something to look forward to
HER HAND IS CRAMPING WHERE IT'S CLUTCHED AROUND THE PEN. Her grip is tight but it's not a conscious decision. Her vision is blurred as she fills out the autopsy report before her. The solitude of her office is something she's relished in over the past few months she's been back while the BAU functions without her.
But it's not what she's thinking about now. She's thinking about the fact that in her time surrounded by the co-dependent FBI unit that was the Behavioral Analysis Unit, she'd forgotten that silence rarely bodes well for her.
Her body feels fuzzy and her fingers are numb at the tips, and she wonders what she's writing as the black ink loops along the paper, growing increasingly illegible.
She can hear her father's voice, then, telling her that sloppy handwriting is embarrassing, and no one will believe she's got anything in her brain if she doesn't prove it to them even with something as trivial as handwriting. That overly sweet voice that always made it sound like you were stupid simply for the fact that he had to say anything at all. So condescending and cold, even with a smile on his face.
The voice morphs into Calvin's as it always does when she has the nerve to think something bad about Arthur, and he's telling her that she's got no leg to stand on. She's just as bad as Arthur. Impossible to please. Entitled and egotistical all because of a few degrees with her name on them. A murderer. Calvin had a way of comparing her to Arthur in ways that took even her by surprise.
He had a knack for bringing things up that she otherwise wouldn't have noticed about herself that remind her she can burn her skin with hot water and scrub it raw, and she can run away and change her name as many times as she likes, but she'll never be able to wash her hands of her father's blood. Not when it courses through her veins.
The pen in her hand falters and she drags a stuttering line across a paragraph when a knock sounds from behind her on her open doorway. She inhales sharply, the only noise of shock she allows herself as she drops her pen on her desk and snaps around to find Ben standing there, his rosy cheeks dimpling as he offers her a smile, oblivious to the nausea drowning her in waves.
"Someone from the BAU is here to see you, Dr. D,"
Her blue eyes drift past his tall, lanky frame, and she finds Spencer Reid's familiar figure standing in her lab, hands wrapped around the cross strap of the satchel bag he carries everywhere with him as if it's the only way he can keep himself from touching anything.
Clearing her throat, she pushes back from her desk, standing as she drops her gaze to the report in front of her. Her fingers flex and writhe against the flat surface of her desk when she sees the last three sentences she'd filled out in the medical history section are practically carved into the paper, repeating in a loop of torment for her to see in the light of day.
It will always be a part of you. You can't run from it. Will you let it ruin you? Will you let it ruin you? Will you let it—
Jane crumples the paper up in her hands and chucks it into the trash can beneath her desk, biting her tongue roughly as she spins to face Ben again. "Can you write up the autopsy report on Mr. Whitfield? He's in cold storage."
"'Course," The man nods dutifully, ducking out of her doorway as she steps past him to go greet Dr. Reid.
"Spencer," She says, tone full of something forced but entirely genuine in the same breath. "It's been a while."
"3 months and 9 days," He spouts off before he seems to realize what he's said, and his lips press into a thin, embarrassed line.
Jane doesn't laugh at him despite the urge to, instead she just tilts her head slightly. "Do you have the exact timestamp, too?"
He winces slightly, but answers. "5 hours, 22 minutes, 15 seconds."
She walks towards him, gesturing with her hands as she smiles. "God, I bet you're a dream to play trivia games with. Any game, actually, now that I think about it,"
"Most games have been banned with the team because they think I cheat," He says, turning slightly to follow her as she bypasses him for her box of gloves, pulling blue latex onto her hands.
She chuckles this time, only because she knows he was trying to be funny that time.
"Don't tell him I told you this, but Aaron is such a sore loser. We don't play chess anymore because he doesn't like getting mad and I kept beating him. That is also one of the reasons we don't play poker anymore– he says I was teaching Jack to be a con man."
Spencer smiles, something private and soft at the minute detail she'd offered him up about her personal life. Even if it does involve his Unit Chief. "Morgan plays poker with me, but Prentiss won't. They say I have too many unfair advantages since I grew up in Vegas."
Jane's eyes snapped to his from where they'd been examining a petri dish with something unidentifiable growing spores inside of it. "You're from Las Vegas?"
Spencer stifles a full-body grimace as he nods. He hadn't meant to say that, didn't want to possibly trigger any memory, good or bad. He was meant to be neutral ground, nothing more. A stranger who gave her a clean slate after everything she'd been through. He knew better than most how much people like that mattered and he wanted to be that for Jane, even though it felt like pulling teeth every time he had to stop himself from bringing up something about their childhood that would instantly give him away.
He'd gotten caught up in this easy conversation with her. It distracted him– he'd forgotten why he was even down there in the first place, and that her intern was their audience of one.
She looks at him for a moment, eyes narrowed in the wake of his silent response before she seemingly brushes it off with one of her own and returns to her petri dish.
"Small world," She huffs, setting the petri dish back down in the curing box. "I lived there when I was younger. I wasn't born there, but it's where I lived the longest before–" She stops, physically shaking her head to silence herself. "Suburban Las Vegas is so much different than people think. It's not all casinos and Elvis impersonators, but you definitely learn to gamble early on."
"1 in every 3,400 Americans is an Elvis impersonator," He says, as happy as Jane is to shift the subject just enough to keep it from spiraling. "That averages to about 92,000 Elvis impersonators in the U.S. alone, but there's an obvious influx of them in Las Vegas because of his infamous residency there that's often said to have been his death sentence."
Jane blinks a few times, processing his words. "It's fascinating to see what pop culture moments stand the test of time in this country,"
"Another aspect of phenomena like Elvis's rise to fame is that with the rise of pop culture and its continuous growth on how it impacts society, his feats become less and less meaningful, and his mistakes become more what he's known for, rather than anything else."
