SOMETHING DOSENT ADD UP. This case has been heavy on my mind ever since I left the precinct. Why would our unsubs abduct two children in one night, and leave an obvious signature that would make it easy for us to connect them? The even bigger question is why would they abduct another child a few hours later only to dump her at the doors of a police station with a bullet wound and an airway obstruction? Why give her a chance to be saved when she would have been dead within a few minutes of her throat being blocked?

It doesn't make any sense.

Nothing about this makes any sense.

When I finally made it to my apartment I hang Hotch's suit jacket up on the coat rack after locking my door. I can't stop myself from immediately stripping of the tank top which is now covered in dry blood. On my way to the washroom I roll up the tank top and toss it into the trash bin.

I don't even try to save it, knowing I will never take the time to get the stains out.

My eyes fall to my waivering hands as I reach to turn the shower on. The sight takes me back a bit. Skin paler than normal, skeletal fingers stained and spotted with the blood of Rosalyn Kennedy, a kid who may or may not be dead by now.

My brows furrow. Eyes burning as I try to will my hand steady— but after a few moments the trembling only grew worse.

"No one can hear you. Go ahead, scream as loud as you can."
"Aaahhhhgh!"

With a shaking breath I clench my fists resting them against my forehead.

What if I didn't do enough? What if she dies. The other children... what if they... are they... what if they're being... what if this case ends like so many others, their lives taken despite everything we do?

What if I didn't do enough? I didn't do enough.

Biting the inside of my cheek as I force myself to step under the water set at the coldest temperature. My body shakes violently and my teeth chatter against one other as I spend the majority of my time trying to scrub the upper layer of skin off where the blood stained. Picking under my nails to wash the flaking red away, trying to get rid of the evidence it ever happened.

The icy rain drowns away the thoughts of the case, soothing over the dread and panic with pain. Pain soon morphed into a dull ache.

I finally give up after ten full minutes of scrubbing at my skin raw. At some point it became impossible to tell if the red hue is Rosalyns blood or my own due to the harshness of my scraping.

My limbs feel heavy as I routinely blot myself with a towel, lazily scruning come curl cream into my damp hair before wrapping myself in a robe. Nerve endings slowly waking up after leaving the steady numbness brought by the water. Raw skin tingling from the abuse necessary to scrub the blood and icky feelings away.

The sensation brought the thoughts of the case back. I hadn't expected this case to impact me so harshly. I've seen things, done things, experienced things far worse... and yet it's eating me. I don't think I'll be able to sleep until it's solved.

The unsubs actions don't align with a single focus. This just adds to my suspicions that we are dealing with more than one unsub. One does a certain thing, another does something to contradict it. The abductions were clean and organized, they had to have been planned. But Rosalyn Kennedy seemed to be a victim of opportunity... an opposing method... a snag in their operation.

One unsub could have shot Rosalyn, while the other must have dumped her in hopes she would be saved.

This wouldn't work in a dominant-submissive relationship.

These are dominants pushing against each other.

On the way to my room I grabbed my phone to see numerous texts from Penelope. A smile creeps on my face at her usual goofy messages as I hit the call button.

I toss my phone on the bed after putting it on speaker as rummage through my closet to gather a new outfit.

"You never answer my texts." Garcia pouts as she accepts my call.

"Texting is overrated." I chuckle. "Can't hear your lovely voice over a text, now could I? Hey, have there been any updates yet?"

"In the first three hours of child abductions the chances of actually finding them alive is down to seventy percent. After six hours those odds are halved. Twelve hours they are halved again. And at twenty four hours the chances are less then one precent."

Spencer's voice bounces around my head, bringing back the feeling of dread as I'm unwillingly reminded that time is ticking.

"Not so far, sugar." She breathes sadly. "Oooh! Wait wait- I heard what happened with Rosalyn!"

"Is she going to be okay?" My breath catches and my hands grip tightly to the long sleeve shirt I pulled out. "Wait so soon? You were able to get an update this quickly?"

"She was rushed into surgery as soon as she got to the hospital. She did really well, like really really well. She is in the O.R. But she is stable!" I can hear her smile through the phone, I bet if we were together her smile would be about half the size of mine. "And what do you mean so quickly? Newsflash— it's been three hours, cutie."

Three hours?

"No, no, no, babe. You're confused. Look at you losing track of time... that's okay, let's get you caught up."
"Did you... did you change the-"
"Clocks? Did I change the clocks? Now why would I do that? Just to mess with your head? Awe. Do you think I'm trying to manipulate you? Doll, why would I ever do that? That's silly. You're so silly. This is why I can't trust you with your own decisions... you have no concept of time. But that's okay! I'll keep you on track."
"I-no... but... okay. Okay I'm sorry."

