope from the daily paper.  You were planning on letting that slide, getting your coffee and getting back to work.  Life wasn’t on your side - again.

“Come on guys, you don’t think there’s actually anything to that stuff, do you?”  Derek took a seat on the table, extending his own mid-day break for a few minutes.

“You’d be surprised,” Kevin mildly defended, not really planning on an actual debate, just a lighthearted conversation over the legitimacy over something something that, at it’s core, was just entertainment.  It wasn’t any more serious than a conversation about a TV show everyone was mildly interested in.

“It’s gibberish.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, you’re just jealous because you don’t have the magic ingredient.”

“And neither do you, even the Coca-Cola company isn’t allowed to use cocaine as an ingredient anymore.”  You regretted saying that before you even finished the sentence.  You should have just finished stirring the creamer into your coffee and went back to your desk.  Instead, you got involved in something you just knew in your gut was going to bite you in the ass.

“Alright, skeptics, what are your signs.”  You were rethinking your opinion on Kevin.

“Uh oh.”  Derek was pleased to sit back and watch, growing more and more entertained.

You just shook your head while Prentiss answered, “No.”

“I know Castillo’s,” Garcia reassured as she spotted Reid making his way in, “Reid, we need a D.O.B on Prentiss.”

You’d used the drive to the office to clear your head and go through what could have triggered the dream.  You’d been expecting to go on a date over the weekend before you called to let him know you might have to cancel.  You didn’t know how long that last case was going to take.  Because it was a missing 9-year-old girl, you’d hoped it would be soon, but the Crimes Against Children unit sometimes spent years looking for missing kids.  The girl was found and put in her father’s custody after her mom and step-dad had been murdered, then another girl got kidnapped the same night her parents were murdered, and after some digging the pattern became pretty clear.  A culture of nomads that had butchered the Romani culture were kidnapping girls to brainwash them into wives for their sons, killing the parents to make sure the search for the girls eventually stopped.

You called back to let him know you could keep the original plans, and he’d asked what the case was about.  He was in the FBI, Jordan had set you up, and the case was hardly classified.  You told him.  You knew you weren’t going to be going on that date when he double-checked what Forensic Anthropogists do.  So, you’d invited Reid over to binge that mini-series documentary that had been sitting on your DVR for a month.  It was either that, or lament the fact that you were going through the longest drought since your freshman year in college.  

You loved your job, but it was either taking up all your time or just chasing guys off.  So, your brain made an…imaginary compromise.  In your sleeping hours it created a scenario that one could argue had the elements of a date, included the job that had basically taken over your life, and matched you with the most compatible person you worked with.  It certainly didn’t help that Reid had only left your apartment a few hours earlier and he passed what you called the Pet Test.  Your mom always told you that because pets love you unconditionally you should dump any guy that doesn’t get along with your pets.

Tybalt loved the genius so much you were afraid he was going to follow Reid home.

It was a simple explanation and the only hint of Freud’s bullshit ‘dreams as wish fulfillment’ theory was the fact that you hadn’t had sex in a while and you weren’t used to that.  After a while, you’d readjust, and everything would go back to normal.  Or whatever normal was for the BAU.

None of that meant you didn’t want to die when you saw him again that morning.

“7:12 am, October 12, 197-”  He had to take a second to recall, stepping around the small white table to join the rest of you, but that was his only pause.  There wasn’t any harm in letting the rest of you know her birthday.

“Hey!”  Prentiss cut him off before he could get to the year.

“Libra, I should have known.  A romantic opportunity may experience a slight hitch, thanks to the pesky lunar influence which could have you dipping into a rather chilly mood.”  Penelope kept reading as Prentiss straightened her back and her shoulders.  If she wasn’t in a chilly mood before, she sure was by the time Penelope finished the first sentence.  “If being demonstrative and warm is difficult, then neutralize this temporary cold front with a simple, but affectionate, gesture.”

“I have a simple gesture.”  Prentiss dropped her spoon into her mug to give Kevin and Penelope the middle finger just in time for JJ to join in on the early morning conversation and laughs.

“Hey, you guys ready to gather?”  JJ wasn’t even phased.  Even after months away from the team, she’d walked in on the rest of you flipping each other off, or just telling each other to fuck off, too many times to he surprised.  If anything it was comforting to see the dynamic hadn’t changed.  Not because she was worried about leaving, but because the job was hard, and the family dynamic was what kept everyone from completely losing their minds.

“Look at you, Miss Thing, first day back and you’re all business.”  Derek gestured with a little salute to JJ, pointing out the fact that JJ had been gone for a while, even if that morning made it feel like she hadn’t left at all.

“It’s either dive right in, or confront my separation anxiety,” JJ brushed it off with a small shrug, not prepared to deal with the constant fear she knew would get worse once the jet took off.

“It’s tough being away from him, huh?”  Penelope gave JJ a sympathetic look, taking her left hand to get a better look at the ring she wore.

“Oh, hey, that’s new isn’t it?”  Prentiss leaned over a bit to get a better look, and you followed suit.

“Yeah, citrine, it’s Henry’s birth stone.  Will and I both got one.”

“That’s so sweet.”  You smiled, ready to walk with JJ to the meeting room, grabbing a few pens from your desk along the way, until she asked if Penelope was done with the paper.

“Oh!  That’s right.”  Penelope picked up the paper and followed when you tried to walk away, Prentiss and JJ close behind, wanting to watch for entirely different reasons.  “Everyone has their secrets, but one will soon be sitting heavy on your chest, making you moody and distant.  Open up to a close friend or loved one, let them help you through it, you’ll be better for it once it’s all out in the open.”

“How many secrets do you think I have?  And don’t think I don’t know exactly what secret you want me to share.”  You grabbed a yellow notepad from your desk drawer and a handful of pens.  Reid was dropping his things at his desk across from yours before heading up to the round table room while Derek took the long way around, instead of squeezing by the other girls, to grab a pen from his desk.  Rossi was making his way along the raised walkway along the outer wall, and Hotch had just about made his way from his office to the round table room.  It was like all the stars aligned to make sure everyone heard Penelope.

“What part-time job could possibly pay more than modeling underwear?”

About a year ago, Rossi had trusted Garcia to keep it secret when he asked her to get him all the notes and progress on the murders of Mr. and Mrs. Galen.  She was inevitably talked into spilling that secret to everyone except Hotch and Reid - who were in Connecticut doing a custodial interview.  You knew she wanted nothing more than to keep the secret, and that telling the rest of you wasn’t easy on her.  You also knew that didn’t mean it wasn’t easy to get her to tell you the secret.  She’d only just barely managed to keep from spilling the beans when she was telling you and JJ about Rossi showing up at her apartment and catching her there with Kevin.  To be fair, she’d been keeping this secret far longer, and in comparison it would seem harmless.

That…sort of helped when Derek cut through the stunned silence you swore dropped over the entire bullpen.

“Modeling what?”

When you died, the first thing you were going to ask God was what the fuck you did to deserve this.

For the moment, though, you’d just have to settle for taking the newspaper from Garcia, handing it to JJ, and telling her, “She’s done now.”

*******

Thank god, there was a case.

“There’s been a string of abductions in Olympia, Washington going back nine months.  Four women in all, blonde, blue eyed, early twenties.”  JJ started by bringing up pictures of the victims on the screen before joining the rest of you at the table, bringing up a picture of the body that had been found desiccated, almost mummified.  “This morning, they found one.”

“Shit.”  You didn’t curse often when you were on the job, you tried to keep it to a minimum, but you couldn’t help it this time.  You’d seen this before.  Two different cases in Boston, the killers were entirely unrelated, wildly different victimology, only one of the cases got personal.  There was one thing that worried you, in particular.

“Is that a professional opinion?”  It wasn’t a tease or a joke.  You all had your specialties, and all jokes aside one of your specialties was dead bodies.

“She was embalmed.  It’ll be hard to narrow down when she died, maybe even impossible.  With the natural terrain and weather in Washington state…it looks like she wasn’t buried in anything…I know a few tricks I can try when we get there, but…”  You took a deep breath, brow furrowed and eyes focused on the picture, “I dealt with two different cases like this in Boston, the only other similarity they had was the victims were still alive when they were embalmed.”

That wasn’t the only thing that was bothering you.  After this case, it was more likely you’d be having a long series of reoccurring nightmares, all of them built on memories.  Hotch kept an eye on you for an extra second, if anyone caught it you suspected it was Rossi.  Even with Derek handing your application directly to Hotch, your experience in the Medico-Legal lab, and Dr. Hannigan’s glowing recommendation, you still had to interview.  During that interview Hotch asked if you had any previous experience with serial killers, abnormal psychology, missing children’s cases, or any of the other types of crimes the BAU normally dealt with.  You had, you’d dealt with a handful of serial killers back in Boston, but there was one that got a lot more personal than the others.  He was arrested, confessed, and locked in the most secure facility in the country along with most of the offenders the BAU caught, but that didn’t make it easier to talk about.

Honestly, while it was the reason you’d asked Derek to give your application and resume to Hotch, you went well out of your way to not think about it.

“When were they taken?”  Hotch kept things moving along, and you were grateful for that small mercy.

“Nine months ago.”

“She was the first?”  Prentiss double-checked, wondering how certain it was there were other bodies left to find.

“Yeah.  She was jarred loose during a mudslide.”

“It says the victims were taken about three months apart - he’s rotating his victims out.”  Reid figured the unsub was only holding one victim at a time, it wasn’t an uncommon pattern.  Especially since the unsub was so picky and murdered his victims.

“There’s gotta be more bodies out there.”

********

“So, if I wanted to embalm a body - what’s the process?”  Prentiss made her way back to her seat at the table after grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge.  Reid jumped to answer, a small mercy for you.

“Blood is drained through the jugular vein and replaced with embalming fluid through one of the two major arteries.  It usually takes a few hours.”

“Then you’d need special equipment, training,” Rossi narrowed down the list of potential suspects.  It was still a large list, but it was better than assuming everyone in Olympia was a suspect.

“Knowledge of the human vascular system would also be a plus.”

“Doctor, maybe?”  JJ proposed.

“Doctor, medical student, nurse, technician, medical assistant, or mortuary scientist,” you listed off the possible careers that would lead to that kind of knowledge.  It was…frightening how quickly the memories came flooding back to the forefront of your mind.  It happened four…five years ago, you’d forced yourself to stop thinking about it a few months after, but the memories were still just…right there.  

“There’s a major they didn’t offer at my school,” Derek commented, most people don’t even remember mortuary science is actually a career field until they have to deal with it.

“Personally the whole thing just seems weird to me - embalming, I mean.”  Prentiss shook her head at the thought.

“Some people like to look good for their funeral.”  Derek hadn’t put as much thought into it as Prentiss had, most people didn’t need to think about it a lot.

“But it’s not them.  It’s just a shell - polished and painted.”  Prentiss grimaced and shook her head briefly, “I just wanna be cremated.”

“The question is why somebody would embalm the body of someone they just murdered,” Hotch turned the discussion back to the case.  It was a long flight, but you’d all moved to gather and discuss the case further.

“Two reasons, mostly.  The most likely is a fear of abandonment, maybe it stems from being abandoned repeatedly.  Either way, they have some sort of attachment to the victim and don’t want them to leave.  Embalming isn’t an exact science, however, and it’s rare for it to preserve a body for more than a few months, so the unsub needs to find more victims, which means the second and third victims are likely already dead.”  You had stated you dealt with two cases involving embalmed victims.  Whether you liked it or not, you were the expert on this.

“And the least likely reason?”  You couldn’t fault Rossi for asking.  If he hadn’t, somebody else would have.

“You can’t control the living like you can control the dead.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Head Held High

Brook Lumbardini was the latest victim.  She’d been kidnapped four days earlier after her shift at a local restaurant.  The chances of finding her were low, most kidnapping victims were killed within 36 hours.  It was safe to say the first victim had been killed not long before the second victim was kidnapped, but if you could narrow down the time you might be able to get a hint into how long the unsub followed his victims before kidnapping them.  It was a long-shot, but the unsub was very particular about his victims.  They were all in the same age group, same hair color, same eye color, and each one had double-pierced ears.  That’s not a crime of opportunity, that takes pre-planning.

You hadn’t been working at the morgue long before Reid called to let you know they’d found the other two bodies only minutes after he and Derek got to the dump site.  The second and third victims were each buried with a golden chain adorned with a gold cross, indicating the unsub cared.  You hadn’t gotten much further in narrowing down just when the first victim had died, only being able to say she’d been killed nine to six months ago - which you already knew based on the unsub’s pattern.  You had found traces of barbiturates and a cause of death, and it was exactly what you were afraid of.  Officially, the cause of death was blood loss, but it meant the women were alive when they were embalmed.

“When the next two victims come in, check the latest one for evidence of necrophilia - just a hunch, but it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen it.  Hopefully, even with the embalming, they can tell us more.  I can start taking X-rays and initial observations for the second victim.”  To be entirely honest, you would have suggested it even if the unsub hadn’t cared.  You’d dealt with embalmed victims before, you knew the unsubs that did this, you’d dealt with it first hand.  As uncomfortable as it was, as much as you knew you were going to have trouble sleeping all over again, as paranoid as you were going to be, you knew what to look for and you weren’t going to just ignore it.  Not when it could help someone.  You just couldn’t.

“Will do.”

“Thanks.”

Hotch and Prentiss had gone to the latest abduction site, a pricey restaurant most people can’t afford to go to, much like the other abduction sites.  Each of the victims were taken right from work, it was starting to look like the unsub had the kind of money to be a regular customer.  It didn’t make a ton of progress, but it did narrow things down.  Another development on that front, however, was more problematic.  The only thing left behind at the scene was a necklace that belonged to Brook had been given back to her mother so she could take it to a psychic named Stanley Usher.

You’d caught the press conference when you took a break, mostly to stretch out your back after being hunched over the autopsy table for so long.  You were planning on going right back to work, one of the newly uncovered victims was half desiccated and the local Medical Examiner was going to have her hands full just dealing with the formaldehyde making things about a million times more complicated.  The second victim was likely to require some clever work between the two of you, but you got along well after you assuaged her fears that you were taking over her morgue.  If she had rules, you’d follow them.

They couldn’t have been any more strict than the rules Dr. Hannigan had.

It took some time, internally the second victim was more desiccated than she looked, but when the M.E. was working on the last victim you left to get a copy of the case file from Reid and Derek - who were waiting in the staff break room.  The Medical Examiner’s office isn’t exactly the kind of place that has waiting rooms.

When you texted Derek the autopsies were finished, you hadn’t changed out of the blue scrubs you’d been loaned, your hair was still tied in a messy top-knot with a pen tucked into it, and to top things off just like every other time you worked on a body you took out your contacts and put on your glasses.  That had been one of Dr. Hannigan’s rules.  ‘If your vision impaired you wear glasses when you’re working.  It’s easier to see with a smudged lens than with dry eyes or a contact that’s moved.’  It just stuck with you when you left the lab.

“It’s exactly what we though - Lynette Hagan, Erin Bonham, and Marissa St. Clair were all embalmed - officially the C.O.D. is blood loss, but they were given a high dose of barbiturates to keep them sedated and then embalmed alive.”  You started running Reid and Derek through all the findings, letting the M.E. get a head start on the paperwork so she could leave at a decent hour.  “I looked at the photos to double-check our hypothesis about the unsub cycling through his victims was right and noticed he also cut their hair to shoulder length and double-pierced their ears - none of the girls had double-pierced ears before the abduction - and it gets worse from there.”

So far you were just confirming everything the team suspected.  When you said it got worse than that, both Derek and Reid looked up with furrowed brows.

“It gets worse?”  Derek was skeptical, whenever you had to work in a morgue things were already pretty bad compared to the average case.

“The guy embalms his victims alive, trust me, it’s safe to assume everything is worse than we thought,” you retorted.  “There’s no physical trauma indicating rape but there were still traces of semen in Marissa, a week old at most, but accounting for the embalming, even with how unpredictable it can be, she’s too far along in decomposition for her to have been alive.  We’re dealing with a necrophiliac.”

It definitely got worse.

********

Your hair was still tied up and you still wore your glasses when you were getting out of the black SUV parked outside the local precinct.  You let your hair down when you got back inside, but made no move to remove your glasses or go to the bathroom to put your contacts back in.  The profile had pretty much fallen into place, Prentiss and Reid were rushing their way through the paperwork that already needed to be filed while the rest of you prepared to give the profile to the locals.

“Cutting hair and piercing ears,” Hotch stared at the pictures pinned onto the board, like they’d tell him something more.

“He’s changing them,” Rossi concluded, leaning back against one of the tables tucked into the corner, the only available workspace the small precinct could give to the team.

“Into what, though?”

“Who,” you corrected Derek as the two of you leaned back on the tables, “Someone he lost.  He thinks these women become the woman he lost, that’s why he’s affectionate towards them - buries them.”

“They were given high levels of barbiturate?”  This was the first chance JJ had to read over the detailed autopsy report, she and Rossi had gone to talk to Brook Lumbardini’s mother after the press conference.  The psychic she hired, Stanley Usher, was there too.

“To keep them sedated while he embalmed them - why?”  You decided not to start listing off the other dirty details, you’d already rattled them off to Derek and Reid in the car.  The high doses of barbiturates might not have been enough to counteract the pain, specifically the pain caused by the injection of the formaldehyde, because embalming can be so unpredictable it’s possible that at some point the only thing keeping those women sedated was the blood loss, they might have actually felt themselves being embalmed and if that was the case if the blood loss hadn’t killed them the shock from the pain most certainly would have done it.

“Just - uh, something the psychic said…Brook felt tired, heavy.”

“Why are we talking about the psychic?  It’s a scam, and you’re falling for it.”  Rossi had dealt with psychics before, even listened to one once.  It didn’t turn out well, and he wasn’t going to let it happen again, but he was coming off a bit aggressive to the rest of you.  Especially since none of you knew why he was taking this whole psychic thing so personally.

“Well, he said that Brook I alive, so I guess I just wanna believe him.”  JJ shrugged a bit passive aggressively, more a defense mechanism than anything.

“Nobody wants her to be dead, but in cases like this most unsubs kill the victim almost immediately, necrophiliacs have no use for a live victim.  If she is alive, we can’t waste time with a psychic that might or might not be right, we have to focus on methods that we know will work.”  You tried to bridge the gap, at least cobble together some kind of peace that would last until the case ended.  Her first case back from maternity leave and she was dealing with a mother whose child was just kidnapped by an unsub that kills his victims.  On the other hand, there was a long history of psychics leading authorities in the wrong direction, giving loved ones false hope, or claiming someone was dead when they were really alive.

“You ready to talk to them?”  Hotch cut things short while there was still some semblance of peace, leading the rest of you away from the team’s work space to give the profile to the locals.  Rossi stepped aside for a second to make a quick call.

“Garcia, I need you to run a full background check for me.  Name’s Usher, Stanley Usher.”

********

The semen was tested and there were no DNA matches in the system, meaning you had to depend on the profile.  The unsub was white, mid to late 20’s, and had money - enough money to regularly go to high priced upscale businesses.  He lived alone in a place with a lot of space, and there was enough ventilation for an entire suite used for embalming his victims.  He was socially awkward, particularly with women, and the alterations to the victims indicated he was trying to recreate a woman he loved.  A list of related crimes had been handed out to local law enforcement, as the unsub had likely escalated and evolved to the point of murdering his victims - crimes like inappropriate misconduct, cadaver thefts, and graveyard disturbances.  Local law enforcement were advised to focus on the offenders who worked somewhere in the death business - cemeteries, mortuaries, or morgues - and they were given cheek swabs to take DNA samples to compare to the semen found in the victims.

Once everyone was sent on their way Hotch called you aside to speak in private, brushing it off as a quick review of your autopsy paperwork when Derek shot a concerned look over his way.  It was a bogus story, but Derek bought it well enough to take off and start questioning potential suspects.  Hotch shut the door to the small meeting room and his stony armor cracked a bit.

“I know the profile is different, but I noticed you checked for necrophilia - that’s not standard procedure.”  He held his hand up before you could start to argue, “I just want to check that you’re alright.”

This unsb was driven by a fear of abandonment, not the need to control, but the similarities were still too close for comfort.  Hunter Grant was easily one of the most prolific serial killers in recent history, it hadn’t been until after receiving the profile from the BAU the team in Boston had realized the murders there were connected to murders from all over the country.  By then it was too late to put in a request and wait for the BAU to arrive.  He’d already taken you as you kept snooping, like Dr. Hannigan told you not to, and planned to add you to his doll collection.  By the grace of a miracle the FBI got there first, but that didn’t make the experience any less traumatic.

That was the short version anyway.

“I know.  I’ll be doing better when we get back, but I’m not letting that bastard get to me.  Not now, not when I can use that hell I went through to help some other girl stuck in the same mess.  Because that’s what I do.”  For a brief moment you looked just as hurt and broken as you felt, before closing your eyes, taking a deep breath, straightening your shoulders, and holding your head high, still fighting the brimming tears.  “I wish I could recover the way the rest of you do - using whatever trauma you went through as the building blocks for another wall, another barrier, but I can’t.  I’m just not that person - but what I do is I use what I went through, I learn from it, and I help people.  I’m gonna’ have a lot of drinking to do when we get back, but I am going to work this case, because I can’t let what I went through be for nothing.”

Hotch nodded, grabbed a nearby box of tissues, and handed them to you before making his way back to the door.

“Take a moment to breath and head out to take DNA samples and talk to employees at the local morgues.  No more than five, we need you out there.”

“Yes sir.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

The Cost of Caring Too Much

Just like you’d suspected, sleep did not come easy to you, and it showed.  You normally never got a shot of espresso in your coffee, but you did that morning, and after you finished it you immediately got another cup of the black tasteless liquid that was called coffee at the precinct.  You had one small mercy.  Since you’d worn your glasses most of the day before, nobody thought twice when you wore them for a second day in a row.  Maybe they figured you’d forgotten to pack another box of contacts once the one in your go-bag ran out, maybe they thought you expected to be going back to the morgue.  You didn’t know, you didn’t really care.

The fear, the memories, every time you were getting close to relaxing and falling asleep you’d hear Hunter Grant whispering in your ear and you’d be wide awake all over again.  Or you’d be hit with the sudden fear that you’d relive the entire event in your sleep.  Then, when you finally did fall asleep, your brain made a complete 180 degree turn and, instead of bringing up the worst event of your life which had been at the forefront of your mind for over 24 hours, it created more porn.  More explicit porn starring you, Reid, and that fucking purple scarf he’d been wearing the day before.

And just your luck, he was wearing it again.

Being bombed was less stressful than these 48 hours of your life.

God had some serious explaining to do.

Speaking of the genius, you were positive he knew something about the case was getting to you.  You’d caught him giving you worried looks when the others weren’t looking, or when he thought you weren’t looking.  He’d be doing that even more now that you were running on two hours of sleep.

The scavenger hunt the day before eventually led to a man named Ivan Bakunas.  He’d refused a cheek swap, leading Prentiss to call Garcia and get his background.  He’d been a medical technician at the county medical examiner’s office, that much you knew, but he was expelled from Evergreen State University.  He’d drugged his girlfriend and had sex with her while she was unconscious.  The problem was, he had no money.  The profile said the unsub had money, and the fact that he needed both the equipment and chemicals for the embalming on top of going to the high-end places where he found his victims implied that the unsub had a lot of money.

Then there was the 9-1-1 call.

The girl on the phone was whispering, but she said her name was Brook Lumbardini, and her mother claimed that was Brook.  Every expert will say positively identifying someone’s voice when they’re whispering is impossible, but she insisted.  Then Rossi pulled out the background check he’d done on the psychic.  Apparently Stanley Usher had been charged with fraud in Oregon before he moved to Washington state.  Sandra Lumbardini left in tears, saying she needed her baby to be alive, and JJ wasn’t wasn’t happy either.  She was willing to let the woman have some hope, and part of her still wanted to believe too.

You wanted to help settle things between JJ and Rossi, really you did, but at some point you just had to let them settle this argument themselves.  You’d gotten a grand total of two hours of sleep the night before, it was still possible that Brook made that call, and the longer she was with the unsub the more likely it was you’d find her dead.  The cell phone used for the call was a burn phone, Garcia tracked down the nearest cell tower to the caller but it was a 20 mile radius of a very densely populated area.

You yawned as you made your way back from getting yet another cup of coffee - at this point the precinct was going to start charging you.

“More coffee?  You and Reid having a competition or something?”  Derek poorly hid his concern behind a joke.

“All this rain is making me sleepy.”  It wasn’t a complete lie, you did tend to get more relaxed when it rained.  A shame it only got you two hours of sleep the night before, and you were pretty sure Reid knew you were lying.  When Derek shook his head and went back to work Reid made eye contact with you, giving you that let you know he was skeptical of your story - at best.  Of course, it could also have to do with the fact you’d been keeping your distance from everyone.  It was unintentional, but you didn’t want them to think anything was wrong, and you certainly didn’t want them asking because when you’d answer you were fine they’d start profiling you.

There was supposed to be a rule against profiling each other.

That rule was broken at least three times a day.

And for one brief terrifying moment, you remembered something.  You were going to have to deal with the fact that Penelope had, accidentally, announced to all the guys on the team - and anyone else nearby - that you modeled underwear for at least part of your undergrad years.

When it rains it pours, apparently.

Prentiss was filling Hotch in on the latest developments with tracing the 9-1-1 call as the rest of you pulled back together to go back over what was there.

“Garcia tried to triangulate the signal, but it was already dead.  The unsub probably tried to turn it off when he found her with it.”

“You mean if he found her.”  Rossi reiterated his expectation that Brook was already dead.

“Dave, I agree with you about psychics, but the fact is Sandra Lumbardini positively identified her daughter’s voice.  We have to assume that call was genuine.”  So far, Rossi’s personal grudge against psychics hadn’t started an actual fire, and Hotch was doing his best to keep it that way.  Whatever Rossi had against psychics was personal.  “So, what do we think?  Why is the unsub keeping Brook alive, and how long do we think she has until he kills her?”

“Maybe he needs them alive to affect their transformation,” Reid suggested.

“Changing the hair, the makeup, piercing the ears - that would only take a few hours,” Derek countered, running on the assumption that Brook was still alive.

“He’s had her for almost five days.”  Rossi was right, counting on the physical transformation to bide Brook this much time wasn’t going to work.

“We’re assuming the only transformation important to him is physical.  The unsub is so desperate to get back whoever he lost that he’s preserving the victims’ bodies.  Maybe he needs them to behave like the woman he lost, too.”  You suggested something that would take more time to change, explaining why Brook was still alive.

“On the phone she made it sound like she was locked up, and she sounded drugged.”  Reid brought up evidence to support your working theory, clearing his throat before continuing.  “These are methods of control used in sexual slavery, mind control - “

“It’s brainwashing…”  The pieces clicked together for Derek, letting himself feel a few moments of remorse before putting on the same mask all of you wore during a case.

“So, he’s trying to break her down, surrender her identity.”  Hotch threw in his support for the theory as it developed further.

“That’s what he’s waiting for.  That’s the version of them he wants to hold onto,” Rossi agreed as well.

“The longer she resists, the more time she’s got,” you over to the copy of Brook’s missing person’s announcement and looked back at the others, “He’s already had her for five days, the second she gives in she’s dead.”

********

There were no hits on the DNA tests and the detective brought in Stanley Usher to take a look at the wig Ivan Bakunas left in his locker after being fired from the Medical Examiner’s office.  Well, not so much take a look at it as much as touch it and do psychic shit.  JJ was ready and willing to believe he could help, still, while Rossi was determined to kick Usher out of the investigation entirely, still.  In the meantime you, Derek, and Reid were on the phone with Garcia trying to filter through everyone who had bought the chemicals necessary for embalming a body over the last year - and it was not easy.  That was up until the detective brought Ivan Bakunas in for questioning and a cheek swab, you and Reid observed the detective and Prentiss while Derek went out to grab some food for everyone.

It didn’t help that Bakunas was trying to cross the boarder into Vancouver, but that didn’t make it any more likely that he was the unsub.

“Why don’t you tell me about that.”  The detective dropped the blonde wig, roughly shoulder-length, onto the table.

“Looks like a wig.”

“That is a magic wig.  It changes the identity of the dead.”  Prentiss kept pacing along the wall.

“What?”

“Well - I thought that was why you were putting it on the bodies at the morgue.”  Prentiss lightened her tone a little as she sat in the seat across from Bakunas, “It makes the fantasy more real.”

Bakunas didn’t even look like he could be the unsub.  He wasn’t comfortable around living people, sure, but he wasn’t timid, he wasn’t scared.  If anything he was cocky - more of an asshole, really.

“Ivan,” Prentiss leaned forward a bit as Ivan looked off a bit to the side and shook his head, jaw clenched like he was insulted to just be talking to them, “Who were you trying to turn them into?”

“I have worked some sick cases.  Rapists, pederasts - “

“I hope you’re not grouping me with those people.”  Bakunas finally spoke up, cutting off the detective like he was insulted simply by the implication of being compared to them.

“You may be the sickest of them all.”

You were watching from the other side of the glass, Hotch on one side and Reid on the other, holding yet another cup of coffee as you became surer and surer that Bakunas wasn’t the unsub.

“Well sick, or no, many would argue it’s a victimless crime.”

“Pretty sure Casper would argue otherwise,” you muttered in response, raising your mug to take a sip when you caught the sideways glance Reid gave you.  “I couldn’t think of a famous zombie, I slept for, like, two hours last night.”

“So it’s not just the rain?”  Reid almost lazily countered, still watching the interrogation.  You got a bit punchy when you were sleep deprived, and the fact you were basically running on caffeine certainly didn’t help.

“Yeah, yeah, I know you knew, now shush.”  You kept your eyes glued to the interrogation even as he visibly feigned offense for a second.  Hotch never told the two of you to pay attention, never even gave you that disappointed dad look everyone had silently agreed to pretend didn’t exist.  He just let the two of you have your few seconds of banter before you gave your full attention back to the interrogation.  You were a bit too tired to notice, but Reid…he noticed.

“You think I’m the only guy in town who likes to crack open a cold one?”  That comment almost made you physically gag.  Bakunas kept insisting he didn’t kill people, even as Prentiss and the dective kept pushing, until he finally cracked with, “The wig isn’t even the important part.  For me it’s - it’s the shoes.”

“So, you put shoes on them to?”  Prentiss kept her tone gentler, understanding, coaxing Bakunas to spill.

“They’re a very special pair.”

“What’s special about them?”

“The woman who walked in them, Sunny Rains.”

“The weather girl?”  The detective couldn’t believe this was where the interrogation had led, but he filled Prentiss in.  “Was a local celebrity, killed in a car accident a couple years ago.”

“A friend of mine was working when she came in on the slab, knew I was a fan.”

“So, he stole her shoes for you.”

“The wig, they just completed the look, but the shoes…” Bakunas looked…affectionate, almost, shaking a little, “That’s what makes it real - genuine article.”

“Genuine article…”  Reid took off, back to the workspace set aside for the team, and you followed.  You’d recognized that tone from just about every single other time he had a case-solving epiphany, and Hotch had clearly done the same.  You’d found Reid going through his satchel to grab a small notebook and flip through the pages, double-checking his memory - or at least the specifics.

“What’s up?”

“I took a report of a grave robbery.”

“I thought you said it was just a simple theft.”  Derek had waited back while the three of you observed the interrogation, the observation room was small and barely big enough for the three of you.

“Yeah - but listen to what was taken.  A dress, a pair of diamond earrings, and a pair of pearl earrings.”

“Two pair.”

“If our unsub is like Bakunas, he could need the true articles from the object of his affection to complete the fantasy,” Hotch made sure the four of you were on the same page.

“Exactly, this grave could belong to that woman,” Reid quickly scanned down the note he’d made to check the name, “Abigail Hanson.”

********

Abigail Hanson died suddenly of a heart defect in 1992.  She never married, she immigrated from Amsterdam and had no relatives in the US, but she worked for Patrick and Leona Gless from 1985 until her death.  She was a blonde haired and blue eyed woman with her hair cut in a bob and double-pierced ears.  According to Mr. and Mrs. Gless she basically raised their son Roderick.  They were gone when Abigail died and Roderick was only about nine.  She’d been dead for about two or three days before they got back, and they found the boy curled up next to her with her arms wrapped around him.  That’s how he went to sleep.

Patrick, as Leona put it, liked to pretend he was a good father.  He was overly apologetic for abandoning Roderick as a child, neglecting him.  Leona, on the other hand, seemed to have let go - particularly after he’d quit medical school and liquidated his trust fund after his 21^st birthday.  Patrick didn’t want to believe Roderick was the unsub, but Leona accepted it.  She never knew he would hurt someone, but when faced with the overwhelming evidence that he had done it she didn’t argue, only said that he’d always been troubled.  She gave Rossi and Hotch a letter Roderick sent to her a year earlier, a goodbye letter.

Roderick had no trail that Garcia could follow, which meant he had to use cash for everything.  He wasn’t employed, but his trust fund was only about a half-million, which didn’t go very far anymore.  He had to have some kind of supplemental income just to afford the equipment and space to embalm the bodies, let alone go to all of the high-end business where he found his victims.  Reid had gone over Roderick’s letter to Leona over and over, but nothing pointed to a specific location.  It also didn’t say anything about or to Patrick, like Roderick wasn’t saying goodbye to him.

Rossi stepped away to call Garcia and get her on finding a connection between Patrick and Roderick, likely a financial one, while JJ gently took the letter.  She looked it over, tried to act casual, and then left.

“Well, she’s following a dead end and taking the letter to the psychic, Rossi is following up on the father” you sat next to Reid on the table, “You guys have any ideas?”

“You’re not gonna chase after her?  Make sure she’s okay?  Talk her out of it?”  Derek was still worried.  You were a mother hen if there ever was one and JJ just gave you the perfect opportunity to act on that.

“I’ll talk to her when she gets back, stopping her won’t do any good.”  You just barely managed to get the sentence out before you got hit with a yawn that took over your whole body for a moment and almost left you teary-eyed.  You were tired you were passing the boundary between punchy and heading into cranky territory.  “Fuck.  I need more coffee, I’m heading to the cafe down the street.”

“Wait up, I’ll drive.”  That was fair, driving while sleep deprived was just as dangerous as drinking while drunk.  To top things off, you didn’t realize you hadn’t grabbed keys to one of the black SUV’s the team had grabbed from a nearby field office.  The ride was silent as you watched the street pass by, including the coffee shop.

“Wha - Reid you passed the - the coffee.”  You turned to watch the shop get further and further away before whipping around to look at Reid with a baffled deer in the headlights look.

“We’re going back to the hotel and you’re getting some sleep.”  He put it as gently as he could, but it was still sounding more like an order than anything.

“But Brook - “

“You’ve done everything you can for her, you’re not going to come up with any ideas when you can barely keep your eyes open, and there’s no way you’re going to get her in this state.”  Reid was putting his foot down on this.  Neither of you really knew how long the case would go on, if he had to wake you up to get to the jet that was fine, you could get more sleep on the jet.  If the case kept going into tomorrow, though, you wouldn’t be able to do the job.  You’d end up even more sleep deprived than you already were.  He knew why you were so tired, that you’d lied about why you drank more coffee than he did, why you kept making jokes during Bakunas’ interview and looked like you were gong to throw up when he referred to necrophilia as cracking open a cold one.  You didn’t want the team to know, you’d asked Hotch to keep it between you and him, but that was pretty much impossible when Hunter Grant contacted the BAU.

“But I know the unsub better - “

“I did Hunter Grant’s custodial interview.”

You were silent, jaw clenched and feeling a little jittery, eyes wide and watching Reid.

“He gets the daily paper from one of the guards, there was a story about a case we’d worked and he found out you joined the BAU.  He wanted to talk to you, so he contacted the BAU hoping you’d do the interview.  Hotch said you didn’t want anyone else to know, so I didn’t bring it up, but -”

“But you had to know to do the interview, because he broke victimology when he got…obsessed with me.  You had to ask.”  You were quiet, gaze aimed at the glove box but really you were staring into space, shoulders slumped and defeated.

“But you’re exhausted,” he corrected, “He went after you when you were alone, if you’re not alone you might have an easier time sleeping.  If they need us, they’ll call, but you’re going to let everyone else handle the case from here and try to sleep.”

Your brain churned up about a million reasons why you weren’t going to be able to sleep with Reid there, but he wasn’t giving you any room to argue and you were just too damn tired.  You were already feeling yourself struggling to keep your eyes open through the car ride.  He was right.  You needed to at least try to sleep.  There was nothing more you could do to help Brook.

You weren’t the only one working the case, even if it was a bit too close to home for you.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Patchwork Family

Between the rain in the windows, the low volume of the TV, and Reid sitting on the other side of the bed you started dozing off in about a minute, and must have actually fallen asleep soon after.  You hated to admit it, but he had been right to drag you back to the hotel, by the time you got there you were taking far too long to remember the English words of their Spanish equivalent.  The translation from one to another, which you normally didn’t even think about, became so much more difficult.  Why does English have to be so damn complicated?

When you woke up Brooke had been saved and Roderick arrested.  Patrick was giving his son a massive wire transfer every six months using a Western Union within the area covered by the cell tower the 9-1-1 call was traced to.  Hotch had to make the call between using the clues Usher got from the letter - a rocky shore and water - or confronting Patrick with the evidence and getting Roderick’s location from him.

Hotch took off for the Gless house and got the information.  They got there just in time to stop Roderick Gless from killing Brook, and after a shot of narcan after the paramedics were told she was given barbiturates it was clear that Brook was going to be fine.  Through the window, on the building across the alley, was a portrait ad for a local ale - a picture of a lighthouse on a rocky shore.

You’d been conscious long enough to be filled in on the happy ending and make it to the jet before throwing yourself onto the couch, curling up, and sleeping through the entire flight - a whole four, almost five, hours.  You didn’t stop to wonder why you hadn’t had any dreams at the hotel or on the jet, not even anything featuring the other doctor on the team.  You just took the unexpected mercy and slept.  You vaguely remembered almost waking up, someone softly playing with your hair and combing their hand through it, and then you were right back to sleep.  It took a few days, about a week, but you were doing better after getting back and telling Reid your side of the Hunter Grant case over coffee at your apartment, Tybalt curled up and purring away in your lap.  It wasn’t easy, but it helped.  It felt better knowing someone else knew your whole side of the story, not just the summary you’d given to Hotch or what was in the file.

“So, all of your tattoos are from different cases or digs?”

“Most of are, they’ve made up most of the major events in my life since I was old enough to get tattoos and had the money to afford one that wouldn’t give me an infection.  I don’t really have a lot of time to make the appointment and sit there for anywhere from half-an-hour to two hours or more, so it’s mostly little ones.  The heart on my wrist is from Guatemala,” you placed the refilled coffee mugs back on the kitchen table, pointing to the modernized long and thin black cross down the side of your wrist before tapping your right hip, “This is from Sarajevo, we slept in an old chapel with leaky faucets and a patched roof.  The daffodil on my pelvis was after I decided to stop spending every moment being mad at my father and Berto and just move on with my life - which is a bit of a work-in-progress at times.  The stars I just got on the back of my neck, right under my hairline - that’s from the bombing in New York.”

“And the flower on your foot was after Hunter Grant?”  Reid immediately kicked himself after that.  He was trying to change the subject and try to cheer you up after you just retold one of the most traumatic events in your life.

“Yeah,” you kicked up your right foot a bit, more gesturing to the deep red lily with a golden-yellow center, a common flower to find planted on graves, “After Dr. Hannigan dragged me out of my apartment.  She told me that sometimes you can’t just wait for it to get better, sometimes you have to get up and make something out of a bad thing, and some of the most beautiful daylilies I’ve ever seen were planted on old graves so long ago the the great-grandchildren of the people who planted them are buried a few graves over, because someone put in the effort to take something sad and make it beautiful.  I picked my foot for the whole one foot forward thing and immediately regretted it when that needle hit my foot.  So much worse than my pelvis.”

He still wanted to change the subject, at least enough to cheer you up.

“So, did they cover your tattoos up when you were modeling underwear?”

“I knew that wouldn’t last long, but since we’re on that note - you wanna stay for dinner?  Penelope’s bringing over apology Pad Thai, she asked if she could bring Kevin so I’m willing to bet it’s gonna take at least the two of them to carry all the food from the car.”  Penelope was growing more comfortable inviting Kevin to things that would typically be between BAU members.  He was a nice guy and he watched your cat when Penelope was too busy on the current case.  The least you could do was let him hang out at your place - which everyone did a lot more of after you stress cooked during your entire medical leave after the New York City case.

You gave it about five years before JJ and Will sold you some shit story about how you were the secret godmother just so you’d cook for PTA meetings.

“Sure, do we get to know what pays better than modeling?”

“You’ll need a lot more than Pad Thai to bribe that out of me, and rest assured I have no intention of ever telling Penelope.”

********

You’d managed to get home before the storm started, winter had arrived and it was cold and rainy.  Tybalt was twisting and turning around your legs as you cooked dinner, you’d already dropped a few tiny pieces of pork for him but you didn’t want to give him too much.  It wasn’t like when you cooked chicken and cut up a few pieces to put into his food bowl, but there was no telling him that.  Barely a year old when you got him from the shelter and he was already a spoiled little bastard.

The knock on your door was a bit surprising, but it wasn’t uncommon for various members of the team to stop by.  You knew Derek had a date and Prentiss was meeting up with an old friend that called out of nowhere, but Garcia had to stay at the office a bit late and you were fairly certain Reid was free.  You’d expected it would be one of the latter two when you looked out the peep-hole in your door, but instead you saw Prentiss standing there in the hall, soaking wet from the rain.

“Jesus - Emily, come inside, I’ll take your coat.”  You threw the door open and practically pulled her inside, taking her coat before hitting the thermostat to turn it up a few degrees.  You’d gotten lucky and found an apartment with a washer/dryer in the closet, so you snatched some spare clothes - just some sweats and a t-shirt.  Something warm for her to wear while you threw her clothes in the dryer for a few minutes.  She didn’t say anything but the look on her face was just heartbreaking.  She just sat on your couch, blanket draped over her shoulders as you got her some hot tea.

“Emily, what’s wrong?”  You sat on the coffee table across from her, head ducked down so you could look up at her as she hung her head a bit.

“I just…I just found out an old friend of mine died, he might have been murdered.  I told Hotch but I just -” she didn’t quite know how to explain it.  She didn’t want to be at home, alone, and your studio always seemed so…warm for having so much open space.  The rust colored tiles of the kitchen and bathroom and plush matching carpet, the warm sandy beige of the walls, the white satin curtains and mismatched furniture because you prioritized comfort over fashion, soft yellow lighting and the sound of the radio or or Friends reruns you’d seen a million times before, bookshelves covered in a wide variety ranging from leather bound collectors editions to used books you’d bought for less than $5, pictures of your family and loved ones all over the place - you’d already gotten a few pictures of Henry.  It was small, and cozy, and warm.  Safe.  “I didn’t want to be alone.”

“You don’t have to be, you can stay here with me and Tybalt as long as you like.  In fact,” you picked up your attention seeking cat and put him on the couch next to Prentiss, “You keep an eye on him while I finish the pozole, it’s almost done.  You want some?  I got all the garnish you like.”

She nodded, putting her mug of tea - lemon and ginger that seemed to warm her from the inside out - on the coffee table after taking a sip, Tybalt starting to settle down now that he had someone to pet him as much as he wanted.  Some hot soup sounded really good.  The daze was finally starting to lift and she was starting to notice just how cold she was after being out in the rain.

“Alright, I’ll finish that and then start up Young Frankenstein, we can stop by your apartment in the morning.”

********

It had been blatantly obvious that the case in Oregon had gotten to you, you didn’t do a very good job at hiding it and Hotch’s story that he wanted to talk about paperwork had clearly been bullshit, then there had been Reid tricking you into thinking he was driving to the cafe when he was really dragging you to the hotel to get some sleep.  Derek had wanted to get you to talk to him, but then Prentiss’s friend Matthew died and it lead to a long - questionably legal - investigation to discover a priest was behind a series of murders that looked like exorcisms.  Derek was questionably supportive, continuing to argue there wasn’t a case, but that was easily explained when he kept getting squeamish every time the religious aspect was brought up.  

You didn’t care what he believed or didn’t believe, you did care that he was letting his personal feelings get in the way of his own professional judgement.  It didn’t happen often, but it had happened once before.  An Angel of Mercy was very cleverly covering his tracks in Pittsburgh, when JJ brought the case to the team the only known facts were all the victims lost a child in a fire, the killings were exactly two weeks apart, and the rise in suicides was massive and against every sociological and anthropological study about human behaviors after a tragedy.  Suicide rates didn’t rise after a massive tragedy to the local society, they fell as people banded together.  However, Derek was still holding a grudge over Rossi’s refusal to work as a team and his habit of pushing people’s buttons when he first returned to the BAU.  Normally that wouldn’t matter, but Hotch needed a few personal days and that left Rossi in charge, meaning he had the final say over whether or not to take the case.

The really irritating part was the fact he kept arguing anthropology with you.

You told him off, said if he wanted to make a fool out of himself without getting punched he’d be better off arguing math with Reid, called him Deedee in the middle of the precinct, and then he got you an apology latte and pastry after the case.

This time, when he told Hotch he didn’t think there was a case, you pointed out his discomfort with religion and habit of letting really personal things cloud his professional judgement, reminded him last time that happened he argued anthropology with you, and then asked Reid what the statistics were that there would be three deaths with so many similarities took place within a 20 mile radius of each other.

You’d expected an apology latte and pastry, apologizing wasn’t easy for Derek it just mattered that he tried, but instead he took you out for a long lunch at a family-owned pizzeria Rossi had suggested.

This wasn’t just an apology.

This was a bribe.

“Alright, in the interest of full disclosure, your apology is accepted.  However, I will not help you apologize to Prentiss, I will not abuse my connections to the Jeffersonian so you can impress some girl you’re just gonna sleep with and never call again, and I’ve already told Sarah how much of an ass you were.”  You counted off on your fingers the top three most-likely things Derek was trying to bribe out of you.  “And I do still expect to pick the pizza toppings.”

“You this bossy with everyone?”

“No, but Reid is a lot smarter than you are, so he doesn't really argue.”

“Ha-ha,” Derek wasn’t nearly as amused as you were, but he decided to use that little quip to get to the point, “He was pretty worried about you during that case in Oregon, thought you might know why.”

“He had his reasons - Hotch did too.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

You took a deep breath and rested your chin on your palm, looking out the window at the busy street outside.  You’d expected this, and you’d already known what your answer was.  You also knew how he’d react if you didn’t explain why.

“Not really,” you rested your hand back on the table and faced him again, “I already have - with Reid, I mean. It’ll be easier to talk about…eventually, I think, but Hotch and Reid already knew about it.  That took a lot of the stress out of talking about it.  I didn’t have to go over everything and explain it all.  One day, I’ll tell you - I promise.  Just…not now.  When I’m ready to tell everyone, you’ll be the first person to know.  I promise.”

“Alright.”  He didn’t like it, he was never going to like it, but at least this way he understood.  “I’ll hold you to that.”

“And if you ever keep arguing there isn’t a case cause you’re arguing with Rossi or religion is involved I will punch you.”

“Yeah, Sarah will probably kick your ass if you don’t.”

“That’s what she said, and I’m not taking that chance.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Something In The Air

Thirty-six burn victims.

Thirty-six, one of them under ten, over a quarter of them under eighteen.

The fires took place in a small town, Royal, Indiana.  Digging up the secrets that led to an arsonist burning down the town in rage meant digging up secrets without starting a witch hunt, and you and Garcia were the only ones that wouldn’t be parked right in the middle of the police station.  While you were going through a damn marathon of autopsies with next to none of the resources you normally had, let alone the flesh eating beetles you’d normally prefer to clean the bones, you had to help Garcia dig through a whole nightmare of a town that needed to be profiled.  It all turned out to be an instance of ‘it takes a village to raise a child’ gone horribly wrong.

Tommy and Tina’s parents died in a fire, while she recovered his love-map was distorted when she became his entire world, and then the entire town started to bully, torture, and otherwise physically assault him, and then he returned to burn the town down and run away in the sunset with Tina.

Tina and Tommy survived, but the sister lost her husband of a few days in the last fire.

All the tools in the town’s basement morgue were old and outdated, the fluoroscope you used for a live-feed inside to minimize invasive autopsy procedures was heavy and took some real heaving to yank on the even heavier mechanical arm it was hooked onto, and you’d barely gotten any sleep before the case since you’d all been called to the office at 12 am.

You were mostly worried for Garcia, to be frank.  An assembly line of victims was hardly anything you weren’t used to, even the kids.  It tugged on your heart, but you knew how to deal with it.  You were also a profiler, digging into the dark depths of humanity was what you did.  That wasn’t what Garcie did.  She wanted to believe the world was full of good people, that people as a whole were great and it was just the few that needed to be captured.  Delving into the private lives of a town that was such a nightmare it would even impress Franz Kafka while making Cersei Lannister look like an upstanding symbol of morality was not something she was going to walk away from clean.

Top that off with the Reaper case before that, then follow that arson case with a child sociopath that choked his little brother by stuffing toy plane parts down his throat, the young man with the identity disorder, the man who felt guilty about orphaning a young boy and became his counselor, all topped up with a vet that was disabled by a fatal car crash he caused thus killing his wife and kid…

It had been a very long few weeks.

You couldn’t tell if you were grateful the sex dreams about Reid had replaced the nightmares about Grant, and you were starting to lose your mind, so you did the only thing you could do.  You talked to someone.  Obviously, as much as you loved Garcia, she could not keep this a secret.  JJ would immediately tell Reid - you were pretty sure they were long-lost twins or something - or worse, she’d tell Will and he would tell Reid.  You’d rather talk to Berto about this rather than talk to Derek, and you’d rather set yourself on fire than talk to Hotch about it.  Rossi would probably just laugh at you the whole time before telling you it was fine and how he slept his way through every female in the BAU.

That left Emily.

She laughed, and that was fair.  It was early, not even seven am, and if you were in her position you would have laughed too.  You remained a bit pouty as she kept laughing a bit insultingly hard, but waited until you could relay your theory on the situation to her.  Your subconscious just wasn’t used to not having sex for so long, you hadn’t gone through such a long dry spell since you turned eighteen - that’s your entire adult life.  Your job always got in the way of any attempt at a relationship, whether the guy just didn’t like what you did for a living or didn’t like the fact you’d have to pick up and leave at any moment.  Most of your close friends were in the BAU, they’d become your family.  So, your subconscious tried to alleviate the issue by creating some sort of dreamscape where you were…matched with the most appropriate guy within the group of people you spent most your time with.

“That sounds good.  I, personally, prefer the theory of dreams as wish - “

“No,” you snatched the small tupperware container of Splenda packets you’d gotten just for Emily, keeping them out of reach, “If you want the Splenda back, you have to agree that Freud was an idiot and dreams as wish fulfillment is only applicable to undeveloped or under-developed minds.”

“Fine, fine, I won’t bring it up again.  But, if you’re right, this isn’t going to stop unless you get laid.”  Emily pulled her cell from her jeans pocket as you grabbed yours from the kitchen counter.  “I almost don’t want to know, but how was it?”

“Let’s just say, after the first dream and some research, I found out that with enough mental stimulation from a dream, women can actually orgasm in their sleep.”  You grabbed your cell phone and checked the message that came through, not at all surprised by what you saw.

Emergency case.  No go bag.

“We’ll worry about that after this emergency, I’ll meet you there.”  You waved to Emily as she bolted for the door to rush home and get changed, letting you dump the two mugs of coffee down the sink before getting ready yourself.  There had been a lot of emergency cases lately, at least they were more urgent than the other cases that normally hit the BAU.

Must have been something in the air.

********

You’d trailed in after Rossi, the last three members likely soon to follow in a few minutes.  The army wasn’t done carrying in boxes of files and taking over the entirety of the BAU bullpen.  The glass doors were wide-open, which was unusual for the office, but to be fair the entire scene was bizarre.  You made a bee-line to the meeting room, where you spotted JJ through the windows, as Rossi sped off to find Hotch in his office.  You vaguely caught the sound of the elevator as you sped up the stairs.

“Jage, how bad is it?”  You weren’t going to be told what until after Hotch got there, and it was looking like the others were going to follow in less than a minute.

“Bad.”  She looked up from placing pills in little cups and spotted the others filing in, “Guys, this is Dr. Linda Kimura, Chief of Special Pathogens at the CDC.”

“Hell, I’m sorry to meet under these circumstances.”

“What circumstances?”  Reid cut right to the issue.  You were profilers, any pomp and formalities to try and soften the blow of this kind of emergency wasn’t going to do any good.  The army was in the office and they brought the CDC with them.  It doesn’t take a profiler to know that’s bad.

“We need to get started.”  Everyone’s attention turned to Hotch as he stood at the table.  Nobody had even touched a chair, let alone began to take a seat.  Hotch normally allowed for some light banter among the team, even in the middle of a briefing.  The fact that he cut right through any attempt at basic greetings made all of you more on-edge than the army being there.

“Last night 25 people checked into emergency rooms in and around Annapolis.  They were all in the same park after two pm, around ten hours later the first victim died.  It’s now - “ JJ checked her watch as the rest of you picked up a copy of the file from the table, “ - just after seven am the next day, we now have 12 dead.”

“Lung failure and black lesions - anthrax?”  There was a list of known pathogens that every member of the FBI had to at least be familiar with, most of them were used in terrorist attacks.  Anthrax was on that list.

“Anthrax doesn’t kill that fast.”  Reid was going through the file quickly, that long list of degrees he had did include a Chemistry PhD, any known strain of anthrax chemicals didn’t work nearly that fast.

“This strain does.”

“What are we doing about potential mass targets - airports, malls, trains?”  Emily was under the impression they’d be shut down.

“There’s a media blackout.”  Hotch laid down just how much the public knew about this new anthrax breakout - which was to say, they knew nothing.

“We’re not telling the public?”

“Emily, thousands of people would die as a result of the mass exodus.  If we work fast, we can keep the number down to the original victims.”  One of your tamer field study expeditions involved going to Pompei.  It wasn’t so much an expedition as it was a glorified field trip, but the state of the casts left behind offered a unique chance for Anthropologists.  Still, there was something so…chilling about seeing them there, pushing each other over to get out, bodies left broken and beaten by people before nature had a chance.

“Psychology of group panic would cause more deaths than this last attack,” Rossi agreed.  He hadn’t been one of the profilers working on the last anthrax case - Amerithrax - but he sure as hell remembered it.

“Yeah, if it does get out whoever’s responsible might go underground, destroy their samples.”  Reid looked up for just a second before looking back down at the file on hand.  You knew the team was in deep shit when Reid didn’t even start rattling off facts or statistics when he was given the perfect set-up.

