about you

"W.S. GILBERT WROTE, 'IT'S LOVE THAT MAKES THE WORLD GO 'ROUND.'" Aaron looked up from his notecards containing his eulogy. He'd scribbled over words and sentences, and written entirely illegible words that got smeared with the spare tears he'd let fall during the process, before he had Jane rewrite all of them in her careful, practiced handwriting. "And if that's true, then the world spun a little faster with Haley in it."

She stood next to him before Haley's casket, leaning into his side perhaps unconsciously, because her body was still recuperating and she'd vehemently dismissed any ideas of attending Haley's funeral in a wheelchair. They'd argued briefly about whether or not she should even go, because Aaron was worried about her recovery, and no matter how old Jane got, she would never get used to someone caring for her in such a paternal way.

Hotch was used to it– he understood it, truly, but it made it no less hard to watch Jane put herself through hell just because she thought people expected it of her.

Haley's sister Jess was on the other side of him, Jack standing against her legs, looking around sadly but more so in confusion because of all the people mourning his mother. He knew the BAU was behind him, and Calvin was somewhere in the crowd, waiting to be a crutch for Jane while they went through the endless apologies and condolences from the other guests. Grieving so publicly never got any easier.

"Haley was my best friend since we were in high school," Hotch starts, trying to keep his voice even but not detached, like he tended to be in these moments. "We certainly had our struggles, but if there's one thing we agreed on unconditionally, it was our love and commitment to our children. Haley's love for Jane and Jack was joyous, and fierce. That fierceness is why she isn't here today. A mother's love is an unrivaled force of nature, and we can all learn much from the way Haley lived her life."

He takes a moment and collects himself, shuffling the cards in his hands. "Haley's death causes each of us to stop and take stock of our lives. To measure who we are, and what we've become. I don't have all those answers for myself, but I know who Haley was. She was the woman who died protecting the child we brought into this world, and the one we found along the way. And I will make sure that Jack grows up knowing who his mother was, and how she loved and protected him, and how much I loved her."

Jane lifts a hand up, clutching it onto his arm, and he pauses briefly, glancing down at her to make sure she's steadied herself.

"If Haley were with us today, she would ask us not to mourn her death, but to celebrate her life," He fell silent, watching Jane's shoulders shake and the white rose in her hand tremble as she kept her cries quiet. "She would tell us..." He trails off again, feeling emotion choke his words in his throat. He swallows roughly, voice shaking when he speaks again. "She would tell us to love our families unconditionally, and to hold them close, because in the end, they are all that matter."

He clears his throat softly, collecting himself. "I met Haley at the tryouts of our high school's production of The Pirates of Penzance. I found our copy of the play, and was looking through it the other night, and I came upon a passage that seemed appropriate for this moment; 'Oh, dry the glistening tear that dews that martial cheek. Thy loving children hear, in them thy comfort seek. With sympathetic care, their arms around thee creep, for, oh, they cannot bear to see their father weep."

Hotch slid the cards back into the pocket of his suit jacket, and nodded to the priest, who closed out the precession quickly.

The first wave of he and Haley's relatives laid their roses onto her casket, and then the BAU went, offering he, Jack, and Jane brief condolences on their way out.

When it was just the three of them left standing, Hotch lifted Jack up onto his hip, and Jane followed as he walked up to the side of Haley's casket.

"Okay, you can go ahead," He murmured quietly to a sullen-faced Jack, who leaned out of his hold to lay his rose atop his mother. He followed suit, with Jane doing the same, and he watched her shaking hand linger on the surface. "Blow mommy a kiss."

Jack did so quietly, clutching onto his father as his young mind clung to the few familiar things he had in this tumultuous moment.

──────

The brief knock on the door didn't startle Jane, so much as it brought her out of her wandering mind. She found herself falling into this tunnel in the weeks that had followed Haley's funeral, foggy through her days and unnervingly alert at night while Calvin slept soundly beside her.

She knew what it was, she knew the labels she'd see on her medical charts, and the words that her therapists used to throw at her and the case worker she'd met with once a month until she turned 18. Words like dissociation, derealization, C-PTSD– she'd heard them all before. Unfortunately for Jane, she was not one of the people that having a word to put to the feeling helped. It didn't ever help her, knowing that what she was experiencing was universal, or that she wasn't alone, because it didn't change the fact that she was feeling it.

A support group didn't magically make it go away, and over the decades of therapy she'd collectively attended, she'd never been able to keep the nightmares at bay, and she'd never had any remarkable amount of time without experiencing extreme symptoms of every bullet point listed in her medical history.

So this fog that blanketed her was nothing new, and it wasn't scary so much as it was disgustingly comforting to fall back into something so familiar. That was something she'd never told the therapists, of course. How much she missed feeling like this when she was out of it. It didn't matter that she was aware of the percentage of people that had dissociative episodes, and the even bigger portion that had PTSD, when she felt like this, it was hers and hers alone.

She had enough autonomy amidst this haze to function, perhaps because it wasn't as suffocating as it sometimes felt, or because she was just used to it. It made things like meetings with her boss a bit easier to handle, because at least she could rely on her instincts to hold a decent conversation.

"Dr. Donovan," Strauss sat down across from her at the conference table, face pursed in that ever-professional pout. "It's nice to see you out and about."

Jane nods dutifully. "It's nice to be out again,"

Strauss nods, the smallest of polite smiles pulling at her lips before it falls again. "We've been discussing where to go since you were cleared for work again. Have you put much thought into what you want to do?"

"Well, I figured I'd just come back to work. Take it slow at first, obviously, but my job wasn't very strenuous to begin with."

Strauss gives her the benefit of the doubt, choosing not to contradict her statement. "I've spoken to Agent Hotchner about his options. Because of his time spent not only in the FBI, but in the D.C. circuits, we've offered him early retirement. Unfortunately we can't offer the same to you, but we do have an alternate position in CSI, if you're willing to shift some responsibility in your department."

Jane's brows raise, and she looks at the woman with a gleam of confusion in her eyes. "I, uh– would you elaborate on what you mean? I'm not following."

"While we are prepared to keep your salary and your benefits what they are now, the Bureau thinks that maybe you ought to... step down."

"Step... down?"

"We realize that your talent is too great to lose completely, but for your safety and your own well-being, we think it's best that you relinquish some of your duties and allow someone else to run the CSI unit."

