" The healthy man does not torture others. Generally, it is the tortured who turn into torturers. "

— Carl Jung

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4.3 ; MEMORIES.

        "OFFICE OF UNFETTER OMNISCENCE speaking. Penelope Garcia is in," the technical analyst chimed in through the phone pressed against Caroline's ear. "Speak, oh fortunate one."

"Garcia, it's Caroline. Can you get into the phone repair records in San Diego?"

As she talked into the phone, Gideon and her walked swiftly to their parked car outside of Brenda Samms' house. She glanced up at the grey sky, where some rays of sun were starting to peak through the oblique clouds above her. It looked as if the universe knew she was close to catching The Tommy Killer and decided to finally swing her way for once.

"Sunshine...I can run CentCom from here and still participate in simultaneous Tetris tournaments."

She smiled, "Of course you can. I'm looking for repairmen cross-referenced with the murders in San Diego. It could be as much as four or five days prior. See if there are any common name."

"Total cake. Stay on the line."

She tapped her foot impatiently against the concrete as she heard the soft tapping of Garcia's hands running across her keyboard. Her heart was pounding in her chest now, and she couldn't tell if it was because she was nervous or anxious.

There had to be something on the unsub, they didn't have much time left in the morning to save the next victim. Caroline had to save this next victim. She just had to.

Not even a minute later, Garcia came back on the line, sounding more than happy, "Oh, sugarplum, your genius amazes me."

"Garcia, what do you have for me? Something good, I'm assuming."

"Something better than good, Care-bear. I have a name."

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Gideon slammed on the breaks as he spotted the white and blue work-truck parked in the middle of street. Caroline's body flew forward in her seat, the seatbelt restraining and constricting against her body to hold her in place. As Gideon and her leaped out of the car, she prayed that Franklin Graney was nearby.

After she had gotten the unsub's name from Garcia, Caroline had called Morgan and Reid to check out the phone line repair company that Franklin worked at. Not long after, Morgan called back and gave her a location—the neighborhood where she had been watching, waiting, for the unsub.

"This is his truck," Gideon said as he glanced around him. The Tommy Killer was here somewhere.

There was a loud screeching noise off to her right and Caroline's head whipped towards the noise. A large black SUV whirled beside the Honda, the brakes squealing from the force. Hotch and Elle jumped out of the car, both looking determined.

"Fan out. Go through yards," Gideon ordered to them. "Look at telephone poles. He's around here."

As quickly as they had arrived, the four agents took off in separate directions from each other. Caroline had started running through the street so fast she forgot to pull her hair up, the blonde locks unfurling behind her like waves as she ran.

The sun had finally come out and it beat down on her as she started checking everything—backyards, front yards, telephone poles. She felt a line of sweat run down her back but she ignored the heat. Her only focus now was Franklin Graney.

She could feel the panic bubble up in her chest. She couldn't think about anything other than arresting the son of a bitch. The sooner he was off the streets, the better. Maybe then she could finally shove down the uneasiness she had felt the whole time she's been in San Diego.

She was running up on her fourth house when she noticed the small yellow fence outlining the perimeter of the house was open to the backyard. She paused.

It could just be nothing. But she couldn't afford not to check.

As she walked trough the open gate and creeped through the backyard, she could hear a baby crying. She treaded through the small flower garden and past the blue pool as she followed the sound of the child's cries.

She froze when she saw the back door was wide open. Inside, she could see a small boy—no older than one or two—shrieking for his mother in his hightop chair. Laying beside the child on the kitchen counter was a tool belt with the insignia of Graney's work.

Caroline's hand immediately reached for her gun and unsheathed it from its holster, leveling it in front of her. She took quiet, careful steps inside, making absolutely no noise as she snuck in. She glanced around her—there was no one.

On the ground beside the crying toddler was his blue sippy cup, spilling what looked like orange juice all over the floor. The baby's head turned as she sneaked over to the blond child and he began to cry even louder, begging to let him out.

She leaned down closer to the baby and placed a small kiss on his blonde hair as she reached for her phone. The child whimpered and wailed as she pressed her number one on speed dial. She prayed that the baby's cries would mask the sound of her voice.

When the phone line picked up, she whispered into the phone, "875 Orange, Hotch."

She didn't wait for a reply as she hung up the phone and shoved it in her back pocket. She began to sneak through the kitchen, leaving the crying child behind her. She would come back for him later. She needed to find his mother first.

Caroline's heart pounded as she tip-toed up the stairs. Besides the baby, there was virtually no noise in the house—no screaming or yelling. Either the unsub was gagging his victim or she didn't have the strength to scream.