“Or if they wanted attention and didn’t get it, they might attack again.  Doesn’t the public have the right to know that?”  Prentiss wasn’t normally one to keep fighting a losing battle.  She was hardly a coward, but she picked her fights carefully, fighting smarter not harder.  JJ stayed uncharacteristically silent, watching the argument coming to a quick end when Hotch shot it down - there was no telling what kind of hell she was going through.

“If there’s another attack, we won’t be able to keep it quiet.  Our best chance at protecting the public is by building a profile as quickly as we can.”  Hotch remained firm, putting his foot down in a way he normally didn’t.

“What do we know about this strain?”  Reid had gotten all he could from the write-ups in the file.

“The spores are weaponized, reduced to a respiral ideal that attacks deep in the lungs.  Odorless, and invisible.”

“A sophisticated strain, only a scientist would know how to do that.”  Rossi started narrowing down the field.

“These lesions are doubling in size in a matter of hours.”

“It’s not the lesions that kills them, it’s the attack on the lungs.  Everything else is just side-effects and window-dressing.”  You refocused Derek’s attention to the more critical issue with the pathogen.  The lesions were far easier to notice, but they were also far easier to heal.

“We don’t know how to combat the toxins once they’re inside,” Dr. Kimura warned the rest of you, a way of letting you know your chances if you happened to get infected, before sending you off on the front-lines of this local biological warzone, “And the reality is, we may lose them all.”

“The remaining survivors have been moved to a special wing in Walter Reed Hospital, our offices will become a small command center.”  JJ managed to bring her out of her internal fears, she’d be the one staying behind and spending most of her energy keeping the office functioning and keeping open lines of communication between the army and the team.

“We’ll be working with military scientists from Fort Deitrich.”

“General Witworth is coming here?”  That name clearly meant something to Rossi, which was either really good or really bad.

“He’s in charge of site containment and spore analysis, determining what strain this is will help determine who’s responsible.”  Based on Hotch’s answer, you were guessing Witworth’s involvement was bad.

“My team is in charge of treating all victims.”

“Reid, Castillo, go with Dr. Kimura to the hospital, interview the victims.  Morgan and Prentiss, there’s a hazmat team that will accompany you to the crime scene.  There’s Cipro, everybody needs to take it before you go.”  Hotch nodded to the metal tray with little plastic cups of pills, Dr. Kimura raised it up for everyone to take a dose.

“We don’t know if it’s effective against this strain, but it’s something.”  Less than a day in and Dr. Kimura already sounded tired, a large chunk of the patient’s she’d lost were kids or parents, young adults with everything to live for.

“This is really happening.”  Prentiss had to make sure this wasn’t some…fever dream.  Less than an hour ago she was having an early breakfast at your apartment because she’d been having trouble sleeping.  Most cases the team handled…this was nothing like them.

“We knew this could happen, we’ve done our homework, we’ve prepared for this.  This is it.”  That was all Hotch really had for the team.  What was he supposed to say?

“Jin Daan,” Rossi toasted, “May you live 100 years.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Lab Work

JJ was still in a daze when you and Reid left with Kimura.  She did her job, she remained focused where she could, you couldn’t imagine the kind of nightmare this was for a Communications Liaison, but there were still moments where her thoughts were turning to Henry.  Where was he?  Was he okay?  For a moment she seemed like she was going to tell Will to stay home with Henry at all costs, until the Director sent out a mass memo that all communications were being monitored, even private devices, to protect the media blackout.  You couldn’t imagine what she was dealing with.  Your family lived in Chicago, your biological family was either dead, missing, or a criminal, and your primary cat-babysitters were both FBI Technical Analysts who already knew.

The death count didn’t stop just because the team was called in.  You and Reid tried to get as many interviews as you could, but the few patients that were still conscious fell victim to aphasia as the virus started attacking their brain, causing them to speak nothing but gibberish.  There was a teenage girl you’d been talking to when the aphasia started, and the terrified look on her face as she desperately tried to speak and heard the nonsense sounds she was making…living victims weren’t something you’d dealt with before.  As the day passed Dr. Kimura was forced to watch more and more of her patients die, and there weren’t many to begin with.  General Witworth was working with the team because he was ordered to, Prentiss was constantly struggling with the fact nobody could know about it, and Garcia was even more worried about the rest of you than she normally was.

You’d called JJ earlier, not even bothering to hide that you were checking up on her.  Whether she told Will to stay home with Henry wasn’t the issue you were really worried about.  It was her constant terror for Henry.  She was struggling when you left, you couldn’t imagine she was doing any better a few hours later.

“Thirty-eight year old high school history teacher, leaves two kids behind,” Kimura left the patient’s room and joined Reid in the hall, making their way over to the nurse’s station where you were calling JJ.

“I gotta go, Jage, you know where to reach me.”  With a quiet see ya from the other end of the call you hung up, tucking your phone into your back pocket.

“That’s seventeen out of twenty-five dead.”

“This strand is duplicating every thirty to forty-five minutes, poisoning the lungs, causing massive hemorrhaging and organ failure,” Dr. Kimura updated you and Reid on the latest observations made by her team and Witworth’s team at the lab.

“That’s not something you get right off the bat, there’s a lot of trial-and-error trying to create bacterial amplification that extreme.”  You spent a lot of time in bio-chem labs during your undergrad and Master’s years.  It had originally been part of becoming a Forensic Anthropologist, being familiar with science as a whole, now it was part of unraveling a pathogen to find the unsub who created it.

“Whoever created this had to have - at some point - gone through the trouble of testing it,” Reid was running down the same trail of thought you were.

“What do you mean?”  Criminology was not Dr. Kimura’s field of study, she was a physician and a great one, but she’d only taken the required psych rotations.  Like any good doctor, she’d be the first to admit she was out of her depth.

“Think about how scientists work their way up to human tests.  They start with rodents, and then advance their way up to larger mammals, and at some point they do a very small trial run with people,” Reid went through the steps, “There was no way this was his first human test run.”

“We would have heard about a previous anthrax attack.”

“Maybe not.  The size of the outbreak is what caught our attention here, but if it’s a small enough outbreak, they’re scattered, and the dose was strong enough that it killed the victims within less time - the treating physicians could have assumed it was one out of a hundred other things,” you explained as Reid started rapidly flipping through reports to look at exactly what the first few symptoms are, “If you could look into it…”

“I’ll make some calls.”

********

Gale Mercer, 31.

Martha Feinstein, 31.

Albert Franks, 52.

They’d all died within three hours of exposure, but they were showing the exact same initial symptoms as the 25 victims back at the hospital, and they all died the same day they visited the same exact bookstore.

The profile was ready, but with everyone scattered in the field there wasn’t any time to waste waiting until everyone could get back to Quantico.  The gist of it was, they were an ideologue, they believed their work was of the greatest importance, they’d do whatever it took to prove it, and their cause was anthrax.  You and Reid were still at the hospital, you’d stopped in to visit the teenage girl you’d tried to talk to earlier.  She couldn’t talk, and it wasn’t long until all you could do was smile and wave through a window, then she was intubated just to keep her alive.

The profile led to Dr. Nichols.  He previously worked with anthrax, and after the Amerithrax case he proposed a 50 billion dollar plan to give every American gas masks and every home a two-month supply of Cipro.  After that, he became hysterical, got moved to a sub-contractor position working with the flu, and got divorced.  He fit the profile almost too perfectly.

You and Reid were the only members of the team with any real lab experience, so Hotch sent you with Rossi and Prentiss to Dr. Nichols’ workspace while Reid and Derek went to his home.  The lab was clean, so while Rossi and Prentiss started looking over it to get a sense of the doctor you called Derek to update the others.

“Hey sis, what’s up?”

“The lab’s clean.”

“Sorry - what?”

“The lab is clean, there’s no anthrax here.”

“The lab’s clean?  You’re sure?”

“Well, I’m standing in it without a hazmat suit or a gas mask, so I’m gonna assume that yes, the lab is clean.”

“Alright.”

Such an innocuous conversation, and only moments later you were barking over the phone at Hotch to pick you up from the lab and drive you to the house.

“What the hell happened?” you sped towards Derek ahead of Hotch and the general, a mixture of dancer’s legs and raw terror fueling you.

“He took off on his own, what was I supposed to do?”  Derek knew this was just you trying to…deal with it.  He didn’t appreciate your tone, but he also knew you’d apologize later.  It really wasn’t the time to worry about any of that.

“We don’t have time for that - Morgan, how’s Reid?”  Hotch cut in.

“There’s white powder in the room and the air was blasting.”  Morgan led everyone down the sidewalk through the back garden and to the back yard, staying a few yards away for the containment team to put up a tent outside the door.

“Get a decon team suited up, get a gray zone outside that door, and get him in the ambulance fast.”  The general relayed orders to the officer waiting outside.

“I would have been right there with him - “

“Morgan, there’s no time for second-guessing.  What do we know?”

“Nichols is dead, blunt force trauma to his head, Reid thinks he’s been dead two or three days.”

“Well - then he couldn’t have been responsible for the attack,” the general pointed out the actual unsub was still out there.

“Reid took Cipro today, so he’s gotta be okay, right?”  Derek was looking for something, anything, that would keep Reid from getting killed.

“On the average strain, yes, but you didn’t see this thing.  At best, the Cipro is going to buy him time, Dr. Kimura even said she didn’t know if it would work at all.”  You stared at the window to the house, arms crossed, jaw clenched, and tapping the heel of your foot.

“It’s not helping patient’s at the hospital,” the general supported your own theory.

“But they didn’t take it until after they were exposed - “

“As the only scientist in this conversation, I’m pretty confident taking the Cipro was about as useful as taking sugar pills.”

“Reid.”  Hotch cut in, answering his phone before you could start bickering with the general and Morgan all over again.

“Hotch, I really messed up this time.”  Your heart dropped to the ground and shattered when you heard his voice, covering your mouth and holding yourself tighter as you shut your eyes and looked away from the window Reid was standing at.  When something went wrong, Reid always blamed himself.  Like a massive I.Q. was supposed to keep him from being human.  To make matters worse, it was so easy to forget just how young you and he were.  The two of you would mellow out with age - likely sooner rather than later considering your career field of choice - but even that didn’t offer Hotch much comfort.  There was nothing he could do, he was your boss not your father, and firing the two of you wouldn’t just be an injustice to the BAU it would cause even more damage.

“Reid, we need to get you out and to the hospital.”

“What?  No, I’m staying right here.”  You immediately whipped back around when you heard that, eyes wide and brow raised with the other half of your face hidden by your hand.

“No, you’re not, Reid!” Derek tried to argue.

“I’m already exposed, it won’t do me any good to stop working the case.”  Reid had already stepped away from the window to start looking through the desks.

“He’s already infected.  Now, if Nichols created the strain, he may have also created the cure.”  Oh, right, now General Witworth is willing to put some faith in profiling, after an FBI profiler got infected with this new and even more deadly strain of anthrax.  You never removed your hand from your mouth, though your eyes remained wide as you watched.  You couldn’t say anything.  You were already worried sick.

“My best chance is to stay here, see if there’s a cure, try to figure out who killed Dr. Nichols.”

“Hotch, say something to him.”  If Reid stayed there, then you and Derek were going to be staying there.  That was a given.  Derek didn’t want Reid in there anyway, but he really didn’t want you there either.  You weren’t about to go bursting into the lab in some show of heroics, you weren’t delusional.  You would, however, worry yourself to actual nausea, probably even start tearing up if not outright crying.  At least in the hospital…

Dammit, there were no good options, and Hotch was taking way too long to reach a decision.

“He’s right, his best chance is inside.  We’re gonna’ get a suit and mask to you right away.”

“Don’t bother, it wouldn’t do me any good.  I’m already infected.”

With that, Reid hung up.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Student and Teacher

“Reid, what do you see in there?”

“I see cages full of dead animals, signs of a struggle - probably before Dr. Nichols was murdered.  Equipment’s missing, there’s a large desk, clutter all over the surface - but in the corner, there’s a smaller desk, it’s organized, functional.”

“Two different work spaces?” Morgan double-checked.

“I’ve never met a lab researcher that managed to keep their desk neat and tidy.  There’s no time to worry about that, especially when you’re dealing with chemicals,” you kept pacing back-and-forth behind Derek, Hotch, and the general.  Your arms were tucked tight, one fist clenched up to your lips.  You managed to keep yourself sane enough to recall your own days in labs.  Notes scribbled on everything and posted everywhere, coffee stains on forms, sitting down just long enough to start scribbling down notes before you had to take off and keep a test beaker from getting too hot, standing at your work station while you watched the thermometer and scribbled notes with only a half-second glance at your notepad.  You were a student, and anything young college students do tends to be chaotic, but when you’re in the lab it takes all of your attention.

“Two sets of handwriting.  I’m looking at instructions on how to boil lab grade broth, sterilize lab equipment, and transfer spores.”

“Nichols would know all that,” Witworth spoke up.

“He had a partner - maybe even a protege.  Go back to the BAU, try to figure out who this partner is.”

“Hotch, why don’t you go, we’ll stay with Reid.”  Derek wasn’t about to leave, and you just kept on pacing like you didn’t even register the idea.

“Funnel all the information you get to me.”

********

“You hear how fast he was talking?  Never heard him talk that fast.”  You were quiet, lowered your hand to go back to hugging yourself, staring off at the tent now blocking the door to the house.  “He joked he does all his best thinking under intense terror.  It’s not so funny anymore…”

“He’s gonna be fine [F/N].”

“The last time someone told me that my mom ended up in a nursing home and died a year later.”  That shut Derek up quickly.  You didn’t talk about the year between your mom’s last surgery and her death, you just didn’t.  To top thing soff, you couldn’t tell what you hated most about this garden.  The fact there was nowhere to sit or the fact there was nothing to lean against without getting anthrax.  You know, not including the whole best friend dying of anthrax thing.  You weren’t even going to bother figuring out the whole best friend thing.  It happened, you had bigger problems to worry about.  You’d told the stupid genius more about everything than you’d told anyone for years.

“Come on, you know that’s not the same.”

“You’re right.  This time, there’s someone to blame.  He better hope Reid survives this, because I swear I’ll drag his ass down to hell myself if I have to.”  You were hugging yourself tighter, pouting a bit more than you wanted, and desperately clinging to angry in a desperate attempt to fight the way your lip was quivering.  You were not going to cry.  You were a Federal Agent.  You were not going to cry in the field.  If Derek wasn’t going to cry, you weren’t going to cry.

“Come on.”  Derek scooped you into a big hug, holding you to his chest, his chin on your head as he swayed you from side-to-side a bit.  Your shoulders bunched up a bit and you kept sniffling, still hugging yourself and staring at the tent blocking your view of the home-lab Reid was in.  “I got you, sis, it’s alright.”

“The only thing they could do for the victims was give them narcotics for the pain…”

Derek froze.

There was no way Reid was going to take any medication for the pain.

So…he was just going to be in pain the entire time.

********

Derek got an update from Prentiss and Rossi then immediately got Reid and Garcia on the phone.  The only real clues to finding the apprentice now were in that lab.

“Hello?”  Garcia had said Reid didn’t sound good, coughing and tired.  The way his voice cracked when he answered didn’t make you feel any better.  She didn’t tell you what they talked about - it was private - so you didn’t push.

“How’s it going in there, kid?”

“I’ve seen better days…”

“Well, you got me, Garcia, and [F/N].”

“Hi, Reid.”

“Hey, Doctor.”  It was a stupid little nod to a joke the two of you made months ago when neither of you could sleep after a bad case so you started binging Doctor Who..  If he was the Doctor, you were Sarah Jane.  Human, but arguably more capable and cool enough for your own series.  You’d thought it was a good idea, up until you heard his little chuckle turn into coughs.

“Reid, stick with me,” Derek kicked himself for how…final that sounded, “Prentiss and Rossi don’t think the partner was a co-worker.  Can you tell us anything else about him?”

“Uh - I…I’ve already been through everything.”

“We already know he needed instructions on how to sterilize lab equipment and he keeps his desk obsessively neat,” you tried to give him a nudge, “What else is there?”

“Alright, alright…” it was more like he was pushing himself back into high-gear, clearing his throat to push down a cough, “I see a - uh, framed photograph of Dr. Nichols teaching.  I see a…binder with syllabi…course assignments going all the way back to the 1970’s.”

“Alright, he kept a scrapbook of himself as a professor, that tells us he values himself as an educator.”  Derek laid down a piece of the groundwork.

“Teacher…I saw something earlier, I didn’t make a connection to it - or to the part of the room - but he has a study on anthrax.  Annotated bibliography…table of contents, it’s formatted like a thesis, has writing in the margins in red ink - like a teacher grades a paper.  Now, Nichols wouldn’t have let just anybody in here, but he may have opened his lab for educational purposes, as a teacher.”

“So, the partner must have appealed to him as a student.”

“A student with questions about anthrax, specifically.  That was a hot-button issue with Nichols, his proposal was the reason he got bumped to working on the flu,” you fleshed out the finer details, “Nichols would have given our unsub a key after finding out he was writing his thesis on it.”

“I - I can look up local PhD students.”  Garcia was desperate to do anything to help, hating just sitting there and waiting by her keyboard.

“Yeah, check the sciences.  Biochemistry, microbiology - “

“No, no-no.  We’re not looking for anyone with any experience in the STEM fields.”  You cut in before Garcia could get too far along.  “He doesn’t know how to sterilize lab equipment, boil lab grade broth - that’s like trying to drive a car and not knowing how to use a car door.  The last time this guy was in a lab was probably when he dissected a frog in high school - if ever.”

“Looking up local social sciences grad students…” Garcia updated the rest of you on her progress.

“Listen to this - “This country is woefully unprepared, every household should have a two-month supply of Cipro, hospitals are in need of Bio-Safety Level 4 DECON.”

“That’s verbatim to what we heard from Nichols…the partner’s adopted Nichol’s views as his own.” Derek had been there to hear the recorded session of Dr. Nichols’ proposition hearing.

“That just proves my point.  You’re not going to find that in a scientific thesis, I can dig up my Master’s thesis to show you.  You don’t write about city preparedness - at most you write about lab procedures,” you grabbed Derek’s phone from him, admittedly taking control of the situation as well, “Garcia, look for social sciences PhD candidates.

“Cross-referencing with employees and customers who had grievances at the bookstore and…Hot to trot!  There’s a Chad Brown, School of Public Policy at U. of M.  Matches a Chad Brown, former employee of the book Front.”

“Any previous behavioral issues?”  It would be strange for someone to go from perfectly well-behaved citizen to mass murderer.  Not impossible, or unheard-of, but odd.

“Oh, honey, where do I even start?  He’s been in the doctoral program on-and-off for about five years, nix on a steady job, was slapped with a restraining order from his former girlfriend, and has been arrested and released twice at protest rallies in D.C.  I’ll tell Hotch.”  Garcia didn’t wait for a goodbye before taking off.

“Alright, Reid, you’ve done all you can short of trashing the whole place,” you leaned in a bit closer to the phone, “We’re getting you to the hospital - now.”

********

Brown apparently applied to work at Fort Detrick repeatedly, and failed the psych evaluation every time.  He firmly believed it was acceptable to sacrifice the lives of the few for the lives of the many.  His advisor even said Brown’s thesis was going to be about how easy it was to make homemade anthrax, and that he was interviewing Dr. Nichols to prove it.  They had no idea Brown fully intended on making anthrax.

The rest of the team was working on down Brown, keeping you and Morgan up-to-date on the whole thing, and that gave you the chance to tell them about the potential cure.  An inhaler was found in one of the desk drawers, but neither Nichols nor Brown had any history of breathing problems.  They’d already made an airborn pathogen, based on how it worked and spread it wasn’t inconceivable that the cure was also airborne.  It was bagged to be tested, potentially multiplied, and they started hosing Reid down in in the decontamination shower, a clear plastic wall between you and him.

“You look like Tybalt when he jumped in the bathtub.”  Tybalt was mostly fluff, lean muscle, limbs, and more fluff.  The second his fur got wet and matted down he just looked like a gangly little thing with surprisingly large paws.  Reid shot you a look, mildly unamused but hardly surprised.

“Go help Hotch,” Reid waited just long enough for Derek to get off the phone, shaking.  You didn’t want to think about whether it was because the water was cold or because of some new symptom of the anthrax nobody knew about.

“No.”  No explanation.  No room for rebuttal.  You just went with no.

“He needs you more than I do.”

“Reid, we’re gonna see you off to the hospital.”  Derek had no plans to leave either.

“I’m about to get naked, so they can scrub me down.  Is that something you really want to see?”

You and Derek shared a look, a quiet argument before he left.  For a moment, you spared Reid a second glance, he attempted a comforting smile to reassure you he’d be fine.  You side-stepped a bit, one foot in front of the other like he’d seen you do before and blame it on years of dancing.  It looked like you were going to leave.  He waved a little, not sure what to say or do.  If he said goodbye you’d just stay there.  If he started rambling through all the stupid memories that came to mind while he was in that lab, you’d start crying - again - and it was hard enough just watching you through the window.  So he just…settled for a wave.

If it was goodbye, it was the best he could do.

Then you deftly turned on the balls of your feet, your back turned to him, and stayed there.

Reid was too tired to care about the filter Hotch insisted everyone use for their language on the job.

“Oh- for fuck’s sake…”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Creature Fear

When Reid woke up in the hospital, you were contorted into what had to be a wildly uncomfortable position in a chair next to his bed.  It didn’t look like a comfortable chair.  Plastic armrests, scratchy fabric on a paper-thin foam padding wrapped around plastic, no lower-back support.  You’d managed to get yourself curled up, your back almost entirely on the seat of the chair, your legs pulled close with your feet perched on the armrest of Derek’s chair, arms folded and neck at an angle you were going to be feeling for days.  Derek had gone home to change, but he’d likely just picked up some stuff from your apartment and checked on Tybalt while he was there.  Your hair was tied up into a messy top-knot, there were some old worn-in spots and a bleach stain on your jeans, your t-shirt was far too big to actually be something you’d normally wear out, and your old MIT sweatshirt was draped over you like a blanket.  Every once in a while, because of the cramped angle that had your chin at your chest, you’d let out a little snore.

‘Sleeping beauty,’ he thought - and not ironically

Brown was caught, all the samples of the anthrax were picked up and taken to a secure facility, the cure was quickly tested and replicated.  A surprisingly good ending, all things considered.  You were so relieved to see Reid awake and alive you overlooked the fact the first thing he did was ask if there was Jell-O.  When you left, you leaned over to kiss his head and ask, “Don’t run off on your own like that.  We live in a perpetual series of horror movies, going off alone never ends well.”

“Yeah, promise.”

You were back a few hours later to drive him home, your hair still a bit damp from your shower and your change of clothes far less tattered and worn-in than the last.  In the small space of your little two-door, it was easy to catch a whiff of your lavender shampoo as you played with your hair, or a surprising hit of your vanilla bodywash when you leaned over to grab your parking permit and toss it onto your dashboard.  Had he ever noticed that before?  Had you ever been that close to each other before?  Probably, but it was most likely at work, likely during a case when everyone was far too focused on the job.  Or maybe even in a lab, where the cleaning solution and antiseptic overwhelmed everything else.

There was no not noticing it anymore.

Dammit, this was exactly what he needed.  There were already moments of the day when he’d…daydream right in the middle of the office - or a case.  About two weeks earlier you’d been hunched over looking over a growing pile of forensic reports, and when you looked up at him with those big doe eyes of yours he just froze.  He had to feign a headache when you asked if he was okay, then he had to convince you he didn’t want any Advil.  For days afterwards he was internally battling over whether or not to pull the trigger and just call you Bambi, before deciding he could not do that and still look you in the eyes.  Not when he’d attached that nickname to you when he thought of you during...well…

Cold showers don’t fix every problem, and there were times the genius found himself being reminded he was still only 27 and working with a very attractive girl around his age that was also very sweet, kind of goofy, and liked a lot of the same stuff he liked.

Over the few days off Hotch had gotten the entire team, everyone on the team had stopped by at least once.  Being an introvert, that was more exhausting for Reid than anything.  Every evening, though, you’d show up to shoo off anyone who was still straggling at his apartment before reheating whatever food you’d brought over.  Your visits was for your own peace of mind as much as his.  He was a bit tired the day he got home from the hospital, but otherwise fine.  He did end up hiding out at your apartment for a day, and that turned out to be a mistake.  He’d caught you by surprise in the middle of a laundry day, an easy enough task since you had your own washer/dryer, but the only clean clothes you’d had were an oversized t-shirt and small cotton shorts until sometime after two in the afternoon.

He’d been planning on looking through your collection of books once he finished his, but he only got half-way through it.

He couldn’t help but feel guilty about it.  You weren’t just a coworker, you were a friend.  You’d started making a habit of seeking him out when cases got hard or dug up personal stuff, and he did the same with you.  This latest case, spanning from Detroit to Ontario, Canada was no different.  

The entire thing was just a fucking nightmare.  It started with an injured vet crashing into the Michigan-Canada boarder check, claiming he committed a series of kidnappings, demanded the BAU to speak with him if anyone wanted to know more, then explained that people were just going missing off the streets of Detroit - one of them his little sister.  Transients, prostitutes, and drug addicts were kidnapped from Detroit and smuggled across the boarder to a farm in Ontario.  The physical work was all done by a severely mentally challenged man whose bedroom was in the loft of a barn, while his older brother - a physician who became a quadriplegic after falling from the barn’s upper level - manipulated him.  The goal was a twisted home-brewed method of stem-cell implantation to cure his paralysis, something he was never going to do with what he had.  All of the victims were butchered and then fed to the pigs on the farm, leaving nothing but a massive collection of shoes in a big wooden box.

While the others investigated further and searched for the last kidnapping victim, you led the Canadian forensics team going through the pig pens on the minuscule chance you’d find something.  Over eighty victims, and only thirty-something known missing persons from Detroit.  Unless you had detailed information on what shoes everyone was wearing when they went missing…but even that was just for the fraction you knew about…you couldn’t identify these people.  Not unless their DNA was in the system.  Fingerprints were a no-go.  These people were butchered by a self-righteous monster manipulating his mentally challenged brother, and you couldn’t track down the families of his victims and tell them where their loved ones were.  To make matters worse, there was a question of whether or not the real criminal behind the whole thing would be punished.

The kidnapped girl was saved, but the younger brother was shot by local police, and an army vet threw away his future to kill the man who murdered his baby sister.

It had only been about two days - less than 48 hours for sure - and yet it was so emotionally draining you still felt exhausted after the roughly six hour flight from Ontario to Quantico.  Everyone left the airstrip in silence.  You tossed your go-bag into Reid’s car since your own little two-door was in the shop for an annual inspection, and the ride back to your apartment was unusually silent.  You’d stopped as you got out of the car, about to say something, but thought twice about it and simply thanked him for the ride before getting your bag.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what you were going to ask.  You considered it your job to give a voice to the victims, to give them back their names and tell the world what happened to them.  In this nightmare, you couldn’t even do the thing you prided yourself on, the thing that made it easier for you to sleep when the nightmares came for you like they did for everyone on the team.  Reid wouldn’t be surprised if you couldn’t get those rows and rows of bloody shoes out of your head - he sure as hell couldn’t.  He’d been there when they found the girl and the younger brother, hearing her tell the confused man that it was okay, trying to help him get out with her, only for the locals to open fire.  He’d seen the man’s drawings in his living area, all of them scribbles with crayons like a young child would make.  So, when you grabbed your bag and went inside, Reid parked your spot in the apartment parking lot, then grabbed his bag to head inside himself.  You’d already changed into shorts and an old t-shirt with an image of the original poster for Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope.

You stepped aside to let him in and went back to emptying a can of food into Tybalt’s bowl and appeasing the cat before making your way to bed while Spencer went to the bathroom to change.  You’d recently hung some long, flowing white curtains to separate your bedroom from the best of your studio apartment.  Spencer gently pushed them aside to slip into your bedroom.  No words were spoken, just silent little checks to make sure no boundaries were crossed as he slid into bed with you, lying on your sides facing each other as you began to doze back to sleep.

********

When you woke back up the sun was starting to rise, and you were facing the other way.  You felt warmth against your back, a larger hand entangled with your own, and soft puffs of breath just above your ear.  You looked down at your joined hands as you recalled the events just a few hours earlier, looking back when Spencer took you by surprise as he tried to nuzzle back into your hair and go back to sleep.  You looked back at each other, dark brown and bright hazel trapped by each other, breath caught.  The world - time itself - seemed to froze.

And then the second hand ticked.

In a flash the two of you were on each other, lips meeting in heated kisses, hands roaming everywhere as you shifted positions.  You rolled onto your back as he got up to his knees, an arm snaking around your back to lift you into his lap briefly before laying you back down on the bed, after yanking off your t-shirt and tossing it aside.  You grabbed his own t-shirt and yanked him down into more heated kisses only to start tugging on his shirt until he pulled away to pull it off and toss it aside.

He gave you one last heated kiss before moving down your neck, the valley of your breasts, and yanking your shorts and panties down in one quick movement.  You were taken by surprise when he draped your legs over his shoulders and took your clit between his lips, not wasting any time.  His tongue attacked your clit as he slipped one, then two fingers into your core, finding your g-spot quickly.  You felt your climax mounting quickly, one hand clutching the sheets while the other tangled into Spencer’s mess of curls.

“I…I’m -”  You tried to give some heads-up to Spencer, only for your orgasm to blindside you.  You jolted as it hit.  Your back arched, your grip on the sheets and Spencer’s hair tightened, gasping as your eyes squeezed shut and your jaw dropped.  When you came to, he was easing you through your orgasm as he pressed kisses along your collarbone, one hand holding your leg hitched lazily around his waist.

The calm was short-lived when you tugged on his hair to let him know your daze had passed, and his gaze darted right up to you - pupils blown and eyes dark.  He pressed his lips against yours in a hungry kiss, hand cupping your jaw and neck in a snug grip, keeping you from moving.  He placed a few nips on your bottom lip before pulling away, reluctantly.

“Condom?”

“IUD.  I’m clean, and with your dating history I’d be shocked if you weren’t.”

Spencer swatted the underside of your thigh, catching you by surprise and making you yelp, and dragged his teeth along the side of your neck.  You began melting back into his touch just when he pulled away, slipping off his pajama pants and boxers and throwing them aside.  You didn’t have much of a chance to examine his cock, but it was enough to know he was the biggest you’d been with.  

He wedged himself back between your legs, your hand tangling into his hair once again.  With his hand on his cock, he guided his tip to your entrance, still wet and sensitive from your earlier orgasm.  Cupping the side of your neck and jaw with his thumb brushing along your cheek, he brought your gaze back up to his eyes, lips brushing against yours as he gave you a chance to back away.  Instead, you wrapped your hand around his wrist and pulled him in for a kiss and a single plea.

“Please.”

He pushed inside, the stretch aching in the best way, and he didn’t give you a chance to get used to anything.  He moved quick, the location of your g-spot at the forefront of his mind.  You felt yourself nearing the cliff edge of your orgasm once again, reaching with your free hand to rub at your clit, only for Spencer to grab your hand in his and pin it by your head with your fingers intertwined.  You felt your orgasm continuing to build, warmer and bleeding across your nerves until it snapped.  Your entire body jerked and tensed, head tossed back as you choked out another gasp, your grip on Spencer’s hand and wrist tightening as you vaguely registered the bites and nips he was leaving along your neck and collarbone.

When you came to your senses once again, you noticed Spencer had also stopped, his forehead pressed against yours as he caught his breath.  You must have blacked out for a moment.  That wasn’t unusual when you had a g-spot orgasm but…well, you’d never had someone else give you one.  The only ones you’d ever had were the ones you’d given yourself.

Your eyes met, and you shared shy smiles, soft giggles, and soft kisses.  He pulled out, both of you still exhausted from the long few days you’d had and suffering from Noodle Limbs.  He reached off the side of the bed and grabbed one of the discarded t-shirts to gently clean the sweaty damp mess between your legs.  You didn’t care if it was his or yours, and he was doubly careful after the cloth rubbed a bit too hard against your oversensitive clit.  Neither of you could bring yourselves to actually get up, though.

Instead, Spencer pulled the blanket back over the two of you, pulled you close, and the two of you went right back to sleep.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

A Dramatic Shift

It was only a few hours after the last case, but damn you were glad to be called in for another one.

The stunned silence when your ringing cell woke the both of you up, the shock as the two of you realized exactly what had happened, your nearly brain-dead suggestion to JJ that she just tried calling Spencer again when she mentioned she was having trouble reaching him.  Neither of you were able to complete a sentence.  There was a lot of awkward gesturing on your part, Spencer would trail off and break eye-contact.  Eventually the two of you agreed to just meet at the crime scene.  

You’d thought it was a dream when you first started waking up, only to realize you were very naked and your pillow had a heartbeat.

Mortified doesn’t even begin to cover how you felt.

You got there only a few moments before Derek, catching up with Prentiss and Rossi outside.

“We’re not working a case, why call us to a crime scene?”  Derek was not in the mood for this kind of last-minute emergency bullshit.  After that hell up north, it was starting to feel like the other BAU teams weren’t pulling their share of the weight.

“I was hoping you knew.”  Rossi knew just as much as the rest of you.  You spotted Prentiss behind Rossi, on the other side of the yellow Police tape, and nodded over to her as she caught up with the rest of you.

“JJ said the police told her it was urgent.”  She tucked her badge back into her pocket.

“Yeah - it better be.”  To be honest, you weren’t exactly in the mood to be there either.  Not that there was exactly a mood to be at a crime scene, but the last 32 hours of your life had sent you for one hell of a loop.  The three of you went inside and just followed the cops and CSI techs to the crime scene.  It was a small apartment, most of the apartments on that end of town tended to be small and inhabited by young adults or blue collar workers.  A yellow tarp had already been laid over the victim, Reid already inside with the detective and JJ waving the rest of you through the door as she returned from making a call.

“Hey guys, right over here.  You guys remember Detective Walker?”

“Thanks for being here,” the detective reached over to shake all of your hands, “I understand none of you are working on much rest.”

That was an understatement.

“Who’s the victim?”  Rossi wanted to jump right into things, hoping to get this over with quickly.

“His name’s Nelson Martinez.  From what we can figure he answered his door, was forced into the apartment at gunpoint, and shot in the chest.  He was awfully sloppy.”

“No disrespect,” Derek stepped back after looking around the apartment for anything that might explain why you were all there, “But I don’t understand why you need us here.”

“Two days ago a local doctor named Tom Barton found a note addressed to him at the hospital.  It said that a person was planning to kill his son, if Dr. Barton tried to keep his boy hidden a person would die everyday, in his place.”

“And what makes you think this is connected?”  Prentiss asked.

“The note was signed L.C.”  Reid finally looked up from the copy of the detective’s case file.  The two of you caught a glimpse of each other when you got into the apartment, but he immediately shot his attention back down to the file as you turned your attention to the body covered by the bright yellow tarp.

“Yesterday we had another victim, multiple gunshots outside the apartment.”  The detective explained as Rossi pulled the tarp back from over the victim’s face, revealing the LC written in chalk by his name, “The shooter wrote L.C. in chalk next to the body.”

“And now he’s gonna keep killing people until he gets what he wants,” you sighed, tucking your hands into your back pockets and looking back down at the victim.

“Where’s Barton now?”  Rossi was taking the lead, at least until Hotch got there.

“He’s still at home, he doesn’t know about this victim yet.”  JJ had agreed with the detective to keep it that way before the rest of you got there.

“Where’s Hotch?”  The question had been nagging on Prentiss’ mind.  It was odd not to see him there, unless he had somewhere else to be - likely related to the case or the unit.

“He’s not answering his cell, I assume it’s on vibrate.”  JJ was just as worried as the rest of you, but in front of the detective, it was best to act like nothing was wrong.  “He’ll get the message when he wakes up.”

“Try him again,” Rossi advised, “He can meet us at Barton’s house.”

********

You’d been at Dr. Barton’s home only a few minutes - less than ten minutes - before things turned into a mess.  Dr. Barton had no idea who could be threatening him, and his son overheard the conversation from upstairs.  He got his things and went to school, climbing out his bedroom window and calling when he was already on his way.  To top things off, there was still no word from Hotch, which was becoming more concerning than it already was.

Derek, Rossi, JJ, and Detective Walker left to make sure the school was secure, Dr. Barton’s son was safe, and nobody was going to show up and start shooting at the other kids either.  In the meantime, you stayed at the Barton home with Prentiss and Reid to go through the doctor’s list of patients and figure out which one might lead to answers.  You’d already been able to narrow things down a bit - focusing on days Dr. Barton had operated on hispanic men.  In the letter, the unsub spoke like a grieving loved one who directly blamed Barton for their loss, he’d chosen to operate on a hispanic man instead of someone else.  They also used ‘I’ and focused on what they would do, which was pretty solid evidence it was a man.

In the rush of the day, keeping men on the street from getting killed while protecting a teenager and his classmates, with Hotch missing, there wasn’t much time to focus on anything but the job.  Garcia had only gotten medical records from the last six months, but that was still hundreds of people.  To top things off Prentiss was struggling to focus almost as much as Barton.

Barton was…difficult.  He wanted to keep his son safe, and nothing seemed to be good enough.  He’d go along with the plan after you explained yourself to him, or explained why you knew the letter was written by a man who’d likely lost his own child.  You’d managed to narrow things down to teenagers who’d died, or anyone with a notably strong family presence.  That was to say, you’d narrowed it down to a few hundred, and you only had five hours left until school let out.  Emily got up to go get Hotch, planning on leaving you and Reid to keep working, only to be stopped in her tracks when Reid told you to go with her.  She’d expected you to argue, only for you to take her by surprise too.

“Uh - yeah, yeah, okay.”

Prentiss filed that away for later.  As much as she wanted to ask about it, this wasn’t the time.  You considered that a small blessing.  You suspected Prentiss had also noticed the awkward glances you and Reid had been shooting each other.  You’d made the mistake of looking at the wrong time, his tongue tucked into the corner of his mouth in concentration before it darted over his lips.  Honestly, you were beginning to believe God just hated you.  Or maybe you’d pissed of a bruja in a previous life.  Either one was believable, you just had to figure out which one.

You and Emily made your way up to Hotch’s apartment, she knocked while you tried calling him again, only to hear his cell ringing on the other side of the door.  If you could hear that, he could hear that.  The man had ears like a bat.  When you’d only been on the team a few weeks you’d hissed ‘shit’ under your breath during a case while he was outside the meeting room set aside for the team, and you caught him giving you that disappointed dad look through the open door immediately after.  Reid covered for you, saying ‘bless you’ like you’d just sneezed, but you were pretty sure it didn’t do any good.

You tucked your phone back in your pocket with one hand, both you and Prentiss grabbing your guns.  You stepped back against the wall next to the door while she tested the doorknob with her shoulder pressed against it - unlocked.  You readied yourselves, you nodded to each other, and she threw open the door.  You both entered, guns drawn, and examined the apartment.  It was empty, but Hotch definitely made it home.  His briefcase was on the couch, go bag by the door, gun on the kitchen table, cell phone on the floor…

Glass on the floor, bullet hole in the wall, and blood on the floor.

You checked the rest of the apartment.  There was no sign of an attacker, but no sign of Hotch either.

“I’ll call Garcia, you call Reid,” you holstered your weapon and grabbed your cell.  That wasn’t exactly what Prentiss expected.  Normally, you’d volunteer to call Reid, but you jumped at the chance to call the techs.  There wasn’t exactly time to wonder about that, but Prentiss tucked that away for later.

There were much - much - bigger issues.

“We can’t let the others know - they can’t be distracted.”

“Yeah, I know,” you raised your phone to your ear as Prentiss raised her own, “Here’s to hoping we don’t have to keep it secret for long.”

********

You and Emily were off the Barton case and overlooking the local cops and FBI techs examining Hotch’s apartment.  Besides Garcia, who was calling every hospital in the area trying to find Hotch, Reid was the only other person who knew.  He was expecting you and Prentiss to get back, he had to know why you wouldn’t be going back.  Of course, that left him profiling his way through hundreds of patients with an emotionally distraught father and no help.  You grabbed a pair of blue gloves from the car - a box was kept in every FBI vehicle on top of a list of other things - and got to work.

“There’s a page missing from his contacts - in the B’s - a bit of the paper was left behind” you spotted the bit of paper stuck in the spiral binding of the planner.  Prentiss added it to the growing list of observations she was compiling as the two of you looked around, getting as much as you could before the techs showed up.  “Hotch isn’t the type to let himself take a case personally - it’s only just the one.”

“We don’t know if it’s him, or if it’s even related to a case,” Prentiss tried to remain hopeful as you crouched down by the blood on the carpet.  Still damp, with the texture of the carpet it wouldn’t take long to absorb into the material, unless it was a lot of blood over a long period of time.

“Don’t we?  Em, whoever bled out here bled out for a while, and there’s no track marks.  They were wrapped up and carried out.”

“That isn’t proof.”

“But it is evidence.  A random B&E gone wrong would end with Hotch calling the cops, or the burgler just leaving him on the floor.”  You stood back up.  “I don’t want it to be him, and I can’t say I know why he’d take Hotch, but it fits better than the other scenarios.”

Prentiss heaved a long sigh, shoulders dropping for a moment, “Let’s just…find him first.”

********

Garcia called one hospital after another until she found a hit.  There weren’t any patients named Aaron Hotchner, but there was a John Doe that had been dropped off with Derek’s badge.  The badge Foyet had stolen from him in Boston.  You and Emily rushed to the hospital.  Last you knew, everything was going according to plan at the school and there was no sign of the unsub or an incoming attack.  There had been no progress in narrowing down potential suspects with Dr. Barton either.

Garcia’s call had alerted Hotch’s doctor that the FBI would be showing up soon, and the moment you and Emily flashed your badges you were rushed to his room.  He hadn’t regained consciousness yet, but that wasn’t at all surprising.  Multiple stab wounds to the torso, but none of them had hit any organs or vital arteries.  The surgeon said he was lucky, but in truth it just further confirmed Foyet had attacked Hotch.  Years ago, when Hotch was originally investigating the Boston Reaper and Foyet hadn’t gone into a lengthy hibernation, Foyet pretended to be one of his own victims by stabbing himself repeatedly.  It was part of Foyet’s game, his exertion of control that he was so obsessed with.

More proof of your own personal feelings about the job.  It wasn’t the unsubs that couldn’t control their actions that were the greatest danger.  It was the unsubs that were in complete control, the ones that managed to control the world around them as well as themselves.  The ones that got off on control.

As the two of you waited for Hotch to wake up, Prentiss grabbed his chart from the end of his hospital bed to see if there was anything the doctor hadn’t mentioned - something she wouldn’t have thought was important.  In red pen, his name was scribbled at the top as they’d filled out all his paperwork as John Doe, and below that was L.C. - like the unsub had written by his victims.

“Excuse me,” Prentiss walked over to a doctor filling out paperwork at the nearby nurses’ station, “This abbreviation right here - L.C. - what does that stand for?”

When you heard the doctor explain, ou grabbed your phone, the pieces clicking together in a cold terror as you called Reid.

“Hey, did you find Hotch?”  Skipping over any pleasantries and right to business, that’s fair.  You weren’t exactly sure how to talk to him either.  You wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for the case.

“Yeah, we’re at the hospital.  L.C. stands for Living Children.  It’s administrative, for patients that might go on life support and have kids but no DNR order.  The unsub isn’t signing L.C., it’s a warning.  Dr. Barton will leave his son behind if he dies.”  You were kicking yourself for not thinking of it earlier.  The kid walked the same route to school every day, if the unsub wanted to kill him there were about a million opportunities to do so.  Dr. Barton was less predictable, spent most of his hours in the security of the hospital, in the operating room - arguably one of the most secure rooms in the building.  “The unsub is in a psychological freefall and he blames Dr. Barton for his loss.”

“He’s taking his anger out on surrogates until he can get to Dr. Barton…”

“Reid?”  You didn’t like how he trailed off, or the fact that he hadn’t responded to you, “Reid!

The next thing you heard was a gunshot.

“Reid!”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Old Memories

Hotch listed Hayley’s contact information under her maiden name - Brookes - and it was on the exact page Foyet had taken.  You’d all gotten to her and Jack before Foyet, which was likely his plan all along.  The only way to keep them safe was putting them under protective custody.  Even Hotch couldn’t know where they were going.  You were worried enough about him, and then Emily told you what he’d said after she asked what he remembered.

After the first time Foyet stabbed him it all went blank.

You didn’t believe it.

********

Your left ear was ringing, the skin behind it still felt hot from the stun-gun that caught you by surprise.  It took a moment for you to realize you were cold, that something was wrapped around your wrists and they were held up above your head, and an extra moment for your vision to clear.  When you felt the hand brushing your cheek you felt sick, trying to pull away as Grant trailed his hand down your neck and along the neckline of your shirt.

“Shhh, don’t worry, I don’t want anything like that from you until you’re good and cold.  I just want to play a little first - watch you squirm.”

********

“Castillo,” Rossi put a hand on your arm when just saying your name didn’t work, “You alright?  You looked a million miles away.”

“Yeah - yeah.  I just haven’t been sleeping, you know how it is.”  There was only one other person you knew that got off on power and control like Hunter Grant, and that was George Foyet.  While Foyet had terrorized Boston loudly and publicly for months, while Grant hid in the shadows for years with nothing more than another article about another woman missing: 18-24, blonde hair, blue/green/gray eyed, native to Boston.  For as fond as you’d been of Boston years ago, Grant had been the reason you jumped on any chance to get out of the city, and Foyet had been the final pin in your decision that you’d only go back for work.

At least that way it wouldn’t be a big city-sized reminder of the fact that you now lived a life where the only guy that found you attractive - especially after discovering what you did for a living - was a serial killer that wanted to embalm you into his own personal sex doll.  Of course, things were weird with the one person you felt you could talk to about it.  Apparently, once you have sex with your best friend and mutually agree that it was a mistake and it shouldn't happen again, things don't automatically go back to normal.

If you could just get one thing figured out, you could deal with everything else.

“Anything to do with why you were in Hotch’s office earlier?”  That in particular had concerned Rossi.  He normally wouldn’t poke and prod, but you’d had scattered moments over the last month where it seemed like your mind was miles away.  It was concerning a few weeks ago, while Hotch was still on medical leave, but this was extending into a month and a half, and your relationship with Reid seemed to be a bit…strained?  Awkward?  You both acted like everything was fine and normal, but there were still moments where it seemed like neither of you knew how to talk to interact with each other.  Rossi didn’t want to stick himself into the middle of that, at least until he had more information, but he could at least see why you were stuck in your own head so often.  It wasn’t detrimental to your performance, or anything, but it was still noticeable - at least to a group of profilers.

For the most part anyway.  Most everyone’s attention was focused on keeping an eye on Hotch.  He’d been stabbed nine times and had to send Hayley and Jack into Witness Protection with nothing but the occasional picture, video, and promises from an old friend in the U.S. Marshalls until Foyet could be caught.  Between that and Reid’s gunshot wound to his leg putting him on crutches for a while, everyone’s attention was otherwise distracted.

It helped that when JJ shared the location of the latest case, he was sent back into a world of nostalgia, a place he’s left 30 years ago and didn’t want to go back to.

“Uh…no, no that was um…I looked into something and had to tell Hotch.  It’s fine.”

“That why you’re salting your coffee?”

Your brow furrowed before you shot your gaze down to your coffee mug and the salt shaker you were holding over it, having already dashed some in.  You honestly hadn’t meant to do that, but it would leave you with an opportunity in a few minutes.  However, this left you with two options at the current moment.  You could fill Rossi in, but you really weren’t the kind to team up with someone even when you’d thought out a prank in advance, and he didn’t exactly strike you as the pranking partner type anyway.  You could also suck it up and drink the coffee, which would risk throwing up, but you were pretty sure you’d had worse.  So, you turned, looked Rossi right in the eyes, took a sip, and said, “It wakes me up.”

He shook his head and cursed under his breath as he laughed, looking back up at you like he just got shot back to another decade, “You remind me of an old friend, stubborn as hell.”

It wasn’t the first thing that made you remind him of her, but it had quickly been added to the list.

“I’m willing to accept that as a compliment if they were always right.”

“Irritatingly.”

“Best kind of way to be right all the time, I’ll take that.”  You snatched the file JJ had handed you on her way to the meeting room, noticeably taking your coffee with you, looking back at Rossi like you expected to walk to the meeting room with him.

“I told JJ I’d go get Hotch.”

You decided to ignore his tone, figuring whatever was making him anxious was why he was talking to Hotch in the first place.  You took a spot at the table, everyone else already there, and Prentiss shot you a look when you sat next to her instead of Reid.  Her eyes then shifted to your coffee mug - you hadn’t mixed in any creamer and the plastic little stir-straw you’d leave in was absent.  You didn’t have much time to look over the file before Rossi and Hotch joined the rest of you.

“What have we got?”  Hotch got things started before he even sat down, likely distracting himself from the fact it was Jack’s birthday.  You’d all remembered, but made a conscious effort not to act like anything was different.  Some people needed sympathy and pity, but Hotch was not one of those people.

“Ben Vanderwall was killed in Commack, Long Island last night,” JJ got up and switched the photo of Vanderwaal at the crime scene - bound to a chair with part of his arm cut off - to one of the ME’s photos immediately preceding the autopsy, “Shot at close range, once in the heart once in the head, 22 caliber shell.”

“They found hair and blood traced from Vanderwaal’s wife Heather.”  Morgan was wondering where the wife was in everything.

“But not Heather?”  Rossi was wondering the same thing.

“No, she’s still missing, presumed dead,” JJ updated the rest of you on where the wife was in everything, “The caliber and placement of the bullets match two previous victims.  The first, Rita Haslack - eight months ago, she went missing from her home in New Jersey, four weeks later she was found in a trash bin.”

“She went from that to this in under three weeks?”  Prentiss questioned, “She’s totally emaciated.”

“Ligature marks on her wrist and ankles indicate she was restrained.”  Reid offered a piece of the puzzle, if the victim was restrained it wasn’t unbelievable that she was either tortured or held still while her blood was quickly drained from her body.

“One in the heart, one in the head - the lack of forensic evidence - this is looking more like an execution than our normal unsubs.”  You looked up from flipping through the forensic and ME reports, finding either nothing or next to nothing that later ended up actually being nothing.

“Then why cut off Vanderwaal’s hands post-mortem?”  Reid had worked a few cases with professional killers, he knew the profile, but there was no reason to remove the victim’s hand like that.

“What about the third victim?”  Rossi was looking for something that would stick out, or to spot something else that would make a more distinctive pattern than the two clean bullet wounds.

“Bill Levington -” JJ quickly brought up the crime scene photos on the screen, along with an old photo, “His appearance was certainly altered.”

“His genitals were missing.”  That in particular had caught Prentiss’ attention when she went over the case file.  Something like that was usually done as part of a statement.

“Where the method of mutilation is different in each crime, clearly there’s a signature.  The question is what.”  Hotch laid out the initial focus in building the profile, at least until something happened that would require a change of focus.  He got up to leave, throwing a file across the table to Reid.  “Wheels up in 20.”

“What’s this?”  Reid grabbed the file and looked inside, immediately freezing when he saw the first page.

“You told me you were clear to travel - you lied.”  Dad Hotch strikes again.

Rossi had been told about it when he tried to get out of going back to his hometown, but he still shot you a look.  You’d been tempted to talk to Hotch when he got on the jet while he wasn’t cleared to fly.  It wasn’t inconceivable to believe you’d suspected Reid wasn’t cleared to travel and taken your concerns to Hotch - especially considering the reason the M.D. was holding off on clearing Reid to travel.  The gunshot had been a through-and-through, but it had also caused a considerable amount of damage to his femur, close enough to his knee that it could potentially cause permanent damage without proper care.  That was something you’d know how to spot.  On the flight back from the last case a few of you played Two Truths and a Lie, during which you’d figured out Prentiss lied about breaking her right wrist playing tennis not because she didn’t like tennis, but because her left wrist showed signs of an old injury - you’d listed off abnormal elasticity, the occasional clicking, and sensitivity to changes atmospheric pressure.

In explaining how you knew that, you got into a bit of hot water with JJ - albeit temporarily.  You’d spotted her pregnancy before she told the team because - again, using your words - her pelvic gate had widened to facilitate giving birth.  She’d immediately wanted to know why you didn’t tell her, and you - again - had a pretty good explanation.

“What was I supposed to say?”  You cleared your throat and put on an overly jovial and polite tone, trying to really sell just how weird it would have been.  “Hello JJ, I’ve recently noticed your pelvic gate has widened and I would like to congratulate you and Will.  I know the two of you will make the very best of parents.  Say, while I’m here, would you happen to have any requests for me to look over the skeletons of murder victims?”

It didn’t take long for JJ to forgive you, though she did have to stop laughing first.

When you caught Rossi looking at you, you just shrugged, taking your copies of the photos and forms and tucking them back into your folder.  You weren’t even trying to hide your part in this.  This begged the question…why did you really bring your salted coffee into the meeting?  You hadn’t touched it since you sat down.

“Naughty boy,” Prentiss called Reid out, lightheartedly, before grabbing her things and taking off to get ready.

“No I didn’t - I am a doctor, so technically it wasn’t a lie.”  Reid clearly hadn’t expected to get caught.  All the paperwork had been done before Hotch got back from his own medical leave, the only time he’d find out about it was when the paperwork came in when Reid actually was cleared to return to field duty.  By then, all Hotch could to was tell him not to do it again.  Hotch must have looked for this file, but why -

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, getting up from your seat with your file and notepad tucked close, “I’m closer to an M.D. than you are.”

The look Reid gave you made it pretty obvious he’d figured out that you tattled to Hotch.  You hadn’t actually looked for Reid’s file, you were just curious why Reid was still on crutches if his injury was a simple through-and-through that only damaged muscle and tissue.  Hotch had been stabbed nine times in the torso and he was up and about.  So, even with how…odd things had been recently, you looked a bit closer, and found more than just a few reasons to be concerned.  Sure, things were weird, but you didn’t want him to make his injury worse than it already was, especially since he wasn’t taking any pain medication for it.

“Here’s some coffee, with my sincerest apologies.”  You slid the mug of coffee across the table to him.  You weren’t sorry, but being the coffee addict Reid was you doubted he’d be able to turn it down.  “Have fun with him Garcia.”

“You’re my bitch now.”  Garcia was almost sinister as she said that with a little smile, Derek already chuckling as the two of you left the room.

“Ugh!” you heard Reid coughing as you stepped down the walkway and two the stairs, “What the fuck?”

Derek’s attention shot back to the meeting room.  It had been years since someone had actually cursed in the office.  Hotch had settled a pretty firm rule about that.  He’d let the dress-code slide when it came to things like yours and Derek’s tattoos or Garcia dying her hair, he didn’t mind Derek and Garcia’s playful flirting, and he’d considered your long-standing prank war with Reid a positive development for the both of you.  The job was emotionally and mentally draining, exhausting, and scarring.  You all needed some breathing room to cope and feel comfortable, to let loose and be human.  He just wanted to make sure you didn’t let yourselves come off as a handful of foul-mouthed, ill-behaved buffoons to the various other units, law enforcement agencies, and whoever else you had to work with.

