" Other things may change us, but we start and end with family."

— Anthony Brandt

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7.2 ; FAMILY.

         "HE'S BEEN LOOKING AT those pictures all morning," Elle murmured suspiciously as she watched Gideon mull in deep concentration over the evidence board in the bullpen. Caroline sat at her desk, tapping a random, discarded pen from her drawers against the wood top quietly, as she stared at Gideon's turned back.

Last night, Caroline barely got any sleep. Her thoughts kept going to Spencer and the case, Spencer and the case, like an endless, taunting cycle, driving her insane. She couldn't sleep because she knew that, while she was asleep, some poor innocent family was being stalked by this bastard. She couldn't stand it and she couldn't close her eyes knowing that a family was out there was with him.

Whenever her mind wasn't on the case, it wandered to Spencer and their embrace outside of the interrogation room yesterday. She had been avoiding him like the plague all morning, acting like a nervous wreck. There was so much he didn't understand and she knew he would have questions, questions she wouldn't be able to answer.

Then, there was the weight that sat on her conscious like a rock, pressing against her temples. She couldn't ignore it anymore if she spoke to Reid, she would be forced to acknowledge that she had feelings for him, ones that she worried wouldn't be reciprocated. They were such good friends, best friends, in fact, that she wasn't sure if Spencer could even think of her beyond that. And even if by some miracle the beautiful boy she works with did have any feelings for her, she knew that, deep down, she was too damaged, too worthless, to ever be with someone like Reid. She would destroy him like she destroys everything else and she couldn't do that to him.

"Well, I sure hope he sees a connection, 'cause I've checked doctors, lawyers, travel agents, tutors, contract workers," Derek sighed, "I got nothin'."

"Why target those families?" Elle inquired.

"Well," Caroline stated, "to know that, we have to know how."

Instinctually, she glanced up from her desk, feeling a pair of eyes trained on her. Her crystal blue eyes met with Reid's dark brown and she swallowed. Finally able to capture her attention, he frowned and mouthed, "You okay?"

She didn't respond. She avoided his gaze by twisting her body to face Derek, who sat across from her in the bullpen. She used her hair to create a shield between the two of them so she wouldn't be distracted.

"Alright. We know organized killed are often skilled workers with above average intelligence," Derek stated as he began to count of facts, details, "and in most cases, male. In the workplace, he's socially confident. And with women, sexually confident."

"To him, targeting the victim is almost as pleasurable as the actual kill. He's meticulous. Everything has to have its proper place. He does exhaustive amounts of research on his victims. He watches their every move, every last detail is observed. Everything has to be written ever so neatly in a book or possibly a journal. Like, when the kids are comin' home from school and when daddy'll be home. Playtime. Suppertime. Bath time. Bedtime. Plan the work...work the plan."

"This is the way he maintains control. It's also how he personalities his target...so nothing's left to chance and absolutely nothing is left out of place. Ever. He takes great pride in his job."

Caroline leaned forward, placing her elbows on her knees and her face in the palms of her hands. "So the workplace has to be the connection."

As her mind began to wrack countless possibilities—places, people, things—Gideon and Hotch walked over the the group of profilers. Hotch rested his back against the divider between Caroline and Spencer as Gideon stood in front of the cluster of desks, holding up two paintings. One was the colorful photo they had recovered from Frank's house. The other was a black and white child's painting with the same setup: a nice house with a mom, a dad, 2 children and a small dog standing out from it. Judging by the names scrawled on the bottom left hand corner of the papers, they were both paintings by Emily Crawford.

"Both are by Emily, painted months apart." Gideon presented the colorful to them first, showing the easygoing brushstrokes of a child. "This one...is full of color, life." He then held up the black and white picture. "The one I found at Emily's House has lines, dimensions. No color. I believe Emily was coerced to paint this. It's a point of view. It's his point of view. This is where the killed stood and just watched the family."

The sound of something metal rattled against Caroline's desk and she whirled, startled, to Hotch, dropping his wedding ring on her desk, the gold band twirled as it lost its momentum, circling with a metallic clinging sound. After a moment, Hotch reaches down and picked it up gently, slipping the ring back on his left ring finger.

"Each of the dead husbands was missing his wedding ring," Hotch said, staring at his wedding band, "This is the unsub's trophy. He targets a family because he lost his own, and for a few days, he gets to play daddy."

"And he can do whatever he wants because no one's going to come looking because they're supposed to be on vacation," Caroline whispered, shaking her head in horrific disbelief. All the things he did to torture those poor families...he had all the time in the world.

And yet, he forced the children to paint. Caroline's brow furrowed in thought as the conversation continued.

"Let's get forensics to check the inside of Chris Crawford's clothing," Gideon said. "The suspect may have worn the father's clothes to complete the fantasy."

Elle sighed, "So, why kill them?"

"Because," Gideon replied, "the fantasy can't last."

"Do we know anything that actually helps us identify this bastard?" Elle demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Maybe," Caroline whispered so softly she as surprised anyone heard her.

Agent Greenaway's head swiveled toward her, curious. "What?"

The young profiler slowly rose out of her chair and approached Gideon, her eyes locked on the paintings. She was well-aware of everyone's eyes on her, stalking her every move. They waited patiently as her mind began to connect pieces of the profile.

The unsub has to be close to the families in order to know their schedule. He gets to know them, plans out everything, and yet, in the amount of time he has to play his fantasy, he makes the children draw a picture. Both Emily and Ty Miller had paintings before their demise. What was significant about them that unsub felt compelled to have them?

Then everything clicked.

"Family therapists," she murmured, glancing up at Gideon with wide eyes. "They often use children's paintings to assess the family unit."

"Okay..." Derek said complacently, raising his eyebrow at her. "So?"

"That's the connection. The paintings. Both of the families were in therapy of some kind. The unsub has to work with family therapy."