Jane hums, tilting her head in agreement. "The longer you stick around, the more time you give people to pick you apart. Although, I think Elvis is probably a bit deserving of it, all things considered,"
Spencer purses his lips to hide the smile that threatens to split his face, and he can see Jane doing the same even as her shoulders shake with laughter.
"Of all things I thought I'd catch you two talking about, I did not expect it to be Elvis," Emily's voice echoes through the lab and Spencer and Jane startle, heads snapping towards the doorway where they find her looking between them amusedly, Derek standing beside her with a similar look on his face.
"We sent you down here to get her to come to lunch with us. Not have social hour in the CSI Lab," Derek says to Spencer, somewhat scoldingly.
Spencer nods slowly, looking at him with an apologetic wince. "I was getting there,"
Jane laughs to herself as she rids herself of her latex gloves, dumping them into a contamination trash can that she knocks with her hip to shut the lid on. "Lunch sounds almost as good to me as talking about Elvis," She looks over her shoulder at Ben, who's been standing at his desk writing the autopsy report she'd ruined, pretending not to hear Jane and Spencer's odd but easy-going conversation. "I'll be back later, alright? Take your break in an hour, please,"
"Yes, ma'am,"
Derek whistles lowly, earning an instant blush on Ben's face. "I get why you like it down here, Doc, people follow orders– guess that runs in the Hotchner family, huh?"
Jane rolls her eyes though there's nothing but fondness behind them as she grabs her suit jacket off the rack by the door and drapes it over her arm. "Ben is a nice guy, and he's good at his job and he does it without question, which is more than can be said for some people,"
Emily and Spencer chuckle as Derek makes a wounded noise, the four of them heading for the elevator bank. "Now I know you're not saying I'm insubordinate,"
"Don't forget," She points fingers at the three long-standing members of the BAU, raising her brows. "I've heard all of the stories from Aaron over the years. You can't fool me,"
"We need to tell Hotch to stop giving our secrets away to his daughter," Emily hums conspiratorially, dark eyes alight with amusement.
As if summoned, all four of their phones go off at once, and they share a foreboding look, Derek biting the bullet and pulling his out.
He sighs heavily just as the elevator doors slide open. "Looks like we gotta raincheck on lunch."
Jane pulls her phone out, seeing the email from Strauss pop up. "I'm being summoned by Strauss," She looks up at them from her phone. "Must be serious."
Derek tsks his tongue, shaking his head as they step onto the elevator and he presses the button for the BAU's floor instead of the parking garage. "Once again we learn that we can never make plans where the universe can overhear, because then we don't even get to have lunch."
──────
"Hey, what did Strauss want? Jane said she got an email from her,"
Hotch turns to look at the four of them as they pile into the conference room, standing in front of the monitors with JJ beside him. "She needs us in Los Angeles,"
"Home invasion homicide last night," JJ says, pursing her lips. "Officers found Gregory Everson, 56, beaten with a GSW to the head. His wife, Colleen, was equally beaten and raped repeatedly."
"Repeatedly?" Emily echoes gravely.
"That's what she reported,"
Jane's eyes widened slightly as she looked at the file in Emily's hand. "She's alive?"
Hotch nods. "He chose to keep her alive,"
"An intentional witness,"
"Everything but that points to an organized offender, an experienced one," Rossi shakes his head, confusion lacing his voice.
"Was she able to identify him?"
"She said he was white, with mean eyes and repulsive breath," JJ says.
Jane grimaced, sympathy flooding her.
"Rotten inside and out," Rossi says, a hint of something dark in his voice. "Did he rape her in front of the husband?"
JJ nods, her eyes full of familiar empathy. Jane wonders how she does this job while wearing her heart on her sleeve. "Yeah,"
Derek tilts his head slightly, thick brows furrowing. "One home invasion rarely warrants Strauss roping Jane in again and personally sending us out."
"No, there's more," JJ turns to the monitor, pulling up a new set of photos. "Ballistics match a double homicide in downtown L.A., 48 miles away,"
"Where three days ago, those two women were raped and killed."
"But last night was in the suburbs," Emily notes, crossing her arms over her chest as the realization hits Derek.
"They're afraid of another Night Stalker,"
Hotch nods once. "We leave in ten minutes."
──────
"This guy is way too good at this to have just started," Morgan projects his voice along the jet, perching himself on the arm of the built-in couch next to where Spencer is propped on one of the tables that folds out. Jane sits on the other side of Spencer, turned sideways in the leather chair with one of her legs pulled up to her chest, her chin resting on her knee. "He pulled off hours of torture and a homicide without disturbing the neighbors."
"And robbed the house,"
"That could be a habit," Hotch suggests.
JJ turns her head slightly to look at him. "You think he started as a burglar?"
"If it was just about the killing, he wouldn't bother robbing them,"
Spencer leans forward slightly, brows furrowing. "Wait, how'd he get in last night?"
"Mrs. Everson said there was a noise outside their door. They were outside of their room for a few minutes. When they came back, he was there."
"He distracted them,"
"So he could climb through their bedroom window,"
"I'll have Garcia see if that M.O. was used in any other home invasions,"
Hotch nods at Spencer, and his eyes drift to where Jane is sitting, just listening like she'd done all those months ago on their first case together. He hasn't seen her as much as usual in the past few months she's been back in her lab, but he's tried to give her space because he knows that as much as she does trust him, she's an adult and she has her own life. He just worries that that's not the reason he hasn't been seeing her.
He can tell she's not been sleeping well by the way her eyes seem to flutter every few minutes as they continue talking, and she's barely spoken in the hours they've been shifting focus onto this case, which means she's undoubtedly lost in her thoughts.
He knows he can't bring it up right now, though. Not in front of the team, and not when Strauss has sent them out on special order to solve this case before it does turn into some uncontrollable sensation like the Night Stalker had all those years ago.
