The Intelligence Control and Analysis Program

Chapter 5

"It looks great, Morgan."

"Yeah, well, I still have my doubts about the color."

Hotch smiled slightly at the now bright orange walls in his old office. "I didn't like it in theory, but looking at it now, it isn't bad." He nodded toward the ceiling. "You didn't go all the way up."

Morgan stepped off the ladder and put his paint roller in the tray. "There's gonna be a blue strip about four inches wide going around the top. Baseboard, too. You know, like bright, royal blue. Put a swoosh on the wall, and it'll pass for a pair of Nikes."

Hotch chuckled softly at that, walking closer to the windows. He pointed to the pencil marks on the wall and gave Morgan a curious look.

"Oh, that's for shelves." Morgan wiped his hands on a shop rag and tossed it over his shoulder, joining Hotch by the windows. "I had to make'em custom so they would fit right. Nothing too fancy, just three corner shelves. I figure we're gonna put, you know, a minifridge there, and then a microwave on top, and use the shelves for snacks or drinks. He's gonna have under-bed storage, and my middle man is working on finding me a standing closet, so it's not like he'll need the space for anything else."

Hotch looked at Morgan, unable to keep from grinning.

Morgan simply continued to nod and stare at the corner, hands on his hips, evaluating his pet project and sketching blueprints in his head.

Hotch raised a brow. "You think maybe you're having a little too much fun with this?"

"Hey." Morgan pointed a finger at him, then returned to his paint roller. "This is my day off. I can have as much fun as I want."

Hotch only laughed and started for the door. "If it were my day off, I would join you, but there's a huge stack of paperwork with my name on it."

Morgan winced sympathetically, already back on the ladder. "I don't envy you, man."

Hotch replied with a snort and walked out the door, making his way to the adjacent office.

Thankfully, his desk had always been back-to-back with Rossi's, so when Hotch moved, nothing got switched around. Still, it took some getting used to. He had already thrown his briefcase on the floor once, having expected a couch to be on his left as soon as he walked through the door. Fortunately, he had remembered every time since, and as he went to put his briefcase down, the only difficulty he had was not staring at the files ICAP had sent.

Because they had sent files. It had taken three days of nagging and demanding and, eventually, threatening, but they sent files.

Initially, Hotch had felt a sense of victory when JJ told him they received a massive fax from ICAP, but when he laid eyes on his printed prize, Hotch had only one thought.

This can't be everything I asked for.

Hotch shed his coat and picked a file off the top, curiosity taking precedent over paperwork. He opened it up and started leafing through the pages, coming to the immediate conclusion that large portions had been removed.

Everything subjective in nature was either missing or blacked out. Notes from doctors, psychiatrists, guards, and other personnel were nowhere to be seen. If Genius had said anything to the staff, it wasn't on the pages Hotch had, and given the nature of the document he was looking at, Genius had definitely said something. He wouldn't have been given a choice.

Basically, they took out everything helpful.

Still, Hotch sat down and started to read.

Paperwork? What paperwork?