Jane blinks a few times in quick succession, her fists clenching in her lap beneath the table. "Correct me if I'm interpreting this wrong, Chief Strauss, but you're asking me to– to willingly take a demotion?"

Strauss looks away from her for a moment, sighing. "We think for the time being, until you're– you're back at 100%, it is what's best."

"I've been running the CSI unit at Quantico for two years now, and I'm the only person in that department who's stayed in one role long term. There's constantly a new wave of interns and temps, and people waiting for their promotions to other units, or getting transferred to other locations, there's– there's not anyone as qualified as I am to run CSI. Who would you even put in my place?"

The woman shrugs a shoulder. "Your intern. Benjamin Pierce. He's trained directly under you for 9 months, isn't that correct? Wouldn't he be the most qualified for that position?"

"I was an intern for a full year before I even got promoted to an assistant position,"

Strauss sighs again, long and tired. "Doctor, I understand your frustration, but in light of recent events–"

"Did you talk to Agent Hotchner about this?" Jane cuts her off, uncaring of the rudeness.

Strauss stops, and seems to realize her mistake. "I mentioned that you would be starting work again soon. He expressed a concern for your safety, and I happened to agree. That is all."

Jane brings her hands up onto the table, palms flat against the surface as she leans forward. "With all due respect, Chief Strauss, there is no one as qualified as me to do my job. If the concern is truly for my safety, then perhaps there should be other security precautions implemented at Quantico. Besides that, what happens to me outside of this building and off of your clock, should not be of the FBI's concern. So unless there's an alternative solution to this sudden issue, I will be back to work on Monday, and there will be no more discussion of any sort of demotion."

There's a moment of silence between the two women, and Jane leans back in her seat with a quiet huff. When the quiet lingers for a moment longer, Jane raises a brow. "Permission to be dismissed, Chief Strauss?"

"Of course. Have a good day, Doctor."

──────

When Jane knocks on the door, it only takes a moment for it to swing open, Hotch standing with Jack on his hip.

"Jane!" Jack is at least happy to see her, she notes, and she assumes that Hotch is already aware of why she's there.

Hotch sets Jack down, letting him hug Jane's legs before he rests his hand on the boy's head. "Why don't you go to your room and play? Jane and I have to talk about adult stuff for a minute."

Jack scrunches his face up in disgust. "Boring adult stuff?"

Jane nods, mirroring his frown. "Super boring adult stuff. You'd hate it– it'd put you right to sleep." She nudges him, gesturing towards the other room. "Go on. I'll come play with you in a minute."

Jack nods dutifully and scurries down the hall, and Jane steps fully into the apartment, Hotch shutting and locking the door behind her.

"I know why you're here,"

Jane looks at him over her shoulder as she walks over to the couch, dropping her face into her hands. She heaves a heavy sigh and then looks up at him, cheeks rubbed red from her hands. "Why did you tell Strauss to demote me?"

"I didn't tell her to demote you," Hotch shakes his head, taking a seat in the cushioned chair beside the couch. "I told her to reevaluate the safety risks that your job has."

"Okay, well, in doing so, she thought I should step down from my position and let my intern take over as the CSI Unit Chief." Jane huffed a disbelieving laugh, the sound wry and cold. "I just– she offered you retirement. And I know you're not going to take that, even though every sign says you should. So why would I take a demotion? Why would I give up what I worked so hard for, Aaron? Why would you think that's what I wanted to do?"

Hotch sighs, shaking his head. "I know it's not what you want to do, but I think after everything, it's best that you at least ease back into things."

"And you don't think the same for yourself?"

He raises a brow at her. "I've been home for a month. That's more vacation than I've taken since I graduated college."

"You're being very purposefully obtuse right now, Aaron." Jane stands, running her hands up and down her thighs and cracking her knuckles. "I know that going back to work isn't going to be easy for you, but you're going to do it because you have to. You need the BAU, and the BAU needs you. Do you think it's any different for me? That my intern, and my crew don't think the same for me?"

"I know, Jane," Hotch gives her a pitying look and she rolls her eyes, pacing back and forth along the short distance of the living room. "I didn't intend for her to demote you, and I didn't want to upset you. I'm just worried that it's going to be a bigger readjustment for you then you realize. You've been gone much longer than I have, and returning to normal after witness protection isn't easy on anyone."

"Hotch, all I want is to go back to normal. All I want is to go back to work, and help the BAU, and every other department at Quantico solve these cases. I'm as physically recovered as I'm ever going to be, and I've been back in my apartment for a month. The only thing I want now is my job."

Hotch nods, looking down at his lap for a moment before looking back up at the woman. "I'm sorry, Jane."

"Well, how about you make it up to me by calling Chief Strauss and telling her that she should reevaluate her decision regarding my job?"

He looks unhappy at the thought, and she knows he is just worried, but she also knows that he won't ever go against her direct wishes. He knows that this conversation is something that she doesn't want to have in the first place, because it's all too raw for her, and she doesn't like anyone, not even him, having the slightest illusion that something's bothering her.

"I will," He finally says, standing from the chair. "I'll call her first thing in the morning, Jane. I can't promise anything, but I'll try."

Jane lets out a relieved breath, her eyes fluttering shut briefly. "Thank you, Aaron."

"Do you want to stay for dinner?"

Jane glances down at the small-banded watch around her wrist, and sighs. "I shouldn't, Calvin was wanting me home an hour ago, but," She stops, shrugging. "It'll be fine."

──────

"Hey, Dr. D,"

Jane glanced up at the doorway of her office where Ben's lanky form was standing, and she offered him a small smile. "What's up, Ben?"

"Uh, Chief Strauss just called? She wants you to meet her in Agent Hotchner's office,"

Jane's smile immediately twisted into a confused frown, but she was already pushing back from her desk. "Uh– did she say why?"

The younger man shook his head. "No, she just said she wanted to talk to you and Agent Hotchner."

"Okay," She nodded, stepping past him when he moved out of the doorway to let her through. "Thanks for letting me know. I'll try and be quick, but can you just go ahead and finish finalizing that autopsy report on my desk? The tape recorder is right there, there shouldn't be much left to write up."

"No problem," Ben nodded, already stepping into her office. "Good luck."

Jane just hummed, not voicing the feeling that said she would probably need it.

She didn't go up to the BAU's floor often during working hours, mostly because she was usually busy herself. If she had any reason to contact Hotch during work, she'd usually just text his personal phone or call him. The most time she ever spent up there was after everyone else had already gone home, and Hotch was in his office writing reports and sorting everything out.