He forces himself to turn away, looking at Emily as she begins to speak.
"Well, victimology's all over the map," She shakes her head. "Three murders and he managed to kill men, women, old, young, black, white, Hispanic," She lists off. "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,"
"Oh, and they will," JJ scoffs quietly. "Press got ahold of last night's home invasion."
Hotch sighs, nodding with the information. "JJ and I will set up at the station. Dave, you and Reid go visit Mrs. Everson at the hospital. Morgan and Prentiss, the LAPD detectives are waiting for you at the Everson house. Jane, I want you to go with Morgan and Prentiss. See if you can figure out more of his motives from the damage he left behind."
Jane nods dutifully in response, turning her head to rest her cheek on her knee and look out the window into the dark nothingness of the sky.
──────
Jane ducks her head against the flash of reporters outside the Everson house, the lights blinding in the unusual darkness overtaking a city like L.A.
She walks up the steps into the house behind Emily and Derek, rolling the tension out of her shoulders as the heat bears down on her.
"Detectives,"
"Quite a crowd out there," Emily greets the two men waiting inside, and Jane shuts the door behind her, cutting off the ongoing murmur of reporters.
The younger of the two men stands, lifting his hand in a brief wave. "Matt Spicer," He gestures to the man beside him. "Adam Kurzbard."
"Hi," Emily shakes their hands firmly. "Emily Prentiss. This is Derek Morgan and Dr. Jane Donovan,"
"Hey, thanks for flying out," Detective Kurzbard offers them a weak smile, something they see often on the police who are being weighed down by the cloud of a serial killer over their heads.
Jane shakes their hands with a small smile of her own before stepping back, pushing her hair out of her eyes.
"So, what've you got?"
"We've got our hands full," Detective Spicer says, something wry and tired in his voice. "Guy's been across the city in a week. Seems completely random."
Emily raises a brow at his particular tone. "You don't think so?"
"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," Detective Kurzbard says. "All the victims were raped."
"DNA match?" Derek asks.
"He covers up,"
"The, uh, the Eversons were in their bedroom upstairs when the electricity went out,"
Emily walks past Spicer up the stairs, heading to examine the bedroom.
"So, the unsub cut the power?"
"No, they've got rolling blackouts scheduled. Trying to get through this heatwave without the whole city going dark,"
Emily stops on the stairs, narrowing her eyes as she glances around the foyer.
"Is that why he came out here?" Spicer asks.
"People are afraid of the dark," Jane notes, drawing eyes her way. "Not exactly an uncommon fear. Even with scheduled blackouts, it puts people in a position of vulnerability. He could've easily preyed on that, especially since fear is such a huge part of what he does."
Derek nods in agreement, glancing around. "Okay, so, the lights go out and this guy starts banging on the door,"
"Why give them the heads up like that? Why not just break in?"
"Like Jane said, if he's capitalizing on fear, he wants their adrenaline going. Makes for a fun fight,"
Spicer glances towards his partner. "Sounds like he got one. Wife's real shook up. I don't think she's gonna be much help."
"Two of our agents are there talking to her right now," Jane says softly. "I'm sure they'll get something from her."
──────
"So, do you ever look at why this victim, why this day, why this crime?" Spicer asks Jane as they walk towards the conference room where Emily, JJ, and Spencer are, his eyes full of curiosity.
Jane nods, crossing her arms over her chest loosely as they walk. She'd forgone her suit jacket shortly after getting into L.A., already too hot for comfort despite growing up in the desert. "All the time. But, I have to admit that I'm not a seasoned professional like the rest of them. I'm a bit of a drifter,"
Spicer's brows raise and he smirks slightly. "What do you mean by that?"
"I'm the head of the CSI at Quantico, but I'm also used interchangeably as an asset to the BAU. Turns out there's more medical aspects to profiling than you'd think,"
"Alright," He says with a hint of something impressed as he looks her over. "So, give me your expertise both as a part-time profiler and a genius crime scene investigator,"
She chuckles lowly at his words, shaking her head. "I will do my best, Detective,"
"Do you ever think these people are just in the wrong place at the wrong time?"
Jane hums, contemplating the question. "Sometimes. But, as a so-called expert, I can tell you that it's never as simple as that, even in the most cut-and-dry cases. The unsubs always have a reason, even if it's just because they're killing for no reason at all. So their victims aren't simple coincidences, they're just very unfortunate."
The man nods at her answer, smiling down at her. "You know, I don't believe in coincidences."
"Oh, yeah? How come?"
"Don't get me wrong, it's not like I talk to the universe or anything, I've just always believed that things happen for a reason," He comes to a stop in front of the growing character study of this unsub, his charming smirk faltering. "It's hard to find a reason for this, though. Utterly meaningless crimes, no obvious motivation. Pure evil."
"Uh, evil can't be scientifically defined," Spencer says quickly, his eyes shifting between Detective Spicer and where Jane stands beside him. "It's an illusory moral concept that doesn't exist in nature. Its origins and connotations have been inextricably linked to religion and mythology. This offender has shown no signs of any belief."
Emily closes her eyes, nodding with a small, amusedly fond smile as Matt looks from the young man to Jane, who has a similar look on her face that tells him this is something not out of the ordinary for him.
"I'm, uh, I'm Spencer Reid."
"Matt Spicer,"
"Jennifer Jareau," JJ stands to shake his hand across the table. "The media's been asking for you."
Matt smirks slightly. "Yeah, well, nobody else around here wants to talk to them. I figure it hasn't hurt me yet,"
"Uh, they'd like to interview you for the 11 o'clock news," JJ tilts her head, tapping a pen mindlessly against the back of her hand. "Can we go over a few points?"