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

          "We gotta stop meeting like this, guys. People will talk," Garcia commented as Reid and Caroline entered her 'office of mystery'. "But then again, talk is cheap."

"Not when you're talking to a therapist." Caroline winked at the technical analyst playfully, which Penelope giggled at. "Whatcha got for us, PG?"

As Garcia pulled up the results from her latest research, Caroline found herself studying the tech room. It had been a while since she had been in here last, and most of it was still the same. The wall of computer screens and TVs hanging above the desk, the mound of backup drives and motherboards piled in the back corner, and the rows upon rows of cute, bright stuffed animals on the desk were all too familiar to her. She loved to come in Garcia's office after work, especially a bad case, and relax in the bright atmosphere the technical analyst had created for herself.

"The Crawfords made 12 weekly payments to the Applewood Family Medical Center," Garcia reported brightly, waving her fluffy, sparkly pink pen in the air absentmindedly.

From behind her, Reid awkwardly cleared his throat, "What about the Millers?"

Garcia squinted her eyes at the screen and shook her head. "Nope, nothin' here."

Caroline didn't say a word as Reid brushed past her to stand beside Garcia sitting at her desk. He didn't glance her way and she felt the term "cold shoulder" applied properly in this situation.

It hadn't been her choice to pair up with Reid and created this inevitably awkward situation, but it had been Gideon's. It was almost as if the older man knew what happened and wanted to torture them more.

But she couldn't focus on Reid right now. She had a case, and that came first.

"How about pharmaceuticals?" Spencer inquired, "Nobody gets therapy these days without a healthy dose of medication."

Garcia's hands flew stealthily over the keyboard as she grinned. "What are you implying, Reid?"

"That everyone is medicated."

Suddenly, Garcia paused her typing to look up at him, her grin becoming even wider. "Did you just make a joke?"

He frowned, confused. "No. I meant statistics. They—they show that—"

Caroline giggled from the other side of Garcia. "Reid, next time, just say yes."

Reid glanced up at her, their eyes catching. She paused, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. His stare was so...intense. She would give anything to be able to read his mind, but since that wasn't in the realm of possibility, she simply smiled at him. After a moment, the tension passed, and he gave her a small, timid smile in response.

"Medication normally requires reimbursement from the HMO," Garcia prattled on as she typed away on her keyboard, oblivious to Caroline and Reid's moment, "and since Reese Miller works for the government like you and I, we share the same health care provider—"

"Wait, are you—are you hacking into the government's HMO database?" Reid asked her, the concern on his face evident. "Is that legal?"

"'Course not," she replied calmly, "we'll all go to prison and you, Reid, will be someone's bitch."

Caroline clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling the laughter that threatened to come out. Reid, on the other hand, didn't appreciate Garcia's joke quite as much.

"Really?"

The computer beeped as the results for Garcia's search popped up. She scanned the screen and sighed, "Oh, right there. Good call, Reid. Mrs. Reese Miller—Diazepam."

A high-brand anxiety medication. She definitely needed a prescription to be carrying that around.

Caroline leaned over Garcia's shoulder to get a better look at the results. "Who prescribed the meds?"

"Dr. R. Howard at the Applewood Family Center. Let's find out what he looks like, shall we?"

A couple strokes over her keyboard and Garcia pulled up an image of Dr. Howard and—oh. It was definitely not what Caroline was expecting.

Dr. Howard was everything Frank described—dark red hair, short, really tiny. The only outstanding difference was Dr. Howard wasn't a he, but a she.

Caroline and Reid exchanged a glance and she knew what to do. Without saying a word, she silently pulled out her phone and hit Hotch's number on speed-dial. He answered on the second ring.

"Caroline, any news?"

"Oh, yeah. You up for a drive to Applewood Family Center?"

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       Caroline stood in Dr. Rachel Howard's office anxiously. It was an inviting room with soft, colorful play mats and pristinely-kept toys laying orderly on shelves and table where small children could reach their tiny hands. It also smelled of freshly baked cookies and sweet candy. It was a little child's dream room.

But Caroline knew better than to be fooled by looks.

Dr. Rachel Howard stood in front of the small group of FBI profilers (Hotch and Gideon had chosen her and Derek this time around) with a dissatisfied look on her aged face. She could tell the doctor wasn't happy about having to end her session with one of her clients early to see them.

"Can I help you?" She asked them, her soft, grandmotherly voice filled with forced politeness.

Gideon stepped forward and extended a hand to the doctor, who shook it cautiously. He presented his badge. "Jason Gideon. Behavioral analysis. These are my colleagues—SSA Hotchner, Lucas and Morgan."

"Hm," Dr. Howard remarked, "we both deal with the dysfunctional. Happily, in my line of work, the end results aren't quite as unpleasant as yours."

"Unless you're the Crawford family or the Miller," Hotch said. "You knew them both."

Dr. Howard frowned. "Yes. I knew them. But..."

"Ma'am," Caroline's voice was soft, but instructive, "I think you need to sit down."

"Why?"

"Because we have to consider you a suspect in their murders."

The red-headed doctor jumped, clearly taken aback. "What? Me? "

Derek nodded. "We're gonna have to check your alibi."

Dr. Howard slowly sat down in her desk chair, rubbing her temples. "Dig all you want. I have 4 teenagers. If I had any time to myself, it wouldn't be spent killing my clients."

"You worked with both families?" Caroline asked her as her eyes roamed around the room at the scattered paintings on the wall. Most of them were childlike—most likely done by the therapist's clients.

"I assessed their cases," Dr. Howard replied, sighing, "This office deals with hundreds of families—military, cops, lawyers, congressmen, feds. I only met the Crawfords and Reese Miller once."

"But you prescribed medication for them?" Hotch inquired.

"I'm the only medical doctor here."

"Who'd you hand the cases over to?"

She paused as she thought. "Uh, I'll have to check my files."