“The coffee was cold and salty.”

“Come on, sis, that’s just mean.”

“I’d have an easier time believing that if you weren’t laughing.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Old Friends

While Hotch and Prentiss were at the Vanderwaal crime scene, Hotch spotted what looked like marks left from a camera tri-pod in the dried blood, and Heather Vanderwaal had been found wondering down a street.  JJ went to question her at the hospital, and shortly after Garcia and Reid called to give her an update on Heather’s relationship with her late - second - husband.  Apparently, her daughter’s biological father had taken the girl out of school in the middle of the term and moved her from New York to California.  All of this happened only days before Heather contacted a local firm specializing in Family Law - more commonly referred to as divorce attorneys.  The cause of this, JJ learned from Heather, was when the woman found a nude picture of her daughter on Ben Vanderwaal’s phone.  Ben insisted that his step-daughter sent it to him by mistake, that the girl was trying to sext someone from school, but then she said that he took the picture.  At the ME’s office, you, Derek, and Rossi discovered something that confirmed the vaguely discussed professional hitman theory.

The bullets couldn’t be matched to any kind of gun, something that was typical when a zip-gun was used.  With some piping or old bike parts, and some know-how, anyone could make a gun at home.  This resulted in bullets that couldn’t be matched to a firearm.  They were also a fairly common tool for professional hitmen.  It minimized the amount of evidence that could be traced back to them.  This, however, meant that you’d be looking for at least two unsubs - the client and the killer.  Contracts like this could occasionally include extra requests, such as the mutilation of the victims, and the evidence of the tri-pod indicated photos were taken to prove the victim was dead.

“I - uh, may be able to hit on some old contacts,” Rossi had been noticeably uncomfortable with returning to his old hometown, and returning to some old friends was clearly making that discomfort - borderline anxiety - worse.  “Castillo, you mind tagging along?”

“Uh - no, no, let’s go.”  It wasn’t like you never went out to talk to victims, victims’ families, witnesses, experts, or the like.  You’d gone on brief undercover operations, never lasting more than a single case.  You’d just honestly expected Rossi to go talk to his old contacts alone.  Especially considering the implication they were connected to the kind of people that would know about a hitman being in town.  You knew you reminded Rossi of an old friend, he’d said so long before that morning, you just didn’t think this old friend dated all the way back to the home town he’d left decades ago.  Clearly, you’d been wrong to assume that.

“Do we wanna know?”  Derek clearly did, considering you were the one going along with Rossi, but he wasn’t about to answer.

“Best not.”

********

“Two feds go to a fancy dinner club owned by the Irish Mob, in the middle of the day.  If there’s a punchline here that doesn’t end in a firefight, I’d love to hear it.”  You’d been willing to go along with this little idea before you saw you were walking right into the lion’s den, or the fact that Rossi needed to call an old friend in the Organized Crime unit to get information he could use to blackmail this other old friend of his.  Now…

You were still going along with…whatever was going on, but you weren’t feeling as confident as you’d been before.  Not that you were feeling entirely confident to begin with.  The only real safety net you had with any kind of organized crime was your brother, at least you assumed as much seeing as he’d been sending you letters once every month since he left, but you’d never even read the letters so you really didn’t’ know.  How he knew where to find you whenever you moved was still a mystery you were trying to solve.  You couldn’t exactly write back, there wasn’t a return address beyond his name in the top left corner.

“You trust me, or not?”  Rossi waited on the sidewalk as you caught up to him, having paused for a moment to look over the pub he’d brought you to.

“Yeah, but just a heads up,” you offered as the two of you reached the front door, “Next time I get you coffee, you’ll know whether or not I regret this decision.”

“Guess I better get used to salt in my coffee.”  Rossi pushed the door open and led you inside.

The pub was closed, which was to be expected seeing as it wasn’t even eleven, and it was every bit the New York Mob base you’d expect.  A dim lighting, a short carpet of deep red, dark polished hardwood making up the floors, furniture, and the bar, chair and booth cushions covered in soft black leather or deep shimmering red.  Only a handful of guys were there, all of them in black pants and shirts - probably what the actual restaurant staff wore when the dinner club was open.

“We don’t open ‘till five-thirty.”  The two of you were immediately spotted by the man sitting alone at the bar watching the TV, the other two talking to each other at the other end, his accent only confirming just how deep you’d gone into the mob’s territory.

“I’m looking for the owner of that coat.”  Rossi used the manila envelope in his hand to point to the gray coat on the man’s lap, which sent everyone on edge.  

“Is that right?”  He immediately got off his chair at the bar, draping the coat over the back of it, and stepped towards the two of you.  He took your gun first, which you expected, before using his free hand to pat down Rossi before taking his gun too.  There wasn’t much either of you could do.  You had no backup, nobody knew where you’d gone, and you were outnumbered - at least two-to-one since the owner of that coat apparently wasn’t in the room.  

“You better hope I don’t get my hands on a ghost pepper, old man,” you muttered to Rossi, your hands still held up.  Having your own gun held on you was not something you’d ever wanted to experience.

“Check the front and back.”  The armed gangster nodded to the other two before looking back at you and Rossi, Now, you’re either dead or cops.  Which is it?”

“Right now, I’m just an old friend.”  Rossi was trying to keep this as civil as possible.  It wasn’t going to end in a firefight, he knew that.  He knew you, and the old friend he was there to see.  It was just the in-between he had to keep civil.

“You gave up that right the day you became a fed.”

“Ray.”  Rossi put his hands down and turned to see his old friend for the first time in decades, while you lowered your hands and turned your side to the guy holding your gun.

“David.”

********

You got stuck waiting for Rossi back at the bar, but you got your gun back.  Granted, that was partially because you said either you’d get your gun back, or Lucky would be losing his Charms for pointing your own gun at you.  You’d been openly wearing your gun on your hip, and you hadn’t had a chance to change out of your skirt and heels into pants and boots between the briefing at the office and arriving at New York, and you were outnumbered.  Just what in the hell did he think you were going to do?  Who the hell leads a SWAT team in wearing a skirt?

When you’d said that, Ray looked at you like he’d seen a ghost, then he shared a look with Rossi and laughed.  An old memory of that old friend you reminded Rossi of.  Apparently, Ray was reminded of her too - at least you were left assuming it was a her.  The memory was fond enough for Ray to let you have your gun back and tell you to help yourself to whatever was behind the bar.  From there, for how distant things had to be between Ray and Rossi - one being a local mob boss and the other being a federal agent - there was still that old familiarity.  You spotted Ray handing Rossi the crossword in the daily paper as you got a glass of water.

Whatever your presence was supposed to do, it seemed to have worked.

“So uh - sorry about that whole Lucky Charms thing, that was a bit over the line.”  You took a seat at the bar where you could keep an eye on Rossi, but sat back so you weren’t blocking view of the TV from the guy that had just had you in his sights.

“Nah, my sister would’ve said something worse,” he brushed it off.  He wasn’t comfortable with feds being welcomed into the restaurant, but he wasn’t going to argue with the boss either.

“Right - Ireland still has a pretty matriarchal society, I guess it’s more feminist than matriarchal nowadays.  At least, guiding and raising women to be outspoken and stand up for themselves, which makes sense considering the most powerful figures in Celtic mythology are women and the symbol for power is also the symbol for women and femininity.”  At this point you were just trying to make polite conversation, not exactly sure what else to do, though you’d sufficiently grabbed his attention from the races.  “I’m a Forensic Anthropologist, there’s a lot of studying cultures involved.”

“You ever go to see any of them?”  He was starting to get interested in actually talking, which was good.  Despite your…bristly reaction, and partially because of it, he was starting to talk.

“Yeah, a few.  Mostly for digs, excavations, identifying victims of genocide.  I didn’t get to spend a lot of time with living people.  You do any traveling?”  An innocent enough question, especially considering the topic of conversation.

“Yeah, mostly in the US since I left Ireland.  My name’s Sean, by the way.”

“[F/N] Castillo.”

********

Back at the precinct, the team was still working on connecting the victims, hoping to connect them to at least one unsub.  Garcia had done some snooping on her end - it wasn’t entirely clear how much Reid had helped as the two of them seemed to have already become a bit cross with each other.  Reid hadn’t had a chance to be a genius on top of hating being out of the field, and Garcia felt like Reid was invading her territory.  It was kind of amusing to watch the two bickering like competitive siblings.

“The removal of the hands is as specific as Rita Haslat’s condition was when she was found,” Morgan pointed to the crime scene photos of one of Vanderwaal’s severed hands.

“Just as specific as the removal of Bill Levington’s genitals,” Prentiss added.

“There’s a message in the mutilations the unsub wants us to know.”  Hotch was opening the floor to suggestions, or anything Garcia and Reid had found back in Quantico.

“I got something here that might help us with that -”

“Te - technically we have something that might help with that.”  Reid cut in, the two of them squeezed in front of the webcam.

Hotch turned the monitor, with the webcam perched on top, so it was facing him instead of out into the precinct bullpen.

“Bill Levington was involved in a serial rape case, all involving minors, and it never went to trial.”  Garcia updated the team, summarizing the case files she’d dug up.

“Rita Haslat?”

“For-”

“Former social worker, she gained said former status when she was fired from the DCFS for gross negligence.  In one of her cases a seven-year-old boy starved to death,” Reid cut in, aware of the aghast look he was getting from Garcia and actively ignoring it until he was done and turned to look at her, while she continued to look offended.

“Which explains why Haslat was so emaciated when she was found,” Prentiss started connecting the dots.

“If all the victims were indicated in crimes against children, then we found a connection,” Morgan proposed a potential victimology.

“One of the unsubs has access to the crimes of the victims, and probably works in the justice system,” Hotch agreed, “Garcia?”

“On it.”  Garcia and Reid chorused, the two of them already starting to argue before Reid almost threw himself across the keyboard to keep the tech analyst from ending the call.

“Whe - uh.  Where’s Castillo?”  It wasn’t exactly normal procedure for you to be gone for so long, and there wasn’t any reason for you to be either assisting or performing the autopsies.  Rossi being absent was explained by the fact it was his hometown, there might be other things he needed, or wanted, to do.  When they had cases in or around Las Vegas, Reid would visit his mom.

“Out with Rossi,” Hotch kept the answer short, not wanting to get into specifics.

“Talking to his contact.”  Prentiss wasn’t about to let that go, especially when it sounded that shady.

“Don’t say it like that,” Morgan was more pleading than ordering, “Cause if you say it like that, I can’t pretend they’re not talking to the local Godfather.”

“Alright…we - uh, we’ll call when we’ve got something.”

Reid liked where you were just about as much as Morgan did.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Old Regrets

The rape case and social worker’s negligence were both on the record, but Vanderwaal forcing himself onto his daughter wasn’t.  The step-daughter must have told someone, and they needed to know who that was.  So, they called her and her father in to ask her some questions.  Derek and Prentiss talked to her with her father present, in one of the offices where she’d feel most comfortable.  She said she told her therapist.  He was brought in for questioning, and neither Prentiss nor Derek thought he was an unsub.  He was just an empathetic man trying to do what he could for the kids, reporting abuse and hoping the justice system would do the rest, and being someone the kids could talk to when it didn’t.  This was one of those many cases where it was reported, but didn’t go anywhere.

In the meantime, Ray looked at the crime scene photos, and it only took one for him to know who the hitman was - Basola.

He’d named himself after a character in a Jacobean tragedy, the man that murdered a duchess - brutally.  The modern Basola had been operating for about 20 years, and despite being a legend he was also a ghost.  In exchange for a deal for Sean, Ray was luring Basola to the restaurant.  Calling him there, more like.  To hire him for a job.  Though, personally, the man believed the victims got what they deserved for hurting kids and held no real ill-will towards Basola, saying it was like when he and Rossi were kids - you do what you need to survive.  

That was sentiment you understood a bit too well.  It never took you to breaking the law, but you’d certainly not wanted to do any of the part-time jobs you had in college, they weren’t career choices you wanted to make permanent.  Testing and applying for a scholarship to a private high school wasn’t something you wanted to do, but it was your best chance at getting a decent scholarship to MIT.  You didn’t want to cut back - and eventually quit - dancing, but somebody had to take care of the house and family when your mom got sick.  You didn’t want to get friendly with the soldiers in Guatemala, but if the orders came that second’s hesitation would have saved your life.  There was a lot of stuff you didn’t want to do to escape Hunter Grant - breaking your own thumb and pissing him off when he spotted you making a phone call for starters - but you would have died if you hadn’t.

Ray suggested bringing the Marine Corps. to catch Basola, unfortunately you didn’t have anything close to that.

“He dims the lights, we go in,” Rossi laid out the plan as you all waited outside Ray’s Dinner Club.  You, Hotch, and Rossi were parked out front in the cliche maintenance van while Derek and Prentiss were parked in a similar car out back, with Reid and Garcia prepared to patch into any incoming or outgoing calls any of you made.  With how gruesome the crimes were, and impossible they were to completely hide, JJ was working overtime keeping the news coverage under control, especially after one of the local cops spilled that all of the victims had victimized kids in one way or another.  “So, uh, Jack’s what - four today?”

Rossi was the first person to bring it up.  The rest of you didn’t know how, and sort of assumed it was best not to.  Hotch had known Rossi a lot longer, and perhaps Rossi needed something to keep his mind off whatever he wanted to avoid in Commack.

“And I literally have no idea where he is.”  Hotch’s professional walls were slipping, just a bit, like it did when he was judging himself, feeling guilty.

“To keep him safe, Hotch.”  You were sitting on the floor, like any maintenance van this one didn’t have any seats in the back, sort of tucked between the driver’s and passenger’s seats.  He was noticeably quiet, staring straight at the restaurant.

“I saw Prentiss and Morgan up the block, but the two agents in the sedan, they’re not with us.”  Rossi changed the subject.

“That’s counter-surveillance, in case Foyet is watching me - for which, apparently, there’s no more money.”

“Yeah, I heard.”  Both you and Hotch turned to look at Rossi.  Clearly neither of you expected that.

“Somebody call you?”

“They’re concerned.”  Rossi just nodded and shrugged it off like it was a simple fact, not worth putting any thought into it, before looking back out at the restaurant.  He’d been in the bureau for a while, worked countless cases with multiple units…he knew a lot of people in law enforcement, and his name carried weight in the field.

“What did you say?”

“What I’m telling you - an attack against you is an attack against all of us.”  Rossi put his foot down, and the conversation didn’t have a chance to continue before his cell rang.  “Why are you calling - you okay?…We’re all over, he’s not gonna know what hit him.”

There was a brief moment before his initial concern started to subside and he put his phone on speaker, holding the phone down where you could hear it after you’d elbowed him to at least let you hear the other side of the conversation.

“...kid, the uh - smart one, could use a little help.”

“Reid?”

“Reid here.”  You’d heard about the sibling-like arguing between Reid and Garcia, even saw a bit of it when the rest of you called to fill them in on the plan.  Yet, you still wanted to smack him over the head when you heard his tone.  It was just a bit too close to a guy you’d dated in college - the one and only Harvard student you ever dated, and there was a reason for that.

“Crossword question.  Ten letters, crater creator.”

You knew that, admittedly because of the then Harvard astronomy student now astronaut you’d dated, “Arctangent.”

“Smart girl, I think I see why Sean was so smitten with you after you left.”  You decided not to comment on the fact that he’d had to overlook the whole fed thing.  For as nice a guy he was you didn’t think you could overlook the whole…gun smuggling organized crime thing.

“And in an unsurprising turn of events, MIT throws a knockout punch to CalTech,” Garcia snickered on the other end of the line.

“Garcie, you remember you went to CalTech for a bit too, right?”  She’d dropped out as soon as her parents died, throwing herself into finding who did it before beginning a career as a hacker, but she’d still gone to CalTech.  The silence on the other end of the line was all the confirmation you needed that their competitive-based bickering had been put to a swift end.

“Just like that, a whole day of fighting - over.”  Rossi couldn’t help but get completely blindsided by how much you reminded him of her.

“That brings back memories - she’s good.  Keep this one around.”  You waited until Ray hung up to voice the question you were sure you knew the answer to.

“Those old memories have anything to do with this old friend I still know nothing about?”  You never got an answer.

“Did you see that flash?”  Rossi kept his eyes on the restaurant, and you got up to look yourself.  There was a second flash, and you were already sliding open the panel door when Hotch made the call.

“I saw that - he’s already in there.  All units, go, go, go!”  The three of you were followed inside by a handful of uniformed officers, Morgan and Prentiss leading a few others inside from the back, but it was too late.

Ray was dead, and Basola was gone.

********

Ray had made two phone calls in the last 12 hours.  One was to a prepaid cell at about 7, and the second was to Rossi right before the murder at around a quarter to midnight.  It gave Basola seven hours to prepare, which meant he was likely already in the building before the rest of you set up surveillance.  It also meant he heard the call and knew it was a setup, so he killed Ray and escaped.  There was no sign of torture, but Ray wasn’t a contract.  He was just killed to make sure he didn’t tell the feds whatever he already knew about Basola.

There were two unsubs, Unsub A - the Planner - and Unsub B - the Enforcer.  Each mutilation to the body was intentional, based on what the victim did to their own victims.  The Planner worked in the criminal justice system, which was how he found the people he wanted the Enforcer to kill, likely how he met the Enforcer in the first place, and it was safe to assume he had some level of rank or status within that field.  Because of the complicated nature, he was likely in his 50’s or 60’s, and had experienced a tragedy that set him off, and he had a lot of money - professional hitmen don’t come cheap, especially if you have specific requests.  Speaking of the personal requests, because of the mutilation to the bodies it was likely the Planner was making a point, sending a message, and didn’t care if he was caught - maybe even wanted to be caught.

The Enforcer, however, didn’t want to be caught.  He needed to be considered armed, and extremely dangerous.  He had no problem with killing anyone who got in his way, or risked exposing him.  The murders were nothing more than a job to him, but it was likely that he wouldn’t say anything about his employer if he was caught.

“Concentrating on the last three cases because they left the freshest e-prints,” Garcia updated you and Rossi while the others talked with a few locals over what they found since the department was briefed with the profile.

“Great.”

“Not really, over 100,000 cases passed through the Long Island court,” Reid let you know about the size of what they had to weed through.

“Who saw those files?”  You half-sat on the desk, Rossi had taken the chair, hoping to narrow it down at least a bit.

“Literally hundreds and hundreds of people.”

“Change track, focus on the enforcer.  Mob related murder trials on Long Island, last ten years - we’re looking for a hitman.”  Rossi changed direction, hoping the enforcer unknowingly left one trace back to the planner.

“Kay…there are 93 mob trials in the last ten years,” Garcia updated you with a number that was…honestly around your initial guess of 100.

“If he got convicted he’d probably still be in prison, probably got let out on a mistrial or arraignment.”  You suggested something to narrow the field at least a bit.

“Uh - nineteen.”  Reid updated you.  He wasn’t technology’s biggest fan, but he wasn’t clueless either.  He was no Garcia, but nobody was.  On the other hand this search through Long Island’s criminal court records was something anyone with access to the FBI’s database - basically any active agent - could do.

“Were any of those on trial suspected of being hitmen or enforcers?”

“Three…”

“Woah, woah, woah, this totally slipped the net.”  Garcia cut in, hitting the jackpot, “Tony Mecacci, his case was judged a mistrial, but check out his suspected victim.”

Garcia shared a picture of the gunshot wound behind the victim’s ear, the right size for a 22 caliber, and minimal gunpowder residue.

“That fits the M.O. - anyone connected to the trial match the planner’s profile?”  You asked, confident at least one of the unsubs was properly identified.

“Let’s see - Prosecuting lawyer Garrett Daniels, Judge Boyd Schuler, Criminal Defense Lawyer Paul - “ Reid started reading through the results and giving the names of everyone that matched the profile, before Rossi cut him off.

“Wait - did you say Judge Schuyler?”  Rossi sat forward, the name ringing too many bells to be a coincidence.  He knew Schuler, clearly.

“Yeah, here’s a photo.”  

“What’s wrong?”  Hotch had kept an ear on the conversation, noticing when things took a turn and stepped in.  Rossi turned the laptop with the photo of Judge Schuyler to face the rest of the team as they followed Hotch.

“You know him?”  Prentiss asked.

“No, but I knew his wife.  Two years ago, she was driving home from work and she was killed by a drunk driver.”  Rossi knew that off the top of his head.

“That could be the tragedy,” Reid connected the event to the planner’s profile.

“She was the love of his life,” Rossi retorted, like it was a no-brainer.

“Twelve months ago Judge Schuyler took a leave of absence due to health issues,” Garcia started reading off what she’d pulled up on the judge.

“He was diagnosed with terminal cancer - he has six months to live.”

“That’s when the killing started.”

“You don’t seriously think Judge - “the local detective didn’t believe it.  He knew the profile, but there was something about this specific member of the criminal justice community that made him take pause.

“Judge Schuyler is the planner - yes, I do.” Rossi insisted, but not as…adamantly as he normally would.  He didn’t want to return to Commack, he wasn’t exactly excited about reuniting with Ray, but he really didn’t want to interact with Judge Schuyler.

“Fits the profile.”  JJ was hoping that would appease the local detective and get him on board.  Most of the time, the people the team tracked down were the last people the locals expected was capable of committing any crime.  Sometimes, reassuring the local law enforcement that the suspect fit the profile was enough.  Other times…

“And Tony Mecacci is most likely the enforcer,” Rossi doubled down, “What have you got on Basola?”

“He went off the grid after his last trial.”  Garcia had been searching for him, but any trace of him just disappeared.

“JJ put out a statewide APB and release Mecacci’s photo to the media.”  Hotch knew the best way to get the enforcer was to make sure everyone knew how to find him, or at least avoid him long enough to tell law enforcement where he was.  He really didn’t want anyone interacting with the enforcer, besides the team and the local cops.

“Judge Schuyler’s a highly respected man, we can’t just walk in there and accuse him of serial murder.”  The detective was still resisting the idea that the judge was one of the unsubs.

“Then I’ll go to the Attorney General and petition the Chief Justice if I have to.”  Hotch wasn’t going to just drop it because the judge was respected locally.  He’d get the judge, one way or another.

“And maybe not.”  Rossi stood up, staring towards the other end of the room and catching everyone’s attention to the last man you’d expected to just walk into the precinct.

“I believe you’re looking for me.”

It wasn’t often an unsub turned themselves in.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Moving On

You watched on the other side of the glass as Derek and Rossi interrogated the judge - or as much as they could considering he’d admitted to the crime.

Well, Derek was interrogating the judge, Rossi was talking about the judge’s late wife - Emma.  How thrown off the Judge must have been when Ray - a local mob boss and target of a federal RICO investigation - turned up at Emma’s funeral.  Her full name, her birthday.  The day her dad - John - took home a stray kitten - black and white - and she named him Oscar after Oscar Wilde.  Her favorite work of Oscar Wilde’s - An Ideal Husband.  All details only someone who knew her well would know, things only someone close would remember.  Yet, the judge had no idea what Rossi’s connection to Emma was.  She never told him about her old friend Dave, even as he became more and more infamous for his work.

In the meantime, while you remained focused on the interrogation, Hotch and Prentiss worked out that Schuyler didn’t need to meet Basola after giving him the list of names.  All he needed to do was deliver payment on proof of death.  His office had called to see if there had been any progress on the case, and the detective told them there were two suspects.  Schuyler knew the team was on to him, he was just buying time for Basola to complete his end of the contract.  Prentiss left to talk to Garcia and Reid, planning to track down Schuyler’s payments to Basola and figure out how many more were left on the list.

Then Rossi started implying he had an affair with Emma.  Garcia and Reid had been able to figure out there were two more on the list, based on the activity in Schuyler’s finances.  They’d spotted he’d given everything else to a charity that helped victims, before someone who wasn’t ‘suffering from too many braniacs in the high-tech kitchen’ kicked them out.  Schuyler kept checking his watch, even as he grew more and more agitated over Rossi’s connection to Emma.  

“That’s enough.  Derek, take him and leave, I’ll talk to the judge.”  You’d stepped through the door to the observation room, continuing before either one of them could argue, “Criminal or not, I’m not letting you lie to make him lose his faith and trust in his dead wife.  If she’s half the person I’m assuming she was, there was never an affair.”

Rossi left through the door you were holding open, and Derek followed.  You closed the door behind them, softening your posture as you walked over to the table and sat down across from the judge.

“I’m sorry about that.  He crosses the line, sometimes, but it’s never been like that before.  I’m Dr. Castillo.”  You offered a sympathetic face with big brown eyes.  “I’m sure your wife loved you very much, I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

On the other side of the glass, Derek watched uneasily.  The judge wasn’t a danger to you, but he still didn’t like leaving you in there with a suspect alone.  Basola could have been hired to break Schuyler out of custody and kill everyone in his way.  That kind of request didn’t fit Schuyler’s profile, but that didn’t make Derek any less worried about it.

“This better work.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll work.”  Rossi watched as Schuyler began to relax, his guard dropping, the judge seeing that same thing that the profiler and Ray had both seen.  There were a few physical similarities, you were both women with dark hair and dark eyes, but it was in the way you smiled, that kind look in your eyes.  The way you’d put your foot down when you were mad, especially if someone else’s well-being was at stake.  Emma wasn’t perfect, and you weren’t Emma, but the similarities were too striking to ignore.  If anyone could get the judge to say anything more than he already had, it was you.

It was barely over a minute before you had the name of the next man on the list - Dan Patton.

The drunk driver who’d killed Emma.

********

“I have to ask, when’s the last time you saw her in an interrogation room?”  Rossi waited until Hotch took Prentiss and the detective to track down Dan Patton.  He’d seen you talking to a suspect’s girlfriend not long after he returned to the BAU, but he didn’t want to make a big thing about it.  He asked Prentiss how long you’d been on the team, and he was honestly surprised to hear you’d only been there a few weeks longer than him.

“She did that thing, right?  With the big eyes and the kind voice that gets people spilling all their secrets.”  Prentiss had known exactly why Rossi seemed surprised.  “All she told me was she learned it identifying genocide victims, I didn’t push.”

You’d been there over two years, but it still seemed like Morgan hadn’t seen you do this before.  The judge had sworn that Dan Patton was the last name, but it still didn’t make sense.  His last payment to Basola was twice as much as all the other victims.  You didn’t think Dan Patton was the last one, just the most personal one, so you kept digging.  You kept trying to get something - but carefully.

“I don’t know…”  Morgan wracked his brain, trying to think of the last time he’d seen you in a solo interview, let alone an interrogation.  It was always easy to talk to you, but this was…something else.  “I’ve never seen her like this.”

“She’s smart, she’s a survivor.  I know you’re close, but you don’t need to worry as much as you think.”  It was hard to ignore Morgan’s hovering when things got dicey.  Especially after the bombing in New York.  Ever since that embalming case in Oregon, though, he’d been hovering a bit closer than usual.  Close enough that he’d become blind to other things.  He noticed you’d been a bit…off recently, but he was probably the only one that hadn’t noticed things between you and Reid had shifted, and the two of you were trying really hard to pretend that they hadn’t.  “Just because she’s not telling you about it doesn’t mean she hasn’t talked to anyone.

“I know, it’s…hard not to worry.”

“Give her some space, I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it when she’s ready.”

********

Because Schuyler was a high court judge, the case against him was automatically federal, and it was likely the case against Basola would end up the same way.  He kept insisting that Dan Patton was the last one, even after the man was found beaten nearly to death and then shot twice - once in the heart and once in the head - in his apartment.  He’d paid off all his bills, given everything away, and paid enough for two more kills.  As he was being transferred out of the precinct and to a federal facility, he stopped to thank you briefly before leaving.  Then something about your lengthy interrogation started rattling around in your head.

“The people you paid Basola to kill, they’ve paid for their crimes.  You’ll have to pay for yours too.”

“I will.”

He was so calm when he said that…

“Dammit - shit, shit, shit.”  You took off for the front door, absolutely no regard for the ban on cursing, throwing open the door as JJ, Derek, and Rossi tried to escort Schuyler through the crowd of reporters, yelling out as loud as you could, “Schuyler’s the last one!”

You were too late.  You’d gotten their attention just a second before the gunshot hit the judge in the chest, the blood splatter hitting JJ and the sound sending the reporters and their cameramen scattering.  You ran over to the judge, hitting your knee hard when you landed on the brick walkway, blood staining your pants.

“Emma…”

He’d only had the one breath left in him, a golden locket clutched in his hand as he died.  Rossi took it, already certain of what he’d find inside, but he opened it anyway.  The photo was from a younger, happier day.  Emma was smiling brightly, dark eyes crinkled, sunlight shining behind her.

It didn’t matter how long you talked to the judge, or how.  He’d spent the last two years in mourning.  His fatal diagnosis just gave him the push to go through with it.

Death was always how it would end for him.

********

Even if you had the entire week, paperwork days always took you longer than the others.  You had the normal stack of profile requests, on top of the paperwork required for cases the team handled, any additional forensic paperwork you had to deal with if there was any need for your specific training, then there were the requests sent to the bureau for assistance identifying bones or bodies in advanced stages of decomposition, and that wasn’t counting the still growing collection of bones and bodies in advanced stages of decomposition that was kept in the morgue at the FBI Quantico campus.  About forty new unidentified skeletons and bodies in advanced stages of decomposition had arrived in the middle of Tuesday, which led to you spending the last three days of the week at the office.  Monday and most of Tuesday hadn’t been nearly enough time to complete your own paperwork, so you were making an appearance on Saturday, and probably Sunday as well.

It sucked ass, you’d much rather be at home sleeping in.  Tybalt was snuggled up next to your pillow, your blankets were fluffy and soft, your pillow was like a big marshmallow…you loved your job, but sometimes it just sucked.  Of course, that’s true of any job.  You gave yourself a chance to sleep in and picked up some coffee and a pastry from the cafe down the street.  You didn’t have a set time you were required to be at the office, and you’d stayed late the night before.

You made your way from the elevator to the glass doors, your stride slowed down when you saw the only other people in the office.

“How do you people sit in these chairs all day?”  Rossi sat upright to try and stretch his back, but it wasn’t going to help.  He knew there was a reason his gut told him to bring in his own desk chair, he just didn’t know what it was until he actually had to sit on one of the office desk chairs.  “Hey, Morgan - “

“I’m not carrying it down here if I don’t get to sit in it.”

“Fair’s fair, Dave.”  Hotch backed Morgan up with that small smile he’d share only once in a while, finishing up with one file before grabbing another.

“I know why she has all this paperwork, but it’s still just…baffling.”  Prentiss opened another file before reaching over to drop it onto Reid’s desk, likely another forensics report filled with your scribbles on the short-order forms and a handful of terminology she didn’t have the training to understand.  “There’s got to be other Forensic Anthropologists that can do this.”

“There are, the government gives seven-to-eight figure grants, each to the Jeffersonian and MIT.  Part of that agreement is the establishment of the Medico-Legal labs to assist the FBI, both of which only have one Forensic Anthropologist.”  Hotch gave the the rest of the team the short summary of just why you were in such high demand.  What he didn’t mention was those grants had been cut in half since you joined the FBI, unexpectedly giving the government giving a bit of breathing room to negotiate and turning you into not only an agent and profiler, but also an irreplaceable asset the FBI couldn’t afford to lose.

“And their interns, but Tempie and Hannigan are primarily employees of the Jeffersonian and MIT, respectively, and sometimes they’re just not available.  Part of being a certified Forensic Anthropologist involves signing up to head out to other countries and start identifying victims of genocide, war, natural disasters, terrorism, or just get involved with new archaeological dig sites.”  You opened the bottom drawer of your desk and dropped your bag inside.  “I get a free pass from most of it because I’m an FBI agent, but if things get bad enough the director will probably order me to go too.  Are you guys all here to go over my profile requests and case files?”

“Reid started looking over the forensic requests yesterday and stayed here all night - called it triage.  Hotch told him to go up to the meeting room and take a nap on the couch.”  Prentiss nodded her head up towards the meeting room, and you turned to look up that way briefly before turning back.

“Yeah, I gave him a crash course in the basics during the busy season last year, but one of the other BAU teams handled a case a few weeks ago with about forty victims.  They didn’t get all of the victims identified before they caught the guys responsible, I just got done Wednesday.”  You were pleasantly surprised to see the team there, a bit more surprised Reid had spent the entire night at the office, though.

“On that note, Sam is sending over a bottle of vodka as a thank you.”  The other team leader had called Hotch after finding out you’d been spending so much time working on the victims.  His team couldn’t finish their paperwork on the victims and notify the families until they knew who had been put in that grave.  Sam did some digging after finding your name on the paperwork for all but five of the victims, and from there it wasn’t hard to find out where you worked.  “And JJ wanted to be here, but I told her to spend the day with Henry.  I overheard her planning to bring lunch with Garcia.”

“For her sake, I hope she’s bringing Henry too.”  You laughed a bit, taking a few steps back already, “I’m gonna go check up on Reid, I vaguely remember hearing a story about how Rossi and Gideon finding that couch at a garage sale and putting it in the original office.  That thing can not be comfortable.”

“It’s not.”  Rossi knew he was getting a look, and lifted his head from the file to defend himself.  “I needed a place to crash during my divorce.”

“This would be before you bought a mansion, so I’m guessing it was your…fourth?”  Prentiss teased, laughing with Derek when Rossi shot them a look.

You were still smiling when you reached the meeting room, the lights were off and the shades on all the windows were drawn.  Reid was asleep on the couch, but a file was lying on the floor like he’d been trying to go through it when he fell asleep.  He must have grabbed some clothes from his go-bag to change and showered in the locker rooms at the campus gym, but he was wearing his sweater from the day before.  You picked up the file from the floor, catching a few tired scribbles - female, bft-head - before placing it on the table and gently poking Reid awake.

“Huh?  Oh, hey.”  He took a moment to wake up before sitting up, grimacing when he moved his leg the wrong way.  Sleeping on that couch certainly hadn’t done him any favors.

“Careful,” you smiled, hovering for a moment before sitting on a spot of the couch that was free after Reid sat up, “I’m pretty sure this couch is from Ikea’s sciatica section - which begs the question why is it still here when we have our own jet.”

“Emotional attachment, mostly.  It dates back to when the BAU started.”  Reid shifted the subject slightly, still a bit sleepy but waking up quickly.  “When did you get here?”

“A few minutes ago, I was a bit surprised to see everyone hanging out at my desk.”

“Oh, yeah - well, I heard about the bodies that came in so I took some of your forensic requests - just to get them started, like with that big rush last year.  Morgan asked what I was doing - “

“He teased you.”

“Yeah, but I explained all the files on the table behind your desk were forensic requests and you’d been busy in the morgue all week and would be coming in today.  Prentiss asked what we’d be doing over the weekend, he said coming in to help with your paperwork, then he told her what happened, and I’m not sure when she told Rossi and Hotch.”

“That was very sweet, thank you.  And I hear JJ and Garcia are bringing in food - and maybe Henry - later…though I’m guessing the two of us are still going to be working on those forensic reports by then.  The others are very quickly nearing the end of all the profile requests.”  There was a silence after that.  Not the comfortable silence the two of you used to have, but an awkward silence where you didn’t know what to say, which was new.

“It’s weird for you too, right?”  Reid was the first to speak up, taking a chance he wouldn’t take with anyone else.

“Yes, very weird,” you laughed in relief, “Oh, thank god, I thought it was just me.  I mean, I know we talked about it, but going back to ‘normal’ is really hard, even for our weird version of ‘normal.’”

“Yeah, what was I supposed to say the day after we talked about it?  ‘Hey, by the way, thanks for letting me see your breasts.  That was neat.’”

“Oh, oh I got one.  ‘Man, I really needed that orgasm, thanks bud.’”

The two of you started to laugh, relieved that you were both having trouble with the shift in your relationship.  You’d agreed to stay friends, it was for the best, you worked together.  Things just change after you have sex with someone, no matter how much you try to avoid it.  It was weird.  Now that you knew it wasn’t just weird for you, things were…a bit better, actually.  You couldn’t quite explain why, but it was better.

Reid ran his hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes, and you’d decided enough was enough.  You yanked the hairband out of your own hair, having tied it up into a lazy bun after your shower, and immediately reached over.  He responded by ducking back, putting his arms up to block you, and to his credit it was working.  The two of you were still laughing the whole time.

“What are you doing?”

“Your hair is officially ridiculous.  I’m buying you a pack of hairbands and you better not lose them.”

“I don’t need them!”

“Too bad!  You’re getting them anyway!”

Unbeknownst to either of you, Prentiss had started making her way to the meeting room to tell you JJ and Garcia had arrived with lunch - and more importantly Henry - and then she make a quick turn and headed right back down to the bullpen.

“Everything okay?”  JJ asked with a small frown.  She’d watched Prentiss turn around and walk away a bit quicker than she’d approached the meeting room.

“Oh, it’s fine.  They’re just wrestling around on the couch.”  Prentiss waved off JJ’s concerns, and the blonde had nodded with a quiet ‘oh,’ accepting that as proof everything was fine.  The guys, however, had all turned their attention away from either Henry, helping put out the food, or Garcia when they heard Prentiss’ evidence that everything was fine.  “She’s just trying to tie his hair back and he’s resisting, she started it.”

That last part was mostly for Morgan’s peace of mind.  Reid was already injured, the last thing he needed was Morgan going after him.  What Prentiss didn’t mention, not even to the girls, was she’d caught a bit more of the conversation then she’d led on.

She fully intended to ask you about it later.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Bled Out

“Uh…huh…”  You stared across the table at Derek, tea left to go cold as you processed what you’d just been told.  The short version was, Hotch was willingly stepping down and promoting Derek to Unit Chief - temporarily, as Derek kept stressing.  That didn’t surprise you.  He’d turned town a similar position in New York City.  He said it was because he wanted to stay on the team, but you knew him better than that.  Short-term arrangements, leading a SWAT team in the field, he didn’t mind that.  A long-term leadership position, like Unit Chief?  He wanted nothing less than that.

He was a great profiler, but he’d always be that Chicago PD cop at heart.  The politics of being Unit Chief just weren’t for him.  To his credit, he knew that.  He was only doing this - temporarily - to help Hotch keep the team together.

“You would have picked someone else.”  Derek wasn’t asking.  He knew.  To be honest, he would have too.

“I get why he picked you.  You’re a favorite to the brass, black kid from the streets of Chicago makes his way as a profiler in the BAU.  You’re a cop at heart, you don’t play the politics, you don’t know how to play the politics.  For your sake, I really do hope it’s temporary.”  You lifted your head from your chin and held your mug in both hands.  

“Come on, sis, don’t hold back on me now.”

“We don’t know what Strauss is going to do.  We will catch Foyet, but we don’t know how long it’s going to take, and Strauss has already proven we can’t trust her.  Rossi has been around the block a few times, I know you’ve had your issues with him but you’re need to count on him, and you need to listen to the rest of us a lot more than you have in the past.  Most importantly, you need to cut contact with Miss Barnes.”  

Garcia had come to you after the whole thing started.  Tamara Barnes was the sister of a victim from a local case, and Derek was getting too close to her far too quickly.  Garcia had told him he needed to be careful and back away, and the argument they had was settled before the day was over, but she was still worried.  Not just for Derek and the ethical dilemma he was setting himself up for, but for Miss Barnes’ healing process.  If she got too attached and Derek just left, he’d be another reason for her to never trust the world again.  Being suspicious of the 14-year-old kid that bags groceries was okay for profilers, but most people just couldn’t survive living like that.

Derek sighed and fell back in his seat, shoulders slumped a bit in defeat, “Yeah, I hear you.”

“And next time Garcia tells you don’t - fucking don’t.”

That was a good rule of thumb when any of the girls on the team said that, but to start with you’d focus on getting him to listen to Garcia.

********

Things had been going…smoothly enough, all things considered.  There was an adjustment period, and it was fairly common for Derek to have to remind himself he was leading the team, but cases still got closed and that was about all anyone asked for in the BAU.  That was all anyone could ask for in the BAU.

The initial briefing back at the office had been short.  Three women in LA had been murdered and dumped on the side freeways before the morning rush hour in the area in just two weeks.  Each one of the victims was strangled, exsanguinated, and still dressed.  The first victim still had three pints of blood, but the last - Tara Ferris - only had one pint remaining and the words The Liar written on her arm in blood.  As if that wasn’t weird enough, each victim had bled out through two puncture wounds and human saliva on their neck - like they’d been bitten by a vampire that sucked their blood.

After a large chunk of the flight from the east to west coast was over, Derek called everyone together to talk over the case in more detail.  JJ got in touch with the local LAPD detective in charge of the case to get an update after she, Rossi, Prentiss, and Hotch all took a seat at the table.  Derek got up to get some coffee while you and Reid took seats at opposite ends of the couch.  Things were…less weird after the two of you agreed that things couldn’t simply go back to normal, but that meant things were still weird.  Just…a different kind of weird.

It was a bit hard to explain with words, though with how Prentiss was watching you like a damn hawk you were certain she’d noticed something.  JJ was watching you too, but not as closely.  She would, however, start poking at things she’d never bothered with before.  For example, she’d told you all about Will’s partner in the DC police force before giving you his number.  That was very out of character for her, and she knew it too.  She was poking and prodding for some kind of reaction that would tell her something.

Thing was, you and Reid had suddenly become so aware of how comfortable you’d been with being close to each other.  Before, you never noticed.  Hell, he never noticed that he had no problem with you just sliding into his personal space.  After you wrestled his hair into a messy ponytail, the two of you threw yourselves to opposite ends of the couch and agreed that was weird.  Being so comfortable being so close was not normal for friends, and after becoming so aware of it it had become weird.  On the other hand, after it being second-nature for so long, keeping your distance was weird.

It was all just weird.

“Okay thanks,” JJ hung up and placed her phone on the table as Derek took the seat between you and Reid, “So, they’ve already set up a task force.”

“This isn’t their first serial case,” Rossi observed the quick jump to action.

“Yeah - you remember detective Owen Kim?”  JJ pointed her question to Hotch, Derek, and Reid.

“The stalker case,” Hotch recalled, still going through the file.

“Yeah, you remember that case, don’t you Spence?”  JJ looked up at Reid, and it was pretty clear she did it just to watch him squirm.  Asking Reid if he remembered something is like asking if fire is hot.

“Uh - yeah, yeah I do remember that case.”  He nodded in response, trying and failing to act casual.  If he was a religious man, he’d be praying for the conversation to reach an immediate end.

“You ever talk to - um - Lila?”  JJ knew exactly what the woman’s name was, she was just playing like she’d forgotten.  It wouldn’t be long until you’d look back on this conversation and wish you hadn’t asked.

“Who?”

“Lila Archer, the actress.  Her stalker was killing off anyone that got in the way of her career, Reid made out with her in a pool,” Derek gave you the short summary, tacking on why JJ was so interested in whether or not Reid had ever gotten in touch with Lila.

“Making out with a stalker victim, classy.”  At the moment, you were telling yourself you were just frustrated that you just found out both Derek and Reid had fallen into the same moral and ethical pit.  In truth, you were quickly shoving down old feelings that had no right to be there in the first place.  Jealousy was absolutely absurd, it sounded like this had happened before you’d met the team.  Of course, you wish that was the most prominent thing you were feeling.  Old memories from high school that effected you far more than you thought they should just came roaring back to the surface after years below.  You didn’t even notice how you shifted in your seat, leaning a little further against the armrest, putting more distance between you and the others, far enough you could see the back of Hotch’s seat.

“You know, I really think we should focus on this case, right now.  It’s a little more pertinent.”  Reid shot back, a little harsher than he’d intended.  He didn’t know what happened, he didn’t know why, but he knew you were starting to retreat into yourself.  He didn’t even know if the others noticed, or if they just thought you had a headache from how you rested your temple against the heel of your palm.  What he did know was what triggered this shift in your mood, and that he could stop it.

“Alright, so tell us about blood drinkers, Reid.”  Derek was never going to know how Hotch managed to step in before things like that happened.  He wanted to ask, but Rossi had been right back in Long Island.  If you wanted to talk about it, you’d talk about it.  Maybe not with him, but you’d find someone else.

“Human blood consumption, or clinical vampirism, is known as Renfield’s syndrome, named after the insect-eating character in Bram Stoker’s novel Dracula.”  Reid gave the rest of you the short rundown of the condition, not as enthusiastic as he normally would have been.

“Are they sadists?”  Prentiss asked, looking for somewhere to start the profile.

“Not necessarily.  Pain to the victim is usually only a by-product, blood is the focus.  Renfield’s syndrome is usually accompanied by varying levels of schizophrenia, and occasionally more classic cannibalism if the condition evolves.”

“Classic cannibalism,” Rossi pulled that out of everything else, after so long as a profiler actual shock was hard to come by, but there were still things that would take him by surprise and highlight just exactly what being a profiler involved, “Lovely job we have.”

Just last week you’d caught an unsub that took his victims’ eyes and put them into the taxidermy animals he was hired to make.

“I will say this, true cases are exceedingly rare.”

“That’s comforting…sort of.”  JJ was right.  On one hand, chances were you wouldn’t have to deal with this again - at least not for a long time.  On the other hand, you had the pure shit luck to actually come across a case of Renfield’s syndrome.

“Renfield’s may be rare, but vampires are anything but, and there’s a huge subculture in Los Angeles of the red-drinking ‘undead,’” Garcia jumped in, letting the rest of you know what you’d be wading into in order to find the unsub.

“Why is that not a surprise?”  Over the years, Rossi had learned to expect just about anything in LA.

“These people don’t actually drink blood, right?”  You had to lean over to ask Garcia.  The fact that you’d spoken up was reassuring to Reid, up until he noticed you had that…wall up.  You were friendly and personable, and it was very - very - easy to miss that you also hid yourself behind a gauntlet of barriers.  You loved easily, but you didn’t open up.  You had things you were willing to share, but there were secrets and old emotional scars you kept hidden deep, even after all the time you’d spent on the team.  He thought he’d made his way through at least most of those barriers, you’d certainly made your way through all of his.  Then the two of you slept together and you just…started slipping away.

“Au contraire, they mostly just dress like Prentiss did in high school and play make believe.  It’s all kinds of delicious.”  It had been well over a year since Garcia had tracked down that high school photo and printed it out, bringing it to you and Reid so the three of you could tease her about it.  Prentiss had actually thought she was safe from being teased about that - a stupid assumption, really.

“It - it’s not the same thing at all.  In fact, we should refer to this unsub as a vampirist, not a vampire,” Reid further explained the differences, “They would be attracted to the subculture merely for it’s professed worship of blood.”

“Okay, I’m gonna continue spelunking through the various online sites, see if anything jumps up, bites me.”  You knew Garcia hadn’t added vodka to that glass of tomato juice, but you also knew she added whatever was left from that almost empty bottle of Tabasco sauce from the break room, and probably the last of those red pepper flakes that had been there since before you started.

“Thanks baby g-”  Derek had to stop himself, taking a fraction of a second to internally kick himself.  Leading the team was getting more stressful by the day, and if whatever was going on between you and Reid continued he’d have to pull the two of you aside and talk to you about it.  “Thanks Penelope, stay close.”

“Yes, sir.  Garcia out.”  Just because Derek couldn’t be flirty didn’t mean Garcia couldn’t.

“One more thing,” Reid brought up, “Vampirists are coveters, they almost always have some sort of relationship with the victim, even if it’s tangential, and they’re likely to become obsessed.  They’ve almost certainly crossed paths in some way.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Ancient History Isn't All That Ancient

Lieutenant Kim was ahead of the game.  He’d already set up a meeting room for the team, started by updating you on the latest information, left Tara’s apartment and the bodies at the morgue for the team to examine, and didn’t push when Hotch told him that Derek was leading the team and it was a long story.  He did pause, though.  New members - you, Rossi, and Prentiss - he figured wouldn’t add any additional complications.  An entire shift in the power dynamic…that could cause trouble, and you could see why it would concern him.

He wasn’t going to make things any harder, but he’d be a fool not to be concerned.

You’d all arrived at night, around 9, making it a bit late to do anything but get started, especially after a six hour flight into a different time zone - making it about midnight back in Quantico.  Rossi and Prentiss went off to check out Tara’s apartment.  Hotch and Derek went to the M.E’s office.  JJ started getting things set up on the glass board.  That left you getting started on a baseline profile.  Reid was the expert, clearly, but with his leg - and more concernedly his knee - in the shape it was, it was easier for him to just give someone the information to write onto the board.  You weren’t going to talk with JJ around, but you still remained distant.  JJ noticed as well, but you quickly explained it away as being tired, the flight was six hours and the initial briefing over the case had been called about an hour before you all went home for the day.

Anything you needed to know about the bodies had already been reported by the coroner, it was just standard procedure to go talk to them just in case.  The ME was told to send the DNA samples from the unsub’s saliva to the local FBI lab and tell them to rush, guaranteeing results the next day.  The ‘bites,’ weren’t actually bites, but stab wounds from a small, razor-sharp, round instrument.  At Tara’s apartment, Rossi and Prentiss found that either the door was unlocked or Tara let the unsub in.  They also found Tara’s laptop, and what could only be described as a modern-day shrine to some performer named Dante.  It was nothing more than a poster surrounded by album art, tickets from concerts, and a few pictures with friends that had similar interests, but it was still striking.

Once you were done at the precinct, you’d managed to slip away and to your hotel room.  Granted, that was because instead of sticking around to help Reid you’d left JJ holding the bag - literally - but you just needed...you needed to get away.  After your nightly routine, you flipped your way through the bags of tea at the little coffee station in the little nook by the door and found the chamomile you were looking for.  It wasn’t the Sleepy Time mix you had at home, but it would do.  You waited impatiently for the little coffee maker to heat up the water, tapping your fingers on the counter.  You couldn’t risk taking something like Excedrin PM, because you’d still be half-asleep the next day, but you needed something to help you go to sleep.

It was stupid, really.  It was a completely different situation, and Tommy was from a completely different time in your life.  You didn’t miss him, you’d gotten over him ages ago.  You shouldn’t still feel so hurt.  

He’d been the closest thing you had to the boy next door.  You’d met in kindergarten and immediately connected.  You were best friends through elementary school, middle school, and in high school you swore you were in love with him.  You had to be.  You’d given up all hope that he’d ever feel the same way about you, but you were glad to have him there.  Your hair was always a mess, you were figuring out how to do your makeup on your own since momma had different skin from your own, your mom had been out in a more or less vegetative state just before your freshman year, and YouTube wasn’t a thing until 2005.  You’d gotten a scholarship to the private school you were attending with Tommy since your dad couldn’t afford to pay for you to go, and that was pretty obvious since all your clothes were from thrift shops, and being smart enough for a four-year scholarship to an otherwise all-white school unequivocally made you the nerd in the school.  The nicest things you had were your glasses and your braces, since those were at least covered by the family health insurance policy your dad got from the department.

Frankly, the only reason you didn’t get bullied your freshman year was because you were friends with Tommy, and you’d been safe sophomore year because your mom died a few weeks into the school year.  Then came junior year.  You were already expected to start thinking about college and you’d had your heart set on Chicago University since you were in middle school - they’d torn down their football stadium to build a library.  You didn’t know what for yet, but you figured you could pick a major for undergrad, and then have a bunch of minors to help figure out what to do for grad school.  Your grades were flawless, you were involved in a handful of extracurricular activities that would look good on your resume, your guidance counselor honestly thought you had a good shot.

Some of the girls still made fun of you, but you’d been through worse.  Besides, you still had Tommy.  You went to all the school dances together, like every year, and you thought you’d be going to the junior prom with him too, and started planning.  Tickets weren’t as expensive as the senior prom tickets, but they were still pretty pricey and you didn’t want Tommy to have to pay for them all by himself.  You thought it was a safe bet, especially after what happened after the spring formal - just before spring break.

It had been such a good night - magical.  The two of you had left early, like you normally did.  You got fries and milkshakes at the same diner you always went to.  Then you took a drive to a hill on the outskirts with a great view of the city and sat on the hood of the car until it started to rain.  You laughed, threw yourselves into the car, and then your eyes met.  His golden blonde curls were matted to his forehead by the sudden downpour, freckled cheeks flushed from laughing, and you just couldn’t look away from those midnight blue eyes.  You’d given him your first kiss during a game of Spin The Bottle in middle school, he was your first love, it only seemed right to give him your virginity to him too.

He’d left town for the spring holiday to visit family with his parents, and you’d been so excited to see him when school started up again.  All of your AP classes were in the morning, and he wasn’t taking any, so you never saw him before lunch.  You sat at your usual table, at your usual spot.  Then you spotted him.  Then you met eyes, you waved, and you watched as he walked right past you to sit with a group of other kids - next to the pretty blonde girl who’d spent every year making your life hell whenever she could.  You didn’t ask.  Tommy had some classes with her, and he wasn’t the type to try and convince a teacher to let him do a partner or group project alone.  Then you watched as he walked past you the next day, and the next day, and the next, until finally you just…gave up.  You just sat at the lunch table, alone, head on your hand as you poked at your lunch with your fork.

You supposed it wasn’t a complete loss.  That had been the year you buried yourself in the Sherlock Holmes series, which led you to following a series of true crime blogs and TV shows.  You dug out your mom’s old box of recipes written on notecards and practiced making all of them.  You watched a lot of documentaries on ancient civilizations, which eventually led you to anthropology, and most importantly Dr. Hannigan’s first book - it was a bit technical, but with a few resources from the local library you were able to figure it out.  Your mixture of fascination with anthropology and desire to understand humans mixed with your hobby following true crime blogs eventually led you to Rossi’s books.  You refocused, changed course to MIT, buckled down and worked your way to becoming a Forensic Anthropologist by studying under the woman whose books convinced you to become one, and eventually a profiler in the BAU where you worked with the man who wrote the books that introduced you to profiling in the first place.

It worked out, but it still left you with an entire year of your life where you felt an aching loneliness.  The Morgan’s did what they could, but they had their own struggles, their own lives.  Derek had busted his knee and lost his football scholarship by then, so he refocused and joined the Chicago PD, where he worked with a lot of the cops that had arrested him when he was a kid.  Sarah had left to build her own life, and by that time her cousin Cindi had disappeared during a trip south.  Desiree went to an entirely different school, and even if she didn’t she still would have been in a different grade.  Berto had left the second he graduated high school, you were fairly certain he’d actually finished college but you didn’t have any proof - all you knew was he’d fallen back into gangs again.  Your dad was burying himself in work, and more often than not he left you at home, alone.  Momma was still working full-time - always on the weekends - and your mom was dead.