Caroline remembered vividly what it felt like to have her rapist's hand clamped down over her mouth. She didn't blame the woman for going quiet.

She had tried to scream, but after a while, she had just given up. There had been no point in trying. She just became a limp, lifeless body as he used her, not even able to cry anymore.

She wouldn't give up this time. She could not let what happened to her happen to another woman. She wouldn't let it.

Caroline walked down the upstairs hallway. Coming from what she assumed was the master bedroom was a muffled male voice. She couldn't make out what he was saying but she could hear the anger, the rage in his voice.

The floor creaked underneath her feet as she approached the closed door. She stopped and sucked in a breath, remaining as still as she possibly could. When she was sure no one had heard her, she let out a silent sigh of relief and swiftly approached the door.

Using one hand, she turned the doorknob and opened the door, pointing her gun into the room, training it at eye level as she stepped inside.

On the bed, she could see the baby's mother, her hands and feet bound, laying on the bed. She peeked up at Caroline through her dark blonde hair with her bloodshot, terrified eyes. She whimpered desperately for help through the tape on her mouth. Above her, Franklin Graney stood with a gun trained to the back of the mother's head, still in his work uniform. His gloved hand was steady as he held the gun, looking perfectly calm.

Her heart stopped.

"I'll shoot her," the short, balding man told her as Caroline took careful steps toward him. His dark eyes watched her, his finger resting lightly on the trigger.

"No, you won't, Franklin," she replied slowly, her voice steady and calm. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't force an ounce of kindness in her tone. She had absolutely no sympathy for him.

"Yes, I will."

The unsub's voice was strong, confident. There was no doubt in her mind he'd do it. And she knew exactly what to say.

"If you hurt her, I'll kill you. I'll just say we caught a low-life burglar. You didn't turn out to be Tommy after all."

Graney's face shifted in fear. He blinked like he was trying to ward off tears and she knew she had his attention. She had figured out his worst fear—being forgotten.

"You will remain uncaught," she continued, not missing a beat. "After a while, people will forget about you. You'll be nothing. Maybe once every 5 or 10 years, they'll do a TV show and they'll ask, 'Whatever happened to that Tommy guy? Why'd he disappear?' Then they'll stop talking about you altogether."

The unsub glanced down at the terrified woman in front of him. His eyes were glistening.

"Put the gun down. Come on. Walk out of here with me," she said. "I'll make sure your face is splashed across every newspaper and TV in the country. Tommy Killer: Franklin Graney." She willed calm to her veins, her heart. "Everyone will see you then. Bundy, Dahmer, Graney. The whole world will know who you are. It's up to you, Franklin. You can be famous, or you can be invisible."

The unsub's lip quivered. His voice was shaky, tearful as he whispered, "You'll tell everyone?"

"I have a media specialist outside right now. It is your choice."

"You promise?"

She felt the bile rise in her throats, but she shoved it back down. She managed a nod. "Yes, sir. I promise."

For a split second, everything was absolutely silent. She couldn't even hear the birds' song from outside the window anymore or the hostage's whimpers. All noise around her seemed to stop, like the world had just stopped rotating.

The unsub stared at her as he deliberated, his wide eyes flickering from her solemn face to the woman in front of him. He avoided looking at the gun she had leveled at his chest. He repeated the action a couple more times before slowly resting the gun on the bedspread besides the hostage and placing his hands on the back of his head, taking a step away from the woman in surrender.

"Back away from the gun," she told him, her weapon still aimed for his chest. He took a couple more steps away from the bed, his back pressing against the wall.

From behind her, she heard the scuffling footsteps of her reinforcements enter the bedroom. She didn't even bother to look behind her to know they had arrived.

Hotch brushed by her and latched onto Graney, grabbing his arms by his wrists and pulling them forcibly down behind his back. The unsub flinched, but didn't complain. His eyes were locked onto Caroline's, staring at her with complete and absolute excitement.

A shiver went down her spine. He thought he was going to be revered for what he had done. He thought he was going to be a legend. It made her sick.

Even when Hotch and Gideon hauled him out of the room, she could still feel the Tommy Killer's eyes on her, that sick excitement chilling her bones.

As soon as Graney had cleared the room, she holstered her gun to her hip as Elle moved to the front of the bed to begin untying the young woman's legs. Caroline leaned down and carefully peeled the tape off the woman's mouth.

Her muffled cries became full-fledged sobs. "Where's my baby? My baby!"

"He's fine," Elle assured her, gently patting her legs as she squirmed, trying to free herself. "He's just fine."