The doctor turned to the metal filing cabinet on her left, rummaging through the drawers as she searched for the file.

Derek frowned as he watched the doctor. "You don't use a computer?"

"Not all of us have embraced the technical revolution. I keep everything filed. It makes me feel more in control." She cast a warning glance over at Gideon and Hotch, signaling that she knew who was in charge. "And please...do not read into that."

After a moment, Dr. Howard pulled out a Manila folder labeled The Crawfords and opened it, scanning the pages. "Karl Arnold dealt with their case."

Caroline sucked in a breath. The horrified feeling she felt when she first heard about the case started to creep back in, hovering over her.

"We'd like to speak to him now," stated Gideon, leaving no room for mistake.

Dr. Howard sighed. "Well, you can't. He works a 4/40—4 10 hour days. He's off today, but he'll be in first thing tomorrow."

"Do you have his home address?"

Dr. Howard paused for a moment, thinking, before leaning over her desk and beginning to scrawl put his address on a random slip of paper sitting on her desk. When she finished, she handed the slip to Derek, who was closest to her.

"I'll get a team out to his house right now," Derek said as he headed out of the room, already dialing numbers furiously in his phone with Hotch following him.

Gideon turned to Dr. Howard. "In the meantime, we'd like to see Karl's office."

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       The team of profilers swiftly followed Dr. Howard through the therapy center. Behind her, she could hear Derek snapping the lid on his phone shut in agitation.

"The suspect isn't answering his voicemail," he reported, clearly irritated. Caroline bit her lip. If Karl was the unsub, he probably already had another family in his grasp by now.

The doctor turned to Gideon and Caroline beside her, a small, confused look plastered on her face. "Karl's a good man."

"That's what everyone says until they find a body in the basement," Derek quipped as they approached a small wood door at the end of the hall. The plaque hanging on the door read, Karl Arnold.

Gideon leaned forward and turned the knob. It didn't open.

"It's locked," he said to the small doctor.

She nodded anxiously. "I'll get security."

Caroline shook her head. "No, we don't have time for that."

She took a deep breath and, before she could second guess what she was doing, she lifted up her leg and sent one swift, strong kick to the center of the door. She heard the sound of the locks snapping as the door swung open. That was another thing she loved about her high heels—not just their fashion sense, but their incredible usefulness in applying pressure.

The profilers wasted no time walking into the office, observing. Karl's place was different than Dr. Howard's. Not only was it smaller, but it looked more like an adult's room than a child's. There were no bright colors or toys anywhere in the small room. Everything was layered in unimaginative tones—beige, white and brown. The only evidence that children had ever been here was the numerous multi-colored children's paintings framed above the small desk. She froze.

Dr. Howard stopped in the doorway and frowned at the locks that Caroline had destroyed. "Someone will have to pay for that."

"Karl Arnold will," Hotch muttered as he investigated the bookcase, filled with numerous volumes of child therapy and behavior.

Caroline's eyes were locked on the paintings, her heart pounding in her chest. In and of itself, the scene looked non-threatening. But to her, she saw every little detail. The framed paintings were spotless, like they were taken care of regularly. The way they were hung on the wall, angled toward the desk, suggests the paintings would envelop Karl as he sat at his desk. It clearly showed his obsession.

All the people he's killed...

She swallowed and cleared her throat. "Gideon."

The older profiler turned and stared at the paintings, seeing what she saw. He turned to Dr. Howard. "Where is Karl now?"

The doctor shook her head slowly, her hand covering her mouth in horror. "I can't believe Karl would..."

"Where is he?" Gideon repeated, more demanding this time.

"I don't know," Dr. Howard whispered. "If he's not at home, maybe he's gone to see his family."

"He's married?"

She nodded. "With 2 children—Karl Jr. and Sarah."

Caroline bit her lip, running a hand through her hair. Two children—a boy and a girl—just like the Crawfords and the Millers.

"How long ago did the marriage collapse?" Gideon asked.

Dr. Howard stared at the older profile with a blank expression. "About...about 5 years ago. It wasn't a good time for Karl. He—he took some time off work. He couldn't concentrate. He started...drinking." The doctor shook her head victoriously. "I can't bel—maybe you've got it wrong. I would've seen—" Slowly, Dr. Howard covered her mouth as her face drained of all color. She knew. "Oh, my God. I feel sick."

"Where does Karl's family live?"

"She took the kids and moved to Idaho."

Derek, who had stepped out earlier to answer a phone call, came back in the room, clutching his phone in his hand. "They just raided Karl's home. He's not there."

Ice ran through her veins. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had another family.

He was going to kill again.

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           Caroline's slim fingers flipped through files sloppily as she rushed, leafing through countless amounts of paper. Her panic was bubbling up inside of her, boiling under her skin. What if they couldn't find the family Karl was with right now? What if they never find Karl ever? This son a bitch would have free reign over any family in the country. She couldn't let that happen.

She may not be able to stop her family's killer, but she can sure as hell stop Karl Arnold.

"Hotch," Derek groaned as he flipped through another stack of files, "there's gotta be hundreds of families here."

"Then we'll send an agent to every last one of them if we have to," Hotch replied as he laid down a file to pick up another one.

They had been going through all of Karl's for a while with no good leads. Derek was right—there were hundreds of families. There would be no way to get through them all in time.

Except Karl wasn't killing randomly. He was killing surrogate families.

"Karl Arnold—he has a boy and a girl, just like the Crawfords and the Millers," Caroline suggested. "Target family could be the same."

Everyone nodded in agreement and began tossing out the files that didn't fit the profile, which cut down the enormous stack of files to about half—which still wasn't enough. Caroline sighed in frustration.

"How could I not have seen it?" Dr. Howard murmured as she stared at the file clutched in her hands. The look on her face immediately conveyed her guilt.

"Because he's that good," Derek replied. "If he wasn't, we would have caught him sooner."