She kept her head down as she pushed the glass doors to the bullpen open, hoping the curtain of her hair would keep her mostly unnoticed. She'd seen the team at the funeral and the wake that followed, but she'd only been approached by Prentiss, Morgan, and Rossi. JJ, she thinks, sent her a bouquet of flowers through Hotch with a get well soon card, and Jane had passed on her thanks, but it was still just habitual of her to avoid the BAU.

She knew they all knew about her now, so her avoidance wasn't out of secrecy anymore, but more so her desire to not make conversation with the group of people that had first row seats to her torture, and the death of the only motherly figure she'd had since she was eight years old. Most of them had fairly decent poker faces, but their pity radiated off them in waves and Jane was rock solid on her hatred for pity.

Luckily, she made it to Hotch's office without incident, but when she opened the door, she found Chief Strauss and Hotch sitting across from each other, looking less than pleased with whatever they'd been talking about.

Jane clears her throat slightly, smiling awkwardly as she shuts the door behind her and takes the other chair beside Strauss on the front side of Aaron's desk.

"Chief Strauss," Jane started hesitantly, looking away from Hotch's dark, frustrated gaze. "Sorry I didn't answer your call, I was finishing an autopsy report."

"It's alright," Strauss nodded, smiling politely. "I was just talking to Agent Hotchner about an opportunity that we've been discussing this past month since you returned to work."

For the first time since she started work again, Jane found herself not wanting to be there. Swallowing, she tilted her head, looking between the two. "Oh? Can I, uh, ask what that opportunity is?"

Chief Strauss intertwines her hands in her lap, looking at Aaron pointedly. "Since Agent Hotchner expressed his concerns for your safety in returning to work, the Bureau has been reassessing some things regarding your department. In order to assuage Agent Hotchner's concern for you, and further cement the Bureau's remorse for everything that has happened, we've come to the decision we think is best for everyone involved."

Jane shifts in her chair, looking more confused by the second. "Okay, and, uh, what would that be?"

"You're going to be joining the BAU on their cases for a few months," Strauss says, finally looking at Jane. "Until we're all confident that nothing like what happened with George Foyet is going to happen again."

Jane hides a flinch at his name, but she knows Hotch sees it. Biting her tongue, Jane lets out a careful breath from her nose. "I– Chief Strauss, I– I don't know if that's the best solution for this, um–"

"I know it seems counterproductive to send you out into the field with the BAU while expressing concerns for your safety, but the BAU is one of our most capable units and they make safety a priority amongst their members. If it doesn't work out, we'll pull you out, but it's at least worth a shot."

Jane's head snaps towards Hotch, who looks more unhappy by the second. "Uh– Hotch? What do you think about this?"

Strauss speaks again before he can. "Agent Hotchner has expressed his disdain for this decision, but the board isn't budging for now." She gestures to a file folder on Aaron's desk. "Is that a case?"

Hotch glances down at it. "Yes. JJ brought it in this morning."

"Great. Why don't you take Jane with you now? Let her get a hold on how things work with you and your team."

There's a tense moment of silence between the three of them, where Jane feels at a loss for words.

Strauss pushes herself up from the chair with a sigh, readjusting her blazer. "I know I might have made that sound like you had another option, but you don't. That's an order, Agent Hotchner."

The Chief dismisses herself from his office, leaving the two of them in a stiff silence in her wake.

Shaking her head, Jane looks at him. "Hotch, I–"

"Do you have an overnight bag?"

Jane clamps her mouth shut at his abrupt question, but she nods. "Uh– yes. Yeah, I do."

"Go get it. You can join us in the round room for debrief."

──────

Spencer Reid has always wondered why the people he loves leave him. It's a bit out of character for him to ponder on the emotions that those thoughts bring him, but sometimes it's inevitable. A moment of silence stretched too far, or a case that was particularly grueling always brought it out, and he couldn't always keep the thoughts at bay no matter how hard he tried.

The first and most obvious example of abandonment is his father. But he never really dwelled on that too long, because he was hardly the only kid whose father had abandoned him when things got too rough. He was better off in the long run, anyways.

And though he couldn't help but feel selfish every time he thought about it, his mother had abandoned him, too. Though he knew it was completely out of her control, he knew she would never have gotten sick if she could've stopped it. She loved him, even when she was at her worst. She didn't choose to leave him, but he thinks that hurts more than if she had. He's still got her lucid moments, no matter how far and few they're becoming, so he tries not to stray down that path too often.

Gideon comes to mind next. He's never ready to talk about Gideon leaving the BAU like he did, so similar to how Elle had, too. Elle was his friend, one of the first in the Bureau to treat him like he wasn't a robot or just some kid. Gideon was Gideon. That was the only explanation that his brain would allow. He was the only man with any sort of semblance of paternal instinct in Spencer's life, and he left.

So– sometimes, he wonders what he does wrong. He wishes people would just tell him what he's doing wrong so he can stop, so they can stop leaving him. Sometimes he wonders if he should just leave them first, to save them all the trouble.

He wonders if anybody would miss him if he did.

"We've missed you out here,"

Spencer clears his mind of the thoughts, blinking back into focus over the book he'd been reading. He looks up at Eric, the younger man not bothering to hide the tone of defeat at Spencer's clear win in the mostly one-sided game of chess they'd been playing. "Thank you– thanks. I, uh, I had to take a little break."

"How come?"

"I used to play with a co-worker friend of mine," Spencer frowned slightly, thoughts straying back to Gideon briefly. "He was probably the best mind I ever went up against. One of them, at least."

Spencer tacks on that last part without thinking, and his frown deepens instinctively as his brain recalls the decades-old flashes of brown hair and blue eyes, and a taunting voice that was a specific shade of adolescent girl that it couldn't possibly be replicated by anyone else. Hours spent pouring over a chess board, teaching him the tricks he still used to this day to outsmart his coworkers. Days and nights spent whispering with the light of a flashlight between them, talking about their similar, yet unique life experiences as lonely children.

She was just another person he'd loved, and another that had left. But she was different. She was always different.

He shakes his head and clears his mind of the image of the girl forever frozen in his mind at thirteen, and looks back at Eric. "One day, he just decided that he didn't want to play anymore."

The boy raises an unamused brow at him. "So you gave up, too?"

