"We've all done this – created our mix and match families, our homemade safety nets." – David Levithan
The flight home was always longer. Movies and books helped to pass the time, but they could only do so much. After a patch of turbulence over the Atlantic, the seatbelt sign had remained on for nearly the entirety of the flight. To be back on the ground and able to move about freely was a relief.
Bianca dropped her bags on the living room floor and fell onto the couch in mock-exasperation. As much as she loved traveling, it could be tiring. There were small comforts that came from familiar places, and the apartment was now a blend of her possessions and his. Penelope had taken the liberty of bringing over the last of her things from the Cairo while they were away.
Beside her on the couch, Spencer took a seat, sighing. "I always forget how much slower commercial flights are."
"Well, we're home now," she said. What was once his apartment was now theirs. A shared dwelling. It felt right, that they should finally be under one roof. So much of their time in the last year had been spent together, they may as well have been living together as well. Bookshelves, chairs, curtains – nothing here was foreign to her. Her own possessions were slowly blending in as well. Her mugs in the kitchen, pictures of her friends on the table, her favorite books interspersed throughout his.
"Our home," he agreed, grinning. She wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning in to kiss him slowly. That would never get old.
"So what first? Do you want to unpack, make coffee, or shower?"
"Mmm, I'm kind of tired. Maybe we could just sit here a little while longer." His lips found hers once again, but before she could lose herself in the feeling, his phone rang. The theme from The Avengers which Penelope had personally programed into his cell. "You've got to be kidding," he groaned, answering the call. "Reid here... Really? Garcia, I just got back from – yes, I know... Okay. I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Let me guess? The Avengers are assembling?"
Spencer nodded, already scrambling to find his go-bag. "I'm so sorry. There's been a plane crash in Colorado, and they need us out there. I know we just got back, but hopefully I won't be there too long..." He trailed off, digging through his luggage to find one of his cardigans.
Bianca hopped off the sofa, gently setting a hand on his arm. "Don't worry about it. I'll still be here when you get back, remember?"
In the rush to re-pack, he seemed to have forgotten that small fact. The distance between them was made insignificant, no more trekking across town to visit each other. They would be found in the same place, a shared space. Home was finally home, the tangible surroundings matched the emotional definition.
He gave her quick hug, and promised to call when they landed. "Be safe," she called after him.
And then he was gone.
After the door closed, she stood there for a moment. She'd never been in the apartment without him there before. Once when he was unconscious, and even while he was asleep in another room, but never in his absence. No matter how familiar the place was, it was still a strange epiphany, that this would be their new normal.
It was easy to feel overwhelmed by the series of little revelations. Amsterdam had been an escape, and half a world away all that awaited them upon return could be pushed aside. A return to classes, to work. The constant traveling his job demanded. Separation once again. The apartment was deafeningly quiet alone. To shrug off the sense of something vital missing, she tried to distract herself.
Staying busy wasn't hard, when there were boxes and suitcases to be unpacked, and classwork to catch up on. Over the next few days, she settled in, furniture and knick-knacks finding their ways to shelves or dressers or drawers. Things in the kitchen were rearranged and grocery shopping was done. While many of the other inhabitants of the building were people she had run into at some point, she took the time to meet his neighbors.
There were five other apartments on the second floor of the building, each with very different tenants. 21 housed an older couple, their adult son living across the country; 24 was a grad student who owned several exotic fish; 25 was a single father and his twelve-year old son; 26 was the apartment of a congresswoman who was rarely ever there. And 22 was home to Mrs. Cavanaugh, a aging woman who was nice enough, but had a habit of stealing mail – and anything else that might show up outside someone's door.
When she wasn't getting comfortable at Capitol Plaza, she was down the block at the Law Center. In addition to regular classes, there were writing seminars and litigation clinics, and the ever-looming bar exam to prepare for in July. Regardless of their field, everyone seemed to be buckling down to finish out their final year on a high note.