Caroline carefully got on her knees in front of the woman, both of them on eye-level. The mother's tears rolled down her cheeks like streams and she tentatively reached out and touched the woman's soft blonde hair.

"Shh," she whispered soothingly as she began to stroke the woman's hair as she sobbed. "You're okay. You're going to be okay."

"Thank you," the woman said as she buried her head in the comforter, her whole body shaking. "Thank you."

As Caroline held the crying woman, something caused her to glance up at the window. She peered outside, and on the black telephone lines was a single bird—a black-headed grosbeak like the one before. She could hear its chirping from outside and she closed her eyes, gently resting her head against the woman's hair.

And for once in her whole life, Caroline let her walls down and let herself feel again.

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Caroline sat quietly on the plane, her arms wrapped around her shoulders as she stared out the small, oval window beside her. Outside, the sun had turned into a brilliant orange orb sinking into the pink and yellow sky. She relaxed into her leather seat, marveling at the beautiful sunset.

Beside her, Reid sat with Gideon across from each him with a chest board on the polished wood table in between them. She had watched their chess game for a while before she had gotten bored of watching Gideon silently and graciously win every match. In their current game, she didn't bother to check the board to see who was in the lead.

The rest of the plane was silent, preoccupied in their own endeavors. Caroline laid her head back against her seat and closed her eyes, allowing herself to drift with the soft oranges and yellows and pinks that bled into the sky outside.

Just as she was about to lull herself to sleep, she heard Gideon say, "Oh, I almost forgot!"

Caroline opened her eyes lazily, peeking over at the profiler curiously. He reached inside his leather bag resting beside him in the other chair and pulled out a small, gift-wrapped box. Wrapped around the present was a thin red ribbon tied sloppily into a messy bow on top. He extended the gift towards Spencer, who stared at it like Gideon was offering him a man-eating animal.

"This is for you," Gideon told him as she shifted in her seat to face them. "I forgot to give it to you at the party."

Both Reid and Caroline exchanged a look, raising their eyebrows quizzically at each other. This was a first.

As Spencer carefully took the present from Gideon's outstretched hands, he smiled nervously, "But you don't give birthday presents."

Gideon shrugged. Caroline curiously leaned over Reid's shoulder as he untied the ribbon and peeled back the blue wrapping paper. She wondered what Gideon could've possibly gotten him. Like Reid had mentioned earlier, he didn't give birthday presents. This had to be the first time she had seen Gideon give someone a gift—ever.

Underneath the wrapping was a rectangular yellow box. He carefully lifted the lid off and stared at the gift inside. Caroline peered over his shoulder and frowned at the present, confused.

"Wow," Reid said as he examined the red and yellow football tickets. "The Redskins."

"It's a VIP box," Gideon replied, a small smile on his lips. She sat back in her seat, chewing on her lip as she thought. Redskins tickets? She had never seen Spencer Reid watch a football game in the time that she had known him. It didn't make much sense as to why Gideon would get him tickets—expensive tickets—to a game with one of the greatest football teams in the nation.

Spencer smiled sincerely, pulling out the glossy tickets from the box. "Thank you so much."

"Ever been to a pro-football game?" Gideon asked the young man, watching the confusion plastered on his face as Reid examined the tickets. He glanced over at her and fanned the tickets out, showing them to her. Besides being confused, he looked fairly excited otherwise. She nodded and forced a small smile, trying to be supportive.

"No, I honestly didn't even know this was football," Reid admitted, chuckling.

Gideon grinned, "You're gonna love it."

"We are. You're coming with me, right?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "Someone else on the plane is a huge skins fan."

Spencer frowned. "Who?"

Gideon smiled and glanced over at Caroline. "The only person in the world who calls you Spence.

Her eyes widened as she felt the hot blush creep on her face. Luckily for her, Spencer didn't seem to notice. She felt a full army of butterflies erupt in her stomach.

"JJ?" Reid asked, an adorably dorky grin lighting up his face.

She felt her heart sink into her stomach like a rock, chasing away all the butterflies.

JJ?

"Wh—what should I say?" He mumbled nervously, more to himself than to anyone else. Neither Caroline nor Gideon answered, they were too busy staring at one another to respond.

Spencer nodded, as if taking their silence as an answer, and shook off his nerves. He slipped the tickets into his blue-and-yellow checkered shirt pocket as he stood from his seat. Caroline didn't watch as he moved to the back of the plane where JJ was sitting, doing paperwork.