With the loss of Tommy, you were alone in a way you’d never been before, and the effects of that just…stuck.  It cemented a fear of abandonment that effected everything you did.  You knew the Morgan’s would always be there, but there was still that urge to keep a few walls up between yourself and them in case you were wrong.  It had effected every relationship you’d ever had, either by getting yourself into relationships you knew wouldn’t work out or bailing when things started getting too serious.  You’d even tried the one-night-stand thing, but you hadn’t even been good at the Friends with Benefits thing

It was stupid.  Reid was a completely different person from Tommy.  You shouldn’t have had that gut-wrenching fear, especially when Lila was clearly someone from before you even joined the team.  It defied all logic.  Yet, you still felt that gut-wrenching fear.  That you’d done it again, and you were going to be reliving the events of a decade ago.  Only worse.  Reid knew far more about you than Tommy ever did - he meant more to you than Tommy ever did.  

You’d been able to talk to him about things you’d never told anyone about, and he got it.  He got that no matter how much you loved your mom, spending your childhood taking care of her fucked you up.  That dealing with the behavioral changes caused by the effects the brain cancer had on her frontal lobe fucked you up.  That even though she didn’t mean to say the things that hurt you, and you knew she didn’t mean them, it still fucked you up.  You still had to deal with all of that, and some days it’s harder than others.  He got it, because he’d had to deal with it too.

Nobody had ever made you feel as safe as Spencer Reid, and looking back over the past few months…those last few hours as the memories of Tommy came rushing back with no warning at all…it hit you.

You’d lost him.

He hadn’t abandoned you, but you weren’t nearly as close as you’d been before you slept together.  You didn’t think you ever would be again.  There would always be that underlying discomfort.  That weirdness the two of you didn’t know how to deal with.  That distance because you just…didn’t know how to act around each other anymore, no matter how hard you tried.

You wanted to go to sleep before it all overwhelmed you, but the tea didn’t do its job fast enough, and your brain just wouldn’t fucking stop.  You just laid there.  Curled up in a ball, hugging a pillow, crying into it so JJ wouldn’t hear you in the room next door.  You’d just lost your best friend again.  He’d still be there, he was too kind to leave, but it would never be the same.  One day, some other girl would come along, she’d be on his mind and in his heart in a way you never were, and that closeness you’d had with him will be a distant memory.  You couldn’t just leave the BAU, though, it was your home now - your family.  So, you’d just have to sit back, watch it all happen, and pretend that you were okay, standing there and being for him when he needed you.

What else were you supposed to do?  This time you really were in love.

********

Another body was found the following morning, on the 101 freeway in the San Fernando valley.  It wasn’t a surprise, but it wasn’t good news either.  It also completely ruined JJ’s usual plan, keeping the media out of the investigation until they either a) served a purpose, b) people needed to avoid a dangerous unsub, or b) an arrest was made.  First thing that morning, you made your way to the precinct to get right to work going through Tara’s laptop with JJ, Reid, and Garcia.  They’d all noticed you were wearing your glasses, but you waved it off as forgetting to pack a second box of contacts when the box in your bag was low.

“Are we in yet?”  Garcia checked for an update as JJ used a USB chord to connect the FBI field laptop to Tara’s personal laptop.

“All yours.”  JJ gave her the go-ahead.

“I always feel skeevy going through someone’s life like this.”

“It looks like everything is password protected so…you’re already in, aren’t you?”

“The password was Cullen.”

“Goddammit, not that again.”  You groaned, suddenly remembering that Twilight was a thing.  You volunteered at a local dance studio that offered free classes to teenagers with nowhere to go after school, or that lived in homeless shelters, or just didn’t have enough money to pay for the classes.  You couldn’t get there every weekend, but the owner of the studio was happy to take all the free help she could get.  Some of the teenage girls had picked up the series, and that was fine.  You weren’t going to pretend you hadn’t devoured The Vampire Diaries, a young adult series which had recently been turned into a TV drama, or that you didn’t have a blue and bronze scarf.  You just…you’d overheard a few things about it that concerned you.

For starters, the fact that the hundred-something-year-old vampire in a 17-year-old body broke into an actual 17-year-old girl’s bedroom and just…watched her sleep.

In your line of work that’s called stalking.

Then there was the thing about the werewolf best friend and the vampire baby, the whole thing where the werewolf best friend pulls a pretty classic nice guy move by not taking no for an answer, and that the dad - somehow - doesn’t know about any of this.

Reid looked back at you and JJ, utterly baffled.

“Sounds like you’ve had some experiences with Twilight,” Garcia giggled.  She didn’t really have an opinion either way, but she knew it was a hot-button topic, and she couldn’t help but hear how you knew about it.

“Bad ones.  I volunteer at a dance studio, teaching some of the free classes to teenagers, and every time a new movie comes out the whole Edward/Jacob war is brought back to life.”  You leaned back against the table, turned a bit so you could still see the screen.

This brought up two questions.  The first one was what is Twilight?  Though he could live with not knowing that as long as he didn’t need to know about it for the case - an assumption purely based on your reaction.  The second question was a lot more important.  When did you start volunteering?  That was something you’d bring up, that you’d be excited to bring up.  Why was he hearing about this for the first time?  There was only really one answer that made sense - you’d chosen not to tell him - and it made his heart stop and his stomach sink.

“I’ll see what else can dredge up, my love is strong.”

“Okay, thanks.”  JJ closed the chat window, getting up and grabbing her jacket to leave, “How’s the profile coming?”

“I don’t know - I never really feel ready, you know?”  Reid had been scribbling more notes on the board while you and JJ talked to Garcia, leading to a mix of notes.  There were the notes you’d written the night before - a neat list starting at the top.  Then there were the notes Reid added, some of which were at a 90-degree angle.

“Yeah…that might have to do with the fact you’ve gotta do what I call the Girl’s Night Out Lean to read some of it.”  You followed JJ over towards the board, placed right next to the door.

“The what?”  It was turning out to be a very confusing morning for Reid.  At least this time he’d get an answer and it wouldn’t be heartbreaking.

As if on cue, you and JJ both leaned over to the side as far as you could, without falling over.  Reid didn’t seem as amused as the two of you, turning to look back at his scribbled notes while the two of you giggled.  Sure enough, there were more than a few that had been written at an angle.  To his defense, even with the swivel chair as high as it would go and his long reach, there was only so much of the board he could reach - and a lot of it was taken up by either your handwriting or pieces of evidence taped to the board.

“You’ll be fine, Reid.  I’m going to go interview Tara’s bff before the media requests come in.  [F/N], stay here and make sure he actually gives the profile instead of procrastinating.”  JJ was still giggling as she left with a wave, trusting you to give Reid the push he needed to give the profile.

“What’s a bff?”

“Best friend forever.  For our single expert on the unsub’s profile, this case seems to be leaving you in a constant state of confusion.”  You snatched Reid’s phone from the meeting table.

“What are you doing with my phone?”  Reid felt his blood go cold.  He knew exactly what you were doing.

“Hey, Dee, Reid’s set to give the profile…Yup, he’s right here.”  

He didn’t have a choice to accept the phone when you handed it to him, but the way he’d greeted Derek had you snickering behind your hand.

“Heeyyy.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Impulsivity

The body found that morning had been out for maybe an hour before she was found - she was still warm - and the Liar had been written on her chest in blood.  Before the team gathered to give the profile, you’d managed to swipe a whiteboard to write down the bullet-points the LAPD needed to keep in mind - in a much neater script than Reid’s scribbles.  You didn’t have a lot of time before the rest of the team got there, along with the task force, but you had some.

“So, who’s your bff?”  It was a risky question, but Reid still answered it as he sat on a desk nearby.  You’d quickly told him that you would do all the writing on the whiteboard.

“Uh…I don’t know.  I mean, I spend a lot of time with Penelope, but I’ve talked to Emily about a lot more stuff.”  Not nearly as much as you’d told Reid, but you figured he knew that already.

“What - what about me?”  He already regretted asking it - but he had to.  He had to know.  That was just his nature.  He couldn’t not know, even if it meant getting hurt.

“Uh…we’re close, but I think there’s a rule that you can’t sleep with your best friend, and if you do they’re not really your best friend.”  Oh god, that hurt you just to say it.  You weren’t sure why you’d said it like that, but you knew why you hadn’t just named him as your best friend.  After the past few weeks…sure, friends had fights, even best friends, but this wasn’t a fight.  You were just wildly uncomfortable around each other.  Even if you’d said yes, you wouldn’t have believed it, and he wouldn’t have believed it either - at least not for long.

“Yeah…that makes sense.”  It did, and you were probably right.  He still kind of wished you’d lied, though.  Even if it was a temporary salve, it would be…something.

The unsub had Renfield’s syndrome, and they had an obsession with human blood.  People with Renfield’s syndrome also often performed auto-vampirism, so the unsub likely cut himself and out of shame he wore long-sleeved shirts to conceal it.  He also likely had a long history of animal abuse, starting small with insects and rodents before moving up to larger animals such as dogs and cats - not to cause torture but to obtain blood.  The unsub also likely lived in a poorly-kept older home, and needed a house for the privacy, and likely lived with an elderly woman - grandmother, mother, or an aunt - as that level of schizophrenia tends to dominate a family’s existence, and more often than not the women end up the primary caregivers.  It’s also impossible to hid this level of mental illness for long - somebody had experience with this his mental illness.

The latest victim’s name was Erin Hickman, and she worked for a catering company that worked an event the night before.  The company was still there cleaning up - an event of the release of a new album by an artist called Dante, and more importantly the album was called The Liar.  Prentiss and Morgan called Garcia only a second before she called them, having found the connection between the victims.  With the exception of Erin Hichman, they had cyber shrines to the guy, they basically worshiped him, and his album was released that day.

His real name was Paul Davies, and he lived at the top of a hill, in an expensive neighborhood, in the most expensive house.  He was likely only a piece of the puzzle, but Erin Hickman’s car was parked in his driveway.  Of course, with how Prentiss jumped to the offensive when she had Garcia run the plates to the run-down blue two-door sedan parked next to the high-end red convertible more expensive than the average house, sending her in to question Paul Davies wasn’t exactly the ideal choice.  Especially since this was one of those catch more flies with honey situations - which immediately knocked Hotch, Derek, and Rossi out of the running, and Reid rarely went into interrogations.

Davies didn’t fit the profile, at all, and he was pacing back-and-forth in the interrogation room, his cell phone in hand, making you frown and pull your own cell out of your pocket.

Derek didn’t feel good about it, Garcia ran Davies’ background and found out he’d been arrested for domestic violence ten years ago, but his record was expunged.

But there wasn’t a choice - even with how agitated he was acting.

“Celebrities out here aren’t used to being put in a box,” Kim warned.

“No, it’s more than that.  He’s got his cell phone out, probably looking for a signal - I can’t get a signal in here,” you held up your phone, which was blinking between No Service and one bar.  “Besides, look at how he’s dressed.  He said Dante’s a part he plays, right?  He’s been playing that part for years, he’s in his mid 30’s and he’s still playing dress-up.  He doesn’t even have the lip ring he’s wearing in the album cover.  Something else is going on.”

“Alright - he made a choice he regrets and can’t get out of it.  You could use that angle when you talk to him.”  Derek suggested, keeping his eyes on Davies and catching you by surprise.

“Me?”  You knew you could do it, you knew you were the best option, but you didn’t think Derek would think that.  He had a habit of…well…babying you, preferring to keep you on the sidelines or in the safety of whatever workspace the team was given.  Especially after the bombing in New York.

“Yeah.  You’re a new face, even if you can’t completely relate you’re sympathetic.  You can get him to open up.”  What he wasn’t saying was ‘you got that judge to start talking.’  “At the least, you’ll catch him off guard after we brought him in.”

Rossi was finally free from managing the rush of press that had been waiting when Derek, Prentiss, and Kim brought in Davies.  With JJ still out tracking down Tara’s friend in the suburbs, somebody had to go out and handle the media.  Though, in retrospect, Rossi probably wasn’t the best choice.

“So, what’d you tell the press?”  Derek was asking partially out of curiosity, but mostly because he needed to know.

“My official statement was that I hate Los Angeles.”  With Rossi, it was absolutely possible he wasn’t actually kidding.  You had to trust that he wasn’t, but there was still a chance.  “What’s happening?”

“Castillo is gonna take the lead.”

“Good choice.”

“Remember, if he is the unsub he’s ashamed of the disorder, so use that to your advantage.”  Reid jumped in.  He wasn’t going to be able to stop this.  He’d seen you in the interrogation room or questioning uncooperative witnesses.  You were the best chance at getting something - anything - out of Davies.

“Tell him you can’t believe someone like him could do this - throw him a lifeline.”  Hotch advised.  Good advice, but you knew you were going to make a little…twist.  You didn’t want to go in there acting like an adoring fan.  To be honest, you’d only heard a few of Dante’s songs because you listened to rock stations when you turned on the radio.  They were good, but you weren’t going to buy the whole album, let alone go to a concert.

“Ask him for his autograph, out here people like him are used to the adulation,” Derek chimed in, and you just nodded along.

“I hear ya.”  You took the file Prentiss had brought in after calling Garcia for a background check, then made your way into the interrogation room.

“She’s not going to do any of that.”  Rossi warned, watching with the others through the window.

“Mr. Davies?”  You smiled as you closed the door, the musician was still searching for a signal on the other side of the room with his back turned to you.  You made your way around the table, the side facing the window so both seats could be observed.  “Hi, I’m Dr. Castillo, I’m an FBI agent.  Please, take a seat, relax.”

“How the hell am I supposed to relax?”  He snapped back, standing at the opposite side of the table.

“Is there someone you’re trying to call?”  You nodded towards his phone.  “I can barely get a signal in the room outside, I can’t imagine it’s any easier in here.”

“It’s not - I’ve been trying to call my manager.”  Davies sat down across from you, finally dropping his jacket over the chair too.

“Um - I guess I should start by asking if you’ve heard about the recent murders, the women found on the highways?”  You paused long enough for him to nod and jumped in to quickly explain.  “I want to start off by explaining that we don’t actually think you had anything to do with them - at least I don’t.  My team is part of the Behavioral Analysis unit - the BAU.  We build psychological profiles based on the crime that was committed in order to find who did it, and you don’t fit the profile - at all.  We’ve been wrong about a few things, or got caught off guard, but not this wrong.  It would defy everything we know about something called Renfield’s syndrome, which would mean everything clinical psychologists have studied about it is also wrong.”

“And you think this person has…Renfield’s syndrome?”  He was starting to calm down.  He was there for questioning, not as a suspect, and at least someone believed he was innocent.

“It’s a severe type of schizophrenia that makes the individual obsessed with human blood - even crave it.  We use the word vampirists, unlike your fans which call themselves vampires.”

“My fans - not me?”

“Well…I may be looking into things a bit much, but I’ve seen posters and you don’t have the…costume on.  Your lip piercing has even closed up, I’m guessing you use a clip-on hoop for your performances.  It seems more like you started the act, maybe to boost your career or maybe because you were young and it fit you at the time, but now it just doesn’t fit anymore.  Now, it’s more about playing Dante than the music, and you want to get away from that, even if it’s just when the sun’s out.”  You jumped topics a bit, trying to see if he’d catch up.  If he could, it meant he likely didn’t have schizophrenia, which would also mean he wasn’t the unsub.  It was an innocent enough topic that he wouldn’t get anxious, and it was related enough that he wouldn’t think you were trying to trip him up, pulling on some random facts you’d picked up from an exchange student you’d met in college.  “You also use your real name during the day - Paul Davies.  That’s Welsh, right?  Davies?  There aren’t a lot of old Welsh names around anymore - but you sound like you’re from southern England.”

“Yes, my parents moved before I was born,” he answered quickly, keeping up but wanting to get back to the reason he was in an interrogation room, “What do these murders have to do with me?”

“It has more to do with the album that came out today.”  You opened the file and pulled out the crime scene photos focusing on the Liar written on the victims.  “That is the title of your new album, and the latest victim was the girl that went home with you last night - her car was still in your driveway.”

“She’s dead?”  Davies stared at the photo, quiet in his shock.

“I need you to tell me what happened to her, Mr. Davies.”  You phrased that carefully.  Simply asking what happened was confrontational, but if you said you needed him to tell you, than it wasn’t just a request.  You were asking him to do something for you.  The question would still freak him out, undoubtedly.  You were asking what happened to a girl that got killed between the time she went home with him, and the time she was found just off the freeway.  It would also keep you in his good graces.

“I don’t remember...”

You watched as Davies got up, paced a bit, and sat back down, clutching his head.

“Please, Mr. Davies, anything you can tell me.”  You reached across the table and placed your hand on his arm, and his eyes met yours.  You were hitting a brick wall, and none of his behavior fit the profile.  You needed to keep him there, he might remember something, but you also needed to stay in his good graces.  You couldn’t keep him from calling a lawyer forever, not when the media was all over this case before a celebrity got involved.  “I can get you a call to your manager, but I can only swing that if he’s gonna find you a lawyer.”

“Yes - please.  I need a lawyer - my manager will find me one.”

“Okay.  I’ll leave a pen and pad here, in case you think of anything.”  You gathered the photos and tucked them into the file before leaving the room, making sure the door clicked shut before answering the question that hung in the air.  “I hit a dead end - he wasn’t going to talk, and I need to stay on his good side.  We can’t keep him from getting a lawyer forever, especially with the media attention.  If he seems comfortable talking to me when the attorney gets here, it might give us some more leeway.  At least this way, we can call his manager and see what he knows.”

That was a level of planned manipulation Derek didn’t think you were capable of.  You’d all learned interrogation techniques, you could all manipulate a conversation as you needed.  This was different.  This was three steps ahead, planning for the next interrogation before there was even any confirmation it was necessary - considering the evidence that Davies didn’t fit the profile at all.  JJ called to check in, telling Reid she was at the best friend Gina’s house, so she was going to talk to her anyway.  Then the DNA test from the FBI lab rolled in - calling Hotch instead of Derek, and you weren’t sure if that was a clerical error or if that was something Derek just forgot to update.

The DNA test from the saliva on the victim’s necks wasn’t in any database, but it did belong to a female.

“Oh god.  The girl Tara was with last - Gina - we need her address.”  Tara’s door was unlocked - she’d let the unsub in.  Gina was a fan of Dante too, and Tara ran an online shrine to Dante - President of his Fan Club kind of fan.  They had a similar interest, and Gina was likely just as obsessed - maybe even more.  “Gina was her best friend and Tara let the unsub into her apartment.  She was here for college, her parents don’t live in LA, else is she gonna let in after a concert till 2 am?”

“It’s not enough proof - “

“It’s enough to be concerned that JJ is there - alone.”  You cut Derek off before he could make the usual reasonable argument.  “I’m going, you can either come with me, or give me a write-up for insubordination with the lovely little note at the bottom admitting I was right.  Your choice.”

Everyone deals with heartbreak differently, you tended to get a bit…impulsive.  One might even say reckless.  The first time you had your heart broken, you completely up-ended your plans for the future and moved to Boston after high school.  This time, you just told off the Unit Chief - ‘acting’ or not - that you were going to go after JJ, even if he explicitly ordered you not to, in front of the entire team and an LAPD lieutenant.

Not your brightest move, but you were right.  JJ had followed Gina through the maze made of walls of garbage, old chairs, empty boxes, and into the back yard - where Gina was packing containers of blood into coolers filled with ice.  You’d managed to get there before Davies’ manager hit JJ with a shovel.

At least you had that covering your ass.

********

There was going to be a talk you weren’t going to like - either on the jet or at the office - but you still had to get through the case first.  Davies was left in the interrogation room, you’d all taken off before he could get his phone call.  Lucky you got the task of explaining that his manager had used a mentally ill fan to commit the murders, which led to Davies getting arrested, which then led to the album being sold out the same day it was first released.  He’d found Gina through her fan letters, most of which were online.  There were likely letters sent through the mail as well, but the ones Garcia found consisted of her saying she’d kill for Dante, she wanted to kill people for their blood.  There were, of course, changes in the profile as a result of her being female, but a lot of it stayed the same.

“Sorry you never got that call, but I’m more sorry your manager did all…this.”

“Is - is he alright?  Where is he?”

“He’s in lockup, but he’s going to need a really good lawyer.”

“And the girl?  I’d like to help her too.”

“She’s really sick.  It’s hard to tell exactly where she’ll end up, but it’s a safe bet the prosecution will agree to an insanity plea and she’ll be placed in an institution.”  You took a breath, worried about overstepping your professional boundaries, but you’d already played enough of a risky game snapping at Derek the way you did.  You figured you might as well.  “Mr. Davies - “

“Paul, please.”

“Paul,” you started again, “This isn’t your fault.  I can see why you’d think it is but, even with the act as Dante, you’re not responsible for what your manager did, and you’re certainly not responsible for Gina’s Renfield’s syndrome.  I’ve been told it’s…very rare for a female to have it to such a violent degree.”

He nodded, hung his head for a moment, and admitted, “I got into this for the music, I don’t know when it wasn’t enough.”

“That’s the luxury with my job.  If you get into it for the right reasons, it’s always enough.”  You offered awkwardly, more to admit you didn’t know exactly what he was going through.  It was, too.  Keeping people from getting hurt, saving kids who had been kidnapped, catching bad guys.  It was hard, it was stressful, it took long hours, and basically shot your personal life to hell.  It was all still worth it.  You led Paul out of the interrogation room and to the back doors, where an officer was waiting to take him back home.  “I hope you figure things out.  Maybe it’s time to let Dante die, after all of this.”

“Long overdue.”  He agreed, looking a bit nervous for a moment.  Not like before, anxiously trying to get a cell signal.  Shifting…unsure…almost like a nervous schoolboy.  Then he pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket, ripped from the corner of the yellow legal pad you’d left in the interrogation room.  “I need to make a change - a lot of them.  Taking a chance on someone like you would be…a good one.”

“Oh, um, thank you.  There’s…there’s a lot of ethical and some personal reasons I shouldn’t but - um - thank you.  My self-esteem took a…pretty massive hit recently.  This actually kind of helps.”  You took the paper with his number, readjusting your glasses with your free hand, and looked at it for a moment before looking back up at him, his dark eyes sincere.  “I do think quitting the whole drugs and vampire thing is a good idea, though.”

“Yeah,” he smiled, as much as he could considering the situation, “Thank you…”

“[F/N]”

“Thank you, [F/N].”

“You’re welcome, Paul.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

The Sides of Heartbreak

It should be noted that Dr. Spencer Reid had fond memories of college - both undergrad and grad school.  While his young age certainly stunted his ability to make friends in his classes, and the fact he was a college student made it impossible to meet other teens his age, it was more about school itself.  It was the first time he’d been challenged.  It was the first time his love for learning was praised.  He wasn’t relentlessly bullied every damn day.

That being said, even though CalTech was 15 minutes away from LA, Los Angeles could officially go fuck itself.

The case was solved, the unsubs arrested.  It was time to pack up and leave.  There wasn’t much to pack up, but there were a few things.  Spencer had been in the meeting room, cleaning up the board.  He could carry the file, but with only one hand free he wasn’t going carry the laptop and risk dropping it.  He could probably manage but…best not.

There was also a diner a few minutes away, and a few hours before the jet was taking off.  He thought it would be good to get away from the team, away from Quantico, with some time when it was guaranteed there wouldn’t be a call interrupting the two of you.  Just to talk, maybe try and rebuild what the two of you lost - or at least start.  Telling you how he felt was…probably not a good idea.  At least at the moment.  Or, based on what he saw, perhaps ever.

He didn’t hear what was said, but he saw enough.  The rock star gave you his number.  Whatever happened before or after that didn’t exactly matter, because it sort of slammed reality right back into his face.  

You were you, and he was…him.  The nerd in the metaphorical chess club of the FBI.  The pipe cleaner with eyes.  The guy who failed the annual firearm qualification exam and got his gun taken away.  You were…you weren’t perfect, you were human, but you were an amazing human.  You let yourself love, despite the pattern of abandonment you’d experienced in your life.  You went out of your way to help and comfort, to the point Prentiss absentmindedly made her way to your apartment when she discovered her friend died.  You were someone people were just drawn to, which brought up another point.

Having sex and having ‘feelings’ are two very different things.

You didn’t…you couldn’t.  It just wasn’t how his life worked.  Not when you could get a celebrity musician - whether or not you actually called the guy you still got his number without prompting.

All Spencer could do was accept the new distance between you and him, and hope that one day it would go away.

Maybe, maybe, if he got lucky for once in his life, the two of you could rebuild that closeness you used to have.

********

Hanging out outside of work wasn’t weird.  What was weird was the fact Emily had told JJ to meet at the coffee shop alone - and to keep the meet-up a secret.  JJ did as Emily asked.  She didn’t tell anyone, except Will, and left to meet with the profiler after as planned.  They got their drinks and took a table outside, where they could talk.

“So, what’s up?”  JJ couldn’t help but feel uneasy.  She had no idea what this could be about, and considering everything going on…it could be just about anything.

“I want to start off by saying I was planning on talking to [F/N] about this, but I decided against it.  I’m guessing you noticed how things were between her and Reid in LA.”  Emily started, leaning forward against the table in a subconscious attempt to keep the conversation as private as possible.  It was highly unlikely anyone would be listening.  Garcia had plans with Kevin, you and Morgan were on a trip to Chicago to celebrate momma’s birthday early since it was the only time he could get away from the office for the time being, Hotch was likely burying himself in looking for Foyet, and since Reid lived in a different neighborhood it was doubtful he’d wonder by on his day off.  Rossi wouldn’t be an unwelcome addition, but he tended to get involved in his own way in his own time.

“Yeah, it was weird.  It’s been weird for a while, but they could at least be in the same room.  That first night, [F/N] took off for the hotel before I could even suggest getting dinner.”  JJ wasn’t going to waste time asking if Emily knew what the cause was.  If she didn’t know she would have been talking to you to figure it out.  “What’s going on with them?  I’m getting worried.”

“That weekend we went in to help [F/N] with that…terrifying mountain of paperwork she has to do every week, I overheard them talking in the meeting room.  The gist of it is, they slept together.”  Emily wasn’t going to go into the specifics, partially because she was trying to shake off the memory of the nightmarish amount of paperwork you had to do simply because of your extra qualifications.

“Holy shit - did they talk about it?”  JJ leaned forward, arms crossed on the table, coffee forgotten.

“Sort of.  From what I gathered they just accepted that things were weird between them, joked about it, and then they started wrestling around on the couch while she tried to tie his hair up so I left.  I didn’t know what things were going to evolve into.  I didn’t think they’d start having sex right there on the couch, but…”

“They could have finally confessed their obvious undying love for each other and you didn’t want to intrude.”  It had taken about a month for JJ to figure out Reid wasn’t just being his usual socially awkward self around the new girl, when you’d joined the team.  It had take a second month for her to start suspecting you might have had some sort of feelings for him too, but she didn’t know you as well at the time.  She didn’t know if it was just a crush or something more, on either end, and getting involved if it was just a temporary crush…wasn’t exactly a good idea.  Nudging the two of you towards going out could have ended badly back then, before there was anything to suggest it would be something serious, something that wouldn’t quickly end - and potentially badly.  Now…thinking of a future where you and Reid weren’t practically glued to each other was just…weird and uncomfortable.

“Yeah, clearly that didn’t happen.  If it did one of them lied - and I don’t think they’re capable of lying to each other.”

“Oh no, they can, they just know how to get the truth out of each other.”  JJ reached for the box of pastries Emily had ordered, now that she was aware they were for the unique kind of emotional stress eating triggered by watching The Notebook, Love Actually, or How Harry Met Sally.  She picked off a piece and ate it quickly before continuing.  “Remember [F/N]’s first birthday on the team, before we knew how she feels about surprises?”

“Yeah, Reid tried to plan a surprise party and [F/N] tried to act surprised.”

“Right, I asked about it later and he’s the one that told her about it.  She bribed him with espresso brownies.”

“Espresso what?”

“Coffee flavored brownies.  She had a few leftover, they’re pretty good.”

“Good or not, Reid would give her his mom’s social security number for one of those things.”

********

“So…that number you put up…”  Derek had planned ahead, convinced momma that he could rent a car for the weekend just so he could have one talk with you before he had to slap that Unit Chief mask back on.  He’d never understand how Hotch did it.  Managing to care so much and keeping it discreet…that wasn’t exactly how Derek functioned.

“I’m not actually going to call, I just...my self-esteem took a hit and I just like having it there to remind me that there are guys out there that find me attractive.  Guys that aren’t Tybalt when he’s looking for food.”

“Some jackass break your heart?  Need me to go kick his ass?”  It wasn’t hard to figure out a guy had been the reason for your mood, especially since a guy giving you his number perked you up.

“It’s not like that, Dee.  He just doesn’t feel the same way I do, he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Besides having shit taste.  Who - “

“Dee, it’s not a big deal.  I get you haven’t dealt with rejection since you hit puberty, but some of us still have to deal with it once in a while.  Believe it or not, guys don’t exactly like dating a girl with a gun and a badge, and that’s not even starting on the whole ‘occasionally glues human skulls back together’ thing.  That’ll even chase off the dogs in Organized Crime.”

“I thought you were joking when you said that last time.”

“Well, to be fair, the real nail in the coffin is the ‘makes a living getting into people’s heads’ bit, though the ‘regularly stares down modern day Ted Bundy’s’ thing doesn’t help, either.  I have no regrets, but my career has pretty much killed my dating life.”

“You never thought of telling him you modeled your way through college?”  It was only part of college, but it was still a thing you did.

“I did, once.  Never doing that again.”

“Fair enough.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Living Nightmare

It wasn’t unusual to get emergency cases, or cases bad enough you had to skip over the basic briefing and right to the crime scene.  Sometime a crime scene was just too horrific, had clear signs of an unsub the locals couldn’t handle, even if there was only just the one crime scene.  

It was a Saturday morning.  Without the case you’d have spent the weekend moping around your apartment, feeling sorry for yourself, trying to watch Doctor Who and then getting depressed.  Once you got the text from JJ with the address in the Ivy City neighborhood of D.C., you threw on some clothes, hopped in your car, and drove right to the crime scene.  Hotch was already there, with an FBI SUV.  He might not have been the Unit Chief anymore, but you were still convinced he never actually left the office.  Derek parked a few minutes after you did, catching up to the two of you as you entered the crime scene.

Ivy City was a neighborhood for young singles, this particular young single was a 23-year-old girl named Kara O’Brien who’d only moved into her apartment two months earlier - a loft in a renovated warehouse with an entrance right to the street.  A pretty young blonde with green eyes that was just hired as a legal secretary in the D.C. federal courthouse while she attended night classes at a local law school.  She was left in her apartment, grew up nearby in a big Irish family in Alexandria, Virginia, and spent all of her little free time with them until she met a new guy - a doctor.  A month earlier she swore she’d be at her grandmother’s big 100^th birthday party.  All the tracks were covered up, like she’d planned on disappearing for two weeks.

While you, Hotch, and Derek were checking out the crime scene, Rossi and Prentiss were talking to the family, and Reid was setting up with JJ and Garcia at the office.  Garcia had patched the speaker phone in the meeting room to the call between Derek and Prentiss, keeping the everyone updated as they gathered more information from the grieving family.  They didn’t need to know about the two other girls at the scene.  

Abigail Williams was the first out of the three reported missing, a 19-year-old blonde haired and blue eyed sophomore at George Washington University who’d moved out of the college dorms into an apartment with her two best friends, was laid out on the floor to the left of the bed.  Sharon Martin was the second, an 18-year-old blonde haired gray eyed girl who’d just moved to D.C. for college, and was on the floor to the right of the bed.  All with Kara laid out exactly in the center of the bed.

They were all in various stages of decomposition, but…

Abigail had gone missing six months ago.  If she’d been held captive, it would stand to reason she’d look dirty, her hair would be unwashed, she’d be wearing the same clothes she’d been wearing when she went missing.  Instead, she’d been strapped into the same kind of silk and lace lingerie nightie as the other two girls.  Her hair was a bit dryer, her skin had darkened and started to dry.  Sharon looked like she’d only been killed that morning.  It was Kara that caught your attention, though.

That smell, formaldehyde had a chemical scent to it that put hospital grade cleaners to shame.  All three girls had ligature marks around their hands and ankles.  There was an indentation in the rug, Derek snapped a picture and sent it to the others, they agreed it looked like a mark left behind probably belonged to an IV pole.  There were no other visible signs of trauma, it was likely they were poisoned or…

Those nighties looked familiar…it struck you out of nowhere, like you’d seen them before…in Boston…

“Castillo.”  Hotch must have caught onto the same train of thought as you did, especially as you pulled on a pair of gloves and carefully stepped between Sharon and the bed to check behind Kara’s ear.  Derek caught the tone in Hotch’s voice, immediately looking up and watching - alert.

Marks from a stun gun behind the left ear.

“Reid, the victims have stun gun burns behind the ear.”  Hotch didn’t stay behind to hear the flurry of curses Reid responded with, he only knew Derek was following because it was expected.

You almost tripped over yourself in your rush to get outside.  You were struggling to breath, you felt sick, bile at the back of your throat.  You didn’t even notice that Hotch took off after you until he caught up with you outside.  You didn’t care about keeping face, you didn’t care about what the locals must have thought, you didn’t give a damn what Hotch and Derek were thinking.  

“We don’t know it’s him.”  Hotch didn’t believe it, but Derek didn’t know the terror you were facing at that moment.  The ME already took blood samples - or tried to before finding proof each of the victims had been embalmed.  The victims’ ages, appearance, each one of them from an area close enough to regularly visit family, they were close to their family, the way they were laid out, what they were wearing…

“Who?”  Derek was sick of not knowing just what in the hell was going on.

“No - no, we do.  The stun gun marks never made it to the trial or newspaper, it’s not just a copycat.”  Your voice was hoarse, and you spit into the trashcan a few more times before you stood upright.

“Uh…Agent Morgan.  A mailman just dropped this off for Dr. Castillo…”  A uniformed officer, who’d probably been on the job all of three weeks, awkwardly handing the Priority Mail envelope to Derek.  With a quick thank you, Derek shooed the officer away and opened the envelope.  It’s illegal to open someone else’s mail, but he wasn’t about to take any chances with this.  Something had you freaked out, it was related to an unsub you and Hotch knew about, Reid probably knew too based on that comment Hotch threw his way, and worse yet were the implications of the crime scene.  The victims had all been held until this very moment, every bit was calculated, excruciatingly planned, and now there was a letter to you addressed to Kara O’Brien’s apartment.  The envelope was too small to be booby-trapped, but Derek wasn’t going to take that chance even if he didn’t know what was going on.

He didn’t want to hand you the contents, but you were the only one who’d make any sense of it.  Inside were three photos - print-outs from a website.  Each picture was of you from years ago, when you only had one of your five tattoos, making it from years ago when you were still an undergrad.  It was easy enough to figure they were from your modeling days, but in each picture you were wearing one of the nighties the victims were wearing.  If that wasn’t bad enough…the note…

You wore them better, of course, but my friend needed some step-by-step instruction.  He’s normally far messier than this.  Doesn’t think, just acts.  A clever brute, but a brute nonetheless.  We all must make sacrifices to get the job done, I suppose.

Come visit me, dear, and I’ll tell you all about my friend.

I’ve been dreaming of the sweet smell of your terror.

You know where to find me, you put me here after all.

Dr. Hunter Grant.

********

Derek didn’t need to know the details to know there was a a reason to hover over you, and the fact that Hotch was doing the same only encouraged him.

When you got to the office, you were thrilled to find out Reid had a damn file on Hunter Grant.  It didn’t surprise you, but it still pissed you off.  He’d at least planned on doing you the courtesy of letting you fill in the team.  It was small consolation, considering Garcia had already pulled up the custodial interview and Rossi made the call that they needed to watch it.  Every interview and visitation at the facility Grant was kept at had full video and audio recording capabilities - basic security systems, it wasn’t uncommon for law enforcement to have the same thing.  For the kind of facility Grant was in, failing to record interviews and visitations was nothing but pure idiocy.  Getting a copy for the BAU’s internal files was hardly more complicated than sending an email.

The recording was still playing in the meeting room when you got there with Derek and Hotch.

“Why Dr. Castillo?  She’s from almost 1,000 miles away, she’s not even the same race as your other victims, her family either died or abandoned her, she purposely keeps herself distant - she’s nothing like the rest of your victims.”  Reid leaned on his elbows on the table, a pen in one hand - it looked like one of your felt-tip pens - and a yellow notepad left untouched nearby.  Was he even blinking?  Was Grant blinking?  Hotch had clearly pulled back during the interview, staying in the room but letting Reid take the lead.

“She wasn’t a doctor when I first met her.”  Grant leaned back in his seat, looking awfully confident and cocky for a man in an orange jumpsuit.  His legs crossed and hands in his lap, his own golden hair had grown longer but he kept it neat, gray eyes staring down Reid.  Grant was attracted to women with traits similar to his, a classic narcissist, but he hunted women who had a home life entirely different from his in a fit of anger and jealousy.  If he couldn’t have the perfect home life, nobody could.  It started as a series of relationships where he spent every second controlling his girlfriends, but he couldn’t keep them from leaving, they always found their way back to their families in the end.  Then he got kicked out of medical school, the event that triggered him to start leaving a long trail of bodies behind after two decades of keeping his urges to kill under control.

“She completed her graduate studies - unlike and despite you.  Answer the question.”  This was a level of outward hostility you’d never seen from Reid.  He’d been snarky, sarcastic, snide, you’d even seen him roll his eyes in an interview, but he’d never been this hostile.

“Well, the first time I saw her she was just some body used to advertise lingerie, but I always found myself picking something she modeled.  The first time I met her she was just some waitress at Chora’s Den, one of the few that wasn’t lying when she said she was paying for school.  Smart girls like her don’t walk around practically naked and serving scumbags drinks in place like that if they’re on good terms with mommy and daddy, flirting with drug lords and pimps to get whatever cash they hadn’t spent on the strippers, drugs, or prostitutes.  Sweet thing, called me ‘doctor.’”  Great.  You should have figured.  Reid knew, he knew your entire resume of part-time jobs.  On paper saying you were a waitress would have looked less embarrassing than underwear model, until someone started looking into where you’d been a waitress.  He’d have to know if he talked to Grant, you just…preferred not to think about that.  You preferred to pretend you still had some secrets from the man - but no.  Of course your life didn’t work like that.

This revelation would have been bad enough before you slept with him.  Afterwards…that kid in the kid’s book, the one with the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day had nothing on you.  It wasn’t even just the one day.  It had been every day for over two months.

“She was looking for tips, you lied, and she had no way of knowing you weren’t even qualified to check someone’s blood pressure.”

“Irritating me won’t get you any answers.  You should have known that when you decided to not to bring [F/N], Agent Reid.”

“Doctor Reid.  I managed to pass the very low bar of not getting kicked out of school.  We could go back over why you got expelled from medical school, in case you’ve forgotten.  I understand you sustained a head injury when you were apprehended.  Dr. Castillo escaped her bindings - twice - and brought a whole house down on the two of you.”

Grant was losing his patience, but despite the number of women he’d killed he didn’t lash out in violence.  He got that soulless smile, that dark glee in his eyes as he sat forward, almost mirroring Reid’s position.

“I never would have been able to break her, her obedience is something you earn, something she gives.  I don’t have the patience or heart for that nonsense, the romance and love,” Grant looked like he was going to be sick when he said love, “The world left her broken and betrayed like it did me.  She modeled the underwear I bought for my pets, then she quit to serve drinks in the same dive bar where I met my suppliers, and when she moved on to bigger things she also moved into an apartment down the hall from me.  She calls to me, much like - “

Reid grabbed the remote and stopped the recording, closing the window.  They’d seen more than enough to get a grasp on what they were dealing with.  He never should have let Rossi start the damn thing in the first place.  He had the profile, he could have just told them, summarized what happened and let you control how much the team knew.

“Doesn’t seem like the type to leave things unfinished.”  Rossi turned in his seat to face you.  Derek had stepped closer to watch and listen intently as Hotch took the pictures and note Grant sent you - more likely his partner sent them under Grant’s directions - and pinned them to the board.  He didn’t want to, there was already a disturbing amount of your life on that board, but this was how the team worked.  This was how the team would find Grant’s partner.  That note would tell them a lot.  “What happened kiddo?”

Rossi wanted to literally kick himself.  ‘Kiddo?’  That wasn’t going to soften the blow of reliving the most terrifying few hours of your life.  It was one of those moments he’d use a nickname to help ease things along, but there wasn’t really a nickname that would work for…this.  You had to have thought you’d die.  You weren’t stupid, you had to know what would happen when you knocked out those support beams in the basement.  The first floor would lose support, causing it to collapse, which would make the second floor lose at least half of what was holding it up, and the roof would just drop down on top of everything.  That’s not the actions of someone that thinks they’ll survive.  That’s the vengeful, spiteful anger someone feels when they’ve accepted their fate and decided to take the devil down with them.

He’d been in a few situations like that, as a Marine, as an agent…you don’t just shake off something like that.  It sticks with you.  Even after you’ve made the initial recovery, it’s still stuck there in your head.  Like when a kid draws on the wall with a Sharpie.  The parents can paint over it all they want, once the paint starts to chip away that scribble is still there.

“It took years for any of his victims to be found, and a lot of them had to be taken to the Medico-Legal lab.  They were embalmed, but even that doesn’t keep a body preserved forever.  The FBI agents we were working with sent a file to the BAU, just looking for a profile to work with, and…I was supposed to stay in the lab, but I couldn’t let it go.  I kept digging, and…Grant lived down the hall from me, and he fit the profile a bit too well for me to just ignore.  I was young, and stupid, and I looked into it myself.  I thought his interest in me was because he found out I was part of the team working on the case.  Needless to say I was very, very wrong”  You sighed, not comfortable with sitting down, hands tucked into your back pockets as you walked over to the board.  

For the kidnapping and assault charges, you’d felt like a whiny little ass seeing as he’d killed over a dozen women, the forensics team needed to take photos of your injuries.  The ligature marks around your wrists, stun gun burns behind your ear, your black eye, the cut on your head, the bruises around your neck and entire right side.  You hated that, seeing pictures of you pinned up there with the other victims, looking like a victim.  God, but you couldn’t look away from them either.

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything?  You should have at least told me.”  Derek turned on a dime and shot the accusation to you.  It was out of concern, you knew that.  He didn’t like not knowing, but you had about a billion reasons for not telling him.  His reaction at that moment was a pretty good reason.  He’d yell and scream whenever you left your ivory tower guarded by fifteen dragons and a whole damn army, and that was no way to live your life.  You didn’t want to be the victim for the rest of your life.  You were taking what you went through and using it to help people.

“Back off, Mogan.  It’s her business, I didn’t even tell her I knew until a few months ago.”  Reid cut in.

“Yeah - I noticed you knew about it.”

“Guys, I don’t really know what’s going on, but I don’t think it’s a good time for it.”  Prentiss cut in before things could get worse than they already were.  The entire time you were still standing there at the board, staring at it.

You pivoted, taking off unexpectedly, leaving the room and making your way down the stairs, and to the elevators.  The others followed only a few seconds later.  You knew they would, you just hoped you’d already be in the car by the time they realized you left.

“You’re gonna go talk to him?”  Garcia was concerned, mostly because you’d just taken off like that.  Normally you at least gave the team a warning or a heads-up before you did something like this.  You hadn’t been doing…great recently.  Everyone had their down seasons, when everything seemed to go wrong all at once, but when it happened to you it just…it was a new level of bad.

“It’s our only lead on his partner, I’ll take Hotch.”  You answered simply, not taking ‘no’ for an answer.  “Ideally, I’d take Reid, but as glad as I am you’ve made enough progress to trade the crutches for a cane, hobbling through a prison designed like something straight out of a comic book and filled with the country’s most dangerous people isn’t exactly a good idea.”

“We’ll let you know what room we’re in when we get there.”  Hotch suggested a plan.  Arguing with you was going to get nowhere, and you were right.  The best chance at learning anything about Grant’s partner was by letting him talk to you, and you were going no matter what anyone said.

“Penelope, see if you can hack into the interrogation room surveillance systems.”

“You got it boss.”

********

You and Hotch checked your guns, and from there you were led down to an interrogation room by one of the guards.  You walked through halls deeper and deeper into the prison, downstairs, down a concrete hall, and through a series of security checks and heavy metal doors.  Only then did you reach the maximum security hall that made the rest of the prison look like a summer camp.  Every cell had one prisoner, instead of bars the front was made up of heavy reinforced metal and bulletproof glass.  Some of the men were pounding on the glass, raving and violent.  Others just silently watched.  One man just threw himself against the glass - he’d ripped apart 14 women with nothing more than a pocket knife.

You kept your head up and your eyes forward, reaching the end of the hall and passing through more checks before heading inside.

You were face-to-face with Hunter Grant for the first time since the trial.  You didn’t shake.  You didn’t scream.  You didn’t cry.  You just fought off an urge you’d never had before.

You wanted nothing more than to get your gun, put the barrel in Grant’s mouth, and pull the damn trigger.

“I missed that scent,” Grant inhaled deeply, sitting back in his seat, legs crossed with his hands in his lap, his hair a bit longer than when he was interviewed and his skin a touch paler.  “Your fear will always be the sweetest, [F/N].”

“Who’s your friend, Grant?”  You yanked out the chair across from him and sat down, legs crossed and arms.  To his credit, Hotch knew when to shut up and let someone else handle things.  On the other hand, it had more to do with his last experience speaking with Grant.  He wasn’t scared of the man - far from it.  It was more about knowing he couldn’t keep up with the constant mental chess game.  He was supposed to lead the custodial interview, it took three questions before he decided it was best to step back and let Reid handle it.  A psychological strategy game with a genius was something Reid was far more qualified to take on, and he did well.  Not that Hotch doubted Reid, he’d handled Chester Hardwick well enough, but Hunter Grant was an entirely different kind of monster.

“A boring brute with little imagination.  I see you brought Agent Hotchner with you.  Fitting, I suppose, but a shame.”  Grant eyed Hotch briefly, where he stood a few steps behind you, bored before looking back at you.  “I always prefer speaking with other doctors - even if they do have PhD’s.”

“You’re not a doctor of any kind.”

“I did go to Harvard medical school.”

“You got thrown out for throat fucking a corpse.  Who’s your partner?”

“[F/N], you used to be much sweeter than this.  Now, you’re just trying to hurt me.”

“Right, and you kidnapped me, hit me, and made me feel like my only escape was dropping the whole basement on us because you…”  For a brief moment you shifted your eyes upwards in feigned thought, “Are the only sociopath capable of love?  As an actual professional on the subject, I doubt that.  I’m here for one reason, if you’re not going to cooperate I’m leaving.”

“He’s hardly a partner, not even a friend.  He was talking to that redhead fellow across from my cell - Karl?  Kevin?  Doesn’t matter, all his problems stem from low self-esteem and daddy issues, didn’t take long to prove he was useless.”  Grant shifted in his seat, draping one arm over the back of his chair.  “It’s all about guns and knives and crowbars with my acquaintance - oh, and you can’t forget his asinine nickname.  Clever and intimidating to most, appreciates the value of control over others, but can’t even begin to figure out how to control himself unless it’s part of his little game.  He has no real imagination.  Nothing impressive anyway.  He knew how to contact me, but I had to give him rather detailed directions.”

“Where to find or how to make the chemicals, make embalming fluid, insert the IV, the stun gun, yes - we figured that much.  We also figured you weren’t close when the M.E. reported your colleague wasn’t so hard-up he had to settle for fucking dead women.  Now is the time you skip to the point.”

“You have learned how to really grate on my nerves.  The Dr. Reid teach you that?”  He just about sneered when he said Reid’s name, called him ‘the’ like he wasn’t even a person.  Just an obstacle.  Reid must have really gotten on Grant’s nerves.

“No, I’m proud to say being a stubborn, ornery little bitch is something I learned all on my own.  Now, you can tell us about your little friend, or we’re leaving.”

“Fine, fine, I suppose it would be unfair of me not to tell you about him.  I never intended this game to go on for long, anyway, the idiot is only getting in my way.”  Grant used his hand to comb his hair back, casually.  Like he was just playing a game or having a casual conversation.  “He originally contacted me with medical questions, he wanted help getting prescriptions or over-the-counter alternatives.  He went through all that trouble reaching me hear, I gave him the information.”

“On the condition that he’d follow your detailed instructions.”

“Well, it was a way to pass the time, I figured he’d enjoy himself.  He really should have done more research before stabbing himself nine times.  You’re lucky he shared his plans with me.”  Grant turned his attention to Hotch, who stepped forward.  “If I hadn’t given him those instructions, you’d be taking the same pile of pills he does every morning.  Only an idiot would let you back into the field, then.”

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Only Hunter Grant would be able to turn George Foyet into a goddamn pawn.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Calculated Risks

Grant had given you the list of medications Foyet was using and where he’d gotten the chemicals needed to make the embalming fluid as well as the supplies necessary.  Foyet obviously wasn’t using his own name, however, and Grant was smart enough not to ask what Foyet’s alias was.  He’d even given Foyet a list of symptoms and other medical issues he could claim in order to get the same medications - he hadn’t finished medical school, but he’d been close, and continued his research afterwards.  He’d even stolen a young doctor’s identity to work as an intern at a teaching hospital before he had to cut ties.

He wasn’t a doctor, but he wasn’t an idiot either.

He got caught because you knocked out the support beams in the basement of the rickety old house he brought you to and dropped it on top of the two of you.  If you hadn’t gotten lucky and found that nail in one of the wooden beams, you wouldn’t have been able to pull your restraints loose enough to wiggle out of them.  You got lucky that you survived the whole event.  It wasn’t until after, when the adrenaline faded, that you realized it hadn’t been some fucked up nightmare.

From there, the entire focus of the office shifted.  Grant was forgotten - he was still in prison.  Foyet was still out there, and there was a lead.  You all worked in a rush, from getting a list of people in the area taking the combination of prescriptions Foyet needed, to figuring out which one of those names was Foyet’s alias by figuring out which one was an anagram for The Reaper - that second task was something Reid did all on his own.  From there the team tracked down his apartment with a SWAT team, broke in to find out he knew where the US Marshall looking after Haley and Jack was, tracking down the Marshall at the safe house where Foyet attacked him, discovering Foyet had his phone, and found Haley and Jack.

Hotch had gone after Foyet alone.  Back to the home he shared with Haley and Jack before the divorce.  You’d all listened to the phone call when Foyet called Hotch.  You’d all heard the gunshot.  He’d been searching for Jack when Hotch got there, and dead when you’d caught up.

It was an unmitigated disaster, you weren’t going to argue that.  The team had been benched until an official investigation could be done, including each one of you being questioned by the Section Chief - Strauss.  You weren’t allowed to talk about the interrogations, because that’s what they were, but based on the way Emily stormed out of the conference room floors above the BAU it wasn’t hard to guess what Strauss was up to.  You weren’t there, but you’d heard the story from Derek.  Strauss had tried to use Prentiss as a spy to get information that would kick Hotch out of the BAU, and she would have done the same to Gideon if he hadn’t left.  Prentiss then resigned to avoid that outcome.

It was a pretty big ‘fuck you,’ to Strauss, and ever since then your friend clenched her jaw whenever the Section Chief was even mentioned.

You never doubted Prentiss’ opinion of the Section Chief, but you understood it as you met with the woman.  She tried to imply that Hotch was eager to question Grant himself - which you’d quickly shot down because nobody knew Grant had anything to do with Foyet.  If anything, you were the one eager to question Grant in person.  Then, she continued to imply that Hotch was responsible.  You just…you can only deal with so much bullshit before sass just falls out of your mouth uncontrollably.

“Are you delusional, or just so morally bankrupt to actually believe Hotch is the reason the mother of his son is dead?  Are you just mad he managed to thwart your attempts at ripping the BAU apart with the nothing but common decency and knowing how to do his job?”  You weren’t entirely sure how long you’d sat there, unblinking with your mouth slightly agape, after Strauss started asking questions that implied Hotch forced the rest of you to go off on his own.  After your outburst she shut off the recorder, and you immediately reached across to turn it back on.  “No - I want this on the record.  You went out of your way to force him out of the BAU, you tried to use SSA Emily Prentiss as your spy to do it, and now you’re trying to blame him for the actions of a sociopath that got obsessed with him when he refused to stop doing his job.”

“Dr. Castillo - “

“Hotch is a victim, and maybe he wouldn’t be if we thought we could count on you to help us for just a second.  Instead, three girls died, a US Marshall got tortured, Hotch lost the woman he’s been in love with since high school, Jack lost his mother, and you’re trying to victim blame.”

“I’m trying to keep something like this from happening again.”

“If you find the answer to that, you’ll get a Nobel Prize.  That’s why the BAU exists in the first place.  We can’t stop this from happening, but we can at least catch the people responsible.”

********

The funeral was beautiful - sad, but beautiful.

A few of Jack’s friends were there, and when he wasn’t with them he was bouncing between Hotch, Haley’s sister, and he was sitting on your lap when another case rolled in.  Hotch didn’t have to go for obvious reasons, but the rest of you did.  Hotch stayed on the team, returned to his position as Unit Chief despite Strauss’ promise he could pick practically any position in the FBI.  Derek was glad to give up the position, the daily requirement to wear a suit instead of t-shirts every day, and he even got to keep the office that Garcia got for him after he refused to take Hotch’s office.

The entire team had also looked over all the case files on Grant, the custodial interview, and even the court case.  A little birdie, which took the form of a grumpy Italian that had completely given up on keeping his distance from the team, told you Reid had insisted they take any questions they had to him and not you.  That made you smile.  

You really didn’t like talking about it, most people try to avoid talking about traumatizing experiences, and if he didn’t know the answer it would still deter the others from probing you about it too much.  Prentiss and JJ were content to wait, and seeing as Garcia volunteered as a counselor to grieving families and victims of crime she knew pushing you to talk about it further than you were comfortable would only end poorly considering you’d moved on until the entire thing was shoved right back into your face.  Derek was a bit more antsy, but willing to wait - or at least try to wait - after learning the details of the case.

It was on the flight back from a case that you first had a chance to talk to Reid again.  You still had to stay awake for a few hours after getting a concussion from a nasty car crash - a violent egotistical ex-con had blackmailed a former undercover cop into helping him, and as you and the local detective drove the ex-con to lockup the cop slammed a large truck into the unmarked cruiser.  Everyone else was fast asleep, but Reid had made some coffee and volunteered to poke you with his cane if you started to doze off.  He wasn’t going to need it much longer, you guessed about a week at most.  He might as well get some fun out of it while he still had the chance.

“Uh…I wanted to apologize for how the others found out about Grant - I wanted to keep things as quiet as I could until you could explain, but then Garcia found the video from the custodial interview and - “

“No, no, I know - I mean I figured you didn’t - it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.  I know you,” Reid kept himself from adding something like ‘despite the last few months,’ and kept going, “I know you’re going to keep obsessing over the fact he was in touch with Foyet.”