"Just the opposite," Spencer shook his head. "I attempted to play through every permutation of moves on a chessboard."

"That's an infinite number of games," The disbelief didn't go unnoticed, and Spencer just shrugged nonchalantly.

"It's not infinite, it's just– it's exponentially large."

Eric scoffed, still in disbelief despite constantly being proven wrong by the doctor. "You couldn't have played through them all,"

Spencer glances down at his book for a moment, eyes narrowing as his brain recalls just a few of the millions of things he's retained in his years. "There's an average of 40 moves per chess game, and I'll tell you something– the more I played, the more I realized that every single match, every single chess game, is really just a simple variation on the exact same theme. You know? It's aggressive opening, patient mid-game, inevitable checkmate, and I realized why my friend quit."

Spencer frowned slightly, eyes shifting as his mind went away again. "He was tired of repeating the exact same patterns and expecting a different outcome."

"So you have a lifetime of chess strategy in your head, and you're just... sitting on it,"

Spencer startles as his phone rings, a text from JJ coming in that they had a new case. He taps the message away, looking up at Eric. "I still use it, I just, uh, I apply it differently. I have to go– it was good seeing you,"

Spencer walks off, headed into work with the strategy of chess stuck in his mind. The start to another game of chess, sure to be the same as any else.

──────

"Everyone, this is Dr. Jane Donovan. She'll be joining the team for a while, to see how we do things." Hotch walked her into the round room where his team was, and Jane held up a hand in a light wave as all eyes turned to her.

She relaxed slightly when Prentiss gestured to the empty chair beside her, and Jane hurried to take it, pushing her hair behind her ears.

Everyone takes the small moment to call out their names, and Jane nods, trying to commit them all to memory. "Uh, hi, everyone. I'm Jane– I run the CSI lab downstairs. It's, uh, nice to finally put all of the faces to names. I've heard plenty of stories over the years."

Rossi nodded, smirking slightly. "I can't imagine what stories Hotch is telling about us,"

Aaron glances up from the case file, raising a brow. "Only the bad ones."

The group chuckles, and some of the tension in the room dissipates. Hotch glances up at JJ, who's standing at the head of the table, and nods. "You can go ahead."

JJ nods dutifully and grabs the remote, bringing up the latest crime scene photos. "Rita Stuart, 25. Second victim in Atlantic City."

"Pretty public spot for a dump site," Rossi notes.

"You know, technically, I think it would qualify more as a disposal site. You don't leave a body on a merry-go-round out of convenience."

Emily nods at the photos on the screen showcasing the meticulously perfect body. "Took some time with her appearance, didn't he?"

"Yeah, her nails were polished, her hair was cut, clothes were brand new."

Derek shrugs lightly. "Wants her to look her best when found. That's a lot of remorse."

"Who's victim number one?"

JJ turns, pulling up the photos of the first victim. "Stacia Jackson, 29. She was found at a local playground."

"Quite a change in victimology,"

Hotch looks at the screen with furrowed brows. "What's the connection between these women?"

JJ shakes her head, shrugging. "There is none. Rita was married, Stacia was single. Rita worked at a diner, Stacia was a corporate lawyer. According to their credit cards, they never came within ten miles of each other."

"Both women were taken 2 months ago?"

"Yeah, they lived such completely different lives, the police didn't tie their abduction together until now."

Spencer flips through the file, face twisted into a contemplative look. "Was there any evidence of sexual assault?"

"There was no evidence of violence of any kind."

Emily looked at JJ confusedly. "So, how did they die?"

"Rita had a stroke, Stacia had a brain hemorrhage."

"The unsub gave them a battery of drugs–" Spencer starts, looking at the listed medications from the coroner. "Atracurium, doxacurium. These are neural inhibitors, they block signals from the brain to the muscles."

"He put them in medical comas for two months,"

Spencer shakes his head, frowning slightly. "Actually, they weren't in a coma, you'd need phenobarbital to keep them unconscious, and they didn't have that."

Derek leans onto the table, face set in a grave look. "So, wait a minute– these victims were paralyzed but they were still conscious?"

Spencer nods shortly. "They could open their eyes, hear, probably even feel stimulation."

"Physical immobility, but mental awareness," Rossi shakes his head. "This unsub wants total domination over them."

"And he turns their bodies into prisons to do it." Hotch sighs solemnly. "Wheels up in 10, guys. Get ready."

The team exits at his dismissal, but Jane stays behind with Hotch, who nods imploringly at her. "You didn't have anything to add?"

"Oh," Jane shrugs, shaking her head. "No, I was just listening. I think it's best if I just take it all in for now– learn from the experts, I guess."

Hotch hummed lowly. "I'm sorry Strauss is making you do this."

"It's fine," She shrugs again, giving him a slightly amused smirk. "It's like, the worst 'take your daughter to work day' ever."

Hotch huffs a quiet laugh, nodding in agreement as he stands from the conference table, Jane following suit. He just hopes this doesn't go as bad as the last time he went into the field with Jane.

──────

Rossi flips open his file, skimming over the information again. "Keeping women in a conscious paralysis reads as sadism,"

"Definitely dehumanizing," Morgan agrees, his brows raising at the severity of the victims' state. "Reducing them to objects."

"But there's nothing else in this profile that leads us down that path,"

JJ shook her head, her pin straight hair sliding across her forehead. "These women were found in excellent condition. There was no evidence of bed sores, they were well fed through an I.V.,"

"If he has access to I.V.s and drugs, he almost certainly has medical training."

Emily shook her head, looking a bit hesitant. "Are we sure this is a he? The care this unsub shows these victims, although they are dehumanized, it profiles as female."

"What about the postmortem posing? That's a lot of weight for a woman to carry," Hotch turns from where he's perched beside Emily, looking at Jane. "What do you think, Jane?"

"Oh," Jane looks slightly startled at being called upon, but she recovers quickly, shrugging. "The victims are 100 pounds. I could carry that if I had enough motivation to,"

"Motivation, like dumping a body," Morgan notes, nodding along with Jane across the aisle of the jet.

Hotch nods, looking away from Jane to the rest of the team. "Alright, if we reconsider the gender of the profile, what changes?"

"Nothing," Morgan shakes his head. "If anything, it fits better."

"Men kill to fulfill a sexual compassion," Rossi notes. "Women don't."