Dr. Howard nodded but didn't seem at all comforted. Gideon, standing by Karl's desk, rummaging through his things, looked up.

"Does he have a journal?" Gideon asked the distraught doctor.

She nodded. "He writes everything down, takes it everywhere."

"It's likely he also collects trophies," the older profiler added. "If they're not in his house, they're right here, hidden in this room."

Dr. Howard looked over at Caroline, raising an eyebrow. "What does he mean by trophies?"

Before she could say a word, Gideon answered, "From the families he killed. If he doesn't confess, we'll need 'em as evidence."

Hotch held a few files in his hands, clasping onto them. "I have a few. The Harrises, the Boyds, the Dunkens—"

"Wait!" Dr. Howard cried out, abruptly standing up. "The Dunkens. That's not one of his cases. That's mine." Caroline could see the tears in her eyes. "They have a baby boy and an introverted 8-year-old named Jackie."

Gideon reaches over on Karl's desk and held up and blue and green water-color painting of a house, with similar set-up to Emily Crawford's painting. Caroline felt a sick tug at her stomach.

"Jackie's work?" Gideon asked.

Dr. Howard began to sob. "He took it from my office."

"Were they planning a trip?"

"To—to the Adirondacks."

That was all they needed to here. The Dunkens were prime victims for Karl. He had them.

"You two, go!" Gideon commanded Caroline and Derek. The two profilers shot up and immediately went into professional mode, calm and cool, despite the fact that she could swear she was losing her mind. Gideon turned to Hotch. "Hotch, tear up the room. Find his trophies!"

And she didn't stop to see if Hotch was listening. Her heart was racing in her chest. For once in a case, fear overwhelmed her, smothering her.

She knew what is was like for those families to be there, sitting with him, eating with him. Constantly on edge, terrified out of their minds. She was one of those families, before they were killed. She couldn't let what happened to her happen to another family.

She just couldn't.

She joined the BAU to catch killers like her family's murderer, people like Karl Arnold. If she couldn't save the next family, everything she ever did—joining the BAU, all the cases and the killers she encountered—would mean nothing.

So she whirled on her heels and sprinted as fast as she could take her to the car to save the Dunkens and the justice for those families that Karl Arnold murdered in cold blood.

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

         Caroline's heart pounded so hard in her chest she could feel it in her ears. She waited impatiently beside Derek outside the Dunkens' house, waiting for the all clear from the SWAT team as they hid in the tall, thorny bushes in the backyard. Her clammy hands clutched onto her gun so tightly, if she jumped, she'd pull the trigger and shoot out a window. Her hands were shaking. She knew if she had to take a shot, she'd be useless. Her nerves were on a wire so thin, she couldn't focus. All she had now was the profile and her skills.

She wasn't sure if that was enough.

The SWAT leader looked up from the scope peering into the house and nodded, "There's 3 adults and 2 children. Moving in now."

Suddenly, it was as if time sped up, whirling out of control. Derek was hunched beside her and they crept before the SWAT team. Caroline was vaguely aware that as she approached the back door, she was stepping over the dead family dog, but she pushed that thought out of her mind. The family came first.

The SWAT team didn't hesitate to slam in the doors. The glass underneath their heavy-soled boots cracked from sheer force as the doors flew up. The men flooded in the dining room and Caroline paused, allowing herself to assess the situation.

In the corner, Mr. Dunken was bound and gagged in a chair. At the dining table, Mrs. Dunken was gripping onto her daughter, Jackie, sobbing.

"He's got my baby!" She wailed at them. "My baby!"

"Ma'am, where did he go?" Derek asked her calmly. Caroline's heart lurched.

"The—the basement. Oh God, please, he's just a baby!"

Caroline didn't hesitate. She tore through the armed officers trying to usher out the distraught family. Derek followed in suit behind her, covering her back. Suddenly, the house went pitch black. He cut the power.

"That son of a bitch," Caroline hissed as she clicked her flashlight to life.

She quietly creeped towards the stairs, eyeing the basement door. She shined her flashlight on the handle, nodding towards Derek. He carefully turned the knob and opened the door quietly. They both slipped inside the basement with the trained calm that takes years to master.

She couldn't see a thing in the basement. Derek shined his light on the stairs, lighting their path, as Caroline made wide, sweeping views, trying to see if she could spot Karl. The stairs creaked underneath their weight. Her heart was no longer pounding. It was slowing down, quieting. Her hands still trembled a little, but not from fear. From anger.

This son of a bitch murdered innocent little children. Children who can't defend themselves. And now, he runs and hides like a coward. Pathetic.

"Karl?" Derek announced into the dark as they surpassed the last step down into the basement, standing on the concrete floor. "Karl, it's the FBI."

There was no response. Nothing except a heavy breathing coming from the corner of the room. Caroline turned her head and in the faint glow of the flashlights, he nodded in reassurance, letting her know that he had her back.

As she walked towards the sound of the shallowing breathing, her head began to throb in anticipation. The overwhelming power of her adrenaline rush was blocking everything else out—her anxiety, her memories, her feelings. There was nothing but her and the unsub.

When they reached the back of the basement, Caroline shined her light in between and stack of boxes a glint of red hair flashed back at her.

In the faint light, Karl's pale face looked sunken and sick. His red hair glinted a mean, dangerous shade against the bright light. The eerie lighting cast a reflection in his wide blue eyes. God, his eyes were so wide—so manic and wired. They darted from her to Derek and back to her again. Karl smiled.

And cradled in his arms, Caroline could see the baby, wrapped in a small blue blanket. She sucked in a breath through her teeth.

"Karl," she whispered, so soft, so caring, she sounded like a mother speaking to her child. She couldn't frighten him or startle him in anyway, not when he had the baby. "Why don't you give me the baby?"

Karl's eye's snapped to her, his movement jostling the sleeping baby. The poor thing abruptly awoke and began to screaming, crying. Karl stared down at the baby lovingly, as if it were his own. Caroline repressed the urge to throw up.