"Absolutely. Nice to meet you all," Matt ducks his head in a nod, stepping past Jane with a pointed look. "Jane."
──────
"What you got there? Is that a robot?" Derek leans against the back of a chair at the dining table in the latest victim's house, watching her young son fumble with a toy in his hands. Jane stands opposite him, arms crossed over her front as she repeatedly drags her bottom lip in between her teeth, a physical manifestation of her anxiety.
Detective Spicer doesn't seem to be doing much better with the short distance he's pacing just behind the kid's chair, his eyes wide and full of grief.
"It's a monster," The boy corrects him.
"Monster, huh? What's it doing?"
"It's protecting you, right?" Spicer asks, earning a silent look from Derek that has him quieting.
The kid nods shortly, though. "It's gonna make the man stay away,"
"Did you happen to get a look at that man?"
"Or was it too dark under the bed?" There's something gruff in Spicer's voice that draws Jane's eyes towards him for an entirely different reason than Derek, who once again silently scolds the man with a shake of his head.
Spicer looks away, something shameful flashing in his eyes that has Jane's eyes narrowing.
"He moved me to the closet. And my mom told me to close my eyes,"
Spicer clenches his jaw, looking out the window as Derek shifts his gaze back to something soft as he looks at the kid. "Would you mind showing me how you did that?"
The young boy hesitantly stands his toy upright and brings his hands up to cover his eyes, pressing firmly against them.
"That's good, kid. That's really, really good," The boy looks up at Morgan, hesitant to accept the small, solemn praise. "So, you didn't see him at all? Once that man left, what did you do? Did you get back under the bed?"
A flicker of painstaking grief flashes on the boy's face. "I didn't want to leave her,"
Spicer sighs, shaking his head as he kneels beside the boy. "But you were scared," He starts to say something else, but he meets the looks of Jane and Morgan and stops himself. "Hey, Carter, do you, um– do you have, like, a really cool backpack you could throw some things in to take over to your cousin's house?"
The boy nods. "It's in my room. Will you come with me?"
"You bet,"
Carter takes off to the stairs to go to his room, and Morgan stops Spicer before he can follow. "Hey, look– I'm really glad the kid didn't see anything, but it could've been helpful."
Spicer nods in agreement, looking in the direction the kid has gone. "Yeah, but covering his eyes like that, that means he couldn't cover his ears."
The detective walks off with a shake of his head and Morgan turns to watch him go before he looks at Jane, who purses her lips. "Something's hitting him hard about this,"
Jane nods. "Yeah. You should let me talk to him after we get Carter to his cousin's house."
"You think you can get through to him?"
Jane stands upright, releasing her grasp from the back of the chair. "On this? Yeah. Yeah, I think I know exactly what he's feeling,"
──────
"So, drunk driver, huh?" Jane raises her brows as she steps towards Spicer's desk. Her words make Spicer look up from where he'd been zoned out, staring at the crime scene photos from last night.
"Textbook origin story, right? I lose my parents to something preventable, so I become a cop to make up for it,"
She nods slightly, taking a seat at the chair before his desk. "Better than becoming the drunk driver that takes people's parents away,"
He concedes with a nod and a brief silence passes over them before Jane breaks it again. "I was 12 when I lost mine," She says, earning a sympathetic look of understanding. "It was a home invasion. It could've been prevented, just like yours."
"I'm sorry," Matt says. "This case must be hard for you."
"They're all hard in their own ways," She shrugs, pursing her lips slightly. Her eyes drift along his desk, catching on a picture of him with a young girl. "Is that your daughter?"
He nods, smiling without even turning to look at the photo. "Ellie. She's the best,"
"Her dad is pretty great, so I don't doubt it," Jane mirrors his smile. "You should give yourself a bit of grace here, Detective. This isn't something you see often and you really are doing your best. It'd be a shame for you to lose yourself to this case when you have so much more to look forward to in life."
Something fond blossoms in his eyes and he tilts his head, a small smile pulling at his lips that makes Jane's brows twitch in a slight frown. "What?"
"Nothing, I just think it's crazy that I have an insanely intelligent, beautiful woman sitting here telling me I'm doing a good job and I can't get out of my own head for five seconds to truly appreciate it,"
Jane's cheeks flush with heat and she hides her grin with her hand, shaking her head at the man. "You're shameless, Detective,"
"Say it again, Doctor,"
She bit the tip of her tongue to stifle her flustered smile. "Shameless. Especially considering you have a wedding ring on, and you have no idea if I'm single or not."
He glances down at the band around his finger, holding it up to the light. "Ah, this is just... sentiment, I suppose."
"The ultimate killer," Jane intones dramatically, making him chuckle.
His eyes roam over her face and she fights the urge to look away, shaking her head slightly so her bangs shift on her forehead. "Give me your phone,"
Her brows raise, but there's a patter to her heartbeat that she hasn't felt in years. "Excuse me?"
He holds his hand out and she silently pulls her cell phone from her pocket, placing it in his grasp. "Here is my thanks to you. And perhaps something to look forward to, like you said," When he hands it back to her, her contact list is open on a new number, and he's labeled it 'Detective'.
She shakes her head, laughing quietly as she saves the contact. Looking up from beneath her lashes, she meets his gaze. "I like that. Something to look forward to."
"Hey, Jane, Spicer," Morgan interrupts, beckoning them out of the office to where he's standing with Hotch and Detective Kurzbard.
Hotch looks her over and she raises a brow at his scrutiny, making him shake his head slightly which could only mean he wanted to talk to her privately– something she dreaded at this particular moment.
Aaron looks away from her, crossing his arms over his chest. "How's the boy?"
"He's quiet," Derek answers solemnly.
"Too soon for an interview?"
Spicer sighs. "Yeah, I want to find this guy before we have to put the kid through it."