She bit her lip and looked down at her hands, refusing to let herself think about what just happened—what was happening. She should be happy for him. Reid was finally asking someone out, and JJ was great. They'd be great together.

But despite how many times she told herself that, she couldn't shake the thick burn of tears she felt in the back of her throat.

"I meant those for you," she heard Gideon say as she stared at her pale clasped hands in her lap. Her head rose slowly. "The tickets. I hoped he would ask you."

It was silent. She was trying to think of what to say, how she felt. But she was pulling a blank.

Instead, all she could think of was, "How did you know I liked the Redskins?"

"Same way I know how the only thing you know how to cook is spaghetti and lasagna and you listen to 80s hits during your morning run," Gideon chuckled, as he leaned forward and tipped his black king down in the board. One more move and Reid would've checkmated him. He would've won for a change. "Spencer told me. He talks about you a lot, you know?"

She avoided his analyzing stare. "So? We're just friends."

"Maybe. But who else in your life would've noticed you bite your lip when you're nervous?"

Caroline swallowed and carefully slipped her bottom lip from underneath her teeth. She had been biting into it so hard that her lip ached in relief. She didn't even know she had been doing it.

Reid noticed that?

"You were right before," he said as she turned his head to look out at the brilliant sun setting outside. "Your life is none of my business. But what you went through today, what you had to do, was hard. You remained objective and didn't let yourself be ruled by your emotions. Given your past, it was impressive."

"Are you saying this as my boss?"

A small, sad smiled crept up on his face, "Whatever works for you, I suppose. A friend, an unbiased third party."

"So let's say you were talking to me as a friend," she said, her voice sounding thick and small. "What would you tell me to do?"

"I'd tell you that boy doesn't see you as just a friend. And based on your reaction, I think you feel the same."

She took a deep breath. She didn't know what she felt anymore. Everything just seemed so...complicated.

"I miss them," she whispered as she let her eyes wander to the sun outside. It relaxed her, watching the bright colors begin to fade into the purple night.

"Miss who?"

"Them. My parents, my little brother." She paused to swallow back the lump forming in her throat. "It's like whenever I think of them, I can't think or move or breathe. I'm paralyzed. Nothing is going to be able to fix that, Gideon."

"You're right. There is no way to erase what happened. To get back your family, your childhood," Gideon admitted, his tone calm and objective.

Caroline sighed and rested her head against the window. Her head was pounding, the pain thumping against her skull like a sledgehammer. She could feel her insides festering, almost like she was overheating from the inside out. Her hands immediately went to the skin on her arm and she poked at the pale membrane, expecting it to peel away like a rotting hide off a dead animal. It didn't.

Suddenly, His hands were in her hair, on her body. She could feel the gentle, possessive caress of His fingertips rolling down her check that made her stomach do a nauseating flip. She shuddered and recoiled back into her chair. She hugged her arms around her body, suddenly very cold.

"How do I make it stop?" She asked him softly, squeezing her eyes shut, hoping the memories would pass. "The memories, the pain?"

She felt a something cool touch her hand and she peeked an eye open to see Gideon's hand resting on hers. His eyes were comforting, sympathetic.

"I'm afraid it'll never stop," he admitted regretfully. "But one day, you'll look back on that time in your life and it won't hurt as much. It might take a while, but it will get better."

She sniffled, trying her best to keep herself together. She wiped under her red-rimmed eyes for the tears that weren't falling. She steadied her breath.

"So what does any of this have to do about Spencer, again?"

Gideon chuckled and leaned back in his chair, pulling his hand off hers. "I assume he doesn't know."

She nodded. "I've thought about it, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it."

"I understand," said Gideon. "But I've seen the way he looks at you, Caroline. Your past won't affect that."

She ran a hand through her hair and teased the blonde strands with her fingers. She didn't know what to think. If what Gideon was saying was true...

Was it possible for her to have a future with Spencer? It seemed too good to be true.

"You know," Caroline said with a small smile on her face, "you're not the hard-ass everyone claims you are."

"Well, Ms. Lucas, there's a lot of things I think you still have to learn."

She laughed softly, "I think you're right."

As the jet streaked through the orange and pink sky, Caroline rested her head against the back of her chair and lulled herself to sleep with the hum of the plane engine.

And as she slept, her dreams, for once, weren't plagued with memories of the past.

A/N: Hope you guys liked the chapter! Let me know what you think!

Also, I've been feeling really inspired lately and I've been able to write a lot of chapters for White Noise. I've been thinking about updating my posting schedule to twice a week instead of once a week. Let me know what you think!

Don't forget to vote and comment!