"Karl, I want you to look at me," she told him calmly. The unsub's manic eyes gazed at her, panicked. She slowly lowered her gun, resting it at her hip. "I'm gonna put my gun away...and I want you to hand me that baby."

Derek tensed as Caroline slowly holstered her gun, careful not to make any sudden movement. Karl rose, the baby still crying, from the floor, his eyes never leaving Caroline. Morgan didn't take his aim off of his forehead.

She raised her arms invitingly, holding them out for the child. Karl took a step forward, revealing more of his face in Derek's flashlight. He looked absolutely sick with dark purple circles under his eyes and his wild, desperate expression. He gazed into her eyes and that's when she saw the shift. He realized he had been caught and he wasn't getting his "family" back.

"Hand me the baby," Caroline whispered soothingly.

And like that, the sound of her calm, even voice set him off. He tossed the baby up in the air, using the child as a distraction.

"No!" Caroline screamed, lunging forward to catch the falling baby. The child wailed as she caught his warm body in her soft arms, throwing her back into the wall in an effort to soften his landing. Her head throbbed as she stared down at the baby, tears streaming down its face, but otherwise unharmed. She pulled him close to her chest, guarding the baby.

As Caroline was preoccupied with the child, Karl had pulled out a kitchen knife from his back pocket and was trying to attack Derek, swinging the weapon wildly. Caroline shielded the baby by pressing its face gently in her shoulder, whispering soothing things in his ear as she watched Derek swiftly disarm Karl, pinning him against the wall in a chokehold. He kicked the knife away from Karl and tightened his grip on his throat. Karl let out a strangled gasp.

"You move," Derek growled, flexing his hand, "I will break your neck."

Caroline looked away from Karl and Derek to look down at the baby. She gently brushed her cool hand against his head, rocking him back and forth softly. He was so tiny, so innocent. He was only a few months older than Jack, she realized. A child.

"You're okay," she murmured to the wailing child, "You're gonna be okay. I got you."

Eventually, the baby stopped crying.

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

         "Caroline, are you sure you want to do this?" Hotch asked her as they stood outside the bullpen, waiting for Derek to arrive. "We can have someone else do the interview. I can, or Gideon can. You really don't have to do this."

She took a deep breath and turned to face Hotch, who was looking down at her with a concerned look on his face. She knew that look all too well.

"I want to do it," she told him, keeping her voice as calm as she could manage. To her relief, she sounded fairly normal. "Actually, I need to do it. I'll be okay, Hotch."

At least, she thought she would be.

When Gideon approached her when she returned to Quantico after Karl's arrest, he offered her the lead of Karl Arnold's interview. His reasoning had been experience and skill. Apparently, having your family murdered by a family annihilator, same as Karl, qualified her for the task. At first, she was hesitant about even being in the same room as that monster until she thought about the Crawfords and the Millers. She accepted the offer without a second thought, despite the churning in her stomach.

Currently, Derek was bringing Karl from processing to the conference room, where she had chosen to hold the interview. She would be doing this one solo—Hotch had to go back to Karl's office to try and find the missing wedding rings again. So she would be alone, facing her worse nightmare, all over again.

JJ stepped out of the conference room to stand with Caroline and Hotch, silent. Before she could speak to the blonde press liaison, she heard the ding of the lobby elevator and she knew that Karl was here.

Any coherent thought flew out of her head the moment Karl walked into the bullpen. Derek had him by the arm, dragging him along in handcuffs attached to both his wrists and ankles. The steel chains rattled as Karl limped along with an incredibly disgusting smirk on his face. The workers in the bullpen all gazed at him as he walked by, whispering and murmuring. Karl would stop every now and then to attempt flirting with a nearby woman, but Derek would only yank on his arm even harder until he had dragged him to the entrance of the conference room.

Karl eyed Caroline and by the way his eyes raked over her body, she felt the need to take a shower. Or two. He flashed her a wolffish grin as he recognized her from the Dunkens' house.

"How are you?" He purred. The only response he got from her was her hands on her hips, staring blankly at him. Beside her, Hotch balled up his fists like he was going to hit Karl Arnold, but he remained as still as Caroline.

Derek yanked on Karl's arm so hard, he tripped. He cast him a seething look as he growled, "Keep it moving."

Everyone watched as Derek dragged Karl into the conference room. Caroline waited until the door was good and shut before she turned to Gideon, who had been trailing behind Morgan.

"Did he say anything?" Caroline asked him.

He shook his head. "No."

She sighed and then glanced over at JJ. "Is there anyway we can tie him forensically to the other crimes?"

JJ scoffed, shaking her head indignantly. "Negative on foreign DNA. He must have washed Crawford's clothes."

Caroline rubbed her temples, her head starting to pound. "Then the only way this bastard is going to jail is a confession."

JJ paused and cast a concerned glance at her friend, sensing her distress. "Can you get one?"

"Did you do what I asked?"

"Yeah."

Caroline sighed as she turned to walk into the interrogation room where it would only be her and Karl, alone. The only person allowed besides them was Derek and she had instructed him with as little contact as possible. It truly was going to be just her and him.

"Then maybe."

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

         The moment Caroline stepped into the conference room, Karl's eyes locked into her, staring at her like she was a piece of meat. She ignored his stare as she calmly and quietly lowered herself into the seat across from him, placing the file in her arms down in front of her. She paused for a moment and glanced up at Derek, who was standing behind Karl in the shadows of the room. She double checked that the unsub was still in his handcuffs.

Not out of fear or anxiety, but something more empowering. To know that she was in control, despite what he said or did. He was the one in handcuffs, not her.

She leaned forward on the table, interlocking her fingers in front of her. "Emily Crawford was a very talented and gifted girl," she said as Karl's eyes started wandering aimlessly to the evidence boards behind her, covered with the pictures of the dead children he murdered, "Her brother, Sam, a bright, energetic child. You watched them from the yard for days, maybe even weeks. You learned everything about them, you studied their every move, and then you wrote it all down."