Before Hotch can say anything, Prentiss approaches them with a laptop displaying Garcia. "Guys, Garcia found something,"
Reid files out of the boardroom at the call, coming around to look at the video feedback of Garcia.
"Okay, everybody sit down 'cause I'm about to rock your world and not in a way I'd like to do it," The woman says, her voice taking on something grim. "I have scoured and searched, and you were totally right. This unsub has been doing it forever. There is nowhere he hasn't been in the last twenty-six years– honestly. Every single state. Well, 48 continental. My point– he is the worst I've ever seen and we have all seen some things."
Jane glanced over, meeting Spicer's concerned gaze with one that was hopefully comforting.
"How did you connect him?"
"Everything you said. He's drawn to the dark, he shows up during a blackout, he robs, he kills, he leaves a witness."
Kurzbard leans forward, frowning deeply. "How's he getting away with this?"
"He never hits the same city twice,"
"Except Los Angeles," Derek states.
Garcia nods, fingers typing away furiously. "I am sending everything your way now, and you better load up that printer, 'cause it looks like he started in southern California way back in the summer of 1984."
JJ sighs lowly. "Thank god the press hasn't connected this,"
"The summer Olympics were in Los Angeles that year," Morgan says vaguely, eyes going distant as he thinks.
"So was Richard Ramirez," Kurzbard says. "That's the year he started."
"Well, he never left," Reid starts. "He stayed in L.A. for a few years."
"I'll look into it," JJ says, already walking off.
"It appears our unsub started that summer during a blackout in San Diego," Garcia drawls, beginning to list things off. "From there he went to Orange County, after that, he ended up in Los Angeles and then worked his way up the coast."
Jane bit at her lip, shifting anxiously. "So, why did he come back?"
Derek hums lowly. "And why now?"
Hotch shifts, turning to look at his daughter. "Jane, once all of the information from Garcia prints out, I want you and Reid to work on marking his past kills on the map. It might give us some more insight into why he's back here."
Jane nods, stepping out of the half-circle gathered to walk into the boardroom, Spencer turning on his heel to follow closely behind as the printer noisily stacked paper after paper in the tray nearby.
Jane perched herself on the edge of the table, her eyes drifting back to the windows through the slits in the blinds as she watched Detective Spicer. Glancing at Spencer before her, she sighed tiredly. "Do you have any theories in that wonderful brain of yours as to why he's come back to L.A.?"
Spencer ducks his head, avoiding her gaze as he thinks. Clearing his throat, he looked back up at her, voice hesitant. "I think,"
He's cut off by a sudden commotion in the bullpen and Jane snaps her head to the side, watching as Kurzbard lifts his phone to his ear, a frustrated curse echoing moments later. He turns to tell Spicer whatever it was that was relayed to him on the phone, and for a brief moment, the Detective meets her eyes through the window, a sheen of disappointment shining in his eyes.
She lets out a breath, feeling something pang in her chest. "There's a new victim," She mutters to Spencer, watching as Spicer and Kurzbard turn, gathering officers as they hurry out of the station.
"Something brought him back here," Spencer says, his eyes following the chaos in the other room. "Or someone."
──────
Jane looks back at Hotch as he walks towards the four of them standing around the map she and Spencer had spent the last hour placing sticky tabs on with every new location revealed from Garcia's information.
Prentiss takes the silent cue of his presence to tell him what they've come to learn. "We're talking over 200 houses in 26 years."
"When he started in San Diego, it was all about the robberies,"
"By the time he got to Orange County, he robbed and assaulted his victims. First murder was in Long Beach and he left a witness."
Hotch's frown deepens. "He got away with it for 26 years. Why did he come back?"
"Let's keep going through the papers Garcia sent over," Rossi says from where he's seated at the table with files stacked around him. "The answer is in here somewhere."
They all nod in agreement, coming to crowd the table as an officer brings in another set of files, setting them down in front of Emily who gives him a silent nod in thanks.
JJ walks back in with a short sigh of relief. "Well, the media coverage actually helped. Neighbors were hypervigilant, as soon as they heard the gunfire, they called the police."
The detectives walk in just as JJ finishes, looking worse for wear.
"Did he leave a message this time?" Rossi tilts his head back to address the two men.
"He actually left a baby in the closet," Kurzbard says, a hint of disbelief and horror in his tired voice.
"There's gotta be some kind of message in that,"
"He's taunting us," Spicer says unhappily. "He's leaving behind witnesses that are too little to help."
Jane shakes her head, pursing her lips. "I think he's getting angry, though, too. Angry with... with whoever or whatever it is that brought him back to L.A."
Emily grunts as she pushes herself out of her chair, walking over to the photos from the first crime scene with the two young women. "Why them?" She gestures to the bloody mess of photos, looking at the group. "Why now? He killed these two women before the rolling blackouts. What is it about them? He killed them in a busy, well-lit area. It was nothing like the others."
"It's, uh, 'Shootin' Newton'," Detective Kurzbard says, stepping forward to stand before Emily. "People hear gunfire down there all the time. He probably fit right in."
Emily nods shortly. "It was in your division,"
"Hey, he had to start somewhere," Spicer shrugs.
"So you think it's just a coincidence?" Emily asks, raising a brow.
Jane turns in her chair to look at Matt, the man catching her eye briefly at the words that have him recalling their conversation earlier.
"Alright, let's say it's not," He says, perching himself on the edge of a small end table. "What does that mean? He wanted our attention?"
"Well, he certainly has it,"
"You're sure you never worked anything like this before?"
Kurzbard huffs a dry laugh. "Trust me, this guy makes an impression."
"He started his career twenty-six years ago," Hotch reminds the man, drawing his attention.
"Same as me," The man quickly takes note of the looks that pass over the BAU members' faces. "You think this is because of me? That all these people are dead because of that?"