“He wasn’t just in touch with Foyet, he used Hotch’s nightmare like some kind of pawn in his own games.  He was already evolving into something else years ago, I’m starting to think putting him in prison has only sped up the process.”

“That’s a risk with every criminal, and they’re watching him more closely now.  He’s not even allowed outside anymore.”  Reid had checked up on Grant after Foyet was dealt with.  He hadn’t gone to the prison in person, but he did make sure they were dealing with the fact he’d been in-touch with another sociopathic serial killer that went on to mimic his crimes.

“You checked up on him?”  You weren’t surprised that somebody had - besides you.  You were just…glad Reid had done it too.  Made you feel like the bridges between you would be repaired - eventually.  It just…it didn’t help that sinking feeling in your gut.  You looked out the window, not wanting to share the thought that crossed your mind.  It wasn’t that you wanted to be dead, you wanted to live, but…

“No - don’t think like that.”

“You don’t even know what I was thinking.”

“If that house killed him, it most likely would have killed you too.”  Okay…maybe he did know what you’d been thinking.  “We wouldn’t have you here, with us.  You couldn’t have been there for all the people you’ve helped so far, Morgan would have lost a little sister, the rest of us wouldn’t have even met you, I - “

No, no, not the time or place for that.  Even if it was, it wasn’t a good idea to bring it up at all.  He knew that already.  He didn’t stand a shot in hell at actually being…you’d both been mentally and emotionally drained when you slept together.  You’d both needed someone to connect to, and talking just wasn’t enough.  It was impulsive and desperate - that’s it.  It wasn’t like…it just wasn’t, and telling you what it meant to him - what you meant to him - was a truly stupid idea.

Chances were, things would become irreparable between the two of you, and he’d lose both his best friend and the woman he’d fallen in love with over two years ago.

Still, you were waiting for him to finish the sentence, so he had to say something.

“I wouldn’t have my best friend.”

“I thought we agreed best friends don’t sleep together.”  You smiled a little, hiding behind the fact you were tired and hadn’t slept.  Everyone else was asleep, and you’d taken a seat at the other end of the jet to make sure you wouldn’t keep anyone up.  After promising the others he’d make sure you didn’t fall asleep until it was safe, Reid sat down with you, giving up the couch to Derek.

“No, you decided.  I just figured the middle of LAPD wasn’t the place to have that talk.”

“There’s a talk?”

“It was more like a…speech I guess?  I just…after everything I guess I figured all that really mattered was you know that whatever Grant does isn’t your fault, and we need you.  I…need you…”  He panicked, afraid that he was implying…something else.  “As a friend - I’ve done a lot of - uh - reckless shit without you around.”

“Okay, first, what you mean is you’ve done a lot of stupid shit when I wasn’t around.  Second, you’ve done a lot of dumb shit when I was right there, I don’t think I want to know what you got up to before I joined the team.”

“Right, cause you’ve never done anything stupid.”

“It wasn’t stupid, it was a calculated risk.”

“Oh, really?  Which time?”

“Every time.”

“Before or after you had to explain yourself?”

“That’s hardly important.”

“It kind of is.  One way it’s a calculated decision, the other way it’s a clever excuse.”

“You know what?  Fuck you, Dr. Reid.”

“You’ve already done that, Dr. Castillo.”  There was a silence as you watched, waiting for the literal genius to comprehend what he’d just said, and when he did you couldn’t help but laugh.  

Things weren’t back to normal, and you’d have to stitch your heart back together first, but it was far from over.

There was still hope.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

The Same Game Over And Over Again

His knee still ached if he was on it for too long, and he wasn’t about to go running after an unsub any time soon, but that wasn’t exactly his thing anyway.  Reid was glad to be done with the crutches and able to tuck the cane into the closet.  It was surprising just how complicated life got when he didn’t have both hands free to just carry stuff.  He was pretty much screwed if he had to go up more than one flight of stairs.

He had a day off, which was unusual.  Not foreign, but odd.  It was a nice day, so he’d grabbed a stack of books and made his way through the park he used to visit frequently.  When he first moved to the area, he’d spend practically all of his free time there, as it had a fairly large and diverse community of chess players and it was his primary form of socialization during - and a bit after - his time at the FBI academy.  He found a bench backed up against a short brick wall, and on top of it sat an adolescent boy Reid recognized, playing a game of chess against himself.  He was focused, practicing, but still looked up with a short greeting before making a move, tapping one timer on the chess clock as he spun the board around before hitting the other timer and making a move with a white piece.  So, Spencer took a seat, kept the books stacked on his lap, and started reading the first.

“I see checkmate in five, what do you see?”  He was confident, proud of himself, as he should have been.  He was good.

Spencer looked up from his and examined the board, “I see it in three.”

The kid just stared at Spencer for a second and then looked down at the board with a quiet huff, before a competitive nature kicked into overdrive and he was back at it.  Sure enough, in three quick turns, he knocked over the black king.  “We’ve missed you out here.”

He was mostly referring to the other younger chess players.  There was a fairly sizable age gap between the members of the chess club at the local middle and high schools and most of the other players, the youngest of which was Rossi’s age.  Anyone in-between were relatives looking after either the younger or older players.  To top things off, most of the older players picked up chess later in life, and didn’t bother with speed rounds.  As far as he knew, Spencer was the only adult there teenage players could actually relate to, and probably have a conversation with that didn’t involve a trip down memory lane to a time before Spencer was born.

“Thank you - thanks.”  He didn’t look up from reading this time, turning the page.  “I had to take a little break.”

“How come?”

“I used to play with a co-worker friend of mine, probably the best mind I ever went up against.  One day he just decided he didn’t want to play anymore.”  Spencer looked up this time.  Much like when his father left, with it got easier talking about Gideon leaving, though he wasn’t angry this time.  At least, not as much, and not for nearly as long.  Probably because it was easier for Spencer to understand.  He wasn’t ready to leave the BAU himself, he’d been there since he was 21 and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to leave, but he got it.  Even with all the different types of unsubs, crimes, and horror - it was all just the same game, and it always seemed to end the same way.

“So you just gave up too?”  He was still young, in middle school.  Old enough for a rebellious stage, young enough that the world still seemed so simple.  It had taken all of college to realize and come to terms with the fact he’d never really had a stage like that - never had the chance to have a stage like that.

“Just the opposite - I attempted to play every permutation of moves on a chess board.”

“That’s an infinite number of games.”

“It’s not, it’s just exponentially large.”

“You couldn’t have played through them all.”

“There’s an average of 40 moves per chess game, and I’ll tell you something,” at this point Spencer had left his book open on top of the stack, and turned to lean with his arm on the brick wall, giving what was basically a life-lesson to a kid that was too young to make anything of it, “The more I played, the more I realized that every single match - every single chess game - it’s really a simple variation on the exact same theme.  You know, it’s aggressive opening, patient mid-game, leading to an inevitable checkmate, and I realized why my friend quit.  He was tired of repeating the exact same patterns and expecting a different outcome.”

“So, you have a lifetime of chess strategy in your head, and you’re just sitting on it.”  

“I still use it, I just apply it differently.”  Spencer had to dig his phone out of his pocket, and wasn’t surprised when he saw the message from JJ.  “I have to go.  It was good seeing you.”

********

“Rita Stewart, 25, second victim in Atlantic city.”  JJ started off when everyone was gathered, bringing up photos of Rita at the merry-go-round where she’d been left - her red hair and makeup done, and she was dressed up like a doll.

“Pretty public spot for a dump site,” Rossi observed.

“You know, technically I think it would qualify more as a disposal site.  You don’t leave a body on a merry-go-round out of convenience,” Reid briefly corrected as he picked up a printed copy of one of the photos.

“Took some time with her appearance, didn’t he?”  Prentiss brought up the difference between the before picture of Rita Stewart and the picture of her at the disposal site.

“Yeah, her nails were polished, her hair was cut, clothes were brand new.”  JJ gave you the full rundown about what was done to her appearance between the kidnapping and disposal.

“Wants her to look her best when found - that’s a lot of remorse.”

“Or the unsub could be trying to turn them into something specific.”  You quickly reminded Morgan that remorse wasn’t the only reason the unsub would be dressing up the victims.

“Who’s victim number one?”  Hotch cut in to keep things moving.

“Stacia Jackson, 29,” JJ grabbed the remote from the table and flipped through to the next set of pictures, an African American woman slumped over in a swing - her hair, makeup, and clothes also making her look like a doll.  “She was found at a local playground.”

“Quite a change in victimology.”  Rossi had a point, most unsubs tended to stick to a specific type, down to details like hair color or bone structure, but this one killed two women of different races.

“What’s the connection between these women?”

“There is none.  Rita was married, Stacia was single, Rita worked at a diner, Stacia was a corporate lawyer.  According to their credit cards they were never within ten miles of each other.”

“And yet they ended up kidnapped by the same unsub two months ago.”  You stopped chewing on your bright pink pen, pointing out that the unsub had still somehow managed to bring these women together more than the obvious connection they shared.

“Yeah, they led such completely different lives the police didn’t tie their abduction together until now.”

“Was there any evidence of sexual assault?”  Reid didn’t look up from his copy of the file.  Remorse wasn’t the only reason an unsub would dress up his victims, and if he was looking for something specific it was likely in search of sexual gratification.

“There was no evidence of violence at all.”  JJ stressed the point that made this case very different from most cases the team worked on.

“Then how did they die?”  Prentiss’ attention shot up from the police reports and missing persons reports in the file.

“Rita had a stroke, Stacia had a brain hemorrhage.”

“There’s a lot of neural inhibitors, but no phenobarbital,” you read off of the medical examiner’s reports, that was generally where you started your review of the files, giving the short explanation to most of the team, “They were paralyzed but conscious.  They saw, heard, felt everything that happened to them.”

“Physical immobility with full awareness, this unsub wants total domination over them,” Rossi concluded, sitting back in his seat as the reality of the unsub’s M.O. still hung in the air.

“And he’s turning their bodies into prisons to do it.  Wheel’s up in 30.”

********

“Keeping women in a conscious paralysis reads as as sadism,” Rossi started when Hotch called everyone together after takeoff.

“Definitely dehumanizes them - reducing them to objects,” Morgan agreed.

“But there’s nothing else that takes us down that path.”  Rossi hadn’t liked that conclusion, sadist just didn’t fit this unsub.

“These women were found in excellent condition.  There’s no evidence of bed sores, they were well-fed through an IV,” JJ gave everyone else the short rundown of how the victims were treated - with the exception of the kidnapping, drugging, and eventual death.

“He has access to IV’s and rugs, he almost certainly has medical training.”  Reid took a shot and started the profile somewhere.

“Is it just me, or is this reading more like a female unsub than a male?”  You let the file fall from your hands and onto the table.  When you got on the jet your stored your go-bag and took the seat at the table next to Reid, even though the seat next to Rossi was open.  That was good - progress.  At least he thought it was.  Things had started getting a bit easier over the last few weeks.  You’d transitioned from making jokes about how awkward things were to ease the tension, to joking about what actually happened.  It meant you might actually be able to talk about it - not that he had any intention of having that conversation.

On the other hand, when Prentiss and JJ shot each other a look they weren’t nearly as subtle as they thought they were.  Rossi hadn’t even tried to be subtle when he shot a look at the genius as you took your seat.  For a fraction of a second, Dr. Spencer Reid actually believed in miracles - and by extension some sort of celestial being, a god - when Morgan didn’t have any reaction.  If Reid hadn’t known better, he’d have expected Hotch to react.  Honestly, for fuck’s sake, they couldn’t bother you about this?  It had to be him?  He wasn’t good at handling things like this when things weren’t so…complicated.

“The care the unsub shows these victims - even though they are dehumanized - it profiles as female.”  Prentiss had been thinking the same thing on her way to the airstrip.

“But the postmortem posing, that’s a lot of dead weight to carry.”  Hotch wasn’t arguing as much as he was looking for an explanation.

“These women are petite - they’re under 100 pounds.”  JJ suggested a solution.

“Alright - if we reconsider the gender of the profile, what changes?”  That was enough for Hotch to start nudging everyone to throw together a profile with a female unsub.

“Nothing,” Morgan shrugged, “If anything, it fits better.”

“Men kill to fulfill a sexual compulsion, women don’t.”  It did explain the nagging questions Rossi had when he was trying to pin down one part of the profile that wasn’t immediately contradicted by another part of the M.O.

“You see this in Angel of Mercy killers, like Janine Jones and Amy Archer - they didn’t care about race or hair color.  It’s men that do.”  Reid brought up another bit of supporting evidence that explained why victimology was so much harder to pin down in this case.

“Damn right, men do.”

“Well hello red, look at you.”  Morgan smiled, commenting on Garcia’s newly died hair when she opened a chat on the laptop in front of him, moving it back against the wall so everyone else could join the conversation, “Guys.”

You, JJ, and Prentiss only had about a second to react before Hotch made sure everyone stayed focused on the case.

“Garcia, what did you find out about the clothing the unsub’s dressing the victim’s in?”

“At first, only that both garments are made from chiffon, but with the wonder-twin powers of the Atlantic City police and my impeccable eye for fashion, we have also determined that these garments fit ridiculously well.  They’re super flattering to each victim’s exact measurements, kind of exactly like the unsub whipped them up herself.”

“Maybe that’s what connects the victims,” Prentiss proposed a potential victimology.

“How so?”

“Maybe she isn’t just killing petite women because they’re easier to abduct and pose, but because of a physical type - she wants a body type.”

“Sewing clothes for a specific type of woman.”

“Please tell me she is not killing these women because she needs human models,” JJ jumped in, “I mean - there’s got to be more to it than that.”

“There probably is,” Rossi reassured her of that, at least, “But, at least we have a start on the victimology.”

“Prentiss and Morgan, I want you to interview the victim’s families.  Talk to them about lifestyle choices, any body image issues these women may have had.  Castillo and Reid, go to Rita Stewart’s autopsy, see if the drugs used point to any specific medical training the unsub might have had.  Dave and I will go to the disposal sites - and Garcia.”

“Yes sir.”

“I want you to check missing person’s reports for the last two months, see if any abductions match what we know.  We need to find out if the unsub’s already taken another victim.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Tracing The Collection

There was no lead on exactly where the unsub was getting the drugs she used to keep her victims paralyzed, or exactly what sector of the medical field she worked in.  What the two of you did learn was the extent of her fantasy and exactly how the victims died.  Over time, as they were paralyzed, they underwent a soft of psychic shock.  The short version was as they were trapped in their bodies, their minds started to fall apart and eventually just couldn’t take the stress - hence the stroke and brain hemorrhage.  Hair extensions had also been sewed into their hair while the victims were still alive, covering up the hair loss caused by bedridden for an extensive period of time.

“Now, we know this unsub is stuck in a rich fantasy - right?  An incredibly detailed delusion, we don’t know what the delusion is but we know it involves remaking these women and it begins the moment she has them drugged.”  Reid started giving the rundown of his hypothesis to Rossi and Hotch when the two of you got back to the precinct, Prentiss and Morgan still out following the clothing lead.

“So, she has them paralyzed and she can do whatever she wants, why is she killing them?”  Hotch brought up the big question.  Up until you and Reid got back from the morgue, it was assumed the transformation began after the victims had died.

“I don’t think she means to.”  Reid explained further, the three of you at the table in the conference room set aside for the team while he stood at the cork board.  “The brain is a machine designed to respond to stimuli.  If you keep the brain awake but the body immobile it breaks down, it loses its hair, after two months it eventually strokes out.”

“So death isn’t this unsub’s goal, it’s an unfortunate side effect.”  Rossi concluded as Prentiss and Morgan returned from their little field-trip to tailors around town.

“Exactly.”

“What’d you find out?”  Hotch kept things moving, Prentiss and Morgan could get caught up while the rest of you started on finishing the profile.

“Both Rita Stewart and Stacia Jackson were clothes hounds, but because they were petite women they had a lot of their stuff altered,” Morgan confirmed a connection beyond their body type.

“That might be how our unsub finds her victims, getting their measurements would be a lot easier than camping outside tailor’s shops until the right woman comes around,” you turned back to face Hotch as you made the suggestion, waiting for him to make the next call.

“We already exhausted tailors and alteration shops, there’s no overlap,” Morgan doubted the unsub was getting client information from multiple sources.  It was possible, but this was likely a very disturbed unsub, someone who was organized enough to do this, but not likely someone who could talk her way into the client list of multiple shops.

“The tailors might send specialty items out to third parties.  Dig deeper into employment records, see who they might be subcontracting to.”

“Garcia needs to talk to us.”  JJ’s somber tone and the way she leaned against the doorway was foreboding to say the least.

“Go ahead Garcia,” Hotch used the conference phone to patch the technical analyst into the conversation.

“Hello my pretties, I have finished my missing persons sweep.  I’ve got nothing on the medical vehicle, but two matches on the clothes make the woman front.”  While Hotch and Rossi were looking over the disposal sites they reasoned the unsub used a wheelchair to transport the victims, and to do that easily they’d need a wheelchair accessible vehicle with a handicap permit.  “Cindy Admenson, she was abducted outside a thrift store, and Maxine Wynan was last seen at the Hillridge Mall.”

“Sounds like our girl.”

“Any surveillance footage at the mall?”  Rossi was hoping for at least an image of the vehicle.

“No, it was an outside parking lot so - sorry.”

“The new abductees, what’s their physical type?”  Hotch wanted to make sure the two new victims fit the victimology before adding them to the list.

“They look pretty tiny to me, I’m gonna send you pictures - also, if it pleases the court, I would like to direct your attention to Exhibit A, the calendar math.”

“What about it?”  JJ asked.

“Both of these new victims were abducted one week ago, exactly one day before the bodies of Rita Stewart and Stacia Jackson - respectively - turned up.”

“She can’t let go of a victim until she has a replacement,” you concluded, the pieces of the profile coming together.

********

Most everyone was already busy when the call came in, especially with the two new victims, so Prentiss and Reid were sent to the scene.

Mary Newsom was abducted two months earlier and left on a bench at the aquarium, down a few flights of stairs that had Reid regretting leaving his cane back in Virginia and a slightly more pronounced limp when they finally reached the bottom of the stairs.  Going back up was going to hurt - literally.  As Reid and Prentiss looked over the scene with the detective, the genius was multitasking and trying to figure out a way to keep you from finding out - or at least keeping you from fussing.  You fussed because you worried, and he didn’t want to worry you.  Things were bad enough.  Mary’s disposal meant another victim had just been kidnapped, and to make matters more gruesome the unsub had sewed a wig directly into Mary’s scalp - a technique used to attach hair to porcelain dolls.

She had been paralyzed, but she still would have been able to feel it.

Mary’s disposal had led to enough evidence that you, Hotch, and Morgan were able to figure out a pattern in the victimology, and Reid was able to figure out the unsub’s profile - a collector.  The unsub was attached to specific objects to the point of being obsessed, and she was antisocial and extremely introverted.  She attached a part of herself to her collection and seperating her from it would end in violence, partially due to the fact she’d suffered damage to her prefrontal cortex and thus couldn’t separate fantasy from reality.  

She could still function, hold a job, pay taxes, and excelled at goal-oriented jobs, yet she had no ability to differentiate between living and dead or belonging and loss.  The women she kidnapped were to replicate a set of dolls made up of one African American, one blonde, and one redhead.  Losing them within the last three months was what served as her stressor, and when she couldn’t find a replacement in the form of actual dolls she settled for human women, and keeping them paralyzed but alive kept the fantasy alive.  Her goal wasn’t violence, it was to feel complete and in control of her life - likely a need caused by a trauma.  She worked alone, she had medical training and wouldn’t be able to fake a proper bedside manner so there would likely be complaints, and she found her victims by working as a contracted tailor.

The team was splitting up and hitting shops the victims frequented, which led you and JJ to the expert you needed.  Granted, the seamstresses’ boss was an egotistical jackass, but the woman stepped in and snatched the dress you and JJ had brought and looked at the sewing pattern.  It was a lockstitch pattern used silk handkerchiefs, and it was done by hand.  The seamstress even admitted she herself couldn’t have done it with a sewing machine - the unsub had to have been sewing for a long time.  Unsub or not, she was an artist.

Of course, when things were looking up they also got worse.  Bethany Wallace’s husband arrived at the precinct in a panic - understandable considering the situation.  However, there was also a piece of information none of you had prepared for.  Bethany was a diabetic, and needed to be found within the next 24 hours.  According to a local doctor it was most likely Bethany seized only minutes after she was medicated.  However, there was also a chance her body would break down the drugs faster, meaning she could regain motor function - even if it was limited.

“Look, collectors are good, honest people.  Just because you enjoy dolls doesn’t make you a freak or a pedophile.”  The shop owner kept insisting the same thing, repeating it over and over ever since Morgan and Reid got to the shop.

“We appreciate that, sir, but the woman we’re looking for has lost her ability to control her obsession.”  Morgan had, in response to the shop owner, been repeating the same thing over and over again to convince the balding middle-aged man to help.  After the second time the two started rewording the same arguments Reid began wondering around the shop to see if anything might strike some sort of resemblance to what they were looking for, perhaps share some sort of feature with the victims.

There was only 24 hours - at most - until another woman ended up dead.

“She’s killed three women trying to recreate a type of doll she had as a child.”  Reid cut in, stepping around a glass display case to rejoin the conversation.  It was looking like the same pattern, the same chess game, all over again.  They show up to see a handful of people are already dead, they start working and more people end up dead or kidnapped creating even more of a frenzy, and with the collector’s profile it was likely it was going to end with the unsub dying after a violent reaction to having her collection taken away.  All because she experienced both emotional and physical trauma to her brain - most likely when she was a child.

Dr. Spencer Reid was nothing if not a patient man.  He had to be patient in his youth, when impatience was to be expected.  On the other hand, he was still human, and sometimes the ‘different day, same shit’ type of pattern he experienced with every case was just exhausting.

“Describe the line to me.”

“There’s a pattern to the victims - they’re in their 20’s and they’re petite.”

“Most doll lines revolve around infants…is she dressing them like babies?”

“No, she’s not.  The wardrobe consists of chiffon dresses.  One-by-one a blonde woman, a redhead, and a black woman,” Morgan answered as Reid turned his head to look around a bit more.

“The dresses - is she sewing them herself?”  The shopkeeper got the answer he needed by the way Morgan and Reid furrowed their brows and shot each other a look.

“How do you know that?”  Morgan asked as he and Reid turned, keeping an eye on the shopkeeper as he stepped around the counter and pulled out one of the drawers.

“It’s the Valois.  Local company, back in the late 80’s…” he kept digging through things until he found the printed booklet he was looking for.

“Probably when the unsub was prepubescent,” Reid quickly shared with Morgan as the shopkeeper finally pulled out the booklet, giving it a look to make sure before handing it over to Morgan and giving the two profilers a rundown of the doll-line’s history.

“They promoted feminism and multi-culturalism.  Strong, independent girls from different backgrounds who could still be friends.”

Morgan flipped through the pages, landing on a two-page photo of the dolls - one blonde, one African American, and one redhead before moving on.  “Reid - birth certificate to fill out, form to describe their lives, and the kit to sew your own clothes.”

“Castillo said she’s been at it for a while, she’s probably been sewing since she was a little kid.”  Reid looked over at the booklet while Morgan turned to the next page - spotting the contest announcement in the corner.

“Sir, what’s this contest that they held?”

“It was to see who could come up with the most imaginative doll.  Sew a dress, write an essay to describe her, if you won the contest you’d have your doll featured in next year’s line.”

“I’m assuming that didn’t end well, did it?”  Reid was confident he already knew how that ended.  Most of the kids entering the contest would be prepubescent, a lot of kids that age write or draw based on what they know or experienced, and it was common for pedophiles to give their victims gifts - like dolls - particularly if the offender was someone close to the victim.  Like a relative, family friend, or a trusted authority figure.

“No…it did not.”

“It’s a classic tool child psychologists use,” Morgan explained to the shopkeeper why it hadn’t ended well, “Tell me a story with these dolls.”

“When the company got essays with thinly veiled references to physical or sexual abuse they turned the essays and dolls over to the police, publicity killed the line.”

“You said the company was local, right?”  The shopkeeper nodded in response as Reid turned to Morgan to - quietly - share his idea.  “They might still have the clothes in evidence.”

********

JJ always had to keep a handle on the media and deal with whatever slipped out of the precinct, Hotch had to use the meeting room to deal with some general management of the unit, and Rossi…you weren’t completely sure what his excuse was but you were pretty sure he’d played the age card by saying he was too old to be staring at stitches.  He disappeared before the kids essays showed up.  Though, to be fair, it was possible he was on the phone with his agent about another book or something.

You got stuck helping Prentiss look through the dresses since you’d been there when the seamstress spotted the unique pattern.  The both of you were going through one outfit after another, you’d had to do so much squinting you eventually took your contacts out and put your glasses on.  On the other side of the cubicle partition even with Reid’s quick reading it was taking him and Morgan a while to go through the essays.  Reid had taken the seat at the desk, his knee still aching from his long trek down and up a lot of stairs that morning, Morgan eventually sat on the desk after the first hour and a half going through essays.

“How are the essays going?”  JJ checked in on the four of you.

“Makes for some pretty depressing reading,” Morgan looked back down at the essay submission before pointing over towards you and Prentiss, “Prentiss and [F/N] are having a good time.”

“Hey,” Prentiss greeted JJ as she leaned against the top of the partition, you nodded a silent greeting before getting back to work squinting at a purple dress, “These dolls are like little time capsules, only the 80’s fashion wasn’t so kind to them”

“It wasn’t that kind to you either.”  You couldn’t help yourself.  Honestly, it just slipped out as you took a look at a dark green dress before putting it down and moving on to a blue and white one.  You looked up when you heard the snickering, and felt Prentiss glaring at you from her seat on the other side of the desk, and you just shot her an award winning smile.  “Sorry - the glasses come on and the filter goes off.  I normally only wear my glasses in the morgue or at home.”

“I got a list of vendors the victims went to,” JJ was still giggling a little when she cut in to keep Prentiss from strangling you, “Their seamstresses, that sort of thing.”

“Yahtzee!”  You shot up to your feet, and Reid couldn’t help but smile and huff a little laugh at how you seemed to just pop up over the partition with enough energy your hair actually bounced a little, “I found a dress with the pattern we’re looking for, it was submitted by Samantha Malcolm.”

“She’s on my list.”

“Wait a minute guys, I have her essay around here - hold on.”  Morgan started sifting through the pile of essays he’d set aside for likely candidates, grabbing the protective sheet it was tucked into and holding it up to read, “Right here - Sally doesn’t like the room with the lightning.  That can’t be good.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Beware The Fury Of A Patient Man

The stitching alone was enough to look into Samantha Malcolm, but her essay was the real nail in the coffin.  In a clean sweep, Morgan called Garcia to look into Samantha while JJ left to find Rossi and Prentiss left to get Hotch.  You took an extra moment, leaning against the top of the partition, and looked at Reid with narrowed eyes.  You noticed he was sitting, which was odd during a case, but you’d also just been sitting a few moments ago so you let it slide.  Either way, the pain had passed and he was back on his feet as the team gathered to hear what Garcia dug up.

“Okay guys, I just got Samantha Malcolm’s medical records and…”  Garcia needed a moment to take a breath.  “Oh my god, she was doomed.  Like Emily Bronte doomed, like Shakespeare doomed, like red shirted ensign in Star Treck doomed.”

“Garcia, what happened to her?”  Hotch jumped in, gently redirecting Garcia back to actually telling everyone what happened.

“Right - sorry - uh - well, for the first ten years, nothing.  And then she started a battery of electroshock treatments.”

“At ten?  Who subjects a child to ECT?”  Reid questioned, slowly pacing in the small space left in the crowded room.

“That would be her father - Dr. Arthur Malcolm.  He runs an inpatient mental health facility for troubled young people called New Lives.  At first, the essay that Samantha wrote was flagged, then he explained that the therapy was to deal with the recent death of her mother.  After that, he started her on a series of anti-psychotic drugs, which he weaned her off of a few years ago.”

“That would certainly make her familiar with medications,” you sighed, pulling your hands from your back pockets to cross them, lips turned downward and heart bleeding for the young girl tortured into becoming a killer.  Reid was still slowly pacing back and forth behind the group, rubbing at his forehead before brushing his hair back.  Samantha Malcolm was a victim herself, her psychological and emotional state largely caused by the ETC she experienced as a child.  Now, because of her own father, it was looking more and more like she was going to die after being triggered into a violent rage when her victims were taken away, and the man ultimately responsible was going to get away with torturing his own daughter like that.

“Where is she now?”  Prentiss asked.

“Uh - father declared her incompetent, so he’s still the legal guardian, everything is in his name, and all of her records list New Lives as a residence.”

“She couldn’t keep victims in an inpatient facility, she needs privacy.”  Rossi quickly pointed out that Samantha had to be keeping her victims somewhere else.

“Garcia, what about real estate holdings in her father’s name?”  Hotch kept his eyes on Reid as he rounded the corner of the table to stand opposite of the rest of the team.  He’d caught on to Reid’s pacing as you watched the genius yourself, your head turning to keep an eye on him.  Reid was so stuck in his thoughts he didn’t notice, likely just paying enough attention to listen to pay attention to the conversation and make sure he didn’t walk right into something.  This time, his stride had been quicker, and he’d pulled himself out of his thoughts with a new determination.

“Just his own, but New Lives has a bunch of outpatient and halfway houses all over town.”

“JJ, where does she work?”

“I have her placed at three different shops all around town.”

“Alright, let’s split up and cover the shops - and the facility.”

“I want to go to New Lives, whether or not she’s there.  I want to talk to the father.”  Reid wasn’t requesting as much as he was telling the rest of you what he was going to do.  “There are literally hundreds of therapies to help kids through loss, electroshock is not one of them”

There was no arguing with Reid when he got like that, and there was no stopping him either.  If there was, nobody in the room knew what it was.  It was likely nobody in the state knew.  It was also a good call.  An insight into Arthur Malcolm would give further insight into Samantha - and potentially where to find her.  All Hotch could really do was make sure Reid didn’t go off alone.

“Take Rossi.”

As everyone gathered to leave, you were all in a rush.  Reid looked back as he left with Rossi - he couldn’t say he knew why - but part of him…regretted it.  His eyes met yours, and the two of you were frozen in place for a moment.  More than enough time for him to see the concern you weren’t even trying to conceal.

Fuck.

So much for not worrying you.

********

Things started off pretty routine.  Badging their way in to see the doctor in his office, telling him it had to do with his daughter, giving him a very brief update of the case and the unsub.  Rossi did most of the talking, but that’s because Reid’s eyes were darting around the office, taking in every detail he could and analyzing it to death.  Rossi wasn’t going to stop him either.  Once the Doogie Howser jumped in, Rossi was going to take a step back and play support.

“I am very confused, gentlemen.  What does this have to do with Samantha?”

“We need to talk to her, is she here?”

“No, she’s at work.”

“Does she live here, or is she in one of your halfway houses?”

“As a matter of fact, she is in one of my houses.”

“Well, we’ll need the address.”

“And I’ll need to know what this is about.”  Dr. Malcolm was still resistant, and at this point Reid had found something in the room to focus on.  He stepped away to start looking at the toys in the office.  They seemed fairly innocent, toys in a child psychologist’s office were common place - expected.  Upon closer inspection, Reid believed he’d find the evidence he needed.  At least enough of it to confront Dr. Malcolm.

“She might be tied to a series of abductions.”

“That’s not possible - that’s not my daughter.”

“Is Samantha on her own at this house?  There are no other patients, right?”

“She thought that was best, and I agreed.”  Malcolm’s eyes darted to where Reid had bent over to look into a large dollhouse, hands still tucked into his pockets as he perused the room.  The dollhouse was fully furnished, held a complete set of dolls, and there were a few other small toys scattered about inside.

“I bet you’re happy that she’s out of your hair.”  Rossi was trying to get Malcolm’s attention back on him, keeping him off Reid’s back as long as possible.

“I beg your pardon?”  It worked, he got irritated and defensive, turning right back to the older agent and even leaning forward on his desk.  Reid had reached the back corner of the room at that point, looking through some some boxes of board games placed on top of a waist-high set of drawers.  

“Because if you had been visiting her recently, doctor, you would know what she’s been doing.”

“Samantha has always been…troubled.”

“Three women are dead because of her.”

“She’s not capable of that.”

“Are you sure?  The affects of electroshock - especially at that age - are permanent, but maybe you knew that.”  As Rossi kept Malcolm focused on him, Reid’s attention was caught by the shelves behind Dr. Malcolm’s desk.  Only a few of them held shelves, a small award, and the rest were stacked with toys.

“My wife died when Samantha was ten, and she never recovered.  I tried everything.  Child Psychiatry, pet therapy - nothing helped.  She was cutting herself, she was in pain.”  The doctor turned his leather chair to fully face his desk as Reid stepped around it to examine the toys on the shelves.  “That’s the end of this meeting.”

“Where’s your daughter, doctor?”

Reid started by picking up the stuffed toys on the top shelf directly in the center.  A stuffed unicorn, a teddy bear with a pink bow, a stuffed dog, a few dolls.  Things that - traditionally - an adult would buy for a young girl.  He moved one to the side a bit to look at the wooden shelf below and didn’t find a speck of dust.

“And Agent Rossi - if you try to talk to her, a mentally ill woman, without her knowing what she’s doing - “

“Do you know about the women she’s keeping?”

“ - And with no medical or legal counsel present, you’ll have no case.  Do you understand me?  None.”

Reid looked at the toys a few shelves down and to the left.  A chess set, a few different toy tanks - things that adults would traditionally buy for boys.  He picked up a misplaced piece from the chess set, the only dust free spot was where the piece had just been sitting.  The entire shelf was dusty, like nothing on it had been touched for quite some time.

“We’ll keep the police here in case Samantha drops in for a visit.”  Rossi prepared to leave…sort of.  Reid was on to something, the kid just got stuck in his head again.  A few more years and he’d know how to pull himself out of it - Rossi didn’t doubt that one bit.  For now, he just needed a nudge to say something.  He wanted to talk to Dr. Malcolm for a reason and yet Reid hadn’t said a word.  Just observed and watched.  So, he needed a little nudge.  “Let’s go Reid.”

“Hey, really fast question - “ Reid side-stepped away from the shelves and closer to the desk, pointing to the top shelf decorated with stuffed toys and dolls, “Why are these toys here?”

“I use them in my therapy.”  The doctor shifted in his seat, clearly getting uncomfortable.

“No - I understand that, but why are they up on the shelf, away from where any kids can actually reach them?”

“They’re reminders of patients that I’ve helped.”

“Let me ask you something.”  Reid’s voice was barely above a whisper, a cold rage fueling his actions as he pulled the stuffed unicorn off the shelf and put it on the desk, watching the doctor like a hawk.  “What was the name of the girl you helped with this one?”

“Jennie Larson.”

“Hm.”  Reid reached up and grabbed another toy from the top shelf, putting it on the desk.  “And this one?  What’s the name of the girl you helped with this one?”

“Abigail Moore.”

“How about this one?”  Another toy was placed on the desk.

“Linda Kraus.”

“These girls are nine…nine or twelve years old, I’m assuming?”  Reid took another step to the side, forcing himself into the doctor’s peripheral vision, forcing the man to look up at him.

“My PhD is on the effect of trauma on prepubescent girls.  I do not like what you’re implying.”  The psychologist was getting defensive, but weakly.  He couldn’t fight back.

“Oh, I’m not implying anything - I’m making an inference.”  Reid corrected, getting a bit more aggressive as he went on.  “An inference is an educated guess, and based on that I form a hypothesis.  For instance, my hypothesis here is after you raped your daughter, you committed her to electroshock treatment to make her stay quiet.”

Dr. Malcolm turned to look back at Rossi, like he expected the older agent to speak up and stop Reid.  Rossi had no intention of doing anything of the sort.  This was exactly what he’d been waiting for, more or less.  He wasn’t surprised that Samantha Malcolm downhill spiral started with her father sexually assaulting her when she was a child, but he didn’t have any evidence to back that up.  He didn’t know exactly what Reid would find or manage to drag out of the doctor, but he knew the kid would find something.

“This is outrageous.”

“And then, out of guilt, you bought her toys.  More specifically, you bought her a line of dolls, because that’s what serial molesters do.  They give gifts.”  Reid wasn’t going to let this case end like all the others.  He wasn’t going to let this end in the same kind of tragedy that had become so achingly normal.  Not…not this time.  Not when even the unsub was a victim too.  “So then you continued the pattern with your other patients and then once they left your care you added their toys to your collection.”

“I’m sorry, you can’t back up your story - doctor.”

“This - this is why I love my job - doctor.”  Reid was downright smug for a moment, a well deserved moment, as he sat on the corner of the desk and stared down Dr. Malcolm.  “See, my lab is a jury of your peers, and my tests will be Jennie Larson, Linda Kraus, and Abigail Moore.  The DA will put them on the stand, and I’m gonna personally bring these dolls in and we’re gonna watch how they react.”

“Or,” Rossi stepped in, “You tell us where your daughter is and we’ll tell the DA you cooperated, but once we walk out this door, that deal comes off the table.”

Without hesitation, Rossi and Reid turned to leave.  It was just as Reid followed Rossi through the open door when Dr. Malcolm spoke up.  That was expected.  It was hardly a secret pedophiles don’t do well in prison.

“2529 Adams street.”  Dr. Malcolm watched as the agents turned around and stepped back into the room.  “You’ll tell them, right?  That I cooperated.”

“Do you wanna know how I figured you out?”  Reid closed in on Dr. Malcolm, briefly pointing to the toys on the shelf to the side before reaching the desk and leaning forward against it, “Those toys, you didn’t take care of them, these ones you treasured - but you know what, the collection’s not complete.  Where are they?”

The only way to get everyone out alive was to make a trade, so Reid was going to make a trade.

********

When he walked into the house, Reid was careful to be quiet.  Bets were Samantha was there.  It could very well be a dangerous situation, one wrong move could send her into a psychotic break, but Reid was willing to take that chance by entering with nothing but the suitcase of dolls her father had taken from her.  It looked like the three latest victims were still alive as well, but he wouldn’t know for sure for a few moments.

“Samantha?”  He was gentle, careful as he called out to her from the entry way, still startling the woman where she held a pair of sewing scissors and knelt by the latest victim to be kidnapped.  She quickly got to her feet, standing behind her victim and holding the scissors like she was going to stab the woman in the throat.  “My name’s Spencer, I - I’m with the FBI.  I know what your father did to you and I - I want you to know that he can never, ever hurt you again.”

“He never touched me he’s a good father he loves me.”  She rambled after a shaky breath, like it had been beaten into her over, and over, and over again - and with the electroshock therapy it likely had been.

“I know that he forced you to say those things, punished you if you got it wrong.  Took you to the room with the lightning.”  He used Samantha’s own words, not just to make sure she knew what he was talking about, but to make sure she knew that her young cries for help were finally heard.

“Yeah…”  She was breaking down, quiet, shaky.

“The dolls that your father gave you after he hurt you - what happened to them?”

“He kept them in his office with the other toys.”

“That’s where he let you play with them?”  He didn’t step any closer, talking her down until she got to a point he could get her to walk to him.

“When I moved out I - I had to take my friends with me.  I couldn’t leave them behind.”  Those dolls were likely the only companionship she had ever since she was ten.  Between that and the trauma and ETC…Garcia was right.  Samantha Malcolm was doomed from the start.  She did horrible things but…it honestly wasn’t her fault.

“Yeah, of course.  So - so you went to get them.  What…what did you find?”  He had to be careful here.  He was asking Samantha to recall her stressor, and there were a handful of things that could go wrong.  Especially with three hostages involved.  Samantha didn’t answer, her face just fell, growing sadder and more broken.  “He uh, he gave them to another girl, didn’t he?”

She just nodded.  So, he made her an offer, using the same tone he’d used on Jack just a few weeks ago.  When the boy had climbed into your lap with no desire to leave, but with the way he gazed at the table of sweets across the room Reid couldn’t help but offer the young boy the plate of sweets he’d gotten for himself.  Samantha wasn’t function at a much more advanced level, not at that moment at least.  Maybe not ever.

“He said I couldn’t, he said they were gone for good.”

“He lied, he’s been lying to you for a long time - do you wanna see them?”  Reid was quick to make that offer, hoping to catch her before she had a chance to react to the fact her father had been lying to her.

“Can I?”

“Yeah, yeah, do you wanna play with them?”  Reid grabbed the technicolor suitcase he’d carried in, the entire thing very 80’s with bright colors in a wave pattern, putting it forward on the floor so Samantha could open it herself when she reached him.  Inside were all three dolls, their hair still in the styles she’d left them in, wearing the clothes she’d made for them.  There was a childish look of wonder and a tearful joy as she was reunited with them, while one of the victims - the latest one - pulled out her IV and struggled to stand on her own.  Reid turned away from Samantha and spoke into the radio strapped to his wrist.  “Clear, we need medical in here.”

Everyone rushed inside, and the detective pulled out his cuffs to arrest Samantha just before Reid stopped him.

“Hey, Samantha?”  Reid kneeled to speak with the woman on equal ground, the broken woman holding the blonde doll’s forehead to her own as she sobbed, catching her attention.  “You need to go with this policeman, but, your friends can go with you.  Okay?”

“They won’t take - they won’t take them away.”  She didn’t know it, she couldn’t put it in words, but she wouldn’t survive going through that again.

“I promise, no one will ever take them away again.”

Samantha almost reluctantly put the doll back into the suitcase before shutting it and snapping the clasps into place.  Reunited with her friends, she left with the detective without fuss as he led her outside and to a cruiser.  With the detective and the rest of the team, the EMT’s had followed inside to check on the women who had been kidnapped over the last few days.  They’d need therapy, of course, but in the long run they were going to be okay.  There hadn’t been time to wait for the rest of you before going ahead with the plan, you’d all been spread out over the city at the various shops that contracted Samantha for specialty work, and there was a deadline.  By the time the rest of you got there, Reid was already inside.

“Well done Agent Reid.”  Rossi meant it, and he said agent instead of doctor for a reason.  The genius had every reason to be proud of those three PhD’s, but at times the doctor bit could get in the way of the fact he was also an agent - and a damn good one.

“Thanks.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Probably Not What Paul Valery Had In Mind

Once the victims were off to the hospital, Samantha was being taken directly to a mental health facility, and remaining law enforcement was splitting up to leave, Reid was fully intending to apologize for worrying you earlier  Then he saw the look in your eyes.  Gone were the deep warm pools, replaced by a dark fire Reid thought would kill him on the spot.  He’d never seen you that angry before.  Not at him anyway.  In that big New York City case, when you and Hotch got bombed, you were still in a hospital bed when Morgan drove off in an ambulance rigged to be a bomb.  You gave Morgan the same look you were giving Reid.

Which didn’t make any sense.  Driving off in a bomb on wheels was much more dangerous than talking down an unsub like Samantha Malcolm.  Though…you did get injured in New York…the doctor didn’t clear you to fly so you drove back with Hotch and Morgan.  Still, Reid knew what he was doing, he could talk Samantha down - especially since he had her doll collection with him.  You hadn’t even given him that look when he got shot, or after the anthrax thing - and after a week of letting him rest you spent an hour yelling at him for going off on his own like that and scaring you to death.

For a brief moment he feared for his life.

Then you yelled at him.

“What the hell were you thinking?  You didn’t even have a vest - and don’t get smart with me!  You know I’m not talking about your sweater vest!”

“Would you stop yelling?  I had it under control.”

“And how were we supposed to know that?  You grabbed the wrist radio, we had to wait until you said it was clear.”  You stopped yelling, but you also grabbed his wrist and held it up to make your point.  “You already told her you were FBI, I don’t think the little wire up to your ear would have made her start stabbing people.  At least we’d be able to hear what was going on.”

He was starting to feel offended, to be honest.  At the end of the day, he was proud of what he’d done.  Then he walked out, everything was settled, and you went after him in a way that made it seem like you needed to snoop cause you thought he’d screw it up.  Like you thought he just wasn’t capable in a situation like that.  He’d proven that not every case follows the same pattern he’d experienced over, and over, and over again.  The chess game wasn’t always the same damn thing.

The whole team had stopped, standing on the sidewalk by the two black SUV’s still parked by the curb.  You’d split up into two groups to take the two cars back, but everyone headed to the other car had stopped.  That certainly helped Reid as he scrambled to figure out just why the hell you were yelling.  That wasn’t even starting on getting you to calm down.  Morgan had just gone through the usual apology ritual, but you and Reid didn’t have an apology ritual.  He’d never had to make a big apology to you before, because based on that look you’d given him that’s what it would require.  

To top things of - he wasn’t wrong.

He knew what he was doing, he could do it, and he did.  There was no need for a vest.  There was barely a need for a radio.  You were overreacting, and figuring out how to deal with that was only blurred by the fact that for as dramatic as you could be at times, you didn’t really overreact.  You just needed to take a breath and calm down.

“[F/N] I’m fine, you need to take a breath and calm down.”

He didn’t want to say it like that.  Even he knew that telling a girl to calm down was a Grade A asshole maneuver.  He wanted to take your hands and carefully walk you through some deep breaths, but you’d just gotten under his skin and left him feeling like you thought he couldn’t do the job - or at least the part that involves actually physically apprehending the unsub and talking them down.  Oh god - he had to think fast.  He usually did his best thinking under pressure and intense terror, and yet faced with you he just froze.  This was bad, really bad.  You were just staring him down, he’d never seen someone’s eyes get wider out of anger before.  He hadn’t panicked like this around you since you first joined the team.  Say something - say something you dumb-

Clearly trying to say something was a mistake, or maybe he’d just waited too long, because you turned around and made your way over to the other car.

Well…he thought you were going to slap him…so it could have been worse…

Maybe…

********

You couldn’t avoid each other on the jet, but you did stare him right in the eyes as you dropped a pillow onto the couch before dropping yourself onto it - making sure to take up the entire thing.  So, Reid picked a seat on the other end of the jet and dropped right into it.  JJ had tried to talk to him when they were packing up at the hotel, but he just did not want to talk about it and lucked out when she agreed to drop it - at least for the time being.  He tried reading when everyone else was asleep, but he’d spent minutes just staring at the same page when he heard a glass sliding along the small table in front of him.

Rossi took a seat in the chair across from the genius, a short glass of bourbon in hand - just like the one he’d slid across the table to Reid.

“The…the case went well.”  Nobody even touched the bar unless the case had a ended in the worst way possible - or the worst way anyone on the team could imagine.

“Indulge me.  Besides, your lady troubles only seem to be getting more complicated by the hour.”

Reid shut his book and placed it on the table before grabbing the drink - Rossi glanced at the title and immediately recognized it was beyond him when he saw the word Quantum.  Reid had never been much of a drinker, but the burn of the middle-shelf bourbon was already helping, in its own way.  He wasn’t faultless, but he also wasn’t wrong.  You’d overreacted and you did need to calm down.  He just…did not handle it well at all.  He knew what he needed to do, but the way he went about it was so very wrong.

“Speaking of which, that was a hell of a job you did on Dr. Malcolm.”  If Reid wasn’t going to keep the conversation going, Rossi would.  He was normally content with silence on the flight back from a case, but he did really want to talk to the genius about something and this was the best time to do it.  “Good thing Castillo wasn’t there, she would have swooned too hard and fainted.”

“What?”  A second later and Reid would have nearly choked on his drink - an uncomfortable enough experience on liquids that don’t burn.

“Give her some space when we get back, she’s just mad you put yourself into a…arguably dangerous situation.”  Rossi was aware there was some theoretical danger, but he honestly didn’t believe it was actually dangerous.  It would just take some fancy talking, and if Reid couldn’t do that nobody could.  “Emma…she did the same thing.  Ray and I got in more than a few fights growing up, and every time she chewed me out and refused to talk to me for days.  So, I’d give her some space, and a few days later I’d go to her house with flowers or an Oscar Wilde book.  Once spent everything I’d saved up for six months to take her to a nice dinner in the city.”

Reid had been stuck in Quantico for that case, but he still knew who Emma was.  Garcia and JJ had been talking about it in the breakroom and he got curious after a bit.  They told him all about it.  Well, JJ did more of the telling, she’d only just been telling Garcia what she’d been able to pick up during the case.  There were a lot of implications that could be made by Rossi bringing her up.  A lot of them…were probably accurate.  Reid wasn’t actually going to admit any of that out loud, but based on the conversation so far he didn’t need to.

He still wasn’t convinced that you…

But in a few days he could ask if you’d want to get some takeout from the Chinese place you liked - down the block from his apartment.  He couldn’t promise he’d never be in that kind of situation again, but he could at least apologize for how he handled things after.  He just had to wait for a bit.  Then the two of you could talk about this and work it out.

Maybe over the weekend…

********

You felt awful - and for a few reasons.

First off, you never should have snapped at Reid like that.  You were mad he’d put himself into a dangerous situation, true, but it was only dangerous if he didn’t know how to talk to Samantha - which he obviously did.  There were about a million other ways you could have conveyed your concern.  You had to find a way to explain your point without getting into…

Well, that brings about the second reason you felt awful about the whole dinner at Reid’s thing.  It was just the two of you, some takeout…and that was basically it.  The two of you had spent time together outside of work, but you hadn’t been alone.  Not unless you were at work.  Sure, you’d had moments that could be considered private, but someone else was always around, like on the jet or in the office.  Alone, away from work, there was no buffer.  Nothing to give you an escape route.  Nothing to keep you from saying something really stupid.

You weren’t going to back out, this would be a good time and place to apologize without the others butting in or snooping.

The two of you spent more time at your apartment than his since that’s where the food and Tybalt were, but you’d still spent a lot of time at his apartment too.  It was nice to see things hadn’t changed - his book collection had grown, but that was to be expected.  The same soft lighting from lamps instead of the bright light fixtures in the ceiling, furniture that had grown softer from age and use, sturdy wooden bookshelves, and the slight breeze from the windows he always forgot to close until it already started raining or even snowing.  The blanket you’d given him was still thrown over the back of the couch like he’d used it the night before, and he probably had.  You’d gotten it when you found out how he often fell asleep on the couch.  

When you stepped inside you took a quick chance to look around a bit, then you took a deep breath and the scents you caught put you a little more at ease - old books, good coffee, and a deep woody smell that was just so…Spencer.

“I know we - uh - we normally just hang out and watch something,” Spencer kept himself from saying ‘used to,’ “I thought we could sit at the table, talk - I got that wine you like.”

It wasn’t a fancy wine, just a Pinot Grigio from a brand on the shelf above the bottom shelf and sold in state-run grocery stores in Virginia.  The sentiment was what touched you.  Reid never kept wine at his place.  There was a small collection of liquors that went untouched most of the time, and even a stash of tea you’d started keeping at his place years ago, but he never had wine.  He didn’t even have wine glasses - which was why there were two short glasses set out on the table.

Dinner was going great.  You talked, you laughed harder than you’d laughed in weeks, smiled so much your cheeks hurt.  It was fantastic.  It had to come to an end.  There was a reason Reid did all of this.  He wanted to talk about the…sort of fight after Samantha Malcolm’s arrest.

“I’m sorry I worried you like that, and I really shouldn’t have told you to calm down.”

“No, no, I overreacted.  I just get…it’s just when people I love put themselves in dangerous situations, I know it’s hypocritical.  I’m not that much better, and I know the job, it’s just - when you go in alone.”  You took a breath, trying to put your irrational fear into words, subconsciously getting up from your seat because you always thought better on your feet.  Your mouth moving faster than your brain.  “Whenever we’re alone on the job, that’s always when the worst stuff happens.  It can happen when we’re together, but when one of us is alone out there it’s almost guaranteed and it’s one thing with Derek, but as much as I love him I’m not in love with him - which is why I overreacted with you.  It doesn’t help that the last two times we left you alone you got super anthrax and then you got shot, so…so…I…”

Spencer sat there for a moment, listening intently until one phrase made his brain hit a screeching halt before repeating it over and over like a scratched record.

“ - as much as I love him I’m not in love with him - which is why I overreacted with you.”

You said that.  It wasn’t like you’d outright said the phrase ‘I love you,’ but it was close enough.  And you were talking about him.  You said that, and you said it about him.  For a moment too long he kicked himself for being such an idiot.  Looking back on the last few months since you slept together, all of the signs.  He was a profiler, you were his best friend.  He should have seen it, shouldn’t have let his own issues get in the way of -

Well, he wasn’t about to waste any more time.

He shot up from his seat and rounded the table to close the distance between you.  You seemed to be just realizing what you’d just said, big brown eyes wide in a mixture of fear and anxiety.  Your eyes darted to your purse, planning an escape.  You didn’t have a chance.  Spencer stepped in and pulled you into a kiss that had you weak in the knees and clutching at his cardigan.  You chased after him a bit when he pulled away, your eyes sliding shut as he combed his hand through your hair to brush it back, kissing the top of your head before tilting your chin up to press his forehead against yours.

“You have a big heart and you worry about everyone, it’s one of the reasons I love you so much.”  He knew how you felt, or he at least had enough evidence to make an educated guess, but he was still nervous.  He couldn’t help the nervous smile and breathy chuckle.

“Yeah?”  You smiled up at him, deep eyes sparkling as he took your hands in his.

“Yeah - yeah I figured out I started to fall about four years ago.”  He’d had a lot of time to think about it.

“We…we met four years ago.”

“Four years, one month, three days, nine hours, and…”  He stopped when you started giggling more freely, his own smile growing in size and confidence.

“We’re idiots.  Very educated and nerdy idiots, but we’re idiots.”

“Paul Valery said ‘love is being stupid together.’”  That was about all the consolation Spencer could offer.

“Yeah…honey, I don’t think this level of stupidity is what he had in mind.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Three Months, Girl Talks, and Old Friends

It’s not like you thought the team would make a disastrously big deal about recent developments.  You didn’t think they’d make a massive deal about it at all.  Sure, there would be little things.  Penelope would probably have the biggest reaction, closely followed by Derek who’d be torn between giving Spencer the ‘don’t hurt my sister’ talk and the fact the genius became like a little brother to him years ago.  It just had more to do with wanting some time to yourselves to figure things out first.  The transition from friends to lovers is more complicated than people think.  It’s not just going from friends to friends that kiss.  There’s a new level of vulnerability and expectation of disclosure involved, a level of emotional intimacy that people don’t get from friends - or from the first three to six months of a relationship, to be honest.

On one hand, you and Spencer had a head start.  You’d met his mom, knew about his father, his struggles growing up both at home and at school, the few girls he’d dated while in college, his continuing anxiety about one day discovering he’d inherited schizophrenia from his mom, even his struggles with dilaudid.  He knew about your family, the behavioral effects brain cancer had on your mom, you’d told him about Guatemala and Sarajevo, you’d even told him about Tommy as he served as the final event to cement your fear of abandonment as a long-term issue.

On the other hand, you and Spencer had a really big head start.