Karl pulled his eyes away on the board, his dark, beady eyes focusing back on Caroline. "May I have a glass of water?"

He sounded normal. Calm. Like any regular, boring man she would find on the street. It was almost as if she had half-expected him to breathe-fire or have fangs. But it wasn't his physical appearance that made him a monster.

"Something wrong?" She inquired.

"No, I'm just thirsty."

She looked over at Derek and nodded to him. "Water, please."

Derek turned to the water cooler behind him and slowly filled up a plastic cup with water. He walked over to the table and set the cup down in front of Karl with a scowl on his face.

He raised his shackles toward Morgan, rattling the long chains as he moved. "Could you removed my shackles? I'm clearly no threat to you."

"They stay on," Derek snapped before sliding back into the corner of the room, watching with keen, protective eyes.

Karl cleared his throat, adjusting the collar of his brown sweater vest in discomfort, clearly put-off by Derek's rejection. He craned his neck, a look of agitation passing over his face before it was replaced with the cool, confident one that Karl used when staring at Caroline.

"You chose families that reminded you of the one you lost," Caroline continued as Karl took a gentle sip of water. "You stalked them, you bound them, you terrorized them, and then you killed them...one by one."

Karl leaned back in his chair and smirked in response.

"We have your journals, Karl," she lied.

"It's my job...to write everything down," he sighed in exasperation, almost as if she were inconveniencing him. His tone was patronizing, like he was talking to a child. "To get to know them. I can't help them with their problems with knowing background. And I make home visits..." He paused, taking a deep breath. "Sometimes without their knowledge because people lie. You, of all people, should know that."

Caroline quietly reached over and held up two photos to Karl—one of the Millers and the other of the Crawfords. He raised an eyebrow and scoffed.

"Eric Miller was an awful husband and father," Karl said, shaking his head, "and Allison Crawford hemorrhaged money her husband didn't have. It can strain any marriage."

She set down the two photos and reached for the mahogany picture frame, laying face down on the table beside of her. She had asked Hotch to bring this one from Karl's office.

She held it out to him and he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. It was a picture of him family. His pretty blonde ex-wife and his two children stood an arm-length away from the Karl Arnold in the photo, clearly afraid. She stared at the photo, sighing.

"On the surface, this looks like any family, U.S.A. 2 parent household, 2 kids, boy and a girl," Caroline remarked. "But if you look a little closer, you'll see their body language tells a different story." She leaned forward, practically shoving the photo in Karl's face now. He carefully leaned back away from her with an unreadable expression. "The woman and children are distant from the man. Their smiles are stiff. Their eyes are frightened. Every hair is in place, wearing their Sunday best, their own private hell being memorialized on film."

Karl adjusted his collar a second time, his movements more jerky and uncontrollable. His eyes wandered back to the evidence boards behind her. She carefully set the picture down to study his expression. He seemed particularly focused on the crime scene photos of the children.

"Are you ok?" Caroline asked him, her eyes boring into his.

Look at me, you son of a bitch. Look at me.

A spasm ran through Karl's body, shaking his whole frame. His teeth clenched together as he muttered, "It isn't right."

"What isn't?"

"You've got the pictures mixed up!" Karl snapped at her, shouting out his agitation. "The one in the middle, that is Sam Crawford's foot, but it's under Ty Miller's!" Caroline slowly stood up from her and approached the evidence board. She carefully lifted the photo of the small, pale, bloodied foot of a young boy off of the board and held it in her hands. She brushed a hand of the photo, thinking of the poor children whose lives had been cut short.

"You need...to swap them," Karl instructed her, his anger only growing as she stood there, staring longingly at the photo. "You need to make it right."

Caroline held up the photo. "This one here?"

Karl Arnold seethed, "What the hell have I been trying to tell you?"

"You're right. They're switched," she whispered, holding the photo close to her chest. "That is Sam Crawford's foot with the Miller family, but how did you know that, Karl?"

Karl's face slowly drained of all his color once he realized what had happened. Caroline had told JJ to mix up the crime scene photos for a reason and she just got it. She got the confession they needed.

Caroline watched as Derek escorted Karl out of the room, the same blank disbelief plastered all over his face. She expected to feel some kind of accomplishment, some sort of victory, but instead she felt empty. She carefully took the photo's of Ty Miller's foot and Sam Crawford's and switched them, closing her eyes gently.

Now, they found their justice.

Now, Karl Arnold could no longer hurt them.

➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴ ➴

         Later that evening, the entirety of the BAU sat around the same conference room table where Karl Arnold gave his confession of murdering innocent families. When she asked him how he did it, he would smile and say he forced the father to watch as he slaughtered his wife and children. He said they weren't strong. Wives wither. Children perish.

Because they weren't a good father like Karl was.

Hotch stood at the head of the table, holding a small wood box. Without any fanfare, he slowly lifted open the lid and dumped the contents of the box into his hand and rested them on the table. Caroline froze as the room went completely silent, not even a breath could be heard.

She counted. Then she counted again. She began to think her mind was playing tricks on her, that she was going insane, but after she counted for the tenth time, she knew it was true.

On the table were 8 gold wedding bands, each one a trophy from a family Karl Arnold had slaughtered.

Caroline felt a tug in her stomach, feeling the sudden urge to throw up. She felt the hot sting of tears in her eyes.

8 families...all those children.

Caroline shot up from her chair, kicking it away from her. She stormed out of the room, keeping her face down as she felt her body go out of control, shaking uncontrollably. She didn't stop to see if anyone was watching or if anyone was following.

She just left.

It was too much. Everything was too much. She could feel everything. The anger, the hatred, the fear. The sadness. The loneliness.

The emptiness.