I outstretch my palm, the wrinkled skin of my fingertips confirming I was under for far longer then ten minutes.

"I'm sorry." I find myself repeating. "I-I didn't realize..." I shake my head. No. No. He's not here. You're not apologizing. No. "I mean— That's really great about Rosalyn, thank you for telling me."

"That's okay, take the time you need— Ooh hang on... I've gotta go, my sweet! Hotch is a-ringing on the other line. See ya soon!" She hangs up quickly after that, eager to help the team find the missing kids.

Maybe Aaron will let me go to the hospital for her interview. After all, I have been improving on my interviewing skills— and he did let me do the Kennedy's interviews alone. Yes I haven't been able to speak to a victim, but the chance hasn't presented itself. Maybe I can get some useful information out of her.
••••

After I had finally made it back to Quantico I quickly head into the conference room, tossing Aaron's suit coat on his desk chair on my way.

Morgan had called me while I was in the cab, and had given a quick update on the advancements of the case. They were able to collect eye witness statements, and cctv footage from the security cameras. They also had already delivered the unsubs profiles to the media and the officers.

They are looking for a team of two or three males in their late to early twenties. It is more likely then not that they are related in some way. They were last seen driving a black van with Minnesota license plates, but due to their knowledge of the area we believe at least one of them is originally from here. They most likely have a difficult time keeping a job, and will bounce around from place to place. They are organized, so even though the crimes point to them having committed offenses before it is unlikely they would have a police record. They are targeting children who are from a broken home, they may be lead on my the belief that they are saving or helping them. Because Rosalyn was dumped in front of the station we believe that at least one of the unsubs went along with the abductions without the intention of killing.

As long as their power struggle is contained it can give us more time to find these kids alive, but it also deepens the possibility that the more aggressive unsub could kill his partner along with the children if he doesn't cooperate.

After the update, Morgan said he needed me to determine an area radius of how far the van could have gone so they could set up roadblocks.

I had checked the time as soon as the call with Penelope had ended— I had been in my apartment for three hours. Three hours of scrubbing my skin raw. Three hours where those men have gotten further and further away.

Hence my hurried race to the conference room.

I rummage through the cabinets by the projector in search of maps. Once I finally found the right one I lay it flat against the round table, smoothing the paper out with my shaking hands.

"Nicolette?" I glance over my shoulder towards the door at his voice.

The momentary joy crumbling into dread so I find myself quickly turning away bringing all my attention to the map.

"What is the average miles per gallon rate you get on a medium sized van?" I ask softly, grabbing a pen and a compass from the cup in the center of the table. I'm thankful my back is to him because he can't see the smile that forms on my face as I think of what crazy thing lead the team to keep a compass in the cup along with the pens. It had to have involved him.

"Seventeen point five miles per gallon." Spencer answers immediately. "That's... that's just a rough average. If you have a model it can be more specific. But it's usually anywhere from fourteen point eight to nineteen point three."

I hum in response. Using the compass and the pen to draw three circles from the point of the police precinct where the unsubs were last found.

Spencer pushes off the doorframe beginning to come into the room. "Nic—" He starts as he rounds the table across from me.

"Farthest they could have gone is Richmond." I cut him off, the pity in his voice making me sick. "But It's more likely they stayed in the area. We should have Garcia look at any local isolated property big enough for at least four people."

He swallows, not caring to glance at the maps. "Okay."

I stare at the map intensity. Not looking for anything in particular, just waiting for his heavy gaze to wander somewhere other than me.

"You're staring." I state finally, my eyes not leaving the map as I pull my long sleeve shirt down to cover the angry red skin of my hands.

When I'm met with silence I finally look up at him.

His hands fumbling awkwardly at his sides as his brows knit in concern, his impossibly dark eyes are intently searching mine which makes my breath catch.

The dread I was feeling was replaced with something else. Something nice. Something warm.

"I-" When I hear the pity still laced in his voice I'm snapped back into reality. He saw them.

I already know what he is going to say. I've heard all the questions, I've endured all the remarks. But I can't stomach the thought of them coming from him.

"Reid." He pauses, caught off guard by my use of his last name. "Dont. Please just... don't." My voice cracks towards the end as I tear my eyes away from his.

I can't believe he knows.

For years I've always been so careful, wearing sweaters when it's to hot, making excuses saying I am cold, turning down plans where I would have to take off my layers. But a few months into this job and already I have revealed the thing I have worked so hard to forget about.