It was like jumping from the first date to the first anniversary, and that isn’t something you can just slide into.  You need to figure things out, find a new balance - a new flow.  You had no doubt that you would.  The two of you had been particularly open with each other before things got complicated, and you’d already admitted the whole thing started months before you first slept together.  You also told him why.  It took a solid minute for it to sink in that you’d been literally dreaming about having sex with him for months before it actually happened.  When it did click, however, he couldn’t have held back his laughter if he tried.

It should be noted that he didn’t try at all.

Either way, the two of you needed some time before Garcia and JJ started planning couples’ nights.  You had to tell Hotch, there was HR paperwork to fill out.  Spencer didn’t go into detail why he suspected Rossi would figure it out, but you agreed it wouldn’t be hard to ask him to keep it quiet after confirming his suspicions.  This secrecy couldn’t last forever, partially because you didn’t want it to.  In the end, the two of you decided on a rough time to let the team know - barring some event that would involve spilling the beans early, and obviously you weren’t going to tell them in the middle of a case.

Roughly three months seemed about right.  It sounds longer than it really is, and with how busy the BAU is you’d get about two actual dates per month.  Most people met their partner’s family after about four months, but you had all the same friends, and there wasn’t a question of how committed you were in the relationship.  You were just waiting to tell the others because…well…

To be honest, neither of you had ever had a relationship that reached this level of commitment, and the fact it was starting off like that took a bit of adjustment for both of you, and to top things off there was the whole honeymoon phase to work through and -

You had a lot of reasons.

There was just…a slight complication.

To clarify, you and Spencer had an agreement, he ignored it, and now you were hoping nobody would notice the scarf you’d incorporated into your outfit while your boyfriend - and his fucking poker face - was very amused.  Sure, you’d left scratches down his back and front, but people wouldn’t see that unless he took off his whole damn shirt.  Dr. Dracula, PhDick, had gone straight for your neck, your collar bone, and then traveled down to your bust.

You got to your desk, draped your blue sweater over the back of your chair, and then left your cloudy blue scarf exactly where it sat.  You’d hoped Emily wouldn’t look too much into it and assume it was just to adorn your otherwise plan white t-shirt.  She didn’t say anything, only spared you a quick glance to say hi.  Then she sent out a text to you, JJ, and Garcia.

Girls lunch?

Goddammit.

********

Lunch started off with the girls telling you to take off your scarf, you responding with a simple no, and them telling you once again, which got them the same answer.  This went on until the waitress came back with your drinks and took your orders, and when she left JJ just snatched your scarf and pulled.  You hadn’t actually tied it around your neck, and you regretted that when it slipped right off.

You also regretted all of your work-appropriate t-shirts being scoop necks or v-necks.

“Holy shit!”  Emily leaned forward in the booth, brow furrowed and jaw dropped - even as you snatched your scarf from JJ and hurriedly put it back into position.  You’d spent fifteen minutes trying to get the damn thing to cover all the hickies.  You sure as hell didn’t have enough cover-up left for all of them - clearly you needed to get more.  If you’d had enough you would have used that instead of settling for the same technique as a teenager in high school.

“Say that a bit louder, Emily, I don’t think Sacramento heard you.”

“Have you seen yourself?”  JJ defended the brunette, shock giving way to amusement.  “Who’s the guy?”

“And more importantly, how’s the sex?”

“In my experience, nobody with that many marks walks away unsatisfied.”  Penelope jumped in, placing her pink lemonade back on the table after taking a sip, red painted lips turning up in that grin she got when the girl-talk got really good.  She even shimmied a little in her seat as she leaned forward with her elbows on the table.  “Did you use his back like a scratching post?”

You had two options here.  You could lean in and give them something, which would lead to some teasing and lighthearted questions about when they’d meet the mysterious guy.  You could also close up, which would lead to the same thing, except this time they’d be slipping in all kinds of other questions you’d have to dodge, which would inevitably lead to the others asking what was going on, which would then turn it all into a whole thing…

“All down his front too.”  The girls all had their own quiet reactions, but let you continue.  “Definitely blacked out, pretty serious case of noodle limbs when it was over.  We had a late Valentine’s day - slash - one month anniversary kind of thing.  With all the cases we’ve had, plus a few trials, and the time I had to spend in the morgue, we didn’t have a lot of time together.  We didn’t do much, it was just dinner at my place, I put on that perfume I let you borrow - “

“Oh,” JJ’s brow shot upwards in realization before nodding in confirmation and quickly explaining to the other girls, “When my mom was in town for Henry’s first birthday, Will and I wanted to take a night off, get dinner and spend the night at a hotel.  [F/N] gave me some of her perfume to borrow, we barely made it through the appetizers and I had to remind Will we had to pay for the food before we left.”

It really wasn’t anything super fancy or expensive, and you’d bought it years ago to celebrate getting your internship.  The girl who’d sold it to you, a part-timer who went to one of the many colleges in the area, described it as a sweet and sexy mix.  Sort of an in-between for the lighter flowery and fruity scents and the deeper boudoir scents.  According to the box - you weren’t a fragrance expert - it started off with a citrus scent that faded over time into a deeper vanilla and - this was the bit that really counted for those dating a coffee addict - cappuccino.

“I wanna try this magic perfume.”  Penelope requested excitedly as you all sat back and thanked the waitress as she placed your food on the table and asked if any of you wanted drink refills.

“From what you’ve told us about you and Kevin, that’s the last thing you two need.”  Emily retorted, grabbing the ketchup bottle and pouring some on the side of her plate before passing it over to you.  “So, without this magic perfume, is it the kind of thing you’d dream of?”

Yeah, you weren’t exactly surprised Emily brought that up.  As far as she knew, she was the only person who knew about your dreams.  Part of talking to her about them had involved telling her how good things were in the fiction of the dream, which was what she was getting at.  She’d dropped the ‘dreams as wish fulfillment’ theory when you told her to, and you appreciated that, but she still believed it.  You weren’t going to tell her that she was right - yet - but you weren’t going to give her ammunition by avoiding the question.

“So much better.”

********

There had been a few more serious questions about the guy you were seeing - where you met, how long you’d been seeing him, what you did on dates, Penelope even asked what Tybalt thought of him.  Every question you could explain away pretty easily without giving the girls enough information to figure it out - especially since you had first met Spencer in Chicago.  All-in-all, there wasn’t any reason not to like your new guy, and you’d asked for some time before introducing him to the team as it was like introducing him to the family.  There really wasn’t a reason to be worried about it, or for Garcia to call an emergency meeting in her batcave.

“She seems happy, and we don’t really have any reason to be concerned.”  JJ offered in an attempt to appease the technical analyst.

“But he’s not the right guy for her, we all know that.”

“How do we know that?”  Prentiss had a feeling she knew where this was going, but she couldn’t just assume.

“Because he’s not Reid.  What kind of world is this without Castillo and Reid?  Spencer and [F/N]?  The future Dr. and Dr. Reid?”  Garcia pressed further.  “I had it all worked out when they started that prank war.  One day they were going to have to share a hotel room with only one bed, the tension would be too much and they’d sleep together, realize they didn’t want it to be a one-time thing, and then start dating in secret once they got back home.”

“This sounds like a romantic comedy.”

“More like how Monica and Chandler got together in Friends.”

“Except better,” Garcia didn’t give JJ a chance to ask how Emily recalled the details of the television relationship, “Because they’d get married, have three gorgeous genius babies, I’d be their Fairy Godmother, and one day one of their babies would marry one of Derek Morgan’s beautiful brave babies, and then they’d create the perfect baby.”

JJ and Emily looked at each other before looking back at Penelope, not sure what to tell her.

That was a very...detailed fantasy, to say the least.

********

“Hey man, how’s it going?”  Derek tried to keep it casual, but with the circumstances being what they were…it wasn’t easy.  Having his own office made it easier to make these check-ins.  He felt like he had to, especially since you remained completely in the dark.  It was for your safety.  You hadn’t even known what he was up to back in Chicago, Berto only told Derek to drag his ass back from running errands for local gangsters.  After punching him, of course.

Momma was right, the Castillo family was too damn clever for people who cared so damn much.

“Same old shit, if we don’t figure out a long-term solution I’m gonna be stuck here forever.”  There was some yelling in Spanish on the other end of the line, sounded like some of the guys were screwing around instead of doing inventory.  “If I knew how long term this was gonna be I wouldn’t have done it.”

“Yeah, you would’ve.”  They’d grown distant over the years, but Derek was pretty sure Berto hadn’t changed so much that he would have dropped the chance to play the big hero - in his own way.

“Yeah…would have told [F/N] about it.  How’s she doing?  She hasn’t replied to my letters or talked to anyone in Organized Crime.”

“Good,” Derek hadn’t shared some of the more complicated details, like your relationship with Reid for starters.  “I overheard some of the other girls talking, they think she’s seeing someone.  I’ll let you know when I know more.”

“Thanks - and thanks for not telling her.  I dug myself this grave, I should be the one to…run and scream when she finds out.”

Derek couldn’t help the huff of laughter, “Yeah, and now she’s got a gun.”

“When you give my eulogy, can you leave out the bit where I was so scared of my baby sister I shit myself?”

“All I can do is keep it off your gravestone.”

“I’ll take it.  Gotta go, man.  Deputy Dipshit’s back.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

It's Complicated

In retrospect, it did make sense.

Berto dragged himself out of his bad habits when he was still a juvenile, and under the right circumstances agents in Organized Crime were willing to ask for some favors and talk a judge into expunging a record or two just so they could get an undercover agent nobody would suspect.  Berto was the one to grab Morgan by the back of his shirt, literally, and drag him out of running errands for local gangsters and getting in fights.  It was hardly unusual for juvenile offenders to return to crime, even after seemingly cleaning up their act for a while.  Berto had cleaned himself up because your mom was just getting sicker and sicker, on her way into a nursing home in her early 40’s, but never stopped telling Berto he could do better and that he was a good person.  That guilt and shame only lasts for so long.  Add in the fact that Berto just vanished the moment he graduated high school plus nobody knowing where he was until Morgan tried to track him down and found his rap sheet…

It was pretty easy to believe Berto went back to the Cartel.

None of that made Derek feel any less scummy about any of this, which he supposed was why he only made these calls in his office.  He’d never get caught if he was at home where nobody could just walk in on him - except his dog.  At the office, that was a completely different story.

“So, any news on the guy she’s been seeing?”

“Nah, she’s keeping that one close to the chest, won’t even tell the girls anything.”  Derek had tried to find things out just for his peace of mind, but it didn’t work.  You hadn’t told anyone anything.  “For what it’s worth, she’s pretty happy.  He sent her some flowers last week, just cause.”

“No guy sends flowers ‘just because.’”

“Hey - some guys do.  Trust me, man.  Every relationship she’s had she’s looked for reasons to get out of it, even sabotaging things just for an escape - and she’s got a lot of reasons to be paranoid.”  Derek hadn’t mentioned anything about Grant, by the time you first crossed paths with the sociopath your brother was already deep undercover and far from anyone that could tell him anything.  Derek didn’t want to get too into that talk, primarily because he still didn’t know everything and you still weren’t ready to talk about it yet - at least not with him.  He tried not to take it personally, he knew it had nothing to do with him, but that was hard to do when Reid and Hotch already knew all the details.  “She’s a good profiler, one of the best.  Trust me, if there was a reason to be suspicious of the guy she never would have agreed to a first date.”

“Fine, fine,” Berto groaned, “But only cause I don’t have time to argue.  I gotta go - if anything happens to her I’m coming after you and her boyfriend.”

“Yeah, yeah, [F/N]’s still scarier.”

********

“See ya tomorrow,” you were still grinning like a schoolgirl as Tommy left the apartment, standing by the open door before shutting it.  The door was nearly shut when someone stronger pushed it open.  You grabbed the knife you kept in your back pocket before you saw it was just Berto.  With a scowl you turned and made your way deeper into the apartment.  It was quiet, your mom had taken her pain medication and passed out in the master bedroom about four hours earlier.  She’d be out for a few more hours before she got up again.

The question was which version of her would wake up.  Would it be your mom?  Or would it be the…thing all the brain damage was turning her into?  It didn’t really matter, to be honest.  Either way, by that time you’d be the only one in the house, so you’d be the one taking care of her.  To be completely honest, you weren’t sure how much longer you’d be able to take care of her.

“Dad said he’s working another double - sounded like he was already at the bar.”  You didn’t bother to look up at Berto as you made your way into the small kitchen.  You checked the scrap of paper lying on the old tile counter before grabbing the wooden spook and stirring the pozole you were trying to to make.  It didn’t look like what your mom used to make, but…maybe it would look more like it when it was done.  Or maybe this was just a lost cause and you were destined to make inedible slop for the rest of your life.

“Of course, he was.  Why the hell would he actually do anything useful?”  Berto heaved a sigh and grabbed a beer from the fridge.  He wasn’t legally old enough to drink, but you’d long since stopped arguing.  You were too busy with bigger issues - like keeping yourself and your mom alive and making sure your dad didn’t spend all the household money at the bar.  You heard the can snap open and chair drag across the tile floor and Berto collapsing into the wooden chair.  “You hear back from that private school?”

“No, but don’t worry.  I’m not going unless they give me a scholarship.”  Your tone was passive aggressive as you still kept your back to Berto while adding a few more spices, as instructed, and tasted the broth - Jesus, Mary, and Joseph it was vile.  

“If they don’t, I’m pulling in some decent profits now, I could -”

“I don’t want your dirty money.  It’s already gonna be hard enough being the only kid that isn’t white, I don’t need someone asking me how we suddenly got a lot of money.  I’m not pale enough to pretend my biological father is white.”  There was a silence after that - heavy and tense.  You didn’t bother continuing the conversation, this was the first time Berto had been home in over a week - almost two weeks.  It wasn’t the longest he’d been gone, but it wasn’t out of character for him either.

“You know, I talked to Dee.  He doesn’t like Tommy either.”

“Of course, he doesn’t.  Tommy doesn’t have a criminal record - unlike the two of you.”

“He’s gonna hurt you, [F/N], I know it.”

“Yeah, cause nobody’s ever done that before.  Look, you’ve sat there and pretended to care, now it’s time to take your beer and fuck off like everyone else.”

“I’m trying to take care of you - the old man sure as hell isn’t gonna do it.”

“I don’t want you to take care of me!”  You finally spun around to face your brother.  “I don’t want Berto the criminal and all his money, I want my brother.  You promised mom you were gonna stop!  She’s gonna die, Berto - soon.  If you’re not gonna keep your promise you can at least leave us alone so she doesn’t keep crying over you.  She’s got enough shit to cry about.”

“I’m not - I’m gonna make it right, [F/N].  I promise.”

“Yeah, sure you are.”

********

You loved your job, you worked your ass off to get this job.  You’d made yourself an even bigger family all because of this job.  Hell, even if you had the same job on another team you never would have gotten so close to Spencer or had him in your life for more than a few blips at a time.  It was just…

Sometimes you hated the job.

You were at home, in bed, Tybalt was taking up half the bed by stretching out on his back in his sleep and purring away as he occasionally pawed at something in his sleep.  You and Spencer were in a deep and comfortable sleep - both of you spread out with you half on top of him and your head on his chest.  And then Spencer’s phone started ringing and stunned you so much you were still sitting there, tired and confused, when your phone rang - only about a minute or two later.  An hour later, you were in the office when you were supposed to have the day off - something neither you nor Spencer would have cared about two months ago.

None of that was what really killed your mood, to be honest.

You’d grabbed your mail and quickly sorted through it as the coffee brewed, and once you came across something you explicitly didn’t want you couldn’t help but curse.

“Oh for fucks sake!”

“What’s wrong?”  Spencer was only partially dressed, his tie draped around his neck and his sweater draped over the back of the couch.  He abandoned getting ready to check on you, growing more worried as you just stood there, holding the letter in your hands as you stared down at it with a sadness you’d buried deep and tried to hide behind anger, something about the way your eyes watered and your lips threatened to quiver reminding him of a child trying desperately not to cry.  There were only two people Spencer knew of that could cause that reaction, that had managed to cut you so deeply - your father, and Berto.  He rubbed between your shoulders with the heel of his palm before reaching up to comb his fingers through your hair as he looked at the envelope in your hands, kissing your head when he read the names.  It was addressed to you, but the return address had a P.O. Box in Texas and a name - Berto Castillo.

“You wanna talk to Organized Crime?  See if they know anything?”  He posed the option gently, nothing more than a suggestion.

“No - no they’ll drag me into the investigation, and I have no intention of being part of that.  I don’t know anything and he’d never tell me anything - especially not in writing.”  You dropped the letter in the trash and stepped away to get some coffee, tilting your glasses up to wipe your eyes.  “He’ll send a few letters for the next month, I won’t respond, and then he’ll stop sending them.”

“Okay,” Spencer nodded, his tone the same while he stepped back to grab the cream from the fridge for you, putting it by the mugs you’d pulled out just as you were going to turn and ask him to grab it.  You relaxed when you saw he’d already grabbed it and smiled up at him, getting up on your toes to give him a little kiss on the lips before you grabbed the pot and poured the two of you some coffee.  “So, it sounds like you’ll be in the morgue for the first few days, I was thinking I could help out for a bit.”

“Hmm…” you pursed your lips in thought as you turned to lean back against the counter, mug in hand as you stirred the flavored cream into your coffee, watching mischievously as Spencer took the first few sips of his coffee.  “I’m torn.  On one hand, the others will probably need you to figure out those riddles the unsub left behind.  On the other hand, I’ve never had a really hot assistant before.”

You couldn’t help but giggle when Spencer started coughing after nearly choking on his coffee, his cheeks still a bit red as he shot you a half-hearted glare because he knew you did that on purpose.

“What?  It’s true.”

“You better watch yourself, beautiful.”

“Or what?  You’ll steal my pens?  I hate to break it to you, but calling me sweet petnames isn’t all that threatening.”

You knew you should have been more concerned when he gave you that sly smirk, but you couldn’t imagine he’d be able to pull much of anything together with the amount of time you had before heading off on another case.  If he was going to do something, you figured it would have been before you got on the jet - or at least before it took off.  Then he just completely blindsided you.  You knew he knew magic tricks, he was also really good at them, but how in the hell he managed to slap your ass without anyone noticing, on the jet, was something you were still going to be trying to figure out for years.

How he managed to to it again, in the crowded precinct, was something you weren’t even going to try to figure out.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

A Perfect Storm

Another day, another case.

The team was still gathering as JJ was finishing setting up, some of you were getting more coffee while others were already digging through the case file.  Prentiss was the last to step into the room before JJ started briefing you.

“Hey, where’s Hotch?”  Prentiss stopped in the doorway, ready to head back out and grab the Unit Chief.

“Budget meeting,” JJ tossed back just before grabbing an empty seat.

“Maybe he’ll get us a raise.”  Derek sat back down with a fresh cup of coffee.

“With how many times we’ve told Strauss to go fuck herself this year?”  Your eyes shifting up from the coroner’s reports on the victims, “I’ll just be glad to still have a job.”

“Castillo’s right, they’re cutting, not raising.”  Rossi took a seat himself, opening the file to start looking it over, “I just hope they don’t take the coffee.”

“I’d quit.”  Spencer piped in from your right, already scribbling down notes as the two of you had started looking over the file about ten minutes ago.

“Oh,yeah, that’ll save them, like, 50 bucks a week.”

“He’ll meet us on the plane,” JJ chuckled as everyone started to settle in, grabbing the remote to start up the display on the TV.

“Where are we going?”  Prentiss had only gotten a few seconds to look over the case file, but the photos of decapitated heads immediately caught her attention - and concern.

“Last night three decapitated heads were found in front of a sheriff’s station in the small border town of Terlingua, Texas.”  JJ started, bringing up photos of the opened disposable ice boxes.  The rest of you were focused on the screen and completely missed the way Derek’s head jerked up from looking over the case file.

Of all the border towns in Texas…of all the border towns in the country, it had to be that one.  Derek swallowed down his concern and kept his cool, but that sinking feeling in his gut only grew worse as the briefing went on.

“Three victims at once?”  Rossi questioned.  It was an unusual occurrence, but not unheard of.  It was, however, a very concerning occurrence.

“No, they’re months apart,” you answered, looking back at the coroner’s photos of the heads, pulling one closer to get a better look at it - specifically the cut along the neck.  “Only one of them is new, but these older ones - the cuts look fresh.”

JJ nodded, confirming what you’d spotted in the photos before you passed them over to Reid, “M.E. confirmed that one of the heads is a day or so old.  The other two appear to have died a few months ago, but the wound edges suggest that they were decapitated recently.”

“Dirt in their mouth, ears and nose - at some point these two heads were buried,” he added, passing the photos to Derek.

“And then dug up.”  Derek was a bit more solemn than usual, eyes still glued to the photo as he put it down.  He knew where this was leading, he knew there was going to be worse news - there had to be when there was a joint FBI-DEA undercover investigation in the same small town the team was going to be investigating decapitated heads.

“Okay, so why the sudden need to display them?”  Prentiss brought up the change in pattern - the unsub had gone from hiding their crimes to displaying them, specifically to the local law enforcement.

“The need may not be so sudden,” Garcia rushed in to join the rest of you, holding her open laptop until she reached the table, sending an image of her screen to the TV, “Mexico, in 2009 alone, 10 heads in coolers, and the people belonging to these heads were killed just hours before they were found - result of a battle between two feuding drug cartels.”

“DEA’s not interested?”  This was concerning Derek more and more.

“They asked us to take a look at it, considering the different decomposition, this might not even be about drugs.”  JJ quickly explained how the case ended up with the team instead of the DEA - or at least Organized Crime.

“Well, the victims are two male one female, so no gender preference.”  Prentiss got started on victimology, “Staging the heads in front of the sheriff’s office, that’s aggressive.”

“It’s a border town and the victims are all hispanic,” you sighed, folding your arms and leaning forward on the table as you brought up the most likely scenario, “This is most likely racial, or at least aimed at immigrants.”

“Terlingua has a large illegal population,” JJ offered some supporting evidence, “It’s made I.D.ing the victims that much harder.”

“He might be trying to make some type of political statement,” Derek dropped the papers he was looking over and sat back, “Volunteer border patrols do a lot of personal policing down there.”

“Groups like the Minutemen prize law and order above everything else, and those patrols serve their political agenda.  Murder would be bad for their image,” Rossi threw out the idea of a political organization.

“Staging the heads in front of a police station suggests the unsub might be local - he’d have to have a knowledge about how to do something like that without being seen.”  Prentiss narrowed down the field.

“So, we’re going to a desert with an endless stream of unknown victims nobody is going to report missing, and all of them are being hunted by someone who not only knows the terrain but knows the workings of the town.”  You almost fell back in your seat, already bracing yourself.  This was going to be one of the roughest cases you’d worked so far - likely one of the top five worst you’d ever worked.  Derek had the same feeling, but for reasons you didn’t even know about.

“It’s a serial killer’s perfect storm.”

********

“Explain this to me -” Rossi interrupted the silence in the jet as he shut the folder in his hands and put it on the table, even though the laptop was open with an ongoing video call to Garcia everyone had been so steeped in looking through everything to even speak, “The unsub hunts along the U.S.-Mexico border.  How big is that area?”

Everyone looked to Reid, seated at your right next to the window, and like you’d all expected he knew the answer.  Well, almost everyone.  While the rest of you had gathered to continue looking over the case and talk it over, Derek had disappeared and kept fussing about the small kitchenette.  You’d noticed, but you were also aware that you - personally - were going to be up against a brick wall when it came to dealing with some of the locals.  That was on top of the high chance you’d end up identifying even more victims, the fact you’d have to at least be there to talk to the local hispanic population or even the immigrants in the area, all on top of the fact that there was a high chance local law enforcement had already heard the name Castillo under very different circumstances.  Derek was a worrier.  He didn’t like to show it, but the second his loved ones were facing a rough time he immediately started fretting.

“Over 5,000 square miles of desert.”

“He could have gone undetected for years.”

“So why announce himself?”  Prentiss caught on.

“Something happened - recently,” Hotch agreed, leaning back against the bar.

“What do we know about crime in Terlingua?”  Rossi turned to JJ - it was one of the things she had to look over before deciding whether or not the team should take the case

“It’s a stop-over town, immigrants stay only 24 hours before moving on, but that also makes them narco-trafficking hubs.  Outside of immigration violations, most of the arrests are drug related,” JJ gave a short rundown of crime in the border town.

“That, my pretties, is an understatement,” Garcia had more time to go digging into local crime in Terlingua, “Anyone familiar with the Lugo Cartel?”

The way you dropped the file onto the table and hit your head back on the headrest of your seat, letting out a long string of curses immediately caught everyone’s attention.

“I’m guessing that’s a yes…”  Poor Garcia wasn’t sure how to react.  Even if anyone had heard of that specific cartel, she wasn’t expecting such a personally angry response.

“Lugo started in California, moved east across the border and threatened illegal immigrants to smuggle his drugs all over the country - which was easy for him to do considering the long list of brutal murders he’d already orchestrated.  For about two decades he’d managed to smuggle in two tons of cocaine and a still unknown amount of heroin and spread it across the country, the further north he’d get the more likely it was he’d get kicked out, but at the time Chicago already had so many issues they didn’t have the man power to kick him out.  A lot of local hispanic kids ended up working for him - my brother included.”

Nobody really asked about your biological family, they knew your father had taken off and your brother disappeared back into crime, but that was about it - though they weren’t surprised you’d done your research on the cartel your brother joined.  You’d made it pretty clear from the start that you didn’t really have one.  Before you met the team, the Morgan’s were your family, and now that family had grown to include the team.  That’s all that mattered, and if you wanted to talk about it more you would - in your own time.

“Well, if we get in our BAU time machine, flash forward to now,” Garcia hopped right back to work, knowing you wouldn’t want to talk about it more than that, especially not when there was a case.  She’d ask when you got back, which was the earliest you’d be ready to talk about it.  “A super cheap, highly addictive, and totally impure form of black tar heroin just showed up on the streets of Terlingua, and the DEA thinks the Lugo Cartel is directly responsible.”

Derek had grabbed a case of weapons kept in the jet, specifically for situations like this.  Heavy firearms that the locals certainly wouldn’t have, most SWAT teams didn’t - and shouldn’t - have these weapons.  After placing the metal case on the couch he continued going through them, making sure they were ready to go and ignoring that he knew how the DEA knew the source of the new black tar heroin.

“Of course, they are,” you’d snatched your copy of the file and started angrily flipping through it, “It would be too convenient for them to just quit of vanish from the face of the Earth."

“This kind of move is preceded with a wave of violence,” Derek warned the rest of you.

“The Lugo Cartel killed two DEA agents last year,” Hotch recalled.

“We’re gonna need to watch our backs, to cartels feds are fair game - there’s even usually a bounty, so we’re going to bring in the toys,” Derek held up the MP-5s he was prepping for field work, normally left unloaded and disassembled for safety.

“Be careful with those, I don’t need broken MP-5s on our budget,” Hotch warned, sounding like a the parent of a reckless teenager - and considering what BAU team he was in charge of, he basically was.

“Hey guys - here’s the thing.  I don’t think I technically have authorization to carry -”

“We don’t.”  You cut Spencer off before he could finish, not even looking up from the file.  It’s not like you were any better with a gun.  Sure, you passed your qualifications, you’d pull out your gun if you had to, you could hold your own in an average shootout, but you weren’t about to be heading in with SWAT any time soon.  Probably not ever.

“You know, we’re gonna have a victim pool that is extremely hesitant to talk to us.”  Prentiss was right, you’d get further faster than they would, but the fact you carried a badge was going to make the potential victims just as hesitant to talk to you.

“Prentiss, you and Morgan take Castillo to the immigrant community, see what inroads you can make, stress that we’re only there to catch a killer.  Rossi and Reid, the M.E. is waiting to show you the heads.”  Hotch split the team up, leaving himself and JJ to set up at the Sheriff’s office.  You could always go back to the M.E.’s office and look over things, but at the start you were needed to attempt to establish a relationship with the local immigrant community.  You wouldn’t get much farther any faster, but in any case time was of the essence.

“Maybe they can tell us something,” Rossi left the door open for the possibility, but remained realistic.

“Castillo.”  Hotch pulled your attention from the file you were glaring at so you could look at him like a deer caught in the headlights.  “We don’t have all the details, but we know there’s a high risk the unsub could target you, both because of your connections to the Lugo Cartel and because of your position on the team he could use you to send a message - I know you can defend yourself, but I’d rather not take the risk.”

You shut your mouth after Hotch cut off your argument before you could even make it.

“He’s right, you’ve got a target on you the size of Texas,” Rossi stated, an attempt at consoling you by pointing out it wasn’t you.

“How many babysitters do I need?”  You didn’t like it, but you didn’t want to die either.  You’d snapped at all the others for taking unnecessary risks, it would be hypocritical if you put up an argument.

“Two - at least, and you’ll be sharing a room.”

“Fine.”  You turned to JJ, as much as you wanted to bunk with Spencer it would throw up too many red flags for a group of profilers to ignore.  They’d start looking into it, start examining your behavior in detail, and there was only so much you could do to hide things.  Besides, as far as you knew JJ was one of the three people on the team not cleared to carry an MP-5, “We’re bunking together.”

“Okay.”  JJ was not going to argue.  You were going to be in a sour mood during the entire case, everyone was going to have to pick their battles with you pretty carefully, and if the two of you were back at the motel then at least one other person would be as well.  With the time difference she might be able to set up a Skype call with Will and Henry, seeing Henry would hopefully lift your mood a bit.

Doubtful…but worst case scenario Reid was just down the hall.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Even More Reasons To Worry

The black SUV turned down the street, passing through the small town before reaching a stop in the line of parking spots in front of the sheriff’s department.  In front of the main entrance were a line of men, all of them hispanic, all of them tattooed, and some of them even ready for a fight.

“What’s this about?”  JJ hadn’t seen anything like this, but her instinct was to assume it was just a group of locals that were unhappy with the local law enforcement.

“This is part of the Lugo Cartel,” Hotch warned before getting out of the car and leading the way to the group of men blocking the door.  “Excuse us.”

None of the men moved.  JJ quickly scanned the men with the letter L tattooed on their necks in Blackletter font, half a step behind Hotch.  She wasn’t a coward, far from it, but she knew to pick her fights carefully.  This wasn’t a fight she was going to pick.  She just couldn’t help but wonder if any of the men gathered were…well…Berto.

“Federal agents.  Step aside.”  Hotch switched tactics from a polite request to an order, staring down the obvious ringleader standing in the center of the line - closest to the door.  There was something…painfully familiar about him, like JJ had seen him in a picture.  Or maybe seen a picture of someone who looked like him, or maybe it was him with a different haircut?  Either way, the fact JJ recognized him gave her a sinking feeling in her gut.  She’d been hoping Berto had never even been heard of by anyone in town, for your sake.  Still…cut the man’s untamed hair and take away the scar down his cheek…

“We’re legal citizens of this country exercising our First Amendment right to a peaceful assembly, protesting the unlawful arrest of Omar Morales.”  The man in the middle of the line matched Hotch stare for stare without flinching, “You walk around us.”

“Agents, sheriff Ruiz is waiting inside,” the door opened and one of the deputies, Deputy , stepped out to push a gap in the line for Hotch and JJ to pass through, another - smaller - deputy holding the door open.  Thankfully the gathered men didn’t argue or fight back - physically.  “Ignore them.”

“Don’t do any dumb shit, deputies,” the man spat at the two uniformed men as Hotch let JJ pass through first before following,

“Anytime you wanna make a move, Berto, you know where to find us.”

JJ couldn’t help herself, she stopped to look back, but Hotch just carefully nudged her forward and into the department.

“All y’all do.”  The other deputy shut the door with that.

Hotch could nudge JJ further into the department, but he couldn’t stop her from grabbing her phone from her pocket and immediately shooting off a text to you.  She had to give you a warning, a heads-up to brace yourself for what you’d inevitably have to deal with.  It would have been bad enough if people had just heard of your brother, but he was actually there.  You had to know that he was there, she had to tell you, manners and procedure be damned she was going to send you that short text and the locals would just have to deal with the fact she ignored them for a grand total of 15 seconds - at most.  It had to be him - he looked familiar and JJ had seen all the family photos you had, even the small handful that had Berto - who looked a lot like your dad even as a kid.  She didn’t want to panic you, though, and she could be wrong.

I think Berto’s here

“Sorry about the welcoming committee,”  led the two of them into the tiny department, holding open the swinging gate between the waiting area and the open office area for the deputies.  “We didn’t expect you for another half-hour.”

“How many -uh,” Hotch had to look down briefly to clip his FBI ID badge to the pocket of his suit jacket, “How many officers in the whole department?”

“Including the sherriff - 5.”

“There are eight men outside,” JJ pointed out as they briefly stopped at a map of the local area tacked to a board, likely the only working space the small department could spare.

“And that’s the point, right?  To show that they outnumber you.”  Hotch didn’t need to phrase it like a question, he knew that was the point, but he already knew that things were going to be rocky between the team and at least a few members of the department - if not everyone.  He’d seen a more recent photo, one of Berto’s mug shots from a few years ago, and he knew that was the same man standing outside.

“Well, if it came down to numbers we wouldn’t stand a chance,”  admitted as he filled the two of them in, “Those sumbags are only a handful of the soldiers who work for Omar Morales.  He’s the head of a local narco traffic ring.

“We picked him up this morning just outside of town, he was headed for the airport.”  The shorter deputy - Boyd, according to his nameplate - filled in.

“Has he made a statement?”

Boyd looked to the other deputy, who shifted uncomfortably and darted his eyes down before answering, “Not exactly.”

“Meaning?”  Things were quickly becoming even more complicated than even Hotch had expected.

“Sheriff Ruiz won’t let us talk to him.”  Boyd obviously had issue with the decision.

“And why is that?”

“Well, maybe you can ask her why.”

The deputy’s led Hotch and JJ to the sheriff’s office, knocking before opening the door and letting her know about Hotch and JJ’s arrival.  She stood up to greet the two, shaking hands as they made brief introductions and offered the two of them coffee.

“Ma’am, how do you plan on dealing with the small army outside?”  JJ asked, politely but fully aware that the men outside were a problem - with or without Berto.

“I plan on ignoring them,” Sheriff Ruiz answered simply.

“Well - we can have some -”

“They’ll get hot and tired and go away on their own.  While Omar Morales is in here, Berto Castillo is in charge, and that makes them the least of my worries, he’s always saying some nonsense about murder bad for business.”  Ruiz rolled her eyes, fully aware the business the man spoke of was - at the moment - a new deadly strain of black tar heroin the Lugo Cartel started smuggling into the country since their cocaine smuggling was completely shut down by the DEA.

“We heard you made an arrest.”  Hotch moved things forward before JJ could ask more.  He wanted to know too, obviously, but it wasn’t the time.

“My deputies did.”  Ruiz nodded shortly and finished with a short huff.

“But you don’t agree?”

“Because they’re wrong.”  Ruiz was confidant of that, very confident.”

”Whoever staged these heads in front of your office is trying to tell you something.”

“Mm-hmm, they want me to butt out.”

“Of what, exactly?”

Ruiz handed over the file she’d been holding and summarized what she’d put together, “I count more than 20 missing immigrants just in the six months I’ve been sheriff.”

“That’s three in a month,” JJ glanced over at the file.

“Almost one victim a week.”

“These are just names and cursory descriptions.  Is there any other paperwork?”  Hotch continued to look through what was in the small file, but there really wasn’t much more than that.  That was hardly surprising, considering the victimology, and absolutely needed to be investigated, but it wasn’t much to work with.  He could only hope there was more, but Ruiz shook her head ‘no.’  “Has there been any investigation?”

“No one will make an official report, but I believe somebody around here has been killing for a long time.”  Ruiz couldn’t help her more sardonic sense of humor and half-hearted huff of amusement.  “Want a laugh?  I left Brooklyn North Homicide to slow down.  I picked the wrong part of the country to semi-retire.  This place is swimming in dysfunction.  It’s a game of survival and I can’t trust anyone.”

“Ma’am, you’ve got four deputies.”  Hotch couldn’t help the flash of concern at that.  This case was quickly spiraling out of control and it hadn’t even been an hour.

“Who I expressly told to leave Omar Morales alone.  You can see how well they follow orders.”  Ruiz was handling that well, all things considered.  She was frustrated as hell, but at least she wasn’t losing her mind about it.

“Then you’re sure this isn’t the Lugo Cartel?”  That was important, for a lot of reasons.  If the team could avoid a battle with the local chapter of the cartel, Hotch would do everything he could to make that happen, but he had to make sure.  “Murder to send a message is the way these guys communicate.”

“Come with me.”  Ruiz stepped out from behind her desk and led the two agents out of her office.

JJ trailed behind, so she could send a group text to everyone else on the team.  It was a private matter, but it directly effected your safety - from the Lugo Cartel, the unsub, and the local deputies who apparently didn’t listen to the sheriff.  Now that she knew it was Berto outside, it wasn’t just about your own problems, it was about your safety.

JJ would rather risk pissing you off than put your safety at risk.

********

“You know, contrary to popular belief decapitation is not that easy.”  Reid leaned over to get a closer look at the victims’ heads preserved in jars.  He was worried about you, they all were, but everyone seemed a bit more comfortable when Derek loaded the MP-5 into the car and Prentiss tossed the bulletproof vests in as well.  You looked exasperated, clearly not happy about the bodyguard situation you were in, but at least you were aware you’d lose the argument if you tried to get out of it.

“Hmm, you don’t often hear popular and decapitation in the same sentence.”  Rossi had grown used to the fact that he was never going to get used to some of the stuff Reid said, the M.E. smirked a little in response.

“You need to strike on the weakest point of the spine, it’s normally between the C3 and C7 vertebrae,” Reid explained to Rossi, fairly confident the M.E. already knew at least most of the information, before taking another look at the preserved heads, “There are multiple strikes, but they don’t show any hesitation.”

“I realize you didn’t have much to work with here, but outside of the obvious, was there anything unusual about these victims?”  Rossi turned to the M.E. for a rundown of what she’d found.

“Well, the second victim appeared to have been blind.  If not completely, then he had cataracts bad enough that it was difficult for him to get around.”

“What about the other two?”  Reid asked, looking for something that would explain why these three.

“No.”

“The most recent victim is older, so is the first one - the woman.”  Reid took another look at the heads, looking for anything else that might narrow down victimology.

“Well, I only had the teeth to go by, so it would take some time to get an accurate age, but yeah, I’d agree.  They were older.”

“We’re looking for something we call a signature,” Rossi explained, hoping the M.E. might think of something their game of 20 questions wouldn’t bring up, “Something that all the victims shared, some physical mark, something postmortem.”

“Well…I don’t know if this is what you mean, but they all had sand residue in their noses and throats.”

“Could that be from being buried?”  Reid started to further narrow things down.

“Possibly.  But the trachea and the nasal passage, they were kind of torn up.  If I had the lungs here, I’d guess that they were full of sand as well.”

“You mean that they breathed in the sand?”

“Forcefully enough that it lacerated the passages.”

“They were running,” Rossi looked to Reid, just as both of their phones buzzed briefly.  The two of them both dug out their phones, checking the message from JJ.  Doubtless she and Hotch had learned more, but there was one piece of information that couldn’t wait.

Berto’s here.  Locals know him.

“Poor kid just can’t catch a break.”  Rossi managed to sum things up shortly, something to help him cope with it.

Spencer, on the other hand, forgot how to breath.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Liberty

You saw the text.

You ignored it.

You were busy talking to the community of people desperately trying to find a better life.  You’d managed to get some information, but most importantly you’d got the name of the thing they blamed - Santa Muerte, the Saint of Death.  When you got to the department you found out that was the same guy Omar blamed.  He clearly didn’t believe it, but to be fair it was clear he wasn’t responsible.

You also saw why JJ texted you that she did not like Deputy Boyd.  The moment you walked into the department he looked at you like you’d kicked his puppy, shot his mom, and drowned his grandmother - and that was before he knew your last name.  Thank god Omar’s little army had left by the time you got there.  You’d only been at the department long enough to catch up with the team, and you were already getting looked at like you were going to be shot on sight.  At the end of the day, everyone just picked up dinner at the local diner and went back to the small motel, where Hotch told you that Prentiss would be bunking with you and JJ - where the three of you were sharing a room directly in the middle of everyone else.

You couldn’t count high enough to count the reasons you hated this case.

The second morning you were finishing getting ready for the day when the call came in - a victim’s head had been posted on a spike just outside the chain-link fence around the sheriff’s house.  You had to wait until at least two other members of the team were ready to go, which immediately irked you since it directly resulted in your ability to do your job.  Boyd was already there and still making things difficult for Ruiz.

Whoever Santa Muerte was, Ruiz had clearly touched a nerve and likely talked to them.  Bets were they’d been operating before she became the sheriff, because it seemed like she was the only person who gave a damn until the team showed up.  She’d even talked to violent criminals about it - anyone who would listen.  The unsub wanted her to stop looking into things, and with the team there the unsub’s attempts at scaring the sheriff away from her job was only getting worse.  The only good things were you hadn’t crossed paths with anyone in the Lugo Cartel, let alone Berto, and the profile was already fairly obvious after only a day of investigation.

The unsub was a Human Predator, but that wasn’t as powerful as the title implied because the unsub was hunting for power.  All of the victims conclusively tied to Santa Muerte had been older or handicapped and ended up separated from the group they were crossing the border with.  The unsub also forced the victims to run through the desert, further tiring them out, and likely followed in or on a vehicle - implying the unsub had some sort of handicap or otherwise wasn’t capable of taking someone on at their strongest.  He created chaos and attacked in everything that he did, meaning if the unsub was in a relationship it was a highly abusive one as he got off on control.  He was also likely as close to the investigation as possible, like any other organized offender he tried to throw off the investigation - in this case it was with the decapitations.

After giving the profile, Sheriff Ruiz was able to give you, Prentiss, and Morgan a lead to follow, a man named Richard Corral who ran a program called Libertad.  He helped immigrants find a legal status in the U.S. and get out of the area.  After Gentry’s reaction to being asked to take the three of you to Libertad, Spencer shot you a look of concern - he’d been giving you those looks pretty often.  You hated that, not because of anything he was doing but because he had to be worried in the first place.

The program was small - very small - and took place in an old community center that had been cleared out.  It was still functioning and looked pretty nice, but it was pretty large for the two tables that had been set up to help the people that had arrived.  Gentry left the three of you towards the back of the room while he got Corral, and the first thing the three of you noticed was his limp.  After sharing a look, Derek grabbed his phone and stepped away to call Garcia, leaving you and Prentiss to speak with the advocate.

“What is wrong with you, Gentry?  None of my clients will trust me if you bring federal agents around here?”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t be helping illegals sneak into the country.”

Corral stopped walking towards you and Prentiss, putting his hand in front of Gentry and forcing the deputy to face him, “They only want a better life.”

“Well - then - they ought to come in the front door.”

“Kinda hard when the front door is hidden behind Fort Knox and they’re so desperate they’re willing to risk dying in the desert, getting kidnapped by the Coyotes, getting caught by Border Patrol, or ending up like Santa Muerte’s victims.”  You were losing your patience already, and people talking about something they know nothing about tended to jump you right to the end of your patience.

“Another time,” Prentiss jumped in before Gentry could retort, honestly afraid he’d say something that got him punched.  You were holding it together pretty well, but it was clear your temper was being tested at every turn.  “Mr. Corral we understand your hesitation, but we’re not here about immigration we’re here about murder.  Do you know anything about the heads that were left in front of the sheriff’s station a few days ago?”

“Everyone does, my clients are terrified.”

“Clients,” Gentry scoffed.

“If you can’t observe quietly, you can wait outside.”  Your tone was sweet, too sweet considering who you were talking to.  Like you were talking to an impetuous child instead of a sheriff’s deputy.  To be fair, it’s not like your relationship with the deputies could get worse.  It was blatantly ridiculous to automatically assume you were related to Berto Castillo simply because you had the same last name, but that didn’t matter in this area of the country.

“Another man was murdered last night,” Prentiss continued, “An immigrant.  We need to figure out how this man finds his victims.  Sheriff Ruiz said you know more about these people’s journey than anyone.”

“Yeah,” Corral quietly nodded, focused on answering Prentiss’ questions even as Derek joined the rest of you.

“How many places are there to cross?”

“For every tunnel we find, there’s twelve more we don’t know about.”

“What about after they’ve made it?”  You knew what your mom and your dad’s parents had gone through to get into the country, but every story was different.  Your mom had managed to get an Einstein Visa for her dancing prowess, but because nobody was going to pay her travel expenses and she’s already spent all of her money on getting the paperwork done she had to make the same path through the desert.  Her group got caught by Border Patrol and she’d been in custody for almost a week before somebody even bothered to look for the paperwork she kept insisting was there.  Your grandparents had a much more terrifying story, including running for their lives and your grandma and dad reaching Chicago alone, when they’d left Mexico with your grandfather and four-year-old uncle.

“Runners keep documents in the trunks of their cars.  Passports, fake social security numbers, green cards.  It’s a big business - especially in border towns.”

“Do you know these runners?”  Prentiss was hoping for some names, maybe even one.

“They change all the time.”

“If immigrants don’t find you, where do they go?”  Derek kept looking for a lead.

“Safe houses - it’s supposed to be where they can find rest, water, food.”

“They’re basically held hostage in a makeshift prison until their families can pay of the Coyotes,” you answered shortly.

“Where are these safe houses?”  Prentiss kept things moving.

“Are you kidding?”  Corral scoffed, “They come and go faster than the tunnels.

“Okay, thank you for your time.”

The four of you had climbed into one of the FBI SUVs instead of taking one of the local marked cars.  The drive back was pretty quiet - uncomfortably quiet after you called the others to give them an update.  Even with the sounds of the car’s motor and the air conditioning, you could still probably hear a pin drop on the carpeted floor of the car.  You got a call back in a few minutes, letting you know where to find the safe house holding the immigrants that crossed the border the night before.

“You know, we’re not gonna get very far if you keep arguing about illegals with everyone,” Derek looked over the rim of his sunglasses to eye Deputy Gentry in the back seat.  At least you assumed Derek was looking at Gentry, since the only other person in the back seat was Prentiss.

“This place used to be different.”  Gentry defended himself.

“How do you mean?”  Derek wasn’t buying it, but he was trying to keep the team’s relationship with the local law enforcement from going completely up in flames.

‘It used to be south of the border,’ you thought as you grabbed a pen from the glove compartment and scribbled the address down on the back of your hand.  You were paying attention to the call, you just couldn’t help but overhear the conversation in the car - it was right there.

“I dunno, just different.”

“Got it, Hotch.”  You hung up and tucked your phone back into your pocket.  “We’re splitting up possible safe houses, there’s one only ten minutes from us.”

“You got a cell phone?”  Derek asked the deputy.

“Yeah.”

“Give me the number,” Prentiss reached into her own pocket to grab her phone.

It was a typical trap.  Get someone to knock on the front door and announce they were law enforcement while more people waited out back.  You, of course, stuck were Prentiss and Derek - primarily because Derek was the one with the MP-5 and he wasn’t about to let you out of his sight unless you were at the motel or the sheriff’s department.  You all had your guns at the ready, and the moment Deputy Gentry knocked and announced you could hear someone making a mad dash through the house and to the back door.  When he came sprinting out, Derek cut him off by holding out his arm and slamming it across the man’s chest, forcing him to crash to a halt and hit the ground.

“Nice,” Prentiss commended lightheartedly as the three of you surrounded the man and kept your guns on him.

“I played a little strong safety in college,” Derek shrugged it off - casual conversation in situations like these was pretty common with the team.

“No idea what that means.”

“I watched it happen and I still don’t know what it means.”  You looked down at the man on the ground, there was no guarantee the man spoke English, but he had to know Spanish to ensure communication with the immigrants staying at the safe house.  “FBI.  Where have a few questions.”

Derek kept a tight hold on the man even after he’d been cuffed and let him lead all of you to the immigrants that crossed the border the night before.  He led you to the stable door, and after leaving him with Deputy Gentry the three of you rushed inside, guns drawn.  You went with Prentiss to clear one end while Derek split off to clear the other before you started sliding open doors to find people.  The moment you slid open the door you could see the people were in bad shape, but they were still raising their hands as best they could - save for a little boy curled up with his knees to his chest.

“Is everyone okay?” you asked, holstering your gun and stepping inside, crouching down, “Is there anyone else here?”

“My mother - the man took her away.”  The boy was on the verge of tears, it was only a matter of time until he broke down.  “I heard her crying.”

“His mom’s here, come on.”  You got back up to your feet, hearing a woman cry out - likely the boy’s mother responding to his voice.  You rushed down the corridor, not waiting for Derek or Prentiss, looking in through the slats on the stable doors until you found her, unlocking the door and sliding it open before rushing in and kneeling in front of the woman.

“Please - please.  He raped me.  Don’t let my son see me like this.”

“Gentry!”  Derek barked loudly to the open door, “We need backup and medical units!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re safe with us.  He won’t see you like this - I promise.”  You held your hands out for her to take, and she clung to you with an crushing grip.  You convinced her to get a rape kit done, that it would help keep her attacker from hurting other people, but she still clung to your hand until she was ready to see her son.  You gave them a few moments before questioning them, sitting at a table in a back room in the department - the doorway open and Boyd of all people standing by it.

Gentry talked out of his ass about a lot of shit, but Boyd gave you the creeps.  You hoped he’d be watching Derek and Prentiss interrogate the guy running the safe house, but no.  That just wasn’t the kind of week you were having.  You wished the department had cameras in the interrogation room.  You knew Prentiss had some words for the guy and you would have loved to see that.

“We were in the middle of the desert.  My husband…he’s been sick…couldn’t keep up.”  The mother caught her breath, still emotionally reeling from the last few hours.  “He wouldn’t let us wait with him.”

“Her husband was sick and he stayed behind,” you looked over to fill JJ in, preparing her for the inevitable emotional reaction.

“Just like the others.”

“Can you tell me anything about the trip?”  You asked after taking a moment, taking things slow for both the mother and her son.

“The sun,” the boy answered, his arm wrapped around his mother’s shoulders with her arm wrapped around him as she sat at the table.  “I saw the sun.”

“You mean the moon, it was dark my love,” his mother gently corrected before turning to you, “He means the moon.”

“No.  It was the sun.”

You nodded, writing it down on your notepad while the mother looked up to JJ and asked, “Can he have soda?”

“Yeah, of course,” JJ smiled kindly, stepping forward to gently guide the boy to the small break room with vending machines, “Come on, big man.  Let’s get a soda.”

The mother was struggling again, just barely holding back sobs and tears as you reached across the table and offered your hand.  Just like before she grabbed hold, both hands on yours, eyes glossy with tears that threatened to fall as she pleaded with you.  “You will find my husband, right?”

“I’m so sorry…”

This was, without a doubt, the worst part of the job.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Eight Hours

Every case was nothing but a series of long days.  Even if it was solved within 24 hours, there was still the travel time, paperwork, and psychological and emotional toll of facing the worst acts humans were capable of practically every day.  Everyone had rougher periods when the job was getting to them more than usual, and Spencer would be the first to admit this wasn’t one of those times, but it might as well have been since he was spending every second worried about you.  With at least one other person constantly hovering over you Spencer hadn’t been able to actually check up on you.  He’d ask how you were doing and you’d always say okay, but until the two of you were alone you weren’t going to say anything else.  He hated that he wasn’t able to keep you safe on his own, but it wasn’t about him, and he already knew what you were going to say.

“Sweetie, if you were the one carrying the MP-5, I wouldn’t have given you a second glance.  My type is Sherlock Holmes, not G.I. Joe.”

He’d stayed late at the sheriff’s department, pouring over everything to see if he could find something or if something would just come to him.  He got nothing.  He knew - he knew the sun the boy talked about had to be important.  You said he was sure and you didn’t think he was confused.  He was going to ask the sheriff if she knew about any buildings with a sun painted on it, but she was already gone.  In the end, Spencer just went back to the motel a little earlier than when he told Morgan he’d be back, but the older agent was probably already asleep anyway.

That’s what Spencer figured until he saw the lights were still on.  Morgan was a very light sleeper, you’d said as much and unless the case had been particularly exhausting he always struggled to sleep on the jet - even with his headphones on.  There was no way he fell asleep with the lights on.

Spencer took a few steps into the room and froze…

Morgan was still awake…

One would hope so, considering Berto Castillo was also in the room…

Everyone froze, not at all sure what to do.  Spencer started taking in the scene.  Neither Morgan nor Berto were armed, Berto was sitting on the edge of one of the beds while Morgan was sitting in one of the chairs, Berto had a copy of the case file on his lap and a few pieces of new evidence in hand - in fact Spencer specifically noticed the piece of paper with the unsub’s profile scribbled on it.

It seemed like the ball was in Spencer’s court, because neither Morgan nor Berto were even blinking, but Spencer was struggling to figure out what to do himself.  All he could do was place his palms together, thumbs under his chin as he tried to process just what was going on.  He knew what it looked like.  He knew Morgan didn’t just hand over a case file to anyone outside of law enforcement.  This wouldn’t even be the first time the team was working a case and Organized Crime completely neglected to tell them that one of their agents was involved.  It just…this was just…

“What the fuck?”

That pretty much summed it up.

********

Spencer didn’t get any sleep even after Berto left.  The brother you thought disappeared into a life of crime actually disappeared into a deep cover operation that both the FBI Organized Crime division and the DEA were part of.  Not only had he been deep undercover for years, but he was about to get out before Omar Morales showed up with the new black tar heroin - made a joke that he’d even scheduled an appointment for laser tattoo removal to get rid of the big L on his neck.  Morgan and Berto asked him not to say anything, but how could he not?  He’d just nodded when they asked him that, but technically that wasn’t really an answer.

Even if they did take it as an answer, he’d rather lie to them than keep this secret from you.

Morgan didn’t make it easy, Spencer was going to have to pull you aside and tell you and Morgan had a habit of being right there.  When the team got to the sheriff’s department he saw his opening.  Clearly, there was something else going on since all the marked cars were gone, but when Hotch and JJ went inside to see what was going on Spencer quietly asked Rossi to keep Morgan distracted for a few minutes.

“I just wanna talk to [F/N], make sure she’s okay.”

Technically, that was also true, and when Rossi found out what was actually going on he was likely to let the little white lie go, and until everyone else found out - because they would - Rossi wouldn’t tell anyone.  The moment Morgan’s attention was somewhere else, Spencer pulled you a few steps closer to the department to talk quietly.  Prentiss gave him a little look, but let it go - thank fuck for that.