Everything that she had worked so hard to repress bubbled to the surface—memories and emotions alike. Her brother had suffered the same fate as Sam Crawford and Ty Miller and she had to watch. She watched the life leave her little brother's eyes as she was powerless to stop it.

Her father's last words had been begging for his children's lives. She never got to tell him how much she loved him or how proud she was to be able to call him her father. The last thing he ever heard was her screaming for him. He hadn't been weak. She was.

And her mother. Her mother, whose absence left an empty, aching feeling in her heart that could never be replaced, no matter how hard she tried. Her mother had sobbed when she learned of her husband and son's deaths. They were broken, heart-wrenching sobs. She had left Caroline alone in this world, broken and terrified.

Caroline covered her mouth as she let out a strangled sob. Her body, like it knew it was withering, knew she was losing it, was shaking with uncontrollable spasms, the sobs wracking her body. And yet, no tears came. Just body-shattering sobs.

She felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist, warm and comforting. She struggled to breathe. She could feel herself being guided, but she couldn't tell if her legs were moving or not. Her whole body just felt numb besides the searing pain coursing through her body.

"I can't...I can't," she gasped to the person holding her tightly, "Please...I can't...b-breathe."

"I know," Hotch's voice was at her ear, soft and level. "I know, Caroline. I got you, I got you."

And the moment Hotch was able to slip them inside his office, closing the door and drawing down the blinds, her knees gave out from under her and she felt Hotch's arms reach out and catch her, grabbing her before her head could hit the ground.

"It's okay," Hotch murmured to her soothingly as he carried her in his arms, like she weighed nothing, to the sofa. He gently laid her down as tearless, broken sobs wracked through her entire body, shaking her core. "Take your time. It's okay."

She wasn't sure what happened next. Minutes passed. Or maybe it was hours. In between her sobs and Hotch's reassurances, he had called someone. Anyone. She couldn't hear what he was saying or who he was talking to. She just heard his voice.

It was like she was falling, breaking every bone in her body. It was like drowning, her lungs filling up with water, cutting off her air. It was like she was burning, the fire scalding her skin. She couldn't get it to stop. She just wanted it to stop.

She wanted her family back. She just wanted them back.

Sometime between drowning and burning, Hotch's arms were replaced with a softer pair, a slimmer pair. They held onto her tightly and she opened her eyes to see Haley, pressing Caroline's head to her chest. She could feel her tears landing on top of Caroline's head.

Suddenly, the presence of Haley's tears stirred something inside her. She sat up, throwing her arms around the crying woman, burying her face in her shoulder.

"I know, sweetheart," Haley's voice broke as her heart shattered for the petite blonde girl, "I know. I'm here. We're here."

She suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder, a touch that she would know from anywhere. She opened her eyes to see her brother kneeling on the floor, eye-to-eye level with Caroline's big broken blue eyes. And she noticed he was crying. For the first time in six years after their family's murder, he was crying.

Hotch had called her family. All of them.

Behind Chris was Rebecca, watching with her mouth covered. She could tell by her expression her heart was breaking for her boyfriend and his sister. Hotch stood near the door, looking as unsure as he did earlier with Jack. He didn't know what to do, how to comfort her. And that killed him inside.

Caroline reached out for her brother and he took her hand in his and squeezed, squeezed so tightly that she though her blood circulation was being cut off. Somehow, Caroline found the strength to speak as her tearless sobs slowly came to an end.

"I—I just..."

"Care, you don't have to say anything," Chris whispered as Haley rubbed a gentle hand up and down her back. "I know. It's okay to let it all go sometimes. You're not expected to be perfect all the time."

"But all those kids, Chris," she murmured, taking a deep breath to calm herself. "All of them..."

"And you caught the bastard who did it," he told her. "You won and those kids are getting the justice they deserve."

"What about our justice?" Caroline whispered, her voice sounding as small and defenseless as she felt. "What about Charlie's justice? And Mom and Dad's?"

Chris leaned forward and rested her forehead against hers gently. "I don't know."

"Every day you get up," Rebecca spoke up from the back of the room, stepping forward. She leaned down and placed a hand on her boyfriend's shoulder and Caroline's shoulder, "every time you save someone from the horrors of this world, you beat the bastard who did this to your family, Caroline. You are the strongest girl I have ever met. I will never, ever, be able to understand how you were able to keep your family, my family, together."

Slowly, the sobs stopped. Caroline looked up at Rebecca and Chris, wiping away their tears.

"I miss them," Chris told her. "So much so, I can hardly stand myself."

"I know. I do, too." Caroline took a deep breath, trying her best to collect herself. "Where's Aunt G?"

"Outside with Cait, Cass and Jack," Haley said, "I called everyone after Aaron called me."

She nodded slowly. Now that she finally had control of herself, she was able think clearly, finally able to breathe properly. She took a calming breath.

"How much does Cass know?" She asked Chris, staring at his earnest eyes. She knew Cait would know what was going on, there was no protecting her from that. Jack was just a baby, a week old, but Cass was old enough to understand, something she had been hoping she would never have to.

"Not much," he admitted. "She thinks you don't feel well and that we've come to pick you up."

"Good," Caroline said. "The less she knows, the better."

"Do...do you think you can see them? Cass was practically bouncing with excitement to see you."

Caroline paused, testing herself. She checked, then double-checked her composure, smoothing out her face calmly. She couldn't let them see, she didn't want to scare them. She couldn't let herself get out of control in front of them.

When she was positive she had a good handle on her emotions and felt calm, she nodded. Hotch carefully opened the door and motioned for someone outside his office. The next thing Caroline saw was Cass's blonde little head peeking into the room. She spotted her sister, surrounded by Haley, Chris and Rebecca and hesitantly took a step inside, her soft, baby face turned down in a frown. Caroline could tell she was scared.