"Two women killed in your division, no survivors. Then, a couple leaving the wife as a witness. Then, a mother leaving a son. Now two parents, but a baby survives."
The older man shakes his head slowly. "If there's some kind of pattern, I've never seen it before."
"He came back to L.A. for a reason, though," Jane notes, the words sounding redundant at this point.
"The first two murders here in L.A. County were close by," Spencer informs them. "Long Beach is on the cusp of L.A. and Orange County."
"Let's look into that one," Rossi urges, prompting Prentiss to come back over to the table as Spencer quickly locates the file, reading out for the room to hear.
"Home invasion, husband was shot, wife was left alive,"
"Sounds familiar,"
"What's the next one?"
Derek answers Hotch quickly. "After Long Beach, he went to Santa Monica," He flips through the pages of the file, his frown deepening. "Wait a minute. Spicer– do you have family out there?"
The man nods. "Yeah, that's where I grew up,"
Derek hesitates for a moment, looking back down at the file. "Home invasion robbery, double homicide. Joe and Slyvia Spicer were killed,"
Confusion trickles onto Matt's face. "Those are my parents,"
A tense silence settles over the room as Spicer stands up. "That doesn't make any sense," He reaches out for the file. "Let me see that."
Derek hands him the file, sympathy burning in his warm eyes as the man flips through the information.
"They died in a car accident. A drunk driver,"
"Who told you that?"
"My grandparents," He says. "I remember my grandfather waking me up. I was sick the night they died, I had a fever. How would I not remember that happening to them?"
Kurzbard shakes his head slowly. "Maybe your grandparents never told you, Matt. They were trying to protect you,"
"They lied?"
"You were the first child he left alive," Hotch says, his voice grim.
JJ offers the man a soft look. "You've been all over the news,"
"This guy knows who you are,"
Spicer shakes his head, hazy disbelief in his eyes, and he doesn't say anything as he turns and walks out of the room. They watch him go in silence, unable to fault him for any reaction to news like that.
Jane bites the inside of her cheek roughly before she stands, pushing herself away from the table and hurrying out of the room to follow Spicer to his office.
"Matt, wait," She catches the door before it shuts completely, stepping in and closing it behind her as he drops his face into his hands and sighs heavily.
"This is crazy," The man says, his words muffled in his palms before he lifts his head again to look at Jane.
"I know," She nods, standing before him.
"I mean, I don't... I can't believe it," He breathes out. "It doesn't make sense."
She grimaces for the split second he's not looking at her, soothing her face out before he catches it. "Look, you remember earlier, when Derek said that the people in our lives, good and bad, shape us?"
He nods.
"He's right. People like us who have gone through things that we don't even remember are still shaped by them," Her voice borders on desperate like she's pleading with him to listen to her, though she doesn't know why. "I mean, Matt, you became the head of the robbery and homicide division in the Newton district. Something like that isn't just a coincidence,"
He makes a wry noise, something borderline hysterical that clamps in his throat. "You're saying I subconsciously became a detective because my parents were killed in a home invasion I have no recollection of?"
"Unfortunately for both of our sakes, psychology is very much so real," She pushes her hair off of her shoulders, ignoring the way it makes her skin crawl when it brushes along her exposed neck where her t-shirt scoops down slightly.
"I've told people my whole life that my parents were killed by a drunk driver," His voice is low, almost a whisper like he's afraid someone will overhear them. Although that's not a possibility, Jane is very aware of the fact that the entire BAU is watching them speak through the blinds on his windows.
"I tell people it was a home invasion," She doesn't know why she blurts it out, but she can't stop it in time. It catches his attention nonetheless, like he can sense how much she didn't plan on saying that. "It wasn't, though."
His eyes soften with understanding. "What was it?"
"My father," Her voice is suddenly low, too, mirroring his. "He killed my mother."
They both flinch at the harsh words.
"He abused us all, me, my mother, my sister," She continued, voice somewhat shaky. "My entire life. He was horrible. And one day, he just snapped. I don't know what did it in the end. But they'd been fighting all night and I'd been in my sister's room, comforting her. But then it got quiet, and I just– I knew something was wrong. So I made Maeve get in the closet and hide with her stuffed bear, and I went into my parents' room and got the gun that my dad had, and I walked into the living room and found him kneeling over my mom, who was just lying on the floor."
Matt reaches out, grabbing her hand, and she lets him, fingers knocking at her sides. "He knew what he did, Matt. And when he looked up and saw me in the hallway with a shotgun, for a moment, I finally saw what fear looked like on him, because he knew it was the end."
She shakes her head, clearing the cloud threatening to fog over her mind. "I remember that night like it was yesterday. But there are months– years before that that I have absolutely no recollection of. But I remember what happened when the cops showed up and one of the men in a CSI jacket cleaned the blood off of my hands and my face. He helped me brush my hair and change my clothes, and when I asked him if I would ever forget what it felt like, he said no. He said I wouldn't, but I could either let it ruin me, or let it take me somewhere better."
She shook her head stubbornly. "And I wasn't going to let it ruin me,"
Matt smiled weakly.
"What I'm saying, Detective Spicer, is that whether or not we remember them, whether or not we lie about them, those things still happened. And you... you have the choice now, to let it ruin you or let it take you somewhere better. It's up to you to decide what you want to do with it, though. No one else."
Jane steps back, dropping his hand from hers, and he watches her for a moment, something retrospective in his eyes.
A knock on the door makes them both startle slightly and Jane turns to look through the windows, seeing Derek standing outside the door. She looks back at Spicer, raising a brow. "It's up to you,"
The man bites out a sigh, looking at the door. "Come in,"
Derek steps in, looking between the two of them curiously. "Everything okay in here?"
"All good, Derek," Jane says, smiling at them as she steps past him towards the doorway. "Go easy on him."