“Hey, what’s -”

“Look, we don’t have a lot of time and I don’t know when I’m gonna be able to tell you this.”  He didn’t know how he was going to tell you this.  He wanted to break it to you carefully, but he just didn’t have the time.  “Berto’s an undercover agent - I told Morgan I was gonna stay late to keep working, he called Berto over to the hotel to talk about the case and he was still there when I got back.  He asked Morgan not to tell you, and Morgan agreed to let Berto tell you himself.  He only found out when he was in charge of the team, and Berto was one of his best friends growing up -”

“No, no, they were practically brothers growing up, Dee got stuck between a rock and a hard place,” you sighed, hands on your hips as you processed the information, going through everything you’d known before that moment, “I’m still mad, but not mad enough to kill him.  Berto on the other hand…”

“Promise you’ll hear him out before you kill him?  You’ll hate yourself if you don’t.”

You pursed your lips a bit, looking up at him.  Damn him.  He was right, you knew he was right, but you still wanted to strangle your brother.  You didn’t have time to answer, Hotch and JJ rushed back out of the department.  Sheriff Ruiz went missing last night, all the deputies were out looking for her, and Boyd had just radioed in saying he’d found her - dead.

When you got there, Boyd was on his way out.  You walked with Hotch, Rossi, and Derek to look at the body and…it was bad.  She’d been cut open from the bottom of her chin to her groin, her left hand was cut off, her tongue and eyes were cut out…you hoped she was dead when it happened.  You kept your sunglasses on as you crouched down with Hotch to get a closer look, an unfortunate fact of the job - and yours specifically - was that this level of violent death was familiar.  Not comfortably familiar, like an old family recipe, but something you already knew.

“This isn’t the same, this is angry,” Hotch observed.

“And overkill,” Derek added.

“The M.O. is different - the manner of death, the mutilation, he didn’t leave her where she’d be found like with the heads, and Ruiz doesn’t fit the victimology.”  You stood up, arms crossed as you kept looking down at Ruiz’s body until Hotch stood up and put his own sunglasses back on.

“He goes from impossible to identify illegal immigrants to a law enforcement officer?”  Rossi wasn’t questioning that it happened or that the unsub was responsible, but why it happened.

“We’re profiling a guy who picks on the weakest in a crowd,” Derek pointed out the disconnect between this and the profile, “I didn’t know her that well, but weak doesn’t seem to fit the sheriff.”

“It’s also not random,

“How so?”

“It’s what Omar Morales said he would to do a body to send a message.”

“He’d tear someone up like that?”  Derek’s brow furrowed in concern, just like yours did - and for the same reason.

You were mad as hell at Berto, but you didn’t want him to die.

Not until he apologized.

“It’s exactly what he said he would do.  The evisceration, hand, the tongue.”  Hotch filled the rest of you in on more details of his interrogation of Omar Morales.  “He told Ruiz and I when we first into the interrogation room.”

You were about to say something before the evidence team showed up, it wasn’t something you wanted to say with locals in ear-shot.  The four of you went back to talk to the others, when Boyd’s call came in everyone piled back into the cars and took off.

“Is it her?” Spencer looked up from looking into the sheriff’s cruiser, the team starting to gather together.  JJ was still trying to get back in touch with Garcia.  The cell reception in town was bad enough, it was worse out in the middle of nowhere.

“Yup,” you answered.

“Is there anything in the car?”  Hotch checked in with the others.

“Nothing that would indicate where she was headed last night,” Prentiss pulled off her blue latex gloves, “There’s no notebooks, no log.”

“Her body is mutilated in exactly the way that Omar Morales the drug trafficker said he would mutilate a body,” Hotch kept his voice low, sharing the information with just the team.

“We did profile the unsub would be someone close to the investigation,” Spencer wasn’t surprised by the information, and he was right.

“He’s right,” you sighed, “We should have looked into the deputies more before giving the profile to everyone, bets are we just pissed off the unsub by calling him a coward to his face.”

“Only Ruiz and I heard him say it.”

“So Omar looks good for this?”  Rossi asked, still unconvinced Omar was behind the other murders, but it was possible the sheriff could have gotten too close to the drug trafficking operation.  Or maybe Omar just didn’t appreciate being arrested.

“Except why would he kill the one person in town who didn’t think he was the unsub?”  Hotch wasn’t convinced, and neither were you.

“Garcia says there’s no activity on the sheriff’s cell past p om,” JJ joined the rest of you.

“Does anybody remember who was at the station last night, when we arrived?”  Hotch moved on to the next chance at finding the unsub.

“The station?”  JJ asked to be caught up.  Derek’s phone started ringing and he stepped away to take the call.

“The sheriff’s body was mutilated exactly the way the drug trafficker said he would do it,” Prentiss answered quickly, not expecting JJ’s response.

“Oh no, all of it?  The tongue too?”

“You heard that?”  Hotch didn’t even know about this, and a little voice in the back of your head suggested team building exercises focused on open communication.

“Yeah, I was there when you were talking to him, there was a speaker on the wall.”

You shared a look with Spencer before looking back at JJ as he asked, “Was anybody else there?”

“Yeah, Deputy Boyd.”

“Guys!”  Derek called over, going right past the rest of you and going to one of the cars, “We have to go!  Boyd and Gentry just launched an attack on Omar’s gang - Junior’s Auto Parts Salvage!”

“Shit- Berto’s there?”  That had to be how Derek knew, he just got the phone call and there was only one person on the world that could have told him that quickly.  Boyd had just been at the crime scene a few minutes ago.

“Why would he be calling Morgan?”  Rossi asked as everyone rushed to the cars.

“He’s been undercover the whole time, I just found out like two minutes before we found out Ruiz was murdered, Derek found out during the whole Foyet thing, Spencer found out last night and told me this morning, I’m still processing it.”

“Eight hours!  You lasted eight hours before spilling your guts?”

“I wasn’t gonna wake her up, and you were hovering all morning.  I had to get Rossi to distract you.”

“I was wondering what that was about.”

********

Berto heard the gunfire and dropped what he was working on and rushed out to see what was going on.  He’d have to assess the situation before he could decide what to do, but right now the biggest thing he was worried about was that murder case.  Depending on how it ended, the Lugo Cartel would end up leaving town completely or burning it to the ground.  He didn’t have much time to assess the situation, though.  He came across the bodies - all of them cartel members - before he heard the shotgun cocking.

He turned, saw Deputy Boyd with the shotgun and Deputy Gentry behind him looking shocked.

Berto took a dive, and prayed for the best.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

The Sun

Everyone had slipped into their bulletproof vests on the drive there, throwing them on in a moving car or while driving was something everyone had gotten the hang of over time.  You were told to wait outside with JJ and Spencer while everyone else went into the yard.  You knew JJ wanted to talk about the bombshell you’d just shared with the team, but now really wasn’t the time.  There was at least one dead body in view, there was no telling how many more there were inside, and you still didn’t know where Boyd or Gentry were.  You waited, ready, until you got a call over the radio to call a medical team followed by ‘Agent down, agent down.’

You stayed back and watched as the paramedics rushed in, breath caught in your throat for what felt like hours instead of the handful of minutes it must have been.  You didn’t hear any gunshots, so it must have happened before you got there, and if it was an agent…as far as you knew it could have only been one person.  You’d overheard the tail end of JJ and Hotch’s conversation from the drive over - not much but enough to know he’d asked JJ to call Garcia to dig into some of the FBI’s sealed files and see if Berto really was an undercover agent.

He was.

Part of you couldn’t help but think it would have been easier to find out Berto had lied, that he was just using his old connections to try and get information.

You expected to watch as the paramedics wheeled your dying brother out on a stretcher.

Then you saw him walking out, his shoulder covered in gauze.

“[F/N] -”

“Later - after the armed serial killer is caught.”  They didn’t bring Boyd out in cuffs or on a gurney, there were no gunshots - it was a safe bet the deputy wasn’t there.

“He killed Gentry and staged it to frame Omar, Garcia’s tracking his radio,” Hotch filled you in quickly as Derek grabbed a map and laid it out on the hood of an SUV.

“We profiled him as a hunter,” Prentiss started as everyone gathered around to narrow down where Boyd had ran off to.

“Well, now he’s the hunted,” Rossi turned the tables.  Boyd wasn’t going to be behaving like he’d been.  He had to know it was only a matter of time until the team figured him out.

“He’ll go somewhere he feels safe,” Derek chimed in.

“Somewhere he knows he can control,” Spencer narrowed down.

“Home?”  Rossi suggested.

“No, I think a preplanned location,” Hotch disagreed.

“Sir, I - I got him.”  Garcia cut in, Hotch’s phone on speaker lying on the hood of the car, “He’s heading north.”

“Interstate?”

“No, he’s not on a road at all, he’s driving through the desert.”

“Keep tracking him Garcia.”

“He’s running,” JJ observed.

“Not home, for sure,” the deputy that led the team to the salvage yard offered, “He lives in a trailer out west of town.”

“A witness said he saw the sun when he was running through the desert, is there anything with a sun painted on it?”  You asked.

“There’s an old barn in the desert, got a sun and a grim reaper painted on it - an old mural for some grain company,” Barto offered, sitting on the hood of the deputy’s marked cruiser after you pushed him back.  “It’s in bum-fuck nowhere, can’t find it unless you know where it is.  Jose knew where it was, but he’s uh…”

“Dead, fantastic - have I mentioned how much I hate this case?”  This was easily one of the worst weeks of your life.

“Morgan, Prentiss, Reid, Castillo - deputy, will you take them and Agent Castillo to his house, see what you can find.”  Hotch split up the team, you weren’t pleased with being stuck with your brother but you assumed with his shoulder shot to shreds he wasn’t going to be much help anywhere, and it was best to keep Berto with the people he already knew - which was just you and Derek.  “I need your radio.”

“What are you gonna do?”  Derek dug the keys to one of the cars out of his pocket, already prepared to leave.

“Keep him busy.”

********

The moment you got close to the trailer you saw them.

Graves.

The car hadn't even stopped yet when you saw them.

“We’re gonna need a coroner’s van and an evidence team, someone who can probe the ground,” you didn’t stop you stride to the trailer door as you pointed to a far corner of the property, bald patches in the grass showing the more recent graves.  You jogged up the steps to the trailer door and further explained, “If he’s been doing this as long as we think there’s more graves than the ones we can see.”

“I’ll call the state and local bureau offices,” Prentiss dug her phone out of her pocket.  The team had long since passed the days where they actually needed an explanation from you.  As morbid as it was, graves were part of your expertise.  As much as they didn’t want to think about it, your career before the BAU involved literally jumping into and climbing through mass graves.

“Careful!  There’s deco in here!”  You called out when you stepped inside.  “Smells like day two - probably the body to the head left outside the sheriff’s house.”

“...How much does she know about dead bodies?”  Berto turned to Derek to ask the question, already a bit weirded out by how much - or in reality, how little - he’d already seen.  He’d kept an eye on you over the years, from a distance, but there were details your professional resume left out - even the file the FBI had on you left a few things out.  They sure as hell didn’t mention that you’d know you were walking into a bloody crime scene and could tell how old the remains were based on the smell.

“I try not to ask.”

The others joined you in the trailer and had various reactions to the smell, Reid handled it well but the others acted like they’d been hit by a truck.  It was one hell of a smell, you’d admit that, but part of you was already used to it.  You’d smelled worse.

“Guys just breathe through your nose like normal.  Smell is the weakest sense.  In a few more minutes, you won’t even notice it,” Reid advised the others - or tried to.  Prentiss had just stepped through the door and actually jerked back when she caught the smell, covering her mouth and nose.

“What about the taste?”  Prentiss was barely holding back the urge to gag and didn’t see how she’d ever get used to the smell.

“I think that’s in your head.”

“Smell’s stronger back here,”  You called back, having already forged deeper into the trailer until you reached the last door down the hall.  “Found where he decapitated the victims, the bodies aren’t here.  Looks like he tried a few different implements before he settled on a hatchet, but someone can make sure once we get the bodies to a morgue.”

Berto smacked his hand on Derek’s arm, giving his old friend a look - you’d been yelling that shit down the hall like you were telling a roommate you needed to get more cereal.  Derek just shrugged in response before turning and following you down the hall to keep looking for anything that might tell you where Boyd was heading.

“Guys, come look at this,” Reid called from the other side of the trailer, and the others were eager to get as far away from the makeshift butchering block as they could.

“I’m ready for that smell weakness to kick in anytime, Reid,” Prentiss trailed down the hall just a few steps in front of you.

“Listen - Golden Harvest grain and feed suffered another setback today in a ruling over the death of Foreman Fred Boyd.” Reid read one of the many newspaper clippings Boyd had stuck to the wall of his bedroom.

“Boyd survived by his son Ronald,” Derek kept reading.

“There it is - the barn with the sun on it,” Berto tapped a newspaper clipping with a photo of the barn he’d mentioned earlier, “That’s gotta be it.”

Derek grabbed his phone and made the call, “Baby girl…”

“I’ll call Hotch,” Prentiss grabbed her own phone and headed towards the door with Derek.

“We’ll stay here with the burial site,” Reid slid past you to meet up with the team that had just reached the trailer as you made your way back to the makeshift graveyard.

Ten…twenty…

At least thirty graves from what you could see, and there was no telling how many more the evidence team would find when they arrived.

********

Boyd forced a fight, opening fire on Hotch and Rossi before Prentiss and Derek could get there.  He went down in a hail of bullets, just like he wanted, but the team had long since learned to get over having to give unsubs those small victories.  What really mattered was stopping the unsub from hurting anyone else.  JJ got hold of Corral before the team left, too.  Without official missing persons’ reports, identifying the victims buried in Boyd’s yard would be impossible, but Corral could get in touch with at least a few people and get DNA samples from relatives of people that got lost during the journey across the desert.

Berto caught a ride to the airport, and from there he was taking off to California to meet up with his own team.  You didn’t have anything to say to him, it was all too fresh, you could barely bring yourself to even talk to him at all.  You couldn’t just…forgive him and let him back in, there was too much history for that.  You did talk a bit with Derek, letting him know you’d forgive him and you knew why he did what he did, but you were still going to need some time.

When you finally - finally - found yourself back at home, you dropped your bag only a few steps into your apartment before turning the corner of your large studio and collapsing on your bed - face down.  Tybalt jumped up onto your bed and started patting at your head and then let out a very loud meow.  He did that every time you got home from a case - the whining and demanding your attention thing.  Really, what he was demanding was more food.  He didn’t need it, both Garcia and your neighbor would check in on Tybalt, but he was still going to try.

You heard the door open and close, but you didn’t move.  Spencer needed to find a parking spot for the night and told you to go ahead, and like always he locked the door once he was inside.  You still didn’t move when Spencer picked Tybalt up and placed him on the ground to get him to stop bothering you, or sat on the edge of the bed and started combing his fingers through your hair, placing his hand on your back when you turned your head to talk.

“I don’t wanna talk about it…but thank you for telling me when you did.  Everyone either lies to me or keeps things from me…”  You pushed yourself just enough to roll over onto your back.  “Not everyone but…more than enough…”

“I’ll never lie to you.”  He leaned down to kiss your forehead before resting his forehead against yours.  “I promise.”

Your eyes slid closed as you smiled, taking a moment to just enjoy what you were feeling.  That soothing peace that came over you from knowing there was someone that loved you unconditionally, someone that you loved the the same, someone you could always trust.  You tilted your head up and pressed your lips against his in a chaste kiss, and after you pulled away he returned with another kiss, then a deeper one, and another, until your hands were intertwined against your head and the two of you simply couldn’t be pulled apart.

And when he did pull away, you tried to follow.

“Come on,” he stood up and pulled you up with him, “It’s been a shitty week and we’ll both feel better after a hot shower.”

“Ugh, I’m too tired to wash my hair,” you whined, still allowing Spencer to pull you along.

“I’ll wash it for you,” he chuckled, still pulling you along for a few more steps before turning and holding both your hands in his, “I love you.”

You smiled again and pulled your hands away to stand on your toes and wrap your arms around his neck, giving him a soft kiss before laying your head on his shoulder.

“I love you too.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Ruined Girls Night (Can Be Hard To Let Go)

“Well, I’m guessing someone’s not going to her own apartment after girls’ night,” Emily teased as you met up with her and JJ at the coffee shop.  It was late, and anyone getting coffee at that time of night would be picking the location a few blocks closer to Capital Hill.

“You’re one to talk,” you retorted, waling right up to the counter and ordering, “Medium chai with almond milk, please - [F/N].”

“She’s got a point,” JJ offered, her coffee already in hand as she waited with Emily by the counter.  Your black dress - which you’d bought for a case in Atlanta while JJ was on maternity leave - was about the same length as Emily’s skirt, which was hardly unusual.  When Emily was up for going out and being rambunctious, you were the one she called.  JJ half expected to get a late-night call with one of you drunkenly explaining you needed her to post bail with the other one yelling something like ‘tell her it wasn’t our fault’ in the background.  Though, you’d matched your dress with heeled black boots that went over your knees and a long white cardigan that fell to your knees.

“And I know who I’m spending my night with,” you tucked the receipt into your small black bag and took a few steps towards the girls.

“But we don’t,” JJ pointed out as Emily grabbed her own drink and waited for Penelope’s order.

“Whose side are you on, here?”

“Nobody’s.  Out of the three of us, I’m the only one whose love life isn’t a mystery or dying.”

“Well, after Texas, I’ve had bigger things to deal with.”  Your drink was placed on the counter at the same time as Penelope’s, and the three of you left the shop to meet up with the technical analyst.  “I love you guys, but you’re nosey as hell, so he and I decided it would be best to keep things to ourselves for a bit longer.  At least until I’m done being mad at Derek, and I’ve got at least two weeks of mad left.”

“You did say it would take a month,” JJ admitted before switching tactics and her attention to Emily.  “You hit if off with Mick, why not give that a shot?”

“It wouldn’t work.”

“Bullshit,” you countered, “You two had great chemistry.”

“That’s not the point.”

JJ set out a short exasperated sigh as she rolled her eyes, “Well, are you gonna call him?”

“...Maybe,” Emily admitted, sounding like she already regretted the decision.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” you cursed, not caring if the other two could hear you or not as JJ let out a groan.

“Emily.”

“Mick Rawson is an arrogant, oversexed, egotistical -”

“Hot British dude with a sexy accent, badge, and gun,” JJ countered, “Just your type.”

“Ugh,” Emily couldn’t come up with anything, she was just trying to wait out the discussion now.

“You know what?  I don’t even get you sometimes.”

“It wouldn’t go anywhere.”

“Says who?  You don’t know that until you give it a shot - trust me.”  You figured that out the hard way.

“I know our work schedules.”

“Okay, you know what?  Will and I make it work.”

“Ooh…JJ, 12 o’clock.”  You’d seen Penelope before the other two, and the first thing you noticed where all the bags she was carrying.  There had to be at least eight…maybe even twelve bags.  She’d told everyone she was going shopping to get presents for Henry, and then she said she was running late and asked if someone could get her coffee.  You’d all just assumed she was running late, not buying everything in the mall.

‘Oh, no.”  JJ’s eyes were immediately glued to all the bags Penelope was carrying, each one from a different store.  She just couldn’t look away, even as Penelope tried to explain.

“I know.  I know.  I know.  Don’t say it - but when you see what’s in here, and it’s - it’s not my fault.  They were calling to me, I swear, and they were all on sale, and when you think about it that means that I am helping the economy, which is more than I can say for you guys, cause no one else has bags…”  She started to lose her gumption as she reached the end of her argument.

“Yeah.  Please tell me all of those aren’t for my son.”  JJ smiled to try and hide the cringing, because she was afraid she already knew the answer.

“They’re not.”  Penelope said that so casually it had to be true.

“Good.”

“This one’s for Kevin.”

You snorted out a laugh in the middle of taking a sip of your tea as Emily let out a little chuckle because Penelope was talking about tiny bag your tea wouldn’t even fit in.  JJ couldn’t help but laugh a little herself, even as she looked up to the sky in - mild - frustration.

“What?”  Penelope stood her ground, “It is my duty as a fairy godmother to spoil the child, and Henry is finally old enough to be fun when opening presents.  I am not taking them back.  Give me my coffee and no one’s gonna gets hurt.”

“Oh uh - “ Emily took a quick glance at the cups of coffee in her hands before handing one over to Penelope, “Half-caf extra shot venti, 2-pump nonfat, hold the whip caramel macchiato.”

“Mm-hmm,” Penelope gladly took the coffee and tapped her cup against Emily’s, “Next stop, Xanadu.”

“Oh, wait.”  JJ readjusted her bag to dig her beeping cell out and check the message, “Uh…Xana-don’t.  Time to go to the BAU, ladies.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” you brought up as you all left to get back to work, “But I’m pretty sure the last time we had a break was when Hotch and I got hit by that bomb in New York.”

Emily’s thoughtful and deflated musing was the only answer you needed.

“Maybe I should get a cat…”

********

Hotch was already at the office when you got there with the girls, but that wasn’t too much of a surprise.  He tended to stay home with Jack whenever he could, but Haley’s sister was always available to watch Jack for a night or during a case.  JJ rushed back to her office to look over the file before getting everything ready for the briefing.  The night had just been starting when JJ got you, Garcia, and Prentiss to help her get hold of everyone else, and for some people it was hard to…let go of the lost night off.

“Why is everyone bothering me about this?  Go bother Emily about calling Mick, and while you’re at it remind her that getting a cat does not mean her social life is completely over.”  You grabbed a notepad and some pens from your desk, leaving your small purse in your desk drawer.

“I just want to make sure he’s the right guy.”  Poor Garcia, she couldn’t lie for shit.  It wasn’t a bad thing, it just meant she was an honest person by nature, but it meant you were able to see what she was up to from a mile away.  “Has Reid met him?”

“Why would he?”  You asked as you made your way up to the round table room with Garcia, where JJ, Prentiss, and Hotch had already gathered.  You’d admittedly given the girls different bits of information, but you knew it was nothing that would give away your boyfriend’s identity.  They’d already grilled you on how things were ‘in the bedroom,’ but Garcia had poked and prodded for a bit more information when the two of you met to catch up on Supernatural after work made the two of you miss three episodes.  “Why is this so important?”

You were going to regret that.

“Because I wanna plan a couples’ night that isn’t just me, Kevin, Will, and JJ, and because I need to know more,” Garcia put her notebook down on the table, and out the corner of your eye you spotted Morgan and Reid steps away from the door - easily within earshot as Garcia pushed a bit further, “You said he’s ‘easily the best you’ve ever had,’ how could I not be curious?”

You swear you had an out-of-body experience for a second.  You’d floated up out of your body to get an aerial view of the room and confirm that little tidbit had been shared with everyone but Rossi.  You must not have moved in those few moments, because after you lips and took a deep breath you looked up at Garcia, and it looked like she’d had enough time to process 1) what she’d said, and 2) everyone that had heard.  Hotch had long-since mastered the art of just blocking the nonsense the rest of you got up to - he had to if he was going to even remotely keep the rest of you focused long enough to solve a case - but you swear he froze for a few moments before deciding to act like it wasn’t happening.  Derek looked like he was going to be sick, and you couldn’t blame him - if the roles had been reversed you would have been a bit nauseous too.  JJ and Prentiss were torn between looking at Garcia in shock at the bombshell she’d just dropped - again, by accident - and looking at you - smugly and in search for more details.  Then there was your boyfriend - who had the nerve to look convincingly stunned.

You’d already had this conversation with him, back when the relationship was brand new.  Having been so close before getting together didn’t immediately quell every new relationship concern, and being the sweetheart he was he wanted to make sure you enjoyed the sex as much as he did.  Sure, you’d been a serial monogamist, but you’d had a long string of bad relationships before moving to Virginia and joining the BAU.  You’d start relationships so fast there were bullets that gone slower, you’d go out with people you had no future with, and if you happened to find someone you could have a future with you self-sabotaged.  You knew the kind of problems something like this could cause in a relationship, so you looked him in the eyes and answered him - honestly.

“I’ve had a lot of good sex in my life, really good, and none of it even comes close.  This - us - is easily the best sex I’ve ever had.”

You knew he remembered - dating a man with an eidetic memory was both a blessing and a curse - and the fact that he looked stunned so convincingly irked you.

How did this never happen to him?

Why was it always you?

“Best?”  Emily read the room, she knew this was wildly inappropriate.  She also wanted to know more about your boyfriend and knew this was the quickest way to get you to crack.  You knew she balanced the situation and deciding meeting your boyfriend to make sure he was actually good for you was more important than keeping whatever sense of propriety and professionalism the team had long since thrown out the window.  “All she told me was biggest.”

On that note…why were you so close to Emily again?

“Oh - did she tell you about the -”

“That’s enough!”  You cut JJ off.  Most of what you’d told all the girls weren’t that bad.  How you’d spent the weekend, going to a film festival or the museum.  The night the two of you made a homemade pizza, or the morning he surprised you by making pancakes for breakfast - pancakes and coffee being pretty much the only things he could reliably make.  Lazy days reading or watching TV.  You did tell JJ about that three-day weekend you spent together, and the only time either one of you got dressed was to answer the door when you ordered food, but that had been topical.  She’d asked if you could help Garcia and Spencer babysit Henry so she and Will could spend a weekend at a hotel.  The rest, none of that is embarrassing enough to bug you into spilling the beans…which did beg the question…

Why did you tell the girls anything?

That’s right…alcohol…

At least Spencer wasn’t pretending to be stunned anymore, though it did look like if you’d found a pit to jump into he would have jumped in after you.

“I’m just gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.  If it didn’t happen, I can forget it.”  Derek stiffly took a seat next to Garcia while Spencer sat next to you.

“Woah,” Prentiss’ clear view of the open door let her see Rossi reluctantly trudging closer, still wearing his black tux with his untied bow-tie still draped around his neck.

Hotch spared a glance up at the door, “Sorry to ruin your night.”

“What, are you working on wife number four?”  This turn of events was very amusing to Derek, and he couldn’t help but grin and mirthfully giggle.

“I see you people way too much.”  Rossi announced, grumpily, before taking the empty seat.

“Oh - trust me, it could be worse.”  You didn’t even look up from the file in front of you, already starting to go through it.

“Did I miss something?”

“I don’t know.”  Hotch answered that too quickly for it to be true, but Rossi let it go.  “Let’s get started.”

“Alright,” JJ was still smiling from the lighthearted banter from moments ago, including your little secret getting thrown out there.  “Anchorage field office is asking us to investigate a series of murders in Franklin, Alaska.  There’s three people dead in less than a week.”

“For a town with a population of 1,476, that’s fairly significant.”  Spencer observed, sitting back a bit with his pen still in hand.

“It’s their first murder investigation on record,” JJ further explained just how much the local law enforcement was in over their heads.

“Who are the victims?”  Rossi asked, looking for some sort of pattern in victimology.

“Jon Baker, a hunter,” JJ brought up pictures of the victims on the screen, “Dedamia Swanson, a schoolteacher.  Brenda Bright, the first mate on a fishing boat.  There’s a victim every two days.”

“Any connections?”  Prentiss asked.

“Unfortunately, in a town this small, everyone’s connected.”  That was something JJ had personal experience with.

“The M.O. is different,” you pointed out, having quickly skimmed through the file, “The first two victims were shot with a rifle and Brenda Bright was stabbed with an arrow twice.”

“Are we sure it’s the same guy?”  Rossi questioned.  The first two victims could have easily been killed by the same person, but the third one was up close and personal.  A change in M.O. like that wasn’t common - not impossible, but rare.

“All three victims were found in heavily trafficked areas.  The unsub wants them found sooner than later,” Hotch kept things going, pointing out one commonality between the murders.

“John Baker’s body was left exposed to the elements, but the two women were buried under mounds of trash.  Why?”  Prentiss brought up.

“It could be a sign of remorse,” Spencer suggested, “Cover their bodies so he doesn’t have to face the reality of what he’s done.”

“Or he thinks that women are trash and he’s just placed them where he thinks they belong.”  Derek’s suggestion went in the other direction, everyone throwing out ideas when they had them.

“Well, we can’t be sure of anything yet,” JJ warned the rest of you, “Franklin is an isolated fishing community that’s been hit really hard by the current economy.  Add to that a series of unsolved murders and everyone’s on edge.”

“The local sheriff’s out of his depth, and Alaska hasn’t handled a serial investigation since Robert Hansen in the eighties,” Hotch further pressed why the team was needed on this case, outside of the obvious.  “We’ll fly out tonight.  Everybody can sleep on the plane.  Garcia, I need you with us.”

“Sir?”  Garcia was quiet bug-eyed, the last time she’d been in the field had been during your first year on the team.

“I’ve tasked a satellite uplink and it’s your job to keep us connected.”

“Yes, sir.”

“This town’s already on the brink, and if this pattern continues, we’ve only got another day until the next murder.  Let’s finish this fast.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Evolution and Hesitation

"This guy’s all over the map,” Prentiss stated as the team tried to pin down victimology, “He crosses sex and race boundaries, he changed his kill method - it says to me he’s disorganized.”

“Yet there weren’t any prints at any of the crime scenes,” Rossi countered, closing the file in his hands and dropping it on the table in front of him, “And he isolated his victims.”

“Wearing gloves and making sure there aren’t any witnesses - that’s a no-brainer,” Morgan shrugged, “But what concerns me is the evolution of the kills?”

“Evolution?”  JJ furrowed her brow up at Morgan, still waking up a bit.  There had been some turbulence that had jostled some of you awake, Reid fell back asleep pretty fast but you’d stayed up for a few minutes quietly texting JJ and Garcia with your phones on silent to keep from waking anyone else up, they were still texting when you went back to sleep.

“Well, he started with easy prey,” Morgan explained, “Jon baker was in his mid sixties, it’s relatively low-risk for a first-timer.  Dedaimia Swanson was in her early fifties, she wouldn’t be that difficult to overpower.”

“But, he didn’t have to overpower either one of the, both victims were shot,” Reid pointed out.

“Which is my point exactly.  He killed them both from a safe distance, but Brenda Bright was younger, more athletic.  She would have been able to put up more of a fight, so why not shoot her too?”

“That supports the disorganized theory,” Hotch chimed in.

“True, but I wouldn’t jump to the conclusion that Brenda Bright fought back,” you were still a bit hesitant, “This is a town of less than 1,500 people, everyone knows everyone, and people are less likely to expect people they know to be a serial killer.  Bets are a lot of people think the unsub is the town’s violently drunk asshole or a stranger that set up camp in the woods when it’s someone they’ll let their guard down with - even with all the murders.”

“Maybe he didn’t get what he wanted with the first two murders.  Brenda Bright was an attractive woman.  He used an arrow, but he didn’t shoot her with it.  He stabbed her.  I think we all know what that means,” Rossi proposed a new angle, bringing up a familiar profiling approach - stabbing as a substitute for sex.

“When we land in Anchorage, there’ll be a float plane to take us to Franklin,” Hotch filled the rest of you in on the game plan, “When we get there, Morgan and Prentiss work the crime scene.  We need to know exactly how he ambushed his victims.  Castillo, Reid, and Rossi - the bodies.  Find out what you can there.  JJ and I will work victimology.  And, Garcia, town records.  Find us something we can use.”

“Of course, sir,” Garcia stopped scribbling down notes on her notepad and raised her voice a touch to catch everyone’s attention, “I should let everybody know that reception in the area is unreliable at best.  I’m giving everybody satellite phones for communication, and I’ve already preprogrammed all your digits into speed dial.  Guess who’s lucky number 7.”

********

Squeezing into the float plane was a bit of a trick even without the luggage.  Falling out of the small plane and onto the dock was a relief.  A few of the sheriff’s deputies were already there, helping with bags and getting everyone where they needed to go.  Prentiss and Derek stayed at the docks to see the scene where Brenda was killed, while the rest of you piled into an old yellow pickup to drive into town and stop at the sheriff’s department.

“Agent Hotchner?” the sheriff rushed out to meet the rest of you, a middle-aged man with a kind face that was eager to help.

“Yes, sir.”  Hotch was the first to approach the sheriff, quickly followed by JJ.

“Sheriff Rhodes.”  The sheriff shook Hotch and JJ’s hands, exchanging polite greetings before jumping to business as you, Rossi, and Reid caught up.  “So - I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you all could come.  The people here are really starting to act up.  I’m afraid our little town’s a bit of a powder keg.”

“Where would you like us to set up, sir?”  JJ, politely, went right to business.  Garcia needed a place to set up and get to work, and everyone needed a place to meet once they finished with their assigned tasks.

“You see, there’s not much room at the station because that’s also the post office.  But, I have made arrangements for you to work out of Carol’s tavern, which is right over there.”  Sheriff Rhodes pointed to building down the short street - a large building compared to the smaller ones dotted around town.

“Thank you.”  Hotch nodded and the rest of you split ways to get to work.

“Well, thank you.  Appreciate it.”

********

“Sheriff asked me to keep everyone on ice till you got here,” the doctor - and only doctor - said as he led you around his office to the back door leading to his basement.  “Still, I can’t believe someone from Franklin would be capable of this.”

“What convinced you she was stabbed with the arrow instead of shot?” Reid asked as the four of you turned the corner around the building and to the back yard.

“Upward angle at the point of entry, he would have had to have been shooting from beneath her.”

“And Jon Baker?  Report said he was left to the animals,” you asked as the doctor unlocked the door.

“There wasn’t much left, forest got to him first,” the doctor led you down the stairs, stepping aside so the rest of you could step through to the small area where the bodies were kept on ice, “I found urine on the remains.”

“Urine?”  Rossi asked for clarification as you and Reid took an initial look at the three victims.

“I thought it was from the animals who scavanged his body, but I got the lab results back this morning.”

“The urine was human,” Rossi concluded, still speaking with the doctor while you pulled on a pair of gloves and kneeled by Jon Baker’s body, having already tied your hair into a braid before going to sleep on the jet.  “Is he marking his victims?”

“I only found it on Jon,” the doctor explained, the three men watching while you carefully stepped around the bags of ice and black bodybags to examine Dedaimia and get an idea of what you’d be working with, “Both the women were clean.”

“Jon was shot three times - the unsub grazed him twice then hit him in the head.  Dedaimia Swanson was only shot once,” Reid brought up a big difference between the first two murders.

“The first kill shows hesitation, uncertainty.  He wasn’t confident taking the terminal shot,” Rossi caught on.

“So, it was an accident or done in a fit of rage,” you stood up to carefully make your way over and see Brenda’s body, “Then we get to Dedaimia, which is more along the lines of an execution but he hides the body in trash.  Two days later, he kills Brenda, two stabs with an arrow before also hiding the body in trash.  He’s progressing really quick.”

“Were you close with the victims?”  Rossi turned back to the doctor.

“Occupational hazard when you’re the only doctor in town.  I delivered Brenda,” the doctor and Rossi watched as Reid knelt by you to take a closer look at the stab wounds the two of you talking quietly amongst yourselves as you poked a little at Brenda’s abdomen, “I never thought I’d outlive her.”

You weren’t about to do an autopsy on a recently murdered victim any time soon - barring unusual circumstances that warranted your particular set of skills - but you picked up a few things over your years at the Medico-Legal lab in Boston and in the FBI.

“Care to share, doctors?” Rossi reminded the two of you that there were other people in the room.

“Her torso - there’s a few shallow non-penetrating cuts,” you filled them in quickly before taking another look, “They’re all postmortem.”

“He’s playing with the bodies - experimenting with his methodology.”  Reid stood upright as you pulled your gloves off, holding a hand out to help you get up.

“Someone incapable of remorse,” Rossi concluded, turning to the doctor more to warn him than anything, “We’re dealing with a psychopath.”

“Have you determined whether or not she was raped?”  Reid’s question caused the doctor to snap his attention to the genius.

“I didn’t even think to look.”

********

Things got more complicated.  For starters, there had been a trail of blood leading to the scene where Brenda was found, but the sheriff and deputies had to cover up the blood - there was a bear that had been ripping smaller animals to shreds and it would have followed the blood trail into town.  There was a new resident in town, and a local had decided the new resident must have been responsible for the killing, which resulted in a brawl and the sheriff putting them both in lockup.  Because everyone was so spread out calling them into a town meeting to discuss the case was already difficult, but people moved to remote areas like that to be left alone - there’s no guarantee anyone would show up and the sheriff didn’t think it would do much good anyway.

The good news was, Garcia got her gear set up by the time everyone gathered back at the tavern.

“He’s already experimenting with his victims,” Rossi filled the rest of the team in after stoking the fire in the fireplace, besides the tavern owner, a deputy, and the sheriff, the team were the only occupants of the tavern, “He violated Brenda Bright with an arrow.”

“And he’s inciting panic,” Morgan added, leaning against the back of the couch you, JJ, and Garcia were sharing, “People who have lived here most of their lives are packing up to leave.”

“Can you blame them?  We have a psychopath whose hunting ground is a town of 1,400 people,” JJ retorted.

“Most of them grew up learning to kill animals and start fires,” Reid brought up the one thing that was going to make finding the unsub particularly difficult.  Most psychopaths start out killing animals or starting fires, but f everyone was doing it, then it wasn’t going to stick out in a crowd.  It was normalized, to the point it was part of living in Franklin.

“Sounds like your basic survival skills,” Sheriff Rhodes shared the local point of view, not to argue but to make a point just what kind of area the team was in.

“No - they’re hunting skills,” Rossi specified, particularly in what they meant to the case.  “Think about it.  The marksmanship, the urine - it makes sense.”

“This might just be because I’m a city girl, but I’m gonna need an explanation for why the urine makes sense,” you spoke up.

“It’s a hunter’s trick.  You urinate downwind to keep the animals away,” Rossi filled you in - along with a few other members of the team.

“He tried to preserve Jon Baker’s body so it would be discovered intact,” Hotch concluded, adding to the profile.

“Alright, so we’ve got a psychopath with hunting skills who knows the routines of everyone in town.”  JJ listed off the bad news.

“You forgot the part where he kills every other day and we still don’t know why he picks his victims,” you added, the blond looking at you to give you a nod of solidarity - the one that people share when they’ve both realized just how screwed they are.

“How are we supposed to keep everyone safe?”

“Sheriff, I suggest you institute a curfew until we have the unsub in custody.  Nobody out after dark,” Hotch advised, making sure everyone in the town would be safer before getting back to business.

“I’ll have one of my deputies patrolling the town around the clock.”

“Garcia, how’s it coming with town records?”

“I’ve run everyone who’s been printed through CODIS - nothing’s come up so far.  I’m gonna pull an all-nighter, finish going through the town records, should have background checks by sunrise.”

“Good.  The rest of us should get some sleep, start fresh in the morning.”  When Hotch made the call, everyone but Garcia started to get up, until Carol - the tavern owner - made an announcement that made everyone freeze.  “I’ve got four of the upstairs rooms available.”

It’s not like the team hadn’t doubled up on rooms before, but it wasn’t exactly ideal.  

“Uh - four?”  Reid, in particular, wasn’t looking forward to bunking with someone.  Last time he did that, he walked in on Derek and Berto talking about the case, got no sleep because he didn’t want to wake you up, and then dropping a massive bombshell on you the next morning.

“Come on, that’s the best we can do,” the sheriff lightheartedly defended as Carol smiled in amusement, “Your team is double the size of my department.  I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Good night,” Hotch called after the sheriff as he left, the local desperate to get some sleep for himself, “Looks like we’ll have to double-up.”

“I’m not sleeping with Reid.”  Derek didn’t even wait to make that call.

“Why, you got another lie to get caught in?”  You retorted as you got up, turning to point at him with the pen you’d been fiddling with, “On that note, in exactly 14 days you’re gonna be getting me coffee and two danishes every day for a week.”

“Wha -”

“You want me to tell mamma exactly how I found out?”  You watched Derek as any argument he had slipped away at the fear of his mom kicking his ass.  Mamma was a sweet person at heart, but when she opened a can of whoop-ass, she emptied the can.  “That’s what I thought.  Come on, Reid, with Garcie working all night it’s best to keep the other geniuses in one place and easy to find."

You grabbed your bags and one of the keys to one of the rooms Carol had prepared, and Reid didn’t argue,.  He just got up to grab his things and head upstairs with you as Garcia put her hand on Derek’s and called, “Dibs.”

“Well, that worked out pretty well,” Spencer admitted, stopping to lock the door before pointing out, “The doors don’t lock automatically.”

“Well, if anyone else walks in without knocking, they’re nosier than we thought.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Unlocked Doors

The night ended before sunrise, for the team, as you’d all been brought back to consciousness when Garcia threw open the tavern door yelling for help.

She witnessed the fourth murder.

She sat at the bar in shock while Prentiss and Hotch headed out to the scene first, Rossi and Reid left to catch up, and you stayed for a few moments to make sure Garcia wouldn’t be alone before jogging out to catch up.  You wanted to stay, but you had work to do.  More importantly, she’d be more comfortable with Derek.

“His name’s Craig Ramey, fisherman,” Sheriff Rhodes identified the latest victim.

“Morgan and I met him this morning, he was packing up to leave,” Prentiss recalled.

“He’s accelerating his schedule, we should have had another day.  Why change that?”  Reid brought up the more concerning aspect.

“Ramey was pretty vocal about wanting to get out of town.  If the unsub knew that, he could have struck early to prevent his target from getting away,” Prentiss proposed a potential theory.

“Maybe - but this was right outside the tavern we’re staying at.  It’s a small town, but it’s not that small.  Can I borrow a flashlight?  Thanks.”  You took the flashlight Rossi offered and crouched down to get a closer look at the wound as you continued, Reid leaning over your shoulder and Rossi stepping closer to get a better look himself, “All of his other victims were hidden.”

“He’s telling us that he’s not afraid of us,” Hotch theorized, “He’s gaining confidence.”

“He switched to a hunting knife, looks like a jagged edge,” Rossi observed.

“He cut Craig open - like the unsub took something.”  You didn’t have gloves, and this was well outside your wheelhouse of expertise, but you could tell that much.

“Like what?”  Hotch asked.

“Hard to say, but judging from the location, I would guess liver or spleen,” Reid answered, both you and him unaware of the way Rossi eyed the two of you - briefly.  Sure, the two of you had been close from the start, you’d always worked well together, but this was…

There were times where it was like you were having entire conversations by just looking at each other.  There was a case a few weeks ago that canceled everyone’s weekend plans, normally that wasn’t a big deal to you or Reid, but that time the both of you seemed a bit grumpy.  Just a few hours ago, there was no sign of awkwardness or discomfort at sharing a room.  On it’s own, each piece of evidence wasn’t much, but put together…

Something changed…

You stayed at the scene with Reid as the others made their way back to the road, closer to the tavern, to continue to discuss the case with the sheriff.  Derek joined a few moments later, telling everyone that Garcia had given all the information she had.  They caught him up to speed, quickly, moments before you and Reid joined the rest of the group as Craig’s body was taken to the doctor’s office.  As the two of you looked around the area to see if there was anything else to take note of you continued to discuss theories, until the two of you landed on something that could help narrow things down.

“It was an accident,” Prentiss realized as they continued to discuss the profile, specifically why the unsub was so wildly inconsistent, “But it triggered a sexual response - he got off on it.”

“And he knew then and there he had to kill again,” Derek added, “He learned how to get the job done more efficiently.”

“Yeah - but why the organs?” Sheriff Rhodes cut in.

“Consumption typically indicates a desire to keep the victim with them,” Reid explained as the two of you got closer, “He’s having trouble letting go.  We’re probably looking for someone with severe abandonment issues.”

“It’ll be light soon.  Let’s get everybody together and go over what we know.”

********

There was still some time before sunrise, before everyone was gathered together to discuss the case and what you knew about the unsub so far.  You stopped by Garcia and Derek’s room to check up on the analyst, but she wanted to gather herself and get back to work, and you understood that.  It’s how you dealt with it when things got rough.  So, you just asked if she’d be free to have a girls night in two weeks, chatted a bit about wanting to get out of bum-fuck nowhere as soon as possible, you dodged her attempts at - yet again - getting more information about your boyfriend, and then you went back to your own room at the tavern.

“Hey, how’s she doing?”  Spencer looked up from going through the town records that Garcia had printed out before she’d stepped outside to fix the satellite uplink.  It was a long shot, but maybe something would stick out.

“She doesn’t want to be treated like a victim, wants to focus on catching the unsub,” you sighed as you shut the door, “She wants some time alone to get herself back together and deal with it before getting back to work, which means the best thing to do is to not fuss over her - which is what I want to do.”

Spencer placed the papers on the end table between the two cushioned chairs at the far end of the room by the window.  You crossed the room and sat on his lap with your legs draped over one of the armrests, snuggling close to him and resting your head on his chest as he wrapped one arm around your waist and draped the other over your legs, absentmindedly tracing patterns on your outer thigh.  The two of you quickly settled like that.  You shifted a little and he rested his chin on your head, shutting his eyes for a few moment as neither of you got a lot of sleep.

“I promise I’m not always this…problematic.  I’m just -”

“You’re worried, you always worry about us.”

“No, it’s more than that…we’re dealing with an unsub with abandonment issues, and with all the stuff with Berto dragging up old wounds…”  You put your head against his chest again just to avoid eye-contact.  “I can sympathize, you know?”

“I know, I’ve been through it too.”  He rubbed your side and held you close.  More than once something had dragged up old wounds - childhood bullies, his dad taking off, repressed memories clawing their way back to the surface, dilaudid cravings showing up out of nowhere.  Sometimes, all it took was a bad day to make you sympathize with an unsub you had nothing in common with.  “You care about everything and everyone, even after everything you’ve been through - and you always try to do what’s best for us instead of what you want to do.  That’s why we love you so much - some of us a bit differently than the others.”

“Hopefully just the one of you,” you smiled, looked up at him, and reached up to press your lips to his, your hand reaching up to tangle in his hair as he cupped your cheek.  His grip on you tightened as he pulled you closer and you moved closer, your grip on his hair and vest tightening.  The two of you weren’t about to start ripping your clothes off and moving things to the bed, but you still just fell into them.  Loving.  Comfortable.  Like a hot cup of tea and a hot bath at the end of a long day.  The last thing either of you wanted to do was part ways, so you relished in the moment while you had it but at some point you had to pull apart.  Spencer smiled down at you before looking up to check the clock on the wall across the room - and you watched as his face fell.

“Sweetheart…did you lock the door?”

“Wha -”  You quickly turned your head and saw Emily, standing there in the doorway.  Her jaw dropped, eyes wide, and completely at a loss for words.  You immediately launched yourself back to your feet, with Spencer not far behind, as he dragged her into the room and you shut the door - being sure to lock it.  “Fucking doors with the fucking locks - how the hell was I supposed to know someone would just walk in?”

“I thought it was my room!”  Emily snapped, taking a seat on the foot of the bed as Spencer shushed her and you rushed over to them.

“There’s four rooms down this hall - how do you mix it up?”

“Really, Spencer?  That’s what you’re gonna focus on here?”  You gestured to Emily, who looked like she was trying to figure out String Theory before being hit with realization and pointing at Spencer.

“You’re the -”  Emily got up, taking a few steps before whirling around to face the both of you, pointing at Spencer, taking a deep gasp before whipping her attention to you, struggling to figure out what to say before deciding on, “Oh my god!”

“Yes, yes, I know -”

“Why haven’t you told anyone?, I -”  Emily turned to Spencer before immediately turning away, “I’m gonna have some trouble looking you in the eyes for a while.”

“How much did you tell them?”  Spencer already regretted asking.

“You know - compared to the things I know about Kevin and Will, basically nothing.”

“That’s true,” Emily nodded, still avoiding eye-contact, “The worst of it Garcia and I already shared - which we wouldn’t have if we knew.”

Spencer wasn’t sure how to react to that, so he just let it go and focused on the more immediate problem, “Emily - you can’t tell anyone.  We’re not ready to tell anyone.  Your reaction - this is mild compared to what we can expect.  We just need a bit more time before I get interrogated by Morgan and Garcia starts planning our wedding.”

“It’s a bit late for that, she’s already decided that you two are going to have kids, and one of those kids is going to have kids with one of Morgan’s kids to make the perfect baby.”  That was a conversation Emily wasn’t going to forget any time soon, in the middle of an epiphany as it all came back to her,  “She had a whole plan to get you together too…you’d share a hotel room with one bed, then you’d sleep together, and then you’d start dating in secret…god - she was right about the whole thing...”

“Wha - how - how do you know that?”  Spencer shared a look with you before you both looked at Emily.

“I…overheard the two of you talking a few months ago, after that case in Rossi’s hometown.  I heard…enough to figure the two of you slept together and then I walked away when the two of you started wrestling around on the couch.”

“Fantastic - and I’m guessing you told JJ about this.”  You knew how information flowed between the girls.  You each had a pattern, you each had someone you’d run to, but if Emily couldn’t run to tell you something, then she must have talked to JJ about it.

“The two of you could barely look each other in the eyes!  We were worried - but then you worked things out and we figured things were back to normal.  How were we supposed to know Garcia’s a fortune teller?”

“You tell anyone and I’ll tell everyone about - “  You didn’t even get to finish that threat before Emily cut you off.

“The list of dark secrets I’ve told you, I don’t even want to know what you’ll do.”

********

After swearing Emily to secrecy, you and Spencer had about two minutes alone before you had to head downstairs to get back to work.  You had to talk over what to do - it wasn’t fair to force Prentiss to keep a secret that wasn’t hers, but you weren’t sure you were ready to tell everyone yet.  There was a lot to talk about, and no time.

The unsub was an emotionally immature male in his mid-to-late twenties.  Someone that suffered a loss that traumatized them and left them feeling abandoned and alone - anything from a parent dying to a friend leaving town.  He was familiar with hunting, he hid the bodies to keep the animals from finding them, and he lived most of his life in the town - at least long enough to become familiar with the locals and familiar with their routines and the surrounding landscape.  The deputies and team split up to scour the town - starting with males in mid-to-late twenties with a history of petty crimes and assaults.  You had to check the trash, fireplaces, and laundry for signs of bloody clothes, and look over potential suspects for cuts and bruises in case one of the victims left a mark from fighting back.  The sheriff and deputies had to bring in anyone that had something to hide - the unsub broke pattern and there was no telling when he’d strike again.  While all of you did that, Hotch and the sheriff went to the school to see if the teachers noticed anyone exhibiting odd or violent behaviors at a young age.

That led to a suspect - Joshua Beardsley.  Youngest boy in town to kill a deer, all he ever talked about growing up, loved hunting more than any of the other boys to the point he hunted something nearly every day.  He was born and raised in town, left for school in Anchorage and only returned after his dad died a few weeks before the killing started.  The 23-year-old man also happened to be the tavern owner’s son.

While Rossi questioned Joshua at the sheriff’s department, Hotch and the sheriff waited outside, and you, Reid, and JJ started digging through the files Garcia found.

“Hey,” Emily joined the rest of you, just getting back to the tavern while Derek kept looking around town, “What are you guys working on?”

“Hotch asked if we’d go through Garcia’s background profiles, try to find a link between Joshua and the four victims,” Reid glanced up at Prentiss before looking back down at the file in his hands, just part of the pile you were going through.

“Find anything?”

“Depends, does jack-shit count?”  You kept looking through the file in your hands, Emily nodding in response as she got the message.

“Needle meet haystack, we need the big guns,” Emily admitted, and she was right.  JJ did what she could with Garcia’s laptop, but it wasn’t exactly like using Ctrl+F.

“Ripped and ready to rumble.”  Garcia grabbed everyone’s attention.  She wasn’t as cheery as she normally was, clearly still shaken by what she’d witnessed, but she wanted to get back to work.

“Are - maybe you should sit this one out,” JJ tried to suggest, even as she moved further down the couch so Garcia could take over at the computer.

“No, Jage, I’m okay.  Put this bastard where he belongs.”  Garcia put her glasses on and went to work.  “Joshua Beardsley?”

“Yeah, we think he’s our unsub,” JJ answered, making Garcia both more confused and more concerned.

“No, he’s not.”

“He fits the profile.  Abandonment issue triggered by his father’s recent death.”

“Reid -”  Prentiss’ gaze was brought back towards the check-in desk, so you turned around to see Carol Beardsley just getting back.

“Hunting experience, experimentation with animals -”  Reid stopped when you reached over and tapped Reid’s knee with the file you’d been reading.

“You arrested my son?”

A town that small…it was only a matter of time until she found out.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Silent Signs

Garcia was positive it wasn’t Joshua, and she had a pretty solid argument.  She’d talked with him as she was setting up, he knew she was a techie and that she didn’t carry a firearm.  When Garcia witnessed the murder the night before, the unsub ran.  Joshua wouldn’t have done that.  He was still staying in lockup for the night, which was arguably the safest place in town.

As you worked with Reid, Prentiss, JJ, and Garcia you changed tactics - though you were basically back at square one by assuming that Joshua wasn’t the unsub.  You’d all gotten up, sat back down, paced, Garcia eventually slid off the couch to sit on the floor between the couch and the coffee table.  Emily ended up on one end of the couch, JJ was kneeling on one of the armchairs, Reid had slid over towards the center of the couch and leaned his elbow on a cushion grabbed from the empty armchair because you were sitting on the nearest armrest.  Papers were everywhere, Garcia had about a million windows open on both of the laptops she set up, and the whole thing reminded you of finals week back at MIT.

“Wait a minute, you said the unsub has abandonment issues, and Craig Ramey was leaving town, right?”  Garcia double checked before she shared her idea with the rest of you.

“Yeah, he couldn’t wait to get out of town.”  Prentiss looked up from the file she was going over to see what Garcia was up to.

“Okay…” Garcia started going through the files on the other victims, “Dedaimia Swanson was retiring in a month, she was moving to Florida.”

“What about the other two?”  JJ leaned forward.

“Uh…Jon Baker just bought property in Fairbanks, and he and his wife just separated.  She just filed the divorce papers.”  As Garcia spoke you spotted Derek getting back from looking around town for any other clues.

“Well,” Derek couldn’t help but smile when he saw Garcia back at work, “Welcome back, Red Delicious.”

“Take a bite out of this,” Garcia nodded towards her laptop and got back to work, “So far, three of our victims were on the fast track to getting out of town - and let’s see…Connect Four.  Brenda just accepted a job in Seattle.”

“Anyone else look like they might be leaving town?”  Derek didn’t even take off his jacket, let alone sit down, prepared to take off and check up on a potential victim or update the others.

“Um…I got one.  Kat Allen.  She was accepted to the summer honors program at the University of Bloomington.  She currently works as a waitress at Big John’s Coffeehouse.”

“Penelope, you are -”

“So ready to go home,” Garcia cut Derek off before he could finish.

“Prentiss,” Derek went right back to it, ready to get this case over and done with to get everyone back home.

********

Kat Allen - expectant single mother leaving town to go to college and give her unborn daughter a better life - was spending the night at the tavern for her own safety.  She was spending the night in Emily and JJ’s room, considering Joshua was still in custody everyone was a bit uncomfortable asking Carol for things, and Kat would be safer staying with Emily and JJ anyway.  The town was instructed to be back home after dark, patrols all day and night, and still it wasn’t enough.