Ivy inundated her with questions about the honeymoon over coffee, as did Penelope when she came over for a movie night. When the team was out of town, they both enjoyed the company.
"Come on, give me some details!" she pleaded. "But on second thought, not too many details. Because Reid is like family and that would be just - ick – but you did finally do it, right?"
The question brought a rush of color to her face. If being intimate now felt easier, discussing it with others certainly didn't. For some, it was a more casual topic, but it had taken her months to build up the courage to finally take that leap. Those private moments weren't something she wanted to share, not at length. Besides, it wasn't just hers to tell. Those confidential hours were theirs. And they certainly didn't need anyone else from the team to know exactly what had happened after the case in Vegas.
"Please, let's just watch West Side Story?" Garcia just stared her down. "Okay, yes. We did. And it was good. It was really, really good. Now can we get back to Tony and Maria?" To Bianca's relief, she seemed satisfied by the response, and an interrogation was forgotten in favor of singing along to "America." Penelope's imitation of Anita was fantastically over-the-top, their laughter echoing through the living room, and for the time being, it didn't seem so empty.
Falling asleep still felt strange. Several times she had slept in that bed, but never without him beside her. It felt too big, too empty. To wake up surrounded by blankets that smelled like him, but to find that he was still gone left her longing to see him once again. For the last week she'd been spoiled by his presence, by having all that time to themselves with no responsibilities to attend to.
Another epiphany: sharing a home didn't make her miss him any less when he was gone.
[ || ]
He was waiting for her outside the Law Center when her classes finished. Nose buried in a book, leaning up against the railing near the front steps. With his attention elsewhere, she quietly walked up to him.
"Is it any good?" Upon hearing her, he instantly perked up, setting the book aside as a grin spread across his face.
"It is," he said, "but seeing you again is even better." Spencer opened his arms wide, and she hugged him tight. Four days ago the team left for Montana, and with a killer who turned from serial to spree, he didn't have much time to call. "I've missed you."
"I missed you too." She pulled away, quirking an eyebrow. "Although I heard you were quite the prince charming out there."
His face flushed red. "Y-you heard about that? Who told you?"
"JJ may have let it slip." Embarrassed, he glanced down at the sidewalk. "Don't worry, it all sounded very heroic. You even had a glass slipper."
He took her hand, and they started down the stairs while he told her all about the avenging Cinderella they'd tracked down. "I felt bad, tricking her like that," he admitted. "But she was so wrapped up in the fairy tale, we weren't sure she would comply any other way. When you're expecting a perfect happy ending, reality will always fall short, because real life isn't like the fairy tales."
"I don't know, this all feels rather fairy tale-like. Sometimes I think love is the closest thing to magic we have." It left you feeling lighter than air, was powerful enough to break any spell, could be utterly overwhelming in the best of ways. As a child, she loved fairy tales – whether they were the versions dreamt up by Grimm or Disney.
Glass slippers and magic wands and dragons were few and far between. This was real though, walking through the District in a pair of Oxfords with a man who could practically read minds, in search of pumpkin flavored coffee. There was, however, a dragon looming in the back of her mind.
"When you thought your dad might've killed Riley Jenkins, how did you feel?" she asked.
Their footsteps echoed on the sidewalk as he collected his thoughts. "Well... I was confused. The deeper I dug into it, the angrier I felt. I think I was mad at him all along, I just never knew how to process those emotions. And I was scared."
Another thing she loved about him, he was never afraid to discuss emotional things with her. "What were you afraid of?"
"A lot of things, I think. I was afraid to revisit painful memories, I was afraid to face him again. I was also afraid that he really had hurt somebody. All my life I've known schizophrenia might affect my future, but there was a part of me that was frightened my father might have something just as dark in his genes. I had to ask myself if I would be okay knowing that I was related to someone who-"
Midsentence, Spencer stopped, turning to look at her with undisguised concern. Deducting the reason for her questions wasn't too difficult to do. Down the street, people and cars made their way towards Union Station, a steady flow of passengers.