The man nods, eyes still moving slowly between her and Spicer like he's trying to read their minds. "Yes, ma'am,"
Jane shuts the door to the office behind her, leaving the two men alone, and she turns to walk through the bullpen back to the boardroom. The team has mostly dispersed by now and she's grateful for it, though it's a short-lived feeling when she sees Hotch looking pointedly at her.
"What was that?" He asks carefully, making her shrug nonchalantly.
"Just offering him an olive branch,"
Hotch raises a brow.
"We shared sob stories," She elaborates, a bit of bite in her voice that she can see grabs Emily and Rossi's attention nearby. "Bonding over our dead parents."
"Jane,"
"It's getting him to open up to Morgan," She cuts him off, turning away from him to look across the office at Spicer's windows. "That's what we needed, right?"
"Jane, enough," He says, voice stern. "Do you want to go talk somewhere privately?"
She bites her tongue, feeling heat flush her cheeks as she looks into his disappointed, firm gaze that makes her feel two feet tall. "No," She breathes out, tearing her eyes away to stare at a nondescript frame on the wall across the bullpen. "I'm fine. Everything's fine,"
She ignores the feeling of eyes on her from every direction, Hotch's especially, and instead thinks about how gently Matt had held her hand, and how long it had been since someone had done so.
The empty, desolate hole burning in her stomach grows with each passing minute, and she finds herself forcing air in and out of her lungs, having stood still for too long.
She doesn't know how much time passes when Morgan and Spicer come out of the office, but Matt seems more collected than he had earlier as walks straight toward them. None of the BAU bothered to pretend they were doing anything but watching Derek and him through the windows, waiting for something.
"Okay," The detective sounds resigned, sighing quietly. "Why is he doing this?"
"He keeps a survivor so that they'll never forget him," Spencer starts. "But with you, it goes beyond that because–"
"He believed he turned you into the city's hero," Emily cuts in gently, summarizing Spencer's explanation.
"If your parents weren't killed, you might not have become a detective," Rossi says, shaking his head.
Matt shifts, face twisting. "Yeah, but how would he know that? It's not like he stayed in L.A., he's been all over the country,"
JJ's voice is soft when she answers him. "The press has talked about your history. He's not a part of it,"
"And he wants that recognition. He wants everyone to know what he's done to you,"
The words make Spicer impossibly more upset. "How's he gonna do that?"
Hotch's eyes drift down to the framed photo on the man's desk. "Is that your daughter?"
Spicer begins to nod, but he does a double take, quickly catching onto Hotch's leading question.
"Where is she?"
He moves quickly, getting his phone out of his pocket. "She's with my sister at my house,"
Hotch nods jerkily to the team. "We need to find them. Quickly,"
──────
"Ellie's gone, so is his sister," Morgan's somewhat frantic voice carries through the car dimly lit by each passing streetlight or skyscraper as he, Spicer, and Jane fly down the interstate.
"Are they on their way to the station?" Prentiss's voice responds through the speaker of Derek's phone, crackling with rocky service from their swiftly moving vehicles on either line.
Derek shakes his head even though Emily can't see him. "The car is still here and the power's cut, so the unsub was definitely here,"
"Where are you going?" Hotch, firm and resilient. Despite their earlier tension, the familiarity soothes Jane's nerves slightly and she lets out a deep breath, looking out of the window where she sits pressed against the door in the backseat.
"We're gonna try his sister's place. This guy needs privacy. He didn't leave them here for us to find, which means he took them somewhere."
"What's her address?"
"1720 Sheridan," Spicer calls out, hands clenching around the steering wheel.
"Okay, we'll meet you there," Emily says, Derek confirming a second later before he hangs up.
Spicer turns to glance at the two FBI agents briefly before looking back at the road. "You know, I don't even know if we're going to find him there,"
Derek's dark brows furrow in thought as he contemplates Matt's words. "You know what? We won't,"
Jane leans forward, seat belt straining against her chest. "What are you thinking, Morgan?"
"This is about you, there's no history at your sister's place," He says, addressing Spicer in response to Jane's question. "He probably took them to Santa Monica to your old house."
A darkness rolls out over them suddenly and Jane squints as her eyes adjust, the glare of headlights around them making it difficult. "A blackout,"
She can't see Spicer's face in the dark but she can hear the tension in his voice when he speaks. "Santa Monica's only another ten minutes from here,"
Morgan doesn't say anything, presumably nodding in response as he lifts his phone to redial Prentiss. The line rings for a moment before it cuts off, his phone flashing in the dark car informing them all that the signal's been lost.
"Great," Morgan bites out as Matt accelerates, making turns without thought like the path is muscle memory.
Jane braces her hand on the door as they come to a sudden stop outside of the house, the street lined in nothing but shadows and the faint glow of the moon. She takes her seatbelt off, moving to open the door, but Morgan turns, his face barely lit up enough for her to see the look in his eyes. "You stay here, Jane, wait for backup."
"What? Why?"
"You don't carry, and this guy is armed and dangerous. You're too much of a target, so stay here and wait for a signal so you can call for backup again," He shakes his head, giving her an apologetic look before he and Matt pile out of the car, leaving her in the backseat alone, feeling utterly useless.
Her knee bounces relentlessly in the cramped space and she reaches into the front seat for Morgan's phone, lighting the screen up despite the fact that she knows there's no signal yet. There's not been nearly enough time for the generators to start rolling or putting out actual power.
She flinches suddenly at the sound of a gunshot and Morgan's phone drops into the floorboard and she lunges into the front seat again, grabbing Matt's holstered pistol in between his seat and the center console. "No, no, no," She mutters, shaking hands clenching around the gun as she checks it for bullets.
The gun is cold in her palms and she flinches again, the echo of the gunshot still ringing in her ears as she pushes the door open, stepping out onto the street as silently as she can.