Carol Beardsley was murdered in her home, stabbed violently and repeatedly.  The neighbors saw her front door left open that morning and called the sheriff’s department.  The sheriff notified the team, and Prentiss, Derek, and Hotch went with him to examine the scene.  While JJ and Garcia stayed at the tavern with Kat Allen and the others were at the crime scene, you left for the sheriff’s department with Reid and Rossi to break the news to Joshua.  One of the deputies let all the potential suspects in lockup out, and the three of you waited for Joshua to file out.

“You guys finally realize I’m innocent?”  Joshua snapped as the deputy led him to the nearest desk.

“Joshua,” she struggled, avoiding eye-contact when he turned to face her, “Please have a seat.”

“More questions, you serious?”  He snapped when he saw the three of you, “I’m telling you, I didn’t do this.”

“We know that, son.”  The fact Rossi called him son, immediately caught Joshua’s attention, “Please, sit down.”

“What’s going on?”

This was never going to be an easy part of the job.  It was always difficult no matter how much experience you had.  It was always going to be hard.

“Joshua…there was another murder last night.  We figured out who he was planning to kill next and took her into protective custody, but the killer moved on to another target.”  You shrugged your shoulders up a bit as you tucked your hands into your back pockets and ducked your chin down, trying to break the news as best as you could.  Considering the circumstances, Joshua was going to be angry.  If looking vulnerable with big brown eyes would help mitigate that…you had to try.  “I’m so sorry, but your mom was murdered.”

“No - no.  No, no, no, no.”  Joshua began repeating the word over and over again.  A night in lockup already had him looking like a wounded animal, and it was only getting worse.  “No, no, no, that’s impossible.  She was just here - I just talked to her!”

“I’m sorry, Joshua,” Rossi stepped in, “She’s gone.”

“Oh, no.  No, no, no, no.”  He started sat down in an empty seat against the wall, choking up as the news crashed down on him.  “You - you’re lying.”

“I wish we were,” Spencer’s tone was quiet, apologetic, no doubt feeling guilty for a million reasons, all of them unrealistic expectations.

“I need to see her.”

“Not right now.  You don’t want to think of her that way,” Rossi gently advised the young man to wait.

“Joshua, we know you need time to mourn,” Spencer stepped forward to gently try and convince Joshua to answer a few questions, “But the fact of the matter is the man who did this is still out there, and we think that you can help us find him.”

“You had me locked up.  While she was -”  Joshua took a breath.  “I could have helped her.”

“If you’d been there, he would have killed you too.”  You replied, trying to at least get Joshua to talk to you - if not stop blaming himself for not being there.

“The murders began when you returned to town.  Now, up until now he’s only been targeting people who were trying to leave, but for some reason with your mother, it was personal.”  Reid broke the really bad news - the unsub had personal reasons for killing Carol.

“He knows he’s going to be caught soon, we kept him from the girl he planned on killing.  Serial killers in that situation aim to finish what they started and they go after his real targets, the people that made him feel the way he does.”  You stepped in, staying to Joshua’s side so he wouldn’t feel crowded.

“Personal.”  He finally looked up, tears still falling.

“Can you think of anyone who had a grudge against her?  Anyone at all?”  Rossi’s questions were met with Joshua shaking his head no.

“How about anyone with a grudge against you?”  Reid changed tactics, looking for anyone that might have a grudge against the surviving members of the family.

“No.  No.  Everybody loved her.”

There was a brief pause as you and Reid met eyes, silently communicating with a look as Rossi watched.  The two of you picking apart the fact Joshua only answered the first question - the chances that was just grief.  Whether or not there was more he was hiding.  Whether or not to try and continue questioning him.  An entire conversation in a look.

Yeah, something definitely changed.

“The man we’re looking for has severe abandonment issues.  Now, can you think of a time when you or your mother left somebody.  Maybe like a bad break-up or a fight that ended a friendship?”  Reid continued the line of questioning, getting more specific to try and find something - even just a reaction.  You watched as Joshua froze, eyes shifted down as he seemingly stared off into space.

“Did your mother ever take anyone in at the inn who had family problems, maybe someone who had been kicked out or lost someone unexpectedly?”  Rossi widened the net, looking for anything.

Joshua reached down to grab his jacket and stood up abruptly, making his exit with, “No.  No, no, no, no, there was nothing like that.  Uh, listen, can I go see my mom now?”

“Josh.  Josh, you need to let these people help,” the deputy pleaded.

“No, I need - I need to see my mom.”

“Well, let’s have someone take you.”  Rossi suggested, in the hopes to keep Joshua under supervision so he wouldn’t go off and do something reckless in his grief.

“It’s okay.  I know the way.”  Joshua insisted, quickly, before taking off, the deputy taking off after him and leaving the three of you there, watching as they rushed towards the door.

“He’s lying, he knows who the unsub is.”

********

You’d called Hotch as you rushed down the street with Rossi and Reid, the former filling in JJ and Garcia as Sheriff Rhodes drove Hotch, Prentiss, and Derek back to the tavern.  You were in a time crunch.  Joshua knew who the unsub was, and most likely he was looking to get revenge.  Now, he was aiming to either get himself killed, or commit a murder.  Either way, he was losing his life.

“I got one of my deputies tailing Joshua,” the sheriff returned from making the call, “If he does something stupid, we’re gonna know.”

“There’s gotta be a connection we’re missing,” Hotch got things started, “Garcia, anything?”

“Their lives have been torn apart, figuratively and literally, and I can’t find anything.”

“Try again.”

“I’m hacking into his college database as we speak.  Maybe there’s something about his life in Seattle I may have missed.”

“Bring up his college essays,” you scooted down the couch to get a look at what she was working on, “If it’s something that happened here he might have wrote about it - start with his application essay.  Anyone he talked about.”

“I’m on it.”

“Good.  Alright, why Carol.  Why the mutilation?  Why the overkill?”

“Mutilation?”  Rossi cut in.  Everyone had been in such a rush to meet up after Joshua took off the others hadn’t had time to fill everyone in on what the crime scene looked like or what the unsub did to Carol.  He turned to the sheriff, stepping away from the fireplace mantel he was leaning against.  “You said you found the remains of mutilated animals in the woods from a rabid bear?”

“That’s right.”

“Did you take pictures of them?”

“Of course we did.  We documented everything for identification.”

“We’ll need to see those pictures right away.”

You rushed down the street, back to the sheriff’s department, with Rossi, Hotch, Reid, and the sheriff.  He grabbed the file with the photographs and handed them to Rossi, who handed them to Reid, who opened the file and started going over the photos with you.  Neither you nor Reid noticed when Hotch was about to lean over and start looking over the photos or that Rossi quietly stopped him and shook his head.

“I just want a second opinion on something to make sure I’m not an old man looking too much into things,” Rossi kept his voice so low only Hotch could hear him.  “Just - just watch.”

It was an odd request, to say the least, but Hotch went with it anyway.  Rossi knew what he was talking about.  If there was something worth looking into, it was probably worth looking into.  If he was asking for a second opinion…then it was absolutely worth looking into.

You and Reid looked over the photos.  You’d trace the end of your pen over one, then he’d flip to the next and point something out.  You’d share looks, then move on to the next photo, silently point things out to each other, move on to the next photo, point out a few things, then share another concerned look.  All until you looked at the other two profilers, told them the unsub killed the animals, and Hotch called the sheriff over to fill him in.

Rossi had been right, something had changed - the you and Reid always worked well, but you at least needed to talk to each other.  Considering the recent ups and downs of your relationship with each other, recent changes in your personal life that had been - loudly - announced, something had most definitely changed.  It didn’t take a profiler - or even a professional investigator - to figure out what.  He was impressed.  Considering the two of you were constantly surrounded by profilers, the fact you’d managed to keep things quiet was quite a feat.

Still, calling the two of you into his office to fill out the HR paperwork would have to wait until after the unsub was caught.

“Sheriff, we need to adjust the profile.”  Hotch started off.

“What do you mean?”

“These animals weren’t mutilated by a rabid bear,” Rossi held up the file he’d browsed through before the sheriff returned, “Someone did this.”

“You mean a person.”

“An animal wouldn’t have left so much,” Reid briefly explained.

“We should have seen it before - it’s homicidal triad 101,” Rossi admitted, explaining how you were all so certain the profile had been wrong.

“His kills were all over the place and it seemed like with every kill he was rapidly evolving because he was.  There’s no sophistication or maturity in his crimes because he’s young and immature.”  You told the sheriff, letting him know why the previous profile hadn’t led anywhere except a dead end.

“He started with animals because that’s what he was taught, ever since he was a child,” Rossi laid down the first step in the short timeline that led to the unsub escalating to murder.

“And when he got bored with animals, he moved onto more challenging prey.”

“People.”

“Your unsub’s a teenage boy.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Past, Present, and Future

Trying to track down the unsub by asking around town led nowhere, but Garcia found something in Joshua’s college application essay.  He talked about the impact being an older brother had on his life.  He didn’t have any siblings, but he specifically mentioned how hard it was leaving his little brother behind - to leave him unprotected.  That led to a name.

Owen Porter.

Before Joshua left town, the two of them were attached at the hip, according to the school teacher.  Sheriff Rhodes said he’d been called out to the Porter house repeatedly for domestic disturbance - Owen and his mom always covered for the father.  The moment the pieces were put together, you took off with Hotch and the sheriff for the Porter house - Reid bolting after you.  Your home life in your childhood wasn’t exactly the same as Owen’s, but it was similar enough.  One parent that shouts abuses, another that does nothing about it, and an older sibling that takes of leaving the younger one holding the bag.

It was a bit too similar for comfort.

The moment the door opened Hotch started, pushing Mr. Owen back into the house when he refused to answer questions and standing in the way to let you, Reid, and Sheriff Rhodes go over the house to find Owen.

“Turn that off,” he ordered, pointing to the TV and only waiting long enough for Mrs. Owens to grab the remote and turn off the TV as she stood up, “Did you know?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about!”  Mr. Owens insisted, and Hotch just shot him a warning glare.

“Not for sure.  Not until last night.”  Mrs. Owens was shaky and anxious, but she was honest and cooperative.  “He came home covered in blood.”

“He’s not here, but the window’s open.”  The sheriff stepped out of Owen’s bedroom.

“It’s not the first time you’ve washed blood out of his clothes, is it?”  Hotch continued the line of questioning.

“Don’t answer them, Martha!”

“Sit down and shut up!”  You could hear Hotch from down the hall as you and Reid finished checking the rest of the house, and you didn’t envy whoever Hotch was yelling at.  You got back to see Hotch holding a hand up to Mr. Owens, preparing to block any movement he made while Hotch continued to question Mrs. Owens.  “I promise he will not lay a hand on you again.”

“No.  It wasn’t the first time.”

“Mrs. Porter, I understand you’re only trying to protect Owen, but you can’t anymore.”  Hotch pressed for more information, and he couldn’t play things as diplomatically as he’d have liked.  There wasn’t time for that.

“He’s always been different,” Mrs. Porter was on the verge of a breakdown, barely keeping it together to answer questions.  No doubt a complete breakdown was coming the moment the door closed.  “He’s not like us.  When he was a little boy, he used to go out into the woods and come home covered in blood.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone, Martha?”  The sheriff was in shock, like he was watching a horror movie unfold in real life.  “How could you just sit there and do nothing while people died?”

“How did Owen react when Joshua was sent away?”  Hotch continued before the sheriff could, before Martha Porter could completely break down.

“He wanted to leave, too…but I couldn’t let him.”

“Mrs. Porter, do you have any idea what social isolation does to a child?” Reid questioned, looking for an explanation.

“I was afraid of what he might do if he ever left here.  We knew.”  She lowered her gaze, avoiding eye contact for a moment before looking at Hotch.  “We knew what he was.”

Your satellite phone started ringing and you answered quickly, stepping away to take the call, “Yeah?”

“Joshua shook the tail,” Derek kept things short on the other end, “People reported a hunting party going into the woods.  We’re going after them.”

“We’ll try to figure out where he’s going.  Be careful.”

“You got it, sis.”

You clipped the phone back to your belt and cut into the discussion, “Owen’s on the run, Joshua grabbed a a hunting party and they’re going after him.

“Oh god,” Martha’s voice cracked again.

“Do you know where he’s headed?”  Hotch continued questioning her.

“Was there a place he’d go to be alone?”  Reid threw out a suggestion.

“Somewhere he’d hide when you were mad?”  You tossed out another.

“Hiding spot - how the hell are we supposed to know?”  Mr. Porter cut in, and promptly went ignored after Hotch sent him another sideways glare.

“If you know you need to tell me.  I’m trying to help him.  There’s a mob out there, and if they find him they’re not going to turn him over, they’re gonna take justice into their own hands.”  Hotch pushed further. “If you value your son’s life, you need to help me.”

“Martha, don’t,” Mr. Porter hissed.

Martha turned to look at her husband for only a second, and for a moment it looked like she was going to cave until she turned back to Hotch and said, “Lake Lafayette.  He and Joshua built a fort there when they were younger.”

“You’ll need a boat upriver to get there,” Sheriff Rhodes informed, and the four of you rushed out to try to get to Owen before the hunting party did.  

You grabbed your satellite phone and called Derek back as the Sheriff sped through the streets, waiting impatiently for an answer.

“Yeah, sis, what’s up?”

“Owen’s headed for the harbor, he’s gonna take a boat to Lake Lafyette, we’re on our way now.”

“Okay, I got it.”

********

You’d gotten to the docks before Owen and took positions at a larger boat docked right behind his smaller one, but the hunting party wasn’t far behind.  They weren’t going to back down, even as Reid tried to talk them down Joshua admitted he knew it was the right thing to do but he couldn’t do it.  Owen looked like a scared child, he was sixteen - you honestly weren’t convinced he was truly a psychopath.  He even sounded like a child when he reminded Joshua that he left Owen alone, that he was gone for eight years - the boy specifically accused Carol of sending Joshua away.

The kid never stood a chance.

The hunting party didn’t start to back down until the rest of the team showed up, guns raised, and cornered the party.  Joshua didn’t lower his gun, even as Owen lowered his.  No, instead Joshua started snapping at the others for lowering their guns, asking what they were doing.  He raised his gun, aimed, there was a gunshot -

Joshua fell to the docks, knocked back by a gunshot to his shoulder, and you lowered your gun.

“You shot him!”  One of the men in the party yelled back at you - or maybe it was towards you.  You were the one that shot him.  You suspected everyone knew that, you knew the team knew it.

“He’ll live,” Rossi retorted, while you focused on coaxing Owen to put down your gun and go with you.

Everyone was clearly already exhausted while you packed up and got ready to leave.  If the float plane wasn’t so loud you suspected a few people would have fallen asleep on the flight to Anchorage.  It didn’t take long for people to start passing out after getting on the jet, once Garcia got settled in her seat next to Derek she slipped into a comfortable sleep before the jet took off.  You doubted she’d slept well at all since the first night on the case, when she’d witnessed a murder and ran towards it.

Even as everyone else started nodding off, you stayed awake, sitting in one of the two chairs at the smaller table and watching the world go by far below as you listened to music.  Your attention was grabbed when you saw Spencer out of the corner of your eye, placing a mug on the table before sitting across from you.  You smiled when you saw the tag on the teabag - Lemon & Lavender.  You liked to drink it if you’d had a stressful day or just needed to relax, and after the first few months you started keeping a box on the jet.

He didn’t say anything.  Just smiled back and took the seat across from you.  Waiting for you to talk.

“I’m okay.  I never thought I’d have to fire my gun to protect an unsub - but I’m okay,” you promised, keeping your voice down so you didn’t wake anyone up.  “It was a non-lethal shot, and I did it to keep Joshua from killing Owen - which would have ended both Owen and Joshua’s lives.  I don’t regret it.  It’s just…”

“What?”

“You ever think about who you used to be before you joined the BAU?  How much you’ve changed and the fact you’ll never be that wide-eyed kid that didn’t look too deep into everything everyone did cause you just can’t stop?”

“Sometimes - I don’t want to be him again, but I think it’s normal to think about it.”

“Me neither,” you smiled a little, then pursed your lips and glanced out the window before looking down at your tea.  “I just…I don’t think I want to do this forever.  I wanted to get here, and it’s where I need to be, and I’m not gonna be ready for a while but…I am gonna leave.”

“Wherever you go, I’ll always be here.  Not - not exactly on the team, but here with you.  I don’t - I haven’t -”

“I know.  I’ll always be here for you, and they’ll always be family,” you smiled and chuckled a little, “We could disappear into the Amazon and Garcia would still track us down so everyone could wish one of us a happy birthday, invite us to Henry’s birthday party, or wish us a happy anniversary.”

“Speaking of the team…Prentiss…”

“Is gonna have questions…I’ve sworn her to secrecy, but I give it two days before she corners one of us and starts demanding answers.  I’m thinking of inviting her over for coffee this weekend so she at least doesn’t corner one of us in the office.”  You used the string of the teabag to bob it up and down a bit before taking a sip.

“I’ll be there, you shouldn’t have to deal with that alone.”

“It’s interesting how you say that like you don’t practically live at my apartment already.”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

News Travels Fast

Every so often, the team would end up really behind on paperwork and Strauss would bench the team for a while.  Everyone would be hunched over at their desks, furiously trying to get through the piles - or in your case mountains - of paperwork you had to do before you could get back out into the field.  It normally took about a week.  Everyone would talk about going out to celebrate getting all the paperwork done, but then a case would come up and you’d be back in the jet talking about cannibalism like normal people with normal jobs talk about the weather.  During these paperwork weeks it wasn’t odd for one or more of you to end up getting called into Hotch’s office for one reason or another, anything from scheduling a guest lecture at the academy or a recruitment presentation at a university to discussing an upcoming court appearance or just making sure you were okay after acting out or doing something reckless.

So, you didn’t think twice when Hotch asked to see both you and Spencer in his office.  It was a bit weird when he asked you to close the door, but you went against every gut instinct you had as a profiler and didn’t look too much into it.  You should have, but you didn’t.  You just sat down in one of the seats at Hotch’s desk, thinking he was going to update you on a case heading to trial soon or give you a heads-up about a massive pile of paperwork headed your way that he wanted Spencer to help you with, when the Unit Chief completely blindsided you.

“I would like to stress that I am not asking for any details,” Hotch stressed that in a way that made you raise a brow and share a quick look with Spencer, “But I do need to ask if you’re in a relationship”

Both you and Spencer were taken by surprise, looking at each other to try and figure out an answer before Spencer took the initiative, “Yeah we - uh, we were going to tell everyone in a few weeks.  How…?”

“Dave pointed it out to me, in Franklin,” Hotch answered, pulling open a drawer in his desk and grabbing a form he slid across the desk to the two of you, “To be honest, without context I’m not sure I would have thought anything of it - though I am fairly certain the two of you weren’t always able to have an entire conversation in a few looks.”

“Good communication - good communication gave us away?”  You shook your head in disbelief as you grabbed the disclosure form off Hotch’s desk.  “We’ll tell everyone soon, we just need to figure out how.”

“Of course, I won’t say anything, and you know how Dave is.”  Hotch handed you an empty file as you and Spencer got up and stuffed a few blank papers inside, giving you a place to hide the two page form.  “He’ll ask before he drops off a congratulatory lasagna.”

Spencer had to stop and ask, “Seriously?”

“And risk me calling him Grandma Dave?  Not a chance.”

Hotch just shrugged.

********

Emily just barely waited until Saturday afternoon, literally shooting off the first question as she walked in your apartment door.  Most of what she wanted to know where the when and how, but when she heard how long she started asking how you’d hid it so long.  Then she asked if anyone else knew.

“Hotch and Rossi,” Spencer answered as he poured himself another cup of coffee, “Oh - he wants to drop a lasagna and some wine tomorrow.”

“You’re shitting me - he knows we’re just dating and not having a baby, right?”  JJ had told all three of you about the day Rossi brought a homemade dinner to JJ and Will’s place about a week after Henry was born, and then stayed to help the new mother while Will was at work.  Everyone agreed not to actually talk about it. Rossi liked to act like he was keeping his distance, but you all knew that was bullshit.  If he didn’t care, he never would have tipped Hotch off about what he’d noticed between you and Spencer, and he sure as hell wouldn’t be dropping off something you suspected would take him most of a day to make.  Rossi never struck you as the type to use store bought noodles or sauce.

You could have been projecting - you never used store bought tortillas, salsa, or guacamole - but probably not.

“I’d hope so if he’s bringing wine,” Emily retorted, “You know that one bottle of wine is going to cost more than you make in a month, right?”

“He makes more in a month than we do in a year,” you sat back, holding your mug of coffee in both hands, “And if he wants us to pretend he’s the Godfather and not Granny Dave, it’s gonna cost him.  Free dinner and good wine is getting off cheap.”

“Speaking of dinner, I should get going,” Emily chuckled as she stood up after spotting the time, “Will’s taking JJ out to dinner and I’m babysitting Henry.”

“Huh…I wonder why she didn’t ask me.”  You didn’t mean anything by that, Emily was a perfectly capable babysitter, but when Will and JJ were having a date night you were normally babysitting with Spencer, Penelope, or both.

“I told her we had plans.”  Spencer shifted a bit, exhibiting that same discomfort he got whenever he wanted to surprise you.  He knew everything you liked and disliked, but he still worried about things like that.  “I thought we could get dinner and - well, there’s a double feature playing downtown, Casablanca and The Red Shoes.  I got tickets for the 8 o’clock showing.”

“Oh, honey.”  You immediately melted, even though old romance movies broke your heart you still loved them - The Red Shoes in particular being a favorite of yours.  You even had a pair of red ballet slippers hung on the wall.  The movie was a retelling of the old Hans Christian Anderson tale, so by default it had a tragic end, and about a young ballerina that had to choose between her art and her love for a young composer.  You loved Casablanca too, it was a famous classic for a reason, but while you’d seen screenings of Casablanca multiple times you’d never had the chance to see a screening of The Red Shoes.  You got up and walked around the kitchen table to kiss Spencer.

“Okay, I’m out,” Emily made her way back to the door, still a bit sore over the state of her dating life, “Have fun - and do me a favor?  Tell the others soon.”

“Yeah - Monday,” Spencer promised.  The two of you had already agreed on that, and you’d put together a plan.  Tell JJ first, then pull Derek into Penelope’s office and tell them at the same time.  The fact they were the last three to know felt a bit…awful?  Ironic?  Maybe a bit of a mix - it was hard to say.  Derek had been like a brother to you for years, and even with the complications and struggles that hadn’t changed.  JJ was one of Spencer’s best friends, their relationship growing and changing over the years into something close to the sibling-like relationship you had with Derek - though seeing as she kept her relationship with Will a secret for a while she was the most likely to understand.  Then there was Penelope who had clearly been rooting for you and Spencer to get together for a while.

Well, if that was something to worry about, it would have to wait until Monday.

********

The restaurant was nice.  Far from the nicest in the city, but those frighteningly expensive restaurants with million dollar chandeliers and even more expensive food were overrated - at best.  They were full of politicians, the food was never worth it, they were full of politicians, there was a proper dress code, politicians were everywhere, you couldn’t just talk and laugh and have a good time without someone talking to you to please keep quiet so you didn’t disturb the other guests, and…oh, yeah - the fucking politicians.

As the team’s communications liaison, JJ dealt with more than enough politicians to last her a lifetime and the last thing she wanted to do was risk dealing with more.  The team dealt with multiple high profile cases, Will had dealt with a handful of high profile cases, and everyone up for election wanted to be seen socializing with anyone known for working on a high profile murder case.  Between their work schedules and being parents, JJ and Will didn’t have a lot of time for date nights.  Besides, neither of them were really fancy people anyway.

JJ was telling Will about the card game that had started up during the tail end of the flight back from Alaska when she quickly noticed Will’s attention had been grabbed by something behind her.  She stopped and turned to look, concerned he’d spotted something that looked suspicious until she saw what he’d seen.

“Now we know what was so important they couldn’t babysit.”  JJ hadn’t argued or pried when Reid said you and he had plans, but both she and Will had been curious what would take the two of you from babysitting.  More than once she’d asked the two of you to babysit and later found out you’d both canceled plans so you could watch Henry.  You and Reid were pretty obviously on a date; his arm was around your waist and you’d tugged a bit on his tie so he’d lean down and kiss you with a loving smile JJ had only seen him send your way when you weren’t looking.  There were no first date jitters, no new relationship anxiety, there was still some aura of the honeymoon phase but the two of you had known each other for years - and working at the BAU has a way of dragging people through emotional roller coasters.  Working there was a quick way of finding out who someone was when shit hit the fan and they were at their worst.

Speaking of emotional roller coasters…

“Garcia is gonna have a hell of a time when she finds out.”

“I thought she wanted them to get together.”

“She does, but she’s got a bet with Morgan.”

********

The weekend had passed, Rossi really had just dropped of the lasagna and wine with a short ‘about fucking time,’ before leaving.  It wasn’t first thing in the morning, it was getting close to the afternoon and probably the safest time to head back to JJ’s office.  You walked in first, and she reached for the stack of files that had been sent for you to look over and stopped when she saw Spencer follow you in and shut the door.

“I’m guessing this is about Saturday.  We wondered if you saw us.”

“You saw us?”  Spencer didn’t really need to ask, he’d gotten a sense of how things were going.  First there was Emily, Rossi, and Hotch either figuring it out or walking in on the two of you, it only made sense that one of the remaining members of the team saw the two of you on Saturday.  It fit with the kind of luck the two of you were having - or maybe he was just used to having bad luck after 28 years of it.

“At the restaurant.”  JJ’s work was abandoned for the time being.  “So, is this a new thing?  If you need me to keep it a secret I completely understand.”

“No, we uh - it’s been three months, we did the HR paperwork for Hotch last week.  We’re uh…we’re gonna go tell Morgan and Garcia…”  Spencer trailed off as the both of you noticed JJ was amused when he said you’d be telling the last two team members at once.  “What?”

“Nothing, nothing, but after you tell them, could you tell me their reaction?”  Neither of you actually believed it was nothing, but you also knew JJ wasn’t about to tell you and you didn’t have too long before Derek left Garcia’s office.  Whenever the whole team was at the office, Morgan and Garcia had lunch at least twice every week.  They tended to take longer lunches on those days, but you didn’t know if they were going out for lunch, staying in Garcie’s office, or heading out to one of the benches or picnic tables at the FBI Quantico campus.  You didn’t have to do it then, but it would be the easiest time to catch them together, and if you told them separately you ran the risk of one of them being testy or hurt at being the last to know - even everyone else had just found out.

“Hey, Garcie?”  You poked your head into her office first, spotting Derek pulling up the spare desk chair in the tech analyst’s den - she also lovingly referred to it as a cave at times.  “Oh, great, you’re here too.  We need to have a little talk.”

“What’s u-” Derek froze when you stepped in and Spencer stepped in behind you, shutting the door.

“I told you they’d find out.”  Garcia smacked Derek on the arm - a smack for Garcia anyway, it was barely harder than a rough pat.  Pissing off Penelope Garcia was absolutely a dangerous thing to do, but not because she resorted to violence.  Everything - literally everything - in modern society runs through the internet, which was Garcia’s playground.  Piss her off and she’ll pull you right off the metaphorical monkey-bars.

“Find out what?”  Spencer jumped in before you could brush it off.

“Back in Alaska, Baby Girl saw Prentiss leaving your room -”

“She saw something, I know it, but when I tried to ask she said it was nothing but I know it was something.  Then Hotch called you both into his office last Monday, so I went to Derek -”

“And I said, based on how comfortable the two of you were with sharing a room and the fact you were willing to use Rossi as a distraction to tell [F/N] about her brother,” Derek briefly gestured toward Spencer, far more relaxed about the situation than Garcia, “It was more likely the two of you started seeing each other before Alaska.”

“But that would mean Reid was the boyfriend you were telling us about -”

“He is.”  You cut in, leading to two sets of brown eyes to just stare at you and Spencer in stunned silence.  To be fair, you and Spencer were about as surprised as they were.  This was nothing like what the two of you had expected - and yet it wasn’t exactly surprising.  Clearly this hadn’t been what they’d been expecting either.  The silence continued for a few moments before Garcia broke it.

“Oh my god!”  She shot out of her chair and rushed to hug both you and Spencer into a hug.  “I know I lost the bet but I just don’t care, my babies are together and happy.”

“Uh…what was the bet?”  You had to ask, looking over Garcia’s shoulder at Derek.

“Whether or not pretty boy was you boyfriend - she thought the two of you would have a harder time keeping it quiet, but I said the two of you can be pretty tricky when you try.”  Derek got up to cross the room, putting his hand on Spencer’s shoulder after Garcia finally let the two of you go, he had one last thing to say before he left, “If you hurt her, you better hope I get to you before she does - she threatened to rearrange a guy’s spine during a custodial interview.  Come on, gorgeous, let’s get that lunch you owe me.”

You and Spencer stepped aside to let Derek and Garcia leave, the two of you compiling everything that had happened.  Unsurprisingly, Spencer was the first one who managed to find the right words.

“What the fuck?”

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Reunion

With everyone knowing about your relationship there were some changes, some of them good and others…not great.  For example when JJ got everyone set up with hotel rooms for a case she got you and Spencer a room to share, you didn’t have to come up with some bullshit cover story or play 20 Questions whenever the two of you wanted to go have lunch or dinner together, you didn’t have to worry about PDA unless you were on a case or Strauss had made her way down to the BAU, and nobody even thought twice when the two of you snuggled up on the couch during a flight back from a case.  However, when you and Spencer babysat Henry overnight JJ had also mentioned it was a trial run for when you had kids, you’d also heard all about what Garcia envisioned your kids would be like down to their personalities and future careers, and Prentiss just happened to be browsing through a bridal magazine and saw a dress she just had to show you.    

It was far too soon for that kind of talk.  You weren’t even living together yet - though Derek had so helpfully mentioned that one of the houses he’d renovated was going up for sale soon.  Sure, if the lease for either yours or Spencer’s apartment was about to expire, you’d seriously consider moving in together - but you’d be moving into an apartment.  Getting an apartment and getting a house were two very different things.

As much as you and Spencer loved each other, it hadn’t even been four months.

It was far too soon for any of that.

You’d just been asked if you’d thought about who would be your Maid of Honor when the team was called in for a case that Strauss had handed off to the team.

On one hand, people had been brutally murdered and your evening was officially ruined.

On the other hand - thank god that conversation was over.

“Hey, what did Strauss want?”  Prentiss was the first to enter the meeting room after Hotch called everyone in for a meeting, JJ already pulling up crime scene and victim photos as everyone filed in.

“She needs us in Los Angeles,” Hotch answered simply.  He hadn’t even bothered to sit down before looking over the file, clearly planning on a short briefing before everyone got their things and sped to the jet.

“Home invasion homicide last night.  Officers found Gregory Everson, 56, beaten with a GSW to the head.  His wife Colleen was equally beaten and raped repeatedly,” JJ ran through the basics quickly, trying to rush so the team could be in the air as soon as possible.

“Repeatedly?”  Prentiss looked up briefly from scanning through one of the case files on the table.

“That’s what she reported.”

“She survived?”  You’d only just grabbed one of the files when you heard something that made your stomach sink.

“He chose to keep her alive,” Hotch clarified, further stressing the horror the team was going to be walking into.

“An intentional witness.”  Prentiss felt her stomach sink.

“Everything but that points to an organized offender,” Rossi pointed out, brow furrowed, “An experienced one.”

“Was she able to identify him?”  Spencer was looking for any kind of lead towards the unsub - something to speed the process along.

“She said he was white, with mean eyes and repulsive breath.”  JJ summarized Colleen’s report.

“Rotten inside and out,” summed up poetically, “Did he rape her in front of the husband?”

JJ nodded her head as she let out a quiet, “Yeah.”

“One home invasion rarely warrants Strauss personally sending us out.”  Derek knew there was no point in arguing against the case, but he knew there had to be more to the case than just this.  As happy as he was to hand the Unit Chief position back to Hotch, it still hadn’t been that long since Derek was in charge, and he knew Strauss focused more on the bureaucracy than the cases.  If a case caught her attention, there had to be more than just this.

“No, there’s more.”  JJ reassured, bringing up a photograph of two women, duct taped to chairs and shot, “Ballistics match a double homicide, downtown L.A., 48 miles away.”

“Where three days ago, those two women were raped and killed,” Hotch filled in the rest.

“But last night was in the suburbs,” Prentiss brought up the change in hunting ground.

“They’re afraid of another night stalker.”

********

It was less than an hour before the jet took off, getting some sleep at the beginning of the flight before waking back up and getting right to work.  Things were so tense that for the first time since your relationship became public knowledge, Derek didn’t make a Thousand Mile High Club joke.  A small blessing.  You might have literally strangled him if he made another one.  Spencer kept reminding you that things would die down once the initial novelty passed, but you also had a shorter temper than your boyfriend - a man that could teach the Patron Saint of Patience a few things.

“This guy’s way too good at this to have just started.”  Derek got back from the small kitchenette, handing you a mug of coffee before taking a seat on the couch.  “He pulled off hours of torture and a homicide without disturbing the neighbors.”

“And robbed the house,” Rossi added the final piece.

“That could be a habit,” Hotch shot out a theory.

“You think he started as a burglar?”  JJ asked.

“If it was just about the killing, he wouldn’t bother robbing them,” Hotch further explained his thought process.

“Wait - how’d he get in last night?”  Spencer had to ask, once the two of you got settled on the jet you crashed.  Even he hadn’t had enough time to read the entire file by the time you woke up - but without the usual briefing everyone was playing catch-up.

“Mrs. Everson said there was a noise outside their door.  They were outside of their room a few minutes, when they came back, he was there,” JJ summarized the report.

“He distracted them,” Prentiss pulled out the core method.

“So he could climb through their bedroom window,” Rossi finished.

“I’ll call Garcie when we land, see if she can find any similar home invasions,” you volunteered before taking a sip of coffee.  JJ had called to give a heads-up, meaning the analyst would likely be at the office by the time the jet landed.

“Well, the victimology’s all over the map,” Prentiss brought out a complication, “Three murders and he managed to kill men, women, old, young, white, hispanic.  That’s about as random as it gets.”

“Randomness implies a lack of predictability - I think that’s the point.  All the varying people in his message, he wants them all to fear him,” Spencer shot out a working theory for the unsub’s profile.

“Oh, and they will.  Press got ahold of last night’s home invasion.”  JJ had clearly just gotten the news before the team gathered on the jet.  There was a reason she hated cases in L.A., the local media was impossible to deal with.  Even the journalists and reporters she usually worked with were impossible - and there were hoards of them.

“JJ and I will set up at the station.  Dave - you, Reid, and Castillo go visit Mrs. Everson at the hospital.  Morgan and Prentiss, the LAPD detectives are waiting for you at the Everson house.”

********

Three men entered the Everson home after carving their way through the crowd of reporters outside.  They didn’t speak and kept their chins up and shoulders back until the moment the front door closed.  Detective Matt Spicer, a young hotshot detective with papers calling him a hero and a baby sister helping him raise his daughter, slowed his stride once he was inside.  The FBI agent was only a few steps behind, he’d been given a desk job after years undercover and he couldn’t have been happier - even if he was going to be stuck trying to get the LAPD and local FBI to play nice for the rest of his life.  Berto figured at least with this job he wouldn’t need to get a glorified brand tattooed on his neck.  The first thing he’d done when he got back to the office in LA was schedule an appointment to get that giant L on his neck removed, and the second thing he’d done was get a haircut.  There were a few other tattoos he wanted to get rid of, but since they were all below his shoulders they could wait.  Years on the southern border hadn’t done anything to acclimatize him to the heat, however, so he’d left his suit coat back in his car and rolled up his sleeves.  The last through the door was older than the other two, Detective Adam Kurzbard stopped to lean back against the front door.

“You hear that?”

“What?”  Spicer turned to take a seat on the stairs, leaning his arms on his knees.

“Exactly,” Kurzbard replied, “What’s wrong with us that we’re at peace at a crime scene?”

“Fear of reporters?”  Berto shrugged as he leaned back against the entryway between the small foyer and the living room, hands in his pockets.

“Ha!’  Kurzbard took a few steps further into the foyer, right towards the thermostat, and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket so he wouldn’t leave prints as he turned the air conditioning back on and down a few degrees.  “Hotter than hell, techs must have turned off the A/C.  There - see?  Yeah…at peace.”

“What’s the matter, more hot flashes, ma’am?”  Spicer poked fun, this was something Kurzbard did at just about every crime scene every summer.

“Surprised a hotshot like you doesn’t need to cool down.”

Spicer smiled, looking down to check his watch before asking, “When are the big guns coming?”

“What’s wrong, you afraid they’ll get all the front pages now?”

“I doubt it.  My chief said Quantico was sending in their best team, if they weren’t feeding us bullshit the team’s gonna show up, get the job done, get the news talking about the victims instead of the perp, and get the hell out.”  Berto didn’t move from his spot, despite the heat the wall felt cool against his back.

“You’re only saying that cause your sister’s a profiler,” Spicer teased, fully aware he’d do the same thing if he was in Berto’s position.  The conversation was cut off when the front door opened, and in walked Derek Morgan and Emily Prentiss.

“Detectives,” Derek greeted shortly, nodding to Berto, “Hey, man, didn’t hear you’d be here.”

“Trying to get the field office and LAPD to play nice,” Berto shrugged as he pushed himself off the wall and introduced everyone in a desperate attempt to ignore the look he was getting from Prentiss, “Detectives Matt Spicer and Adam Kurzbard, Supervisory Special Agents Derek Morgan and Emily Prentiss.”

“Hey, thanks for flying out.”  Kurzbard reached out to shake both their hands as Spicer got up from his seat on the stairs.

“So, what have you got?”  Prentiss asked as Derek started looking around, getting a feel for the house.

“Got our hands full - guy’s been across the city in a week.”  Spicer leaned back against the stairway railing, “Seems completely random.”

“You don’t think it is?”

“We’re robbery-homicide in Newton Division.  The first two vics were right in the middle of it.  The only thing that brought us all the way out here were the bullets.”

“And the assault - all the victims were raped,” Kurzbard added.

“DNA match?”  Derek took a step back from looking into the living room.

“He covers up.”

“The - uh - Everson’s were in their bedroom upstairs when the electricity went out.”  Spicer gestured back up the stairs, and Prentiss immediately made her way up a few steps to take a peek at the layout upstairs.

“So, the unsub cut the power.”

“Nah - the city’s started rolling blackouts.  Everyone running their A/C all the time runs the risk of the whole grid going dark,” Berto explained, “Only buildings exempt are necessities - hospitals, police precincts, firehouses.”

“So, is that why he came out here?”  The thought had clearly crossed Spicer’s mind.

“Well, people are afraid of the dark, he probably preyed on that,” Emily made her way back down the stairs.

“Okay, so the lights go out and this guy starts banging on the door.”  Derek started running through the night of the crime.

“Why give them a heads-up like that, why not just break in?”  Spicer voiced the question that had been on his mind since he and Kurzbard were handed the case.

“He probably likes getting their adrenaline going, makes for a fun fight.”

“Sounds like he got one.  Wife’s real shook up.  I don’t think she’s gonna be much help.”

“Let’s not write her off just yet, our Castillo’s got a way of getting people to talk.”  It doesn’t take a profiler to figure out what Prentiss meant when she said ‘our Castillo.’

********

You hadn’t bothered putting your contacts back in when the jet landed.  Colleen was no doubt struggling with the psychological trauma of what she’d been through in the last 24 hours, and glasses tend to make someone look less threatening.  Considering your glasses you slide right off if you were bent over for too long, it made sense.  It was hard to be threatening when you lost your ability to see just from dancing too much.  You also borrowed Spencer’s sweater, you sure as hell weren’t going to be wearing it outside, but it was cool enough in the hospital that you could put on the too-large sweater to talk to Mrs. Everson - looking absolutely harmless with your glasses, big brown eyes, a cardigan too big for you, and your hair tied up into a messy bun.  To be honest, when fall came in a few months, it was exactly what you’d be wearing on your days off or paperwork days.  

You and Spencer waited outside of Mrs. Everson’s room at the hospital while Rossi talked to the nurses on staff to see what they had to say about the unsub’s surviving victim.  You’d already called Garcia and asked her to see if she could find any similar home invasions, but more importantly you asked her to see if Mrs. And Mr. Everson had any surviving family and give them a call.  She found their kids right away, and texted you after she called to let you know they were on their way.  When Rossi regrouped with you and Spencer, you took the few steps to the open door and saw Mrs. Everson, clearly sedated and restrained.

“Why is she in restraints?”  Spencer spoke just above a whisper, only loud enough for the three of you to hear.  There were a list of reasons Mrs. Everson could have been in restraints - from pre-existing mental health issues that were only made worse by her recent experience, or the toll of the psychological trauma making it impossible for her to consider living and in desperate need for a way out.

“She tried to kill herself - twice.”

You stepped into the room first, stepping around to the side of the hospital bed, ducking your head down a bit and using the same tone you used with every victim you had to question, “Mrs. Everson?  We’re FBI agents.  I know you’ve already had to answer a lot of questions, but can we ask you just a few more?”

“Why didn’t he kill me?”  She was barely conscious, the sedatives keeping her in such a daze she looked like she was about to pass out at any moment, making her so tired there were unnatural breaks in her speech patterns, like she needed to take a break.  This was one of the worst parts of the job.  Your heart ached and your eyes threatened to well up with tears as you carefully placed your hand over hers, feeling her fingers twitch in an exhausted attempt to hold your hand.

“It - it wasn’t about you,” Spencer explained gently, standing at the end of the bed while Rossi stood to your side, the three of you trying to keep her from feeling crowded, “This man only thinks about power and control.”

“Leaving you behind gives him that.”  Rossi tried to reassure the woman that it wasn’t about her or her husband, that there was nothing she could have done beyond simply not being in L.A.  Still, she cried as much as the sedatives would allow, her tears having long since run out even though the immense sadness remained.

“Did he ever say anything directly to you?”  You asked carefully, trying to keep Mrs. Everson from falling into the tragic memories by keeping your hand on hers.  You tended to do the same thing with cognitive interviews - especially when you were interviewing kids.  You saw her starting to fall back into the memories, gently squeezing her hand to pull her back out.  “Did talk to you?”

“No, he really didn’t.”  She was slurring her words, it probably wouldn’t be long until she slipped back into unconsciousness.  “I’m sorry.”

“Shh, no, it’s okay, you did nothing wrong,” you gently reassured her, “You can tell me anything - anything at all.”

“Greg looked at me...the way he always did.  I…we didn’t need words.  We…he just…looked at me and we would know.  I tried to be strong, but I…I shut my eyes…when the gun went off and…that’s the last thing Greg saw.  Now every time I shut my eyes…I see him.  How long will that last?”

There was nothing any of you could really say to that, whether out of personal or professional experience.  There was nothing that could help.

“You get some rest.  We got in touch with your kids, your daughter will be here in a few hours and your son should be here tomorrow.”

For now, that was all you could do.

Chapter Text

Friendship Set Aflame

Family Secrets

Prentiss and Derek tried reaching you repeatedly, and either you were on the phone or they couldn’t get through.  They got to the precinct before you did and asked JJ to try and reach you, but they could only guess you were in the hospital by that point because just about every hospital had basically no reception.  At some point they had to go back to work and hope they could catch you before you found out Berto was there.  JJ was on the phone, making plans for the 11 o’clock news when you and Spencer made it to the room set up for the team.  She couldn’t end the call fast enough, the phone wasn’t even on the receiver when she warned you.  Berto was talking with Hotch, Morgan, and Kuzbard back by the detectives’ desks, but there was no way to tell when they’d step away to join the rest of you.

“Thank god - we’ve been trying to reach you.  Berto’s here.”  JJ couldn’t waste any time, as much as she wanted to break it to you gently she just couldn’t take the risk you’d be unprepared when you saw your brother or one of the officers asked if you knew him.  Hell, the detectives on the case already knew he was your brother.  You were still in shock at the news when you felt Spencer wrap his arm around you, the physical contact enough to bring you back.  You wrapped your arm around his waist and held on tight.  The two of you were supposed to keep PDA to a minimum, especially in precincts, crime scenes, or questioning victims and witnesses.  Needless to say, with this turn of events, that rule was going to be promptly ignored.

“You know, just yesterday I was thinking that, besides Garcia looking for preschools for a kid I don’t have, things are going pretty good.”  You nodded as you really processed the information, wishing it wasn’t about one million degrees outside so you could’ve kept wearing Spencer’s sweater and gotten away with it by claiming you were cold.  “Let’s just get back to work, we’ve got bigger problems than my family drama and this unsub is bound to kill again sooner rather than later.”

You made your way to the board, just as reluctant to let go of Spencer as he was to let go of you, and slid one of the cork boards aside to take a look at the notes the detectives had already written and the chart they’d posted on the white board before the team got there.

“It’s incredibly detailed,” JJ had noticed that the moment she’d first seen the board.

“Yeah.  Detective Matt Spicer and his partner are the go-to guys for Robber-Homicide Central Bureau, Newton Division, busiest in L.A.”  Spencer had gathered more information since the jet landed, but a few things had stayed the same since he’d lived in L.A. during college.

Your cell started ringing and you saw the caller I.D. - Garcie Desk - before answering on speaker phone, “Hey, Garcie, Spencer and JJ are with me, what did you find?”

“Praise the gods, Los Angeles has a weirdly low rate of home invasion burglaries.  I snagged a case in Westchester where a guy violently knocked down the front door, kicked the dog, and took off with the TV.”

“Breaking down the door sends a message, he’s trying to intimidate the victims.”

“So does kicking a dog, he’s saying he’s a soulless bastard.”  Spencer looked at you, a bit concerned.  You had a tendency to get a bit snippier when you were bothered, and then you shot him a look right back.  You would have said the same thing even if you were having a perfect day because a dog was kicked.  You had a point, so Spencer let it go.

“Yeah, and as horrible as this dog-kicking guy sounds, I think the guy we’re looking for is even more horrible.”

“Garcia, this unsub’s had practice, a lot of it.  Maybe not in L.A., but he’d definitely done this before,” Spencer agreed with Garcia’s assessment of the unsub.

“Word.  This is not his first crime party.  I seriously can’t find a single case in L.A. that equals this level of emotional destruction.”

“We need to expand the search to all of southern California, he can be in other cities with a quick ride on the freeways,” Spencer widened the search parameters, increasing the chances Garcia would find something.

“Thanks Garcie,” you hung up and tucked your phone back in your pocket, turning back to the board with Spencer and JJ.

“We’re going on the 11 o’clock news, you think he’ll be watching?”

“It’s late,” Spencer brought up the other possibility, “He could already be hunting.”

“And we don’t know if he’ll target another pair of prostitutes or a couple in the suburbs.”  You hopped up to take a seat on the table.

The three of you kept discussing the case - anything from potential theories to the potential impact if the unsub did watch the news at 11.  You eventually turned to face the end of the table when Spencer took a seat there, somewhere along the line you rested your foot on his seat and he placed his hand on your calf, occasionally tracing patterns or rubbing his thumb along the side.  JJ took a seat at the side of the table, so the three of you could keep talking without your back being turned to her.  Unfortunately, unless Garcia found something or the unsub committed another murder, there wasn’t much to go on.

“Well, I don’t believe in coincidences,” Spicer continued his conversation with Prentiss as they got closer to the meeting room

“How come?”  Prentiss was still getting a read on the guy.  He’d been made out to be a hotshot hero in the LAPD, and that fame had a way of changing even the most chivalrous cops.

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I talk to the universe or anything,” Spicer explained as they entered the meeting room, making his way right to the case board while stood back by the table, “I’ve just always believed that things happen for a reason.  It’s hard to find the reason for this, though.  Utterly meaningless crimes, no obvious motivation.  Pure evil.”

“Evil can’t be scientifically defined.  It’s an illusory moral concept that doesn’t exist in nature, it’s origins and connotations have been inextricably linked to religion and mythology -” Spencer stood up to introduce himself to Spicer, Prentiss watching the detective as he was first introduced to the team doctors.  She’d figured out how amusing it could be only a few weeks after you joined the team.  Depending on the topic, it was a coin toss to see which one of you really got into it, but seeing as this was an anthropology/sociology thing and you were an anthropologist it wasn’t too surprising you were the one that went off.

“Unless you really break the whole good versus evil thing down to it’s very basics of ‘helping people is good’ and ‘survival of the fittest is bad,’ then it becomes a line of morals and thoughts that have existed long before spoken language and are traits exhibited in multiple species - but then that brings up the debate of whether or not certain creatures, like spiders, are evil by default because they do things like devour their mates, which then brings us right back to the whole religion thing because that thought process only shows up in the most extreme cases - like during the witch trials in the 1600’s.”  You slid off the table and turned to face the detective.

“Either way, this offender has shown no sign of any belief,” Spencer reconnected the whole information dump back to the original point before introducing himself with a short wave, “I’m Spencer Reid.”

“[F/N] Castillo.”

“Matt Spicer.”  Spicer really wasn’t sure what to make of what just happened.  He’d worked with Berto on a few cases, they talked about their families and particularly their little sisters.  Berto said you’d always been smart, too smart for the rest of the family to know what to do with you, and that you were an FBI profiler - but that couldn’t have possibly prepared Spicer for…well…this.

“Jennifer Jareau,” JJ got up, cutting in and reaching across the table to shake hands with Spicer, “The media’s been asking for you.”

“Yeah, well, nobody else around here wants to talk to them,” Spicer quickly readjusted, back in his element as he threw on a charming little smile and tucked his hands into his pockets, “I figure it hasn’t hurt me yet.”

“They’d like an interview for the 11 o’clock news, can we go over a few points?”

“Absolutely.”

********

The unsub had cut the power when he attacked the prostitutes, but the night he attacked the Everson’s was the first night of the rolling blackouts, so he just let the city cut the power for him.

A little after 11 o’clock the next day, you made it to the home of the unsub’s fifth victim in three days.  Her name was Annie Danzi, a single mom who left her son, Carter, behind.  While Spencer kept working with Garcia to try and track the unsub’s movements prior to arriving in L.A. the rest of you drove off to the crime scene.  JJ immediately got to work keeping the media hounds at bay, and while Prentiss, Hotch, and Rossi examined the scene you went with Derek to talk to the boy with Spicer and Berto.  The poor kid had been shoved into the closet I his mother’s bedroom and forced to watch as she was beaten, raped, murdered, and the unsub wrote ‘Hello Ther’ on the wall above her bed.  He trashed the room, even though there was next to nothing worth stealing, and even turned over pictures.

Your hair was still braided from when you’d gone to bed and you’d barely had time to slap on some makeup and fix the loose strands of hair as you got dressed and threw on your glasses, but Hotch said he wanted you to talk to the Carter.  When you got there, you sat next to him at the dining room table, turning to face him and crouched over to be closer to his size.  He was focused on the Play-Dough construction he’d made while he was alone with Spicer and Berto.

“I like your monster.  Is he gonna protect you?”

“It’s gonna make the man stay away.”

“That’s great, everyone needs friends like that, even police officers and FBI agents.”  You waited a moment as Carter nodded like he’d heard you, pacing and timing the conversation carefully.  “Can you tell me what the bad man did?”

“He moved me to the closet, and mom told me to close my eyes.”

“Can you show me how you did that?”  He put his monster down and covered his eyes with his hands.  “That’s great - you’re doing great.  What did you do after the bad man left?  Did you go hide somewhere else?”

“I didn’t want to leave her…”

“You were scared, Carter.  Everyone gets scared.  I was really scared when my mom died, and I was older than you.”  Carter finally looked up and at you, and you gave him a smaller comforting smile.  “How about we go to your room?  You can show me your favorite backpack and we can pack some stuff for you to take to your aunt’s house.”

Carter nodded and stood up as you did, taking your hand in iron grip as he took you to his room.

“I never knew that.”  Berto waited until you left the room with Carter, his voice low.  He wasn’t going to say you shouldn’t be mad that he just took off, he’d figured that out when you were still in Boston, but he didn’t know just how much you had to be mad about.  How much you’d been hurt.  “I never knew she was scared when mom died - I never even knew she was that good kids…”

“Look, I’m not sticking my nose in it again, but I will tell you that you screwed up.  You were young and stupid and going through just as much hell as she was.  But you still screwed up and she got a lot of hurt that sent her down a road with a lot more hurt, and you know the really fucked up thing?”

“What?”

“If you show her you’re sorry, that you really mean it, she’ll do everything she can to forgive you.”

********

Carter stayed glued to your side, his smaller hand almost crushing yours at times.  You couldn’t just leave him, even if it was with Spicer and Derek.  You rode in the back of Spicer’s unmarked cruiser with Carter, who sat in the middle of the back seat to stay close to you.  Everyone else, even Berto, had returned to the precinct to give the profile, but you and Derek were going to fill Spicer in once Carter was with his aunt and cousin.  The boy was reluctant to let go of your hand, even if his aunt was a few steps away.  It was going to take time for Carter to heal, but there was something you wanted him to know first.

The unsub was clearly a sadist, forcing Carter to witness something that destroyed his innocence and ripped away his childhood - something that likely mirrored what the unsub went through.  He left a message, but it was misspelled so he wasn’t well educated.  There was nothing to indicate why he left a message - yet - but there would be eventually.  He wasn’t necessarily from L.A. either, but he could have visited L.A. before - frankly the timeline of the unsub’s career was still a mystery.  However, killing in the dark was very important to the unsub, which was why he was in L.A. - to take advantage of the rolling blackouts, making him an opportunistic offender and difficult to predict what he’d do next.  Killing and staying in the dark was his signature, he’d always hid in the dark, which was indicative of both intimacy issues as well as self-consciousness about a physical flaw - something emphasized by the fact he turned photographs away from himself and meant so much to him that he lived in complete solitude.  It was highly unlikely - near impossible - for him to have had any kind of relationship.  He got off on taking away his victims’ power, and that was his goal in the end.

Because he struck - violently - at night, the local press named him the Prince of Darkness.

For the moment you couldn’t worry about him, you had to worry about Carter.

“I’m scared of the bad man too,” you crouched down to talk to Carter face-to-face, “I’m not strong enough to fight him by myself.”

“Really?”  Carter was quiet, still hurt, still young but too old to simply move on.

“Yeah, but the people I work with - they’re my family, and they help me feel safe.  They can do things I can’t, just like I can do things that they can’t.  We help each other and we fight for each other, and together we can do impossible things.  Your mom fought with everything she had to protect you because she loved you more than anything, and now your aunt and cousin really want to help you.  Can you promise me you’ll let them try?”  You smiled when Carter nodded his head, giving him one last hug and promise before leaving him with his aunt, “We’ll catch him, I promise.”

As you made your way back to the car you heard Derek’s phone ring just before he answered, and things got from bad to worse.  The rolling blackouts made entire sections of the city vulnerable, but city officials refused to stop the blackouts and LAPD was already stretched thin.  It was a distressing kind of calculus, if the power grid got overwhelmed by everyone running their A/C all the time the entire city would go dark with no preparation.