"You see this in angel of mercy killers, like Genene Jones and Amy Archer. They didn't care about race or hair color, it's men that do," Spencer glances at Hotch and Emily, his eyes skating over Jane quickly as he stalls for words.

"Damn straight men do," Garcia's voice comes through the computer again, and Morgan seems to sit up at attention as Jane's brows furrow while she awaits elaboration.

Morgan smirks, his eyes drifting to the woman on the computer screen. "Well, hello, Red. Look at you," He shifts the computer so the rest of the team can see, and they all echo compliments, making Jane smile to herself at the obvious closeness of the BAU.

Sitting back in her seat, she's just out of sight of Garcia, presumably the technical analyst Hotch always talks about.

"Garcia, what did you find out about the clothing the unsub's dressing the victims in?"

"At first only that both garments were made from chiffon, but with the Wonder Twin powers of the Atlantic City Police, and my impeccable eye for fashion, we have also determined that these garments fit ridiculously well."

Her words garner Jane's attention easily and she feels her frown deepen as she shifts in her seat, listening closely.

"They're super flattering to each victim's exact measurements, kind of exactly like the unsub whipped them up herself."

"That's what connects the victims," Prentiss says, a photo of one of the victims in her hand.

Hotch looks down at her, his dark brows permanently turned down into the frown that seems to live on his face these days. "How so?"

"Maybe she isn't just killing petite women because they're easier to abduct and pose, but because of a physical type. She wants a body type,"

Jane nods in agreement, her bright eyes flashing with pity. "It explains why things like race or hair color don't matter like they would with a male," She looks at Spencer, recalling his earlier words. He looks briefly caught out at her attention, but before he can even process it, it's gone again. "Physical appearance can be everything to some women."

"Is that her? Hi, new girl, or– oh! Hi, Hotch's daughter!" Garcia's suddenly excited voice echoes through the laptop speaker, and the team shares an amused look as Jane hesitantly leans into the frame of the webcam and waves a silent greeting. "Oh, you're so cute! I'm Penelope, the glue that holds this team together."

JJ let out an uneasy laugh, shaking her head as Hotch gestured for them to return their attention to the case. "Please tell me she is not killing these women because she needs human models. I mean, there's gotta be more to it than that."

"There probably is," Rossi nods in agreement, his voice grave at the implications. "But at least we have a start on the victimology."

"Prentiss and Morgan, I want you to interview the victims' families," Hotch looks to the two agents that nod at his words. "Talk to them about lifestyle choices. Any body issues these women may have had."

He glances to Jane for a moment and she sees irritation flicker in his eyes like it had earlier that morning when Strauss was ordering him to take her on this case, and she shoots him an apologetic smile.

Sighing tiredly, Hotch gestured to her. "Reid, I want you and Jane to go to Rita Stuart's autopsy, see if the drugs point to any specific medical training the unsub might have had."

Jane misses the way panic flashes in Spencer's eyes, and by the time she spares him a polite smile it's hidden behind a neutral gleam, and the young doctor is nodding silently in agreement with Hotch's orders.

"Dave and I will go to the disposal sites, and Garcia,"

"Sir,"

"I want you to check missing persons reports for the last two months. See if any abductions match what we know. We need to find out if the unsub's already taken another victim."

Garcia nods her affirmative and ends the call, and Jane straightens out her file with a quiet sigh as the team breaks into murmurs around her.

Retreating into her thoughts, Jane absently twists the watch around her wrist, the slight tug of the leather band on her skin a familiar sensation carried over from her childhood. Jane always had a bracelet, or a tight sleeve cuff around her wrist, and she always pulled on it, always causing some sort of friction against the skin there when she fell silent and risked getting restless or nervous.

She went unaware of Spencer's gaze locked firmly on the action, a familiar, twisting feeling wrapping itself around his throat at the sight.

──────

"Once I have the knees bent," The medical examiner's voice strained slightly as she picked up the victim, turning around to lay her down on the table before Spencer and Jane. "I can get leverage under her. Normally, an assistant helps me, but I can do it by myself if I need to."

"I'm assuming this unsub would have this training, too?" Spencer looked up at the older woman, his forehead wrinkled as he focused on the case. "Let me ask you this– is there anything specific about it?"

The woman shook her head. "No, any caregiver out there can do this; docs, nurses, orderlies."

Jane released her bottom lip from the anxious grip her teeth had on it and looked at the woman. "Where do you think she's getting the drugs that she's using? Is she manipulating, or bribing a doctor, or a pharmacist, or something?"

"He'd be criminally negligent, if she was,"

"But it is possible," Spencer notes. "I mean, doctors order things through residents, nurses forge signatures, prescriptions fall through cracks."

The medical examiner tilted her head warily. "That's a lot of drugs, and a lot of cracks. She keeps these women paralyzed for two months,"

"Your report said both of them had hair extensions clipped in," Spencer leaned forward, his lips pursing inquisitively.

"Yes," The examiner nodded, looking down at the victim, causing Spencer and Jane to do the same. "To hide the fact that clumps of their real hair had fallen out."

"But, if they were fed through I.V.'s, that wasn't from malnutrition, right?"

Jane hummed a denial, shaking her head before the examiner could answer. "It happens a lot with bedridden patients, especially younger ones. Your body is just as alive as your brain, so even though their brains were fully functioning, their bodies weren't– it probably killed them faster."

Spencer hesitates for the first time in his interrogation, and Jane sends him a worried look that he quickly looks away from. "Right, psychic shock. The mental effects take a physical toll. One last question. In your professional opinion, do you think the hair extensions were clipped on before or after death?"

"Before."

"And you seem pretty certain of that?"

"You know the old wives' tale about your hair and nails growing after death?" Jane and Spencer both nodded and the woman sighed, gesturing to the victim. "What's really happening is that dehydration is shrinking your skin, pulling it back. Based on where she put these extensions, they were definitely still alive."

Spencer stays quiet for a moment, clearly lost in thought, and Jane clears her throat, giving the medical examiner a polite smile. "Thank you for your time. If you find anything else you think we should know, just give us a call down at the police station, alright?"

The gray-haired woman nodded and mirrored the polite smile, and Jane turned on her heel to follow after Spencer while he muttered a quiet goodbye to the examiner.

Quietly, they walked out of the medical office, and Jane's eyes followed Spencer's form as he slipped into the passenger seat, and her into the driver's seat.

After she turned the key over in the engine, she looked over at Spencer in the passenger seat. "So, uh, do you have a theory?"