The barely-there creak of the front door makes her press herself into the shadows against the side of the house and she squeezes her eyes shut and holds her breath as she flattens herself, keeping deathly still.
Faint whimpers echo through the dark and Jane bites her tongue hard enough to taste blood, the copper taste worsening when a deep, bone-chilling chuckle follows the noise.
She waits uselessly in the dark until she can no longer hear the sounds of struggle, knowing that even though she has a gun, the unsub has a hostage. Whether it be Matt's daughter or his sister, one of those girls was at risk, and if she came out without any sort of bulletproof vest or some bravado of backup that didn't exist, she'd be as good as dead.
As much as she dreaded it, right now she had to focus on what mess was waiting inside for her.
Only after another two minutes of certified silence did she leave her place in the shadows, running into the house through the front door, the gun growing heavier with each step she took toward the sound of sobbing.
When she reached the end of the hallway, she pushed the door open with her foot, her eyes immediately falling on the gruesome scene before her.
Matt's sister, duct taped and bound on the bed, sobbing hysterically. Derek was bound similarly on the floor, blood trailing out of his mouth as he struggled against his bindings. And Matt.
Matt lying limply on his front, blood pooling in the carpet below his chest.
Jane's hands shook around the gun and she dropped to her knees, instantly discarding the weapon as she rolled Matt over to his back. "No," She breathed out, hands yanking his shirt open, revealing the singular bullet hole directly in his heart.
"Jane," Derek whispered her name, a pained groan following it, and her hands slipped in the blood on Matt's chest as she pushed herself away from him, hurrying to Derek's side.
"Derek," She grabs his arms, steadying the both of them. "Derek, what did he do? What happened?"
Morgan's jaw clenched and a fiery anger flashed in his eyes, immediately overcome with a deep grief that felt like a punch to the stomach. "He made me promise,"
Jane's lip quivered and she fought against the feeling, her eyes snapping up to Kristin still bound on the bed. "Stay here," She grunts as she gets to her feet, reaching out for the tape around the woman's ankles. "My name is Jane Donovan, I'm with the FBI," She informs the girl, seeing the utter hysteria in her eyes.
She goes for the gag in her mouth next, and a ragged sob bursts out of the woman's mouth immediately, a disembodied word that Jane knows is her brother's name. She grunts lowly, carefully tugging the girl to the ground to lay her on her side so that the steady stream of blood trailing from her mouth doesn't choke her.
"Kristin, I need you to listen to me," Jane can't keep her voice steady as she speaks, but she continues anyway. "What did he do to you? How did he hurt you?"
The girl whimpers, looking up at her helplessly. "It's getting harder to breathe,"
"Just try to slow your breathing," Derek says from where he's slumped on the floor, pain ebbing through his head. "Just slow everything down."
"We have to get her back," She says, sobs overtaking her voice again. "She's just a baby,"
"Look at me, Kristin," Jane doesn't cup the girl's face, her hands stained with her brother's blood, but she tries to stiffen her voice enough to get her attention. "What do you remember about the man who took Ellie?"
She's silent for a moment, her raspy breathing growing panicked before she chokes out an answer. "I don't want to remember,"
"I know, Kristin," Derek calls out. "I know you don't. But right now, I really need you to try. Ellie needs it,"
Jane nods, her vision blurring with the tears she's losing against slowly. Her eyes keep catching Matt's body, and waves of nausea roll through her like high tide.
"Our team is going to find us," Derek says, his words a confident knife through the fear. "They're gonna go to your apartment where we said we were going. When they see that we're not there, they're gonna figure out where we are the same way I did. And when they do, we will bring Ellie home. But in order to do that, I'm gonna need you to think."
Kristin's sobs have calmed only slightly, her breath still hiccuping every few seconds. "Is Matt... is he dead?"
Jane flinches, avoiding the woman's gaze.
"Kristin, please," Derek's weakening voice takes on a tone of desperation. "Just try to focus on remembering."
Jane shifts, turning to get Derek's bindings off finally.
"This guy," Derek continues as Jane's sweaty, shaky, bloody hands struggle to get a grip on the tape around his ankles. "Has been traveling all over the country. How? How did he bring you here?"
"In an RV," Kristin pants out, tears squeezing out of her eyes. "An old, filthy RV. And he smelled like... like smoke. And other things. It was... horrible."
"What else? What else stuck out about him?"
She shakes her head against the floor, labored breaths clawing their way out of her throat. "I can't... it hurts, everything hurts,"
"I know, Kristin," Derek says, his voice gravelly, a wince audible in it when Jane rips the duct tape off of his wrists, barely sparing the woman a glance in her haste. "But there's something about him that makes him different. What is it?"
She pauses for a moment before answering. "His teeth. They're–" She coughs wetly before she can finish and Jane curses lowly, hurrying back over to her side as Derek flops onto his back, eyes fluttering shut every few minutes with the ebb of pain traveling from his skull to his toes.
"She can't do anymore, Derek," Jane says, turning her head to smear her tears onto the sleeve of her shirt as she tries to wipe some of the blood off of Jane with a clean spot at the hem. "She's done."
"My brother," The girl chokes out through a whimper. "Please, help my brother,"
Jane closes her eyes against the fresh round of tears and she nods dutifully instead of saying it's too late for that. She gets up and steps past Morgan, dropping roughly to the ground beside Matt's body.
She drags the man up slightly, pressing a hand to the bullet wound in his chest like she's applying pressure. "I'm helping him, Kristin, I promise," She says weakly, voice thick through her emotion. "Help is on the way. We just have to wait for help."
──────
author's note; this is not much of an apology but consider it one because I'll be gone for a few weeks while in recovery from surgery!!! enjoy the pain besties I'm going to get plastic surgery 😝
edited and published; 3.26.24.
- liz