Spencer licks his lips before turning his eyes downcast, biting down on his bottom lip as he always does when thinking.

After a long couple seconds of silence he finally nods.

"Do..." His voice is hesitant, and shy. "Do you want... something to drink?"

I let out a relieved breath, giving a tight lipped smile at his attempt at topic change. "Sure." He nods, taking a step back to leave. "Spence?" He stops short. "Thank you."

I can tell from his sad smile that he knows I'm thanking him for much more than the drink he is going to get for me.

Once he leaves, I call Garcia. Updating her on the perimeters so she can check for any vehicle matches seen on traffic cameras. Then I call Morgan to let him know where the roadblocks should be set.

At the end of the phone call I breath a sigh. Just now realizing how much my head is aching. I wrap my arms around myself as I took a seat at the round table. Pulling the small pill case from my wallet I pop the three pills into my mouth before resting my head against the table. Taking a deep breath as I marvel in the silence and calm of the room.

Everything is fine.

The street borders are being set up. The profile is out. Spencer has kindly dropped his questioning. Tips are coming in from the public. My skin is starting to go numb in lieu of the burning. Rosalyn is still alive.

Everything is fine.

"We only had chamomile." Spencer says as he comes back with two mugs.

"Hm?" I blink up at him.

"Chamomile." He repeats as he takes a seat across from me, placing the mug within my reach. "That's the only tea we have here."

I allow a smile to form on my face as I bring the mug of steamy liquid to my lips. "Thank you."

"It's old." He blurts out. "I-I know you don't like coffee and I hope it's okay... I don't know how long it's been in the kitchen."

Awe.

I giggle at his fumbling, taking a sip of the tea. "Well it's a good thing tea packets don't go bad. They can just get a little stale. But I won't die from this!"

"It was... amazing what you did out there." He says after a moment, his eyes meeting mine. "You saved her."

"Really? T-Thank you." I look away as I feel my face heat up. I pause for a moment, my brows furrowing as the question comes to mind. "Why are you back here? Shouldn't you be in the precinct, or the field?"

"Prentiss dropped me off on her way to the hospital." He says quietly, not meeting my eyes as he rubs the back of his neck. "Hotch needed me to help Penelope out with a mathematical issues she was having with her program. I really wasn't doing much, just taking down the tips that came in and seeing if I could pinpoint the likely location of where they were headed. But... uh, the issue was affecting her programs speed by an eighth of a second which is a huge issue when she needs to get information quickly. I tried to explain over the phone- but as you can imagine."

"Oh I can imagine!" I gawk at the thought.

"I was going to go back to the precinct to answer calls... but I- I saw the light on in here." He continues to explain.

"Did any helpful tips come in?"

Spencer looks down at the table, taking a drink of the coffee he made for himself before pulling out the case files from his satchel. I sip on my tea as I watch him lay out each page strategically in front of him.

"Kind of." He sighs. "Jace, Tristin and Rosalyn were all seeing a counselor. Different people but the therapists worked for the same facility. So it's likely all three at least knew of each other."

"If they all went to the same building for therapy, perhaps a therapist or fellow patient is responsible." I prop my head against my hand, my eyes not leaving his.

He sits up straighter as he points to some of the pieces of paper.

"Penelope went through all of their electronics. It's interesting both Jace Klyd and Tristin Felton searched up similar phrases not three days apart from each other. 'How to leave home and not get caught.'  And 'leaving house; no noise.'" His hands gesture wildly and his eyes sparkle the way they do during the rare times he is able to command the room with his knowledge. "Now it's possible they were trying to find a way to sneak out to go to a party or meet up with friends, but I think it's more likely based on the fact that they both have records of sneaking out during the middle of the night that they were trying to run away. Roslyn Kennedy however didn't search that or any other concerning phrases. If someone was watching them they would know of Jace and Tristens distaste for their home life. But that could be— I'm sorry I'm rambling again aren't I?" He pauses, his face tinting pink as he no doubt noticed my position hadn't changed.

My chin still rested in my hand, and my eyes never wandered as he spoke. "But it could be?" I ask after a moment.

His eyes light up again at my words. "It could be," he continues with renewed enthusiasm. "Jace and Tristin themselves, they could have told someone of their home life and where they went to therapy, only for that person to see the others and decide they too were unhappy."

"Or, someone who works at the facility could have taken a look at their documents." I add. "Maybe Rosalyn confessed something that the unsubs misconstrued into meaning she had a rocky home life?"

Before anything else could be said, both our phones ring.