"I know I shouldn't keep worrying about this," she said, "but I can't seem to stop. If by some chance, Rick was involved in whatever is happening in Ohio, I don't know what I would do. I wouldn't know how to feel. I don't want to be the sister of somebody who... who..."
On this side of the street, there were fewer pedestrians, fewer people to see her on the verge of a breakdown. It was pointless to keep obsessing over something so far removed from her present life, and she had no evidence to suggest that her brother was involved, but she couldn't stop from asking herself what if he is?
He met her eyes with determination. "Bianca, you're nothing like him. Like any of them. When I thought my dad was a suspect, I rushed into things and in the end I was wrong. Don't let the same thing happen to you."
In a way it already had. Roots of doubt planted in her mind ran deep, and on nights when she found herself alone, those thoughts kept her awake long into the early hours. Even though she was older than Rick, she'd been terrified of him when they were growing up. Afraid of what he might do, petrified of the possibility that he would hurt her, or someone else. All children grew up with monsters under their beds and in their closets, but hers lived down the hall and didn't vanish when she outgrew such fantasies. The threat was amplified with time.
"Tell me something wonderful," she said. "Anything. I just need a distraction."
"Global poverty rates have continued to fall this year. In August, train passengers in Australia came together to tip a commuter train over so that a man whose leg was trapped beneath it could be freed. The ALS Ice Bucket challenge has raised a record-breaking amount of money to research a cure for the condition. And this month, the European Space Agency landed a spacecraft on a comet for the first time in history."
It never ceased to amaze her how all those bits of information were impeccably stored away in his memory. "What's so special about comets?"
There was that enthusiastic smile of his, his eyes lighting up as he launched into explanation. "It's thought that comets are composed of leftover materials from the solar system's formation, and that they may have been the primary source to deliver water and other organic molecules to the earth. If we can study them more closely, we may be able to solve some of the earliest mysteries of the universe."
It was a small pleasure she relished, being able to see the world through his eyes. Everything could be broken down to science or mathematic formulas. The whole world was an equation he desperately wanted to solve, a mystery he believed could be unlocked. If anybody could do it, it would be him. Their styles of thinking were almost opposite – he excelled with numbers and complexities, while she preferred words and infinite possibilities. The difference was that he was far better at speaking her language, than she was at his. Though getting lost in translation never prevented her from enjoying his lectures.
"Comets," he continued, "are essentially very large, very dirty snowballs. They're a combination of water, ice, and gasses; covered by dense layers of rock and dust. As dust and debris breaks off of the comet, they become meteors, falling into the Earth's atmosphere and burning up. When people claim to see a falling star, that's what they're really looking at."
"Dust burning in the atmosphere," she laughed. To put it that way sounded far less poetic. "But it still looks beautiful."
"I suppose that's why people feel compelled to wish upon them. They feel magical, in a way." They continued their walk, two people constantly in the orbit of the other. In a whole universe of dust and detritus, they looked to that bond the way sailors used to look to the stars. For navigation, a trusted guide to lead them to safe waters and back home. "Do you wish upon stars?"
"Sometimes," she admitted. As a little girl she had possessed an almost religious belief in the power of wishes in all forms. Dandelions and 11:11 and eyelashes and falling stars. Countless birthday candles and pennies had been dedicated to wishing her way out of Ohio. While an abundance of wishes and hopes still resided in her heart, she now relied on her own power to grant them. "But I don't need to wish for a happy ending. I've already got prince charming."
Spencer bent down briefly to kiss her cheek. "Your wish is my command, princess."
[ || ]
He'd gone straight from the roundtable to the plane, hoping to have a few minutes of quiet to make a call. She answered on the second ring, and he tried to figure out just how to explain what was going on. "I'm leaving," he said. "We have a case in Ohio."