Spencer looked surprised at her direct addressing, and he spared her a brief, fleeting look that he quickly broke once they made eye contact. "Oh, uh, yeah, I think. I'll run it by Hotch when we get back to the precinct."

Jane nodded understandingly, plastering a polite smile on her face as she pulled onto the road again. She briefly, morbidly, thinks that the morgue was less icy than his demeanor.

──────

"How'd it go with Reid at the Medical Examiner's office?"

Jane looked up as Emily and Morgan stepped up beside her, flanking her as they walked through the police station towards the small conference room they'd claimed for their own.

She sighed and forced another smile, this one more of a grimace as she looked up at Emily. "It was fine. He's, uh, he's quiet. But I don't mind quiet. It's a nice change of pace from my intern down at the lab, he's a talker."

Emily nodded understandingly, giving her a warm smile. "He'll warm up to you, it just takes a minute. Sometimes his robot brain has to do a system reboot before he can hold a proper conversation,"

Derek chuckled, nudging Jane with his elbow. "It probably didn't help that Hotch threw him to the wolves, making him go off on his own with the smart, pretty girl that just joined the team."

Jane rolls her eyes and nudges him back, earning a dramatized noise of pain from the man. "I'm sure that Doctor Reid is perfectly professional, seeing as all of you are beautiful people– and," She tacked on, interrupting Derek's preening before he could start. "I don't think I should be considered a member of the team just yet. This is like making a mouse run through a maze for cheese in the eyes of Chief Strauss and the board. An experiment to see if I'll live up to expectations so soon after getting out of the hospital."

Derek and Emily shared a knowing, and slightly concerned look over her head that went unnoticed, before Derek was looking back down at her with a slight smirk that was more genuine than it ought to be. "After this, you won't want to get rid of us, Doc. We are the best team you'll ever find,"

An easy familiarity between the two BAU members from their brief time spent together before Haley died had formed, though Jane had admittedly seen Emily quite a few times outside of that, mostly during the month that Hotch was still on leave and at home full time with Jack.

Jane, still out on recovery, had spent most of her time at the Hotchner apartment, too, and Emily made appearances at least once a week with food and stories from the team to keep him going. Jane had quickly caught on to the fact that while other team members called and occasionally offered to visit Hotch, too, no one did quite as much as Emily, so she'd yet to mention it to anyone. It seemed to be, like most of Hotch's personal life, a private, unspoken thing.

The ease she felt with them was a relief, especially after her encounters with Spencer. It wasn't that she didn't understand his unease around her, in fact she understood it quite well, but she didn't know if it was just general discomfort around new people, or if Jane had already, unknowingly done something to upset him. She didn't want to go out of her way to overcompensate for their lack of easy going conversation, but she also knew that if even one person on the team didn't like her, this arrangement likely wouldn't work out. There had to be trust between them, and right now, it didn't seem like Spencer had an ounce of trust in Jane.

Drifting from her thoughts, she listens as Emily taunts Derek for his teases about Reid being flustered, and Jane rolls her eyes again at the both of them as they step into the conference room where Rossi, Reid, and Hotch are sitting.

"What'd you find out?" Hotch looks up at them without missing a beat from the previous conversation, and Jane tucks her hands into the pockets of her pale blue suit as Derek heaves a heavy sigh, all signs of playfulness gone from his warm, dark stare.

"Both Rita Stuart and Stacia Jackson were clothes hounds," Derek crosses his arms over his chest, looking at Hotch. "But because they were petite women, they had a lot of their stuff altered."

"Could be how our unsub is finding her victims, she gets her hands on their measurements."

Derek tilted his head at Emily's suggestion. "But we already exhausted tailors, alteration shops. There's no overlap."

"The tailors might send specialty items out to third parties, dig deep into employment records and see who they might be subcontracting to."

"Garcia needs to talk to us,"

Jane flinched slightly at JJ's sudden presence behind her, and she shifted away from the doorway, glancing over her shoulder as she pivoted to make sure no one else was behind her.

Hotch briefly glanced her way, but quickly diverted his attention to the phone as he pressed the flashing transfer button on the receiver. "Go ahead, Garcia,"

"Hello, my pretties. I have finished my missing persons sweep. I've got nothing on the medical vehicle, but two new matches on the clothes make the woman front." Garcia seems to barely take a breath before speaking again, and Jane leans in a bit to focus. "Cindy Admundson. She was abducted outside of a thrift store, and Maxine Wynan was last seen at the Hillridge Mall."

"That sounds like our girl,"

Jane looked up as Derek met her gaze, and she mirrored his nod, silently agreeing.

"Any surveillance footage at the mall?"

"Uh, no, it was an outside parking garage," Garcia denied. "So sorry."

Hotch's brows furrowed, and Jane watched as the grim question formed behind his eyes. "The new abductees– what's their physical type?"

Sounds of Garcia's typing came through the speaker, and Jane silently wondered at the speed. "They look pretty tiny to me, I'm gonna send you pictures. Also, if it pleases the court, I would like to direct your attention to Exhibit A, the calendar map."

Jane's lips twisted into a curious frown, and she absentmindedly pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

JJ shook her head, her thin brows furrowed. "What about it?"

"Both of these new victims were abducted one week ago, exactly one day before the bodies of Rita Stuart and Stacia Jackson, respectively, turned up."

Hotch looked up, looking at the team as the realization dawned on them, too. "She doesn't let a body go without a replacement."

Jane's teeth dug into her lip harshly and she forced herself to let it go. If that was true, then the likelihood of there being another victim was probably rising by the minute. She wondered what that meant for them now.

──────

Jane looked around, her face set in a carefully neutral stare as she approached the crime scene. She'd had a rough time sleeping in the motel bed, and hadn't gotten back early enough to call Calvin before the timezones messed with them, so it was somewhat difficult to keep the frown off her face as they went, the new victim just the cherry on top of a rough morning.

"Victim is Mary Newsome," Detective Cotrone sighed heavily, and she glanced at him, figuring he was just as exhausted as she was. Probably even more, with it being his town in danger. "Abducted two months ago. She was found on this bench first thing this morning,"

Prentiss took the lead, kneeling before the victim with an observant gaze. "Okay, well, it looks like her style. It's chiffon, and it's sewn to fit."

"If she's disposed of this body, it means she's recently taken a new victim."