She spread her arms open wide, inviting the five-year-old for a hug. Cass hesitated before a huge smile broke out on her face. The little girl ran to her big sister, throwing herself into Caroline's arms. She held onto her little sister for dear life, peppering her little baby face with kisses.

"Stop it, Carrie-bear!" Cass giggled. Caroline relented with the kisses and just held the little girl in her arms tightly. Cass hugged her back, sensing that something wasn't right, which caused her to hold on tighter, like she was going to leave her. She rubbed her back soothingly as Cait slowly stepped into the room with Aunt G trailing behind her with Jack in her arms. Her aunt immediately handed Jack, who was sleeping, to Hotch in the doorway.

In her sister's hands, Caroline saw it was a baby mobile—her baby mobile—completely and perfectly built. Cait saw the look on her older sister's face and the teenager shrugged.

"I got bored waiting at your desk," she said. "I found this and I...well, you know."

Caroline found it inside her to laugh. It was a pathetic laugh, weak and breathy, but a laugh nonetheless.

"You truly are the best sister," Caroline told Cait. The blonde teenager smiled, blushing down at her black combat boots.

"What's that?" Haley asked, staring at the baby mobile with a smile on her face.

Caroline scratched the back of her head and Cass giggled, tugging on her older sister's hair playfully. "Well, it was going to be a gift for Jack, but I had some trouble assembling it...which Caitlin fixed, apparently."

"It was simple, really," the teenager admitted as she came over and sat down beside Chris, handing the mobile to Haley, "I just assembled them using base instructions, starting with structure and—"

"Alright," Chris chuckled, ruffling Cait's hair, "we get it, Bob the Builder."

Cait huffed and pushed her brother away playfully, rolling her eyes. Haley smiled at the mobile with twinkling eyes as Hotch came over to sit beside his wife, their son sleeping soundly in his arms.

"Well, I love it," Haley said, "and I know Jack will too. Thank you, both of you." She winked as Caitlin and the teenager smiled.

Aunt G, who had been watching from the doorway, cleared her throat. Caroline glanced up as she attempted to disentangle her hair from Cass's stubby fingers.

"Are you...how are you feeling?" Her aunt asked her, her hands pressed against her chest. Everyone's eyes focused on Caroline, almost as if they were waiting on an answer. Caitlin seemed especially anxious because she leaned towards her, placing a hand on her foot.

Caroline forced a smile. "Better."

Aunt G nodded, appeased, but she heard a disapproving grunt come from Rebecca. She always could see right through her lies. Caroline shook her head once firmly, letting her know to just drop it. Rebecca looked reluctant, but dropped the subject anyway.

For once, everyone Caroline cared about, with a few outstanding exceptions, were in the same room. She wanted to savor this moment, holding her littlest sister in her arms.

"You know," Chris said, casting a look over at Rebecca, "since we actually have everyone together, we have an announcement to make."

Caroline rose an eyebrow, curious, as Chris stood up, helping Rebecca up with him. He wrapped one arm around his girlfriend and she watched her brother's face light up with the stupidest grin. And as they stood in the middle of Hotch's office, Caroline watched as Rebecca held up her left hand, showing off a diamond ring.

"We're getting married," Chris announced as the room erupted in cheers. Hotch and Haley congratulated her brother and his fiancée. Aunt G ran over and tackled her nephew and future niece-in-law in a huge hug, tears streaming down her face. In Caroline's arms, little Cass clapped excitedly because she could see the happiness in the room. Caitlin began to tear up at Caroline's legs.

As for Caroline, she was at a loss for words. It was rare for her to be left speechless. The most poetic thing she could come up with was, "Is this real?"

Chris chuckled as he pulled away from their aunt. "It's pretty official, Care. Proposed a couple of weeks ago. We...we wanted to tell you all sooner, but it gets hard with schedules."

Caroline shook her head in disbelief. Something this pure, this amazing, was too good to be true. She truly loved Rebecca as a sister, and to have her join the family was a blessing.

"This is the best thing that's ever happened!" Cait cried, fanning her face. Caroline wiped her happy tears away. "I just...I can't believe it!"

Rebecca laughed, a huge smile plastered on her face. "Well, we're not done yet. I do have one more time I need to ask."

Cait eyes widened. "What is it?"

"Well, I was hoping you would like to be one of my bridesmaids," Rebecca said.

Caitlin sprang up from the floor in her combat boots, whooping and hollering. It took Caroline, Aunt G and Haley to quiet her down.

"Are you kidding me?" She said, dancing around. "I'd freakin love to! Yes!"

Rebecca laughed at Cait's response as she turned to Cass in Caroline's arms. "Of course, I'd want my favorite little girl to be the flower girl, if she wants to be, of course."

Cass slid off of Caroline's lap and tottered over to Rebecca, hugging her legs. Both her and Chris laughed.

"I'm taking that as a yes," she said, patting the little girl on the head. "So now all I need is a maid of honor."

Rebecca glanced over at Caroline and smiled. The blonde profiler's eyes widened.

"Care, since I already consider you my sister anyway, and without you, I would've never met the love of my life," Rebecca said breezily, laughing with giddiness, "I think it's only fair that you be my maid of honor."

Caroline's mouth dropped. "Are you serious?"

Her brother's fiancée nodded enthusiastically.

"So you mean I get to help plan the wedding, dress-shopping and plan the bachelorette party?"

Rebecca laughed. "Those seem to be the duties, yeah."

Caroline slowly stood up and squeezed Rebecca in a hug. "Of course, I would love to be the maid of honor. Thank you."

Everyone clapped and cheered for her brother and future sister-in-law as Caroline pulled away from the hug. The two smiled at their family as Chris leaned down and pressed a quick kiss on Rebecca's forehead.

Caroline realized that Rebecca was right. Every day they get up, every day they live and love, the man who destroyed their family loses. She felt an incredible surge of love and pride, which was somehow able to drown out everything else, just for a moment.

Her brother was getting married to the love of his life.

Today, Caroline's family won.