There was a pause where he heard her draw in a sharp breath. "Is it near Olentangy?" she asked. Dread tainted each word.
"It's in Columbus," he admitted. "The missing girls. We've been asked to consult."
"Oh," she said. "Oh. Um, Spencer if you... I mean, you'll..."
Leaning back in the seat, he sighed. It pained him to hear that panic, the fear she was trying to push back. "I will. If something comes up, I'll let you know."
"Thank you." The rest of the team filed on to the jet, taking seats on the chairs and couch. Tablets were pulled out, and Hotch glanced his way, a nonverbal signal that they needed to get started.
"Of course. I have to go, we're going to go over the briefing. I love you." The phone was shoved back into his bag, and the case file took its place in his hands.
JJ raised an eyebrow. "What's that about?"
"It's nothing," he replied. "The case is pretty close to her hometown, so she was nervous. That's all." While the team knew she wasn't close to her family, they didn't need to know the specifics. Until there was concrete evidence suggesting that any of them were involved, he didn't want to voice her fears.
Right now, he just needed to focus on the task at hand. Three victims officially made their unsub a serial killer. His type seemed clear, women in their late teens and early twenties, which put him at around the same age. Always brunettes, suggesting they were either surrogates, or it was about sexual attraction. They seemed so young to have their lives cut short, just as they were beginning.
Lana Jefferson, Deb Cortez, Maria Varbanova. All near Columbus area, though Maria had been abducted from Wheeling, making her the odd one out. Perhaps the unsub was mobile? Or he may have simply been visiting an area he felt comfortable in.
Reid went with Kate to the MEs office, to examine the three bodies they'd recovered. Maria was in better shape than the previous two victims.
"No sign of sexual assault, and in all cases the cause of death in both cases was the puncturing of vital organs." Dr. Singh was a tall woman, with silver in her hair and sharp eyes. No-nonsense, and right to the point. "They were stabbed, and Lana's wounds show hesitation marks. She was definitely the first. He was still building his confidence."
Kate stared at the faces of the young women, clearly rattled by their appearances, though she kept her composure. No matter what a situation threw at her, she managed to take it with grace. "The burns," she asked, "were those inflicted ante mortem?"
All three of the women had severe burns on their face, but in a nearly straight line, right across their eyes. Blackened and singed skin replaced their features – that was a clear message. Either the unsub didn't want to be seen, or he didn't like the way they saw him. Whoever he was, he was intent on robbing them of their vision and viewpoint. Already, Reid had a bad feeling about this case.
Dr. Singh glanced at her notes. "That's another interesting thing. The first two were burned post mortem. But in Maria's case, she was still alive. You can tell by the redness around the burn scar, and the raised blisters on the skin."
Reid turned to Kate, unable to shake the grim feeling. "He's evolved to torture."
"Which means he's starting to enjoy it."
The information garnered began to piece together the forensic puzzle. The dump site was near the river, always closer to the city, suggesting he lived in Columbus and not in the suburbs. All of the victims were smart, and usually safe. But Lana was a student commuting to college, Deb had been on a campus, and Maria had been out late with friends in Wheeling. All in situations that could've made them more susceptible to a charming stranger.
An order of Chinese carryout sat waiting for them back at the station, where the team tried to make sense of their unsub's behavior. "What about the dump sites?" Kate asked. "The bodies are all left near the river. Female killers are more likely to perform water burials, could we be looking for a woman?"
Rossi tapped his pen against his notebook. "That doesn't fit though. The bodies weren't in the river just next to it. I think we're looking for a man. Still, the disposal site must hold some significance to him if he continues to return to it."
"The Olentangy River is roughly 97 miles long. Originally it was called keenhongsheconsepung, a word from the Delaware tribe that meant stone for your knife steam. Presumably for the flint found along the shore," said Reid. "Although, given that our killer stabs his victims, that could be part of the connection."
"Or maybe it's just convenient," Morgan countered.