"We'll call Hotch, we'll comb through missing persons reports from the last 48 hours."

The detective nodded, backing away. "I'll start pulling them,"

Emily called her thanks to the man as he walked off, before drawing her attention back to the immaculate-looking victim as Spencer knelt before her. "Hm."

"What?"

"These aren't hair extensions," Spencer muttered, shifting the strands of hair with the end of his pen.

Jane's brows furrowed and she leaned over, pulling a pair of gloves onto her hands quickly. She stepped up beside the body, gently pulling her hair away so she could see the scalp.

"Maybe her hair was too brittle," Emily raised a brow, looking between the two doctors inquisitively as they sported matching looks of frustration.

Jane shook her head, frowning deeply. "This isn't even real hair. This is a wig. There's no visible scalp,"

"A wig?"

Spencer glanced at Jane, nodding in agreement with her findings. "Kanekalon, I think."

"What is that?"

"Synthetic hair. There's nothing special about it, it's used in wigs all over the world."

Jane knelt down, lowering her position to flip the ends of her hair up. She winced, her facial expression catching the attention of the others. "Look at this,"

Emily and Spencer leaned in, and their faces twisted into similar looks of discomfort at the sight of the discolored skin. "Are those stitches?"

"On her scalp," Spencer said, looking at Emily. "She sewed this in."

"But this isn't even how you would sew a wig in," Jane dropped the hair, stepping back from the body as she looked to Spencer and Emily. "The stitching is too thick to be used for a real human, this is more like how you'd sew a doll's hair on."

"A doll?" Emily softly echoed the words, her face falling as she stepped back. "That's it, guys."

Jane glanced at Spencer, who seemed to have been looking at her before she looked his way, with how rapidly his eyes move to Emily. She disregards the action, choosing to instead focus on Emily as well, seeing as the woman had obviously had some sort of realization she'd yet to share.

"Come on, let's get back to the precinct. I think I know what our unsub wants."

──────

"The unsub we're looking for is a woman. She's a collector," Hotch looks at the gathered police officers watching his team. "It's a psychopathology similar to hoarding."

"So, when we say collector, we're not talking about stamps or baseball cards. It's not what your kids, or even you, might pursue as a normal hobby."

Hotch nods subtly in regards to Rossi's add-on. "This is an attachment to objects that's become obsessive by someone who is antisocial and extremely introverted."

"These people attach a part of themselves to their collection," Emily sighed, her hands articulating along with her words. "If you try to separate them from it, or take it away from them, they will react violently– even psychotically."

"They've suffered damage to their prefrontal cortex," Spencer's voice echoes out next, his words drawing attentive but confused looks from some officers. "That's the part of the brain that regulates basic Freudian fantasy/reality. They can still function, drive a car, go to work, even do their taxes."

Derek nods, crossing his arms across his chest. "In fact, she excels at goal-oriented jobs, like the precision of sewing, or the details of abduction."

"But they've lost their ability to categorize the difference between living and dead, uh, belonging and loss, that has been irreparably destroyed."

"So, what's she collecting? Women?" Detective Cotrone questioned, his brows furrowed.

"Actually," Rossi corrects. "We think she's collecting dolls."

Looks of disbelief crossed the sea of faces before the BAU. "Technically, replacing them. Uh, we believe that she lost the originals sometime within the last three months, and this is what served as her stressor."

"She searched for a replacement, and when she couldn't find them, she started abducting the closest possible surrogate."

"Women of different ethnicities, but a similar physicality."

"The drug induced paralysis is part of the fantasy. She puts her victims in a position where they can't talk back so she can fetishize them like the objects she lost."

"Um, look," Detective Cotrone swallowed, his disbelief more that of a skeptic than anything, as he looked around the precinct. "I respect your analysis, but this woman kidnapped six women and killed three of them. And you're telling us this is about dolls?"

Jane cleared her throat, shifting from where she'd been leaning her hip against a desk while the team delivered the profile. "This unsub stitched wigs to her latest victim's scalp, which is a technique used on actual porcelain dolls."

She understood that it was hardly a typical scenario where abduction was involved, but they had no reason to question the BAU's findings. The evidence proved what they were saying.

"And keep in mind, collectors and serial killers do share certain traits," Spencer picked up on her point, ready to point out facts until the officers believed them. "A lot of serial killers take trophies, attaching the same significance to them that this collector does to objects."

"But this unsub's intent isn't violence," Rossi shakes his head, seeing a bit of understanding come to the detective's eyes. "She needs this collection to be complete so she can feel in control of her life, probably to overcome some trauma she experienced."

"She really only feels that control when the collection is complete, which is why she's repeating an abduction pattern with living victims. If she loses a doll, or in this case, if she loses a woman who represents a doll, she has to replace it."

Spencer's words were morbid, but true. Jane had never really taken interest in psychology, as she hardly cared about a person's motive to do crime, knowingly or not, but this case was nothing short of a psychological curiosity. She didn't put a lot of faith in most people that practiced psychology regularly, not after the countless therapists and psychiatrists she'd had, but she'd studied enough brains to know that there was very little control available to humans when faced in the grand scheme of things. It would make sense that things like this happened when someone went through a deep trauma.

"This woman works alone," Hotch's voice brings her out of her thoughts and she drifts her eyes to him, twisting her watch around her wrist. "We know she has medical training. Look for nurses aides, or orderlies who were fired for a lack of social graces. She can't fake bedside manner."

"We believe she's currently working as a tailor or a seamstress, and we're following those leads now, but do let us know if you notice any overlap in your suspect pools. Thank you."

With collective nods, the police officers file out, and some of the BAU members head back to the conference room they've temporarily overtaken. Jane lingers, eyes scanning the bulletin board of pictures as she contemplates the case.

She doesn't notice the gaze that lingers on her profile, full of confusion and something distantly wistful.

──────

When Spencer was about 5 years old, his parents told him that they had new neighbors moving in across the street. This was interesting to him for a multitude of reasons, all of which had run through his highly advanced adolescent mind.

As always, the most prominent thought in his mind was one of confusion. He didn't understand why his mother and father thought to tell him about their new neighbors, when he realistically wouldn't have anything to do with them. But then again, his father was always going on about Spencer needing "normal" people to hang out with, and seeing as he had no people to hang out with, Spencer could easily assume this was another shot at forcing him to be social. Which was an all-around useless endeavor on his dad's part, though he'd never say it out loud, but he knew– and he knew his mother knew, too– that Spencer's social skills were likely never going to improve.

