Bring it on

Two of a Kind

The timeline of this fanfiction starts at the end of season 6.

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It's usual interface of blue and green was gone, instead the website presented a black screen with a message displayed in white text.

USERNAME: MC.AWESOMECNT

[ WEBSITE UNDER CONSTRUCTION BTW ]

Good evening to my loyal website fans!
In today's blog post I'm going to be sharing with you something exciting. As of tomorrow evening (8.p.m.), I' am going to be posting videos of my current project, for a sneak peak of tomorrows footage please check your news in the morning; am sure the star of my show will be on your screen.

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Quantico, Virginia, FBI headquarters.

"Come on baby girl you've got to be able to give me something!" Derek Morgan's agitation was obvious; his husky voice was even lower than usual as he spoke into the loudspeaker of his offices' phone. He hoped that he was about to hear good news.

There was a pause, a pause that made it clear that there was no good news to be given. 

"This guy's a genius, his firewalls are impeccable... his password coding is far more sophisticated than anyone I've seen! His site is a fortress! Which can only mean..."

Morgan sighed, hoping that the next words out of Garcia's mouth weren't 'he's better than I' am'.

"This guy has had the same training as me...I don't know if I can crack this but I'll keep trying and I'll keep making calls, I promise." Even though she spoke as quickly as she always did Morgan noted that Garcia sounded pessimistic but not entirely defeated. Morgan held on to the small hope and put faith into Garcia's abilities.

"Keep me updated." Morgan turned the phone off and looked into the faces of his colleagues, everyone looked as frustrated as he felt.

"Sit down Morgan," Hotchner's voice was so stern and calm that Morgan had no other choice but to recline back in his chair. "We'll begin the slideshow once everyone is present; we need to really look into this killing. We need to hope there is another girl or body that matches this victim, we need to find something that we can work with to find him –"

"Where's Rossi? He's never usually late," the voice of Dr. Spencer Reid was muffled behind his coffee cup.

Hotch shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "He is talking to a new agent, he called her the moment after the news reported of this killing."

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Her hands were clasped together, resting on the desk of one Mr. David Rossi. She looked at the man in front of her; he was tan with a face etched in lines. His hair and moustache were a dark grey, occasionally patterned with flecks of white. For a moment she tried to remember when the white had started to appear, when had this job started to age him? She dismissed the thought, knowing that soon enough her hair would also show the stress the field had given her.