"The Columbus metropolitan area is home to the Scioto River as well, not to mention three large creeks that would provide a more secluded location. It can't be a coincidence that he chose that particular river."
"Reid is right," Hotch said. He gestured to the photos on the table before them, pictures of the bodies scattered between take out boxes and empty chopsticks wrappers. "This unsub is doing all of this for a reason. The burning around the eyes and the branding are specific messages. Which, like the river, we need to decode the meaning behind."
More photos were lined up on the board of the three victims, pictures of their life rather than their death. Reid couldn't help but glance back at them from time to time. Before she was married, JJ had a hard time with cases where she identified with the victims – young, pretty, blonde. After becoming a mother, it was cases with children that bothered her the most. The same went for Hotch. Morgan was perturbed by unsubs who took advantage of young children. They all had certain cases that triggered a stronger reaction than usual. For Reid, it had been anything that reminded him of his mother or Tobias Hankel. Then, Maeve. Now, staring at these women, he added a fourth sensitivity to his list. Bianca.
Families of victims often asked them the same questions. Do you have kids? Are you married? Do you know what it's like to lose someone? None of them had been married, but they weren't that much younger than Bianca. Perhaps someone had loved them that much. Dark hair. Dark eyes. What if it had been her polaroid on the board? He couldn't bear to imagine it. She was back in Washington, where she was safe. Where she would remain safe until he could see her again.
Still, the doubts she had harbored for months echoed in his mind. Could her brother have something to do with this? What if they were surrogates for a sister he resented? Thinking like that was dangerous, it was how investigators got tunnel vision. Theories couldn't be created around a possible suspect, the suspect had to be drawn from the theory. From what they knew, the unsub had to be charming enough to lure three women away from social situations and safe places, without raising suspicion. Rick Brown was too volatile to navigate social situations for long, though it was still too early to say there wasn't a chance he could manipulate his way though a situation.
Rather than call, Reid sent Bianca a text that evening, not wanting to answer any questions about the case. Investigations needed to remain quiet, he knew that if she asked enough, he would cave. Love was strength, not weakness, but she was his Achilles' heel. It was impossible to hear her upset or frightened and not give in. Not when he would traverse the earth a thousand times over just to make her smile.
It was interesting though, being in the city where she grew up. When they went out to visit his mom, he had the chance to show her Las Vegas, but Bianca had an aversion to her own hometown. What would it be like, to see this place through her eyes? There were places marked by bad memories, but there were also bookstores and cafes and parks where she found refuge from the war in her house.
His sleep was restless, but coffee and sugar helped to solve that problem in the morning. By the time he arrived to the station, carrying enough coffee for the team, Hotch was engaged in a serious conversation with the local deputy.
"Has something happened?" Rossi asked, grabbing a drink from the tray.
Hotch nodded solemnly. "There's another body. Morgan, take Reid and go examine the crime scene."
And so they went.
This time, the victim was under a bridge. Still close to the Olentangy River. Stone for your knife stream. What was it about the water that was so important to him?
She was about the right age, a pale girl with brown hair. Her dress was torn and dirty, she lay facedown in the dirt. Morgan stooped down, carefully turning the body over in order to examine it. From the second he saw the body, Reid felt a chill. Not only was there clear burning around her eyes, her entire face was blackened beyond recognition. They would have to hope dental records could be matched. Even more unsettling, the raised blisters suggested this victim had been burned before she was stabbed.
Something felt different. The burning of the entire face could be an escalation, or even a devolution. Perhaps it was personal, and this was overkill. Reid scanned her arms carefully, searching for the signature. Then, he found it. A brand, but one most unexpected. It was a signature, that much was true.
But it wasn't their unsub's signature.
"Morgan, we need to deliver the profile." He motioned to the mark on the back of the hand. "The brand is completely different. He wouldn't change that this late."
Morgan closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Two unsubs. We've got a copycat."