After the initial, familiar confusion, his second thought was more logical. Las Vegas wasn't exactly known for its suburban lifestyle, even though a majority of it was in fact residential. Spencer had grown up here, all five long, long years of his life, and it wasn't hard to catch on to the fact that people heard "Vegas" and thought "casinos". Though it was a stereotype, as his mother said, it made him wonder what had prompted a move to the Vegas suburb he resided in. Spencer was a curious thing– no one could deny that.

Spencer had a lot more thoughts and questions as to why getting new neighbors across the street seemed like such a big deal to his parents, but he'd overheard his dad say something about the man being some big shot at a firm that William dreamed of working at, and how they needed to befriend the man and his family so he could get ahead at work.

Again, given Spencer was five, this didn't make a lot of sense to him, but most "normal" things didn't, especially according to his father. All he knew was that a few days later, Spencer was forced into his nicer clothes and walked across the street with his mom and dad to go knock on the door of the nicely landscaped house with the fresh "SOLD" sign still in the front yard.

A woman around his mom's age opened the door in a dress Spencer would see in black and white on old reruns of I Love Lucy or something. And when Spencer lifted his gaze for a fleeting second, he saw the roundness of her stomach and figured she was pregnant. When the woman was done shaking his parents' hands and introducing herself, she looked down to him and laid a hand on her protruding bump, smiling at him with a fondness he couldn't imagine ever giving a stranger. He figured he knew three things about the woman now– she was pregnant, she was kind, and her name was Ruth. Ruth McCann.

Spencer had shyly given her his name, as he had been reminded by his father that this dinner they were having was important for work, and from what Spencer heard his parents whispering about in the kitchen, nothing was more important than work. Spencer didn't want to be the reason anything went wrong, so he had vowed to keep as quiet as possible to save them all from embarrassment.

Luckily, perhaps because she was so kind, Ruth took his quiet nature endearingly and straightened up, beckoning the small family into the house with a wide smile. Spencer had watched the woman turn her head and clear her throat as she called through the house, shutting the front door behind them.

"Arthur, our guests are here!"

Without waiting for a response, she gestured for them to follow her and Spencer looked around at their home as they shuffled into the dining room where two people sat at the table, a feast laid out in the middle of it.

Arthur, who he presumed was Ruth's husband, was similar to his father. He was a suit-wearing businessman, but his clothes looked more tailored than his dad's did, and he didn't have the stressed furrow to his brow that his father had all the time, either. He seemed confident and charming, and Spencer understood why his father wanted him on his best behavior tonight. If this man was in a superior position at work, his word probably held a lot of weight, and Spencer didn't want to disappoint his father by spouting off on one of his tangents.

The second person at the table was a kid. Spencer could see that much from the way their legs swung back and forth, never scuffing on the ground beneath their chair. Black, shiny Mary-Janes with tights led up to a face shielded by a book, and Spencer narrowed his eyes as his mother pulled his chair out for him and he took his seat.

The brightly colored book stared back at him, and Spencer's eyes brightened at the title. 'Anatomy for Kids: The Brain' was in bold letters, and Spencer's eyes shifted to his mother's, and then pointedly back to the book in the child's hand.

Diane smiled softly at her son's excitement and shared a secret nod with him, before carrying on her small talk with Ruth.

"Jane-Bug, our guests are here, it's time to put the book away." Ruth's pleasant, even-toned voice made him look at her, but he followed her gaze back to the small hands clutching the book he was far too interested in.

"I'm almost done, Mommy."

"Jane, it's rude to read at the dinner table. Put the book down, now."

Spencer flinched ever so slightly at the man's stern voice, and he focused his gaze onto Arthur McCann as he shifted, sitting more upright in his chair at the head of the table.

Instantly, though, the book is shut and the child hands it to her mother, who sets it on the small accent table near the dining table. Spencer's attention, no longer on the book, focuses on the girl, who seems to be his age at first glance, if not a year older.

"Introduce yourself to our guests, Jane,"

The little girl's bright eyes shift from her father to the two adults sitting at the table and she offers them a smile that Spencer thinks looks like the frozen ones on all of those dolls he sees at the store. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Reid, it's nice to meet you. My name is Jane Donovan."

Spencer's father let out a delighted chuckle, and he looks to Arthur. "You've got a real polite family here, Arthur, you should be very proud."

Arthur chuckled, all smug lines and knowing grins. "I'm very proud of my girls, we run a tight ship around here. And when the little one gets here in a few months, I know she'll follow suit."

"Oh, another girl? Congratulations, Mr. Reid," Spencer's mom grinned, and she looked from the man to his wife. "You're a wonderful mother, Ruth, it's admirable."

"Thank you, Diane," Ruth smiled, that same smile that her daughter seemed to have, he noticed, like all of the dolls that were stuck like that at the store. "Your Spencer is the sweetest thing, you must be doing something right."

Spencer's cheeks warmed and he ducked his head, but not before a smile crossed his face that seemed to make Ruth's smile turn into something a bit less forced, in his opinion.

When Spencer lifts his gaze again, it goes straight to Jane, and he finds that the girl is already looking at him. Her blue eyes pierce into him and he examines her pale skin, her chubby cheeks and long, brown hair that's curled loosely at the ends and tucked neatly behind her ears. In the minute it takes him to examine her features and ultimately commit them to his already vast memory, she seems to have come to a conclusion. What conclusion that is, Spencer doesn't know.

"Let's dig in, shall we?"

Spencer keeps his eyes on Jane as she turns to look at her mother, completely bypassing her father's waning attention as he begins to scoop food onto his plate and talk to William.

"Mommy, after dinner, may Spencer and I go to my room? I want to show him my dioramas."

Ruth smiles, and she nods encouragingly. "Of course, Jane-Bug. I'm sure Spencer would love to see your toys,"

Jane looks satisfied with her mother's answer, and she lets the blonde woman dish out food onto her plate as Diane does the same for Spencer.

When Jane looks his way again, she looks at him with a smug happiness, and Spencer figures that whatever conclusion she'd come to about him in her head was a good one, and oddly enough, he was excited at the prospect of seeing whatever diorama she was talking about.

Spencer wondered if this is how you made friends.

────── 

author's note; hey guys welcome back to ten thousand words of psychoanalyzing fictional characters

edited and published; 8.28.30.

- liz