"Reid failed his qualification." Elle states as soon as Gideon has left his office, and he arches an eyebrow at her. Cassandra just winces from her desk, knowing how nervous he'd been about his firearms qualificiation. She's never actually seen him shoot his gun, but apparently he's not very good at it.

"He can re-test in two weeks." Gideon points out, walking away from them.

"Yeah, but he's gonna be embarrassed about it, so let's not mention it." Elle points out, turning to stare pointedly at Derek, who spins to look at them with a book opened in his hands.

"Yeah, let's not, huh?" Gideon tells him, walking up the stairs just as Spencer walks in.

"Not a word." Derek states, tossing his hands up. He looks over when Spencer walks quickly past him, his hands in his pockets. He's tense as he sets his belongings down on his desk, and Derek quickly stands and makes his way over to him. "Hey. We're all here for you."

Spencer looks down, not acknowledging him, and Derek speaks up again: "I'm serious." He waits until Reid looks up, and then continues, "If you ever need anything . . ."

He pulls a whistle out of his pocket, hanging it around Spencer's neck and blowing on it, the shrill sound echoing around their desk as he grins widely.

"Just blow on that."

Reid throws the whistle off of his neck while Cassandra shakes her head at the two of them in disbelief.

"Okay. Franklin Park, Des Plaines, yesterday afternoon." JJ announces, walking up to them and handing out case files. Cassandra sighs, texting Meredith that they might have to reschedule their video call. Between both of their busy careers, this is now the fifth time they've pushed it back in the last week. "Three victims shot at distance. It's the third such shooting in two weeks."

"A sniper?" Elle asks, but Derek instantly protests.

"We don't use that word."

"Why not?"

"The public perception is that the FBI doesn't have an exemplary record with snipers." JJ explains with a grimace.

"Besides, a sniper is a professional marksman. These guys aren't snipers." Hotch adds, bringing the topic back to their current case.

"What do we call them, then?"

"L.D.S.K."

"Long distance serial killers." Spencer gives the long definition, holding eye contact with Elle, who has more questions.

"How many of these guys have we caught using a profile?"

"None." Gideon answers, amping up the tension in the room. They all rush to the conference room, where Hotch gives them more information, as always. Cassandra sits in between JJ and Spencer, sliding a cup of coffee JJ's way, knowing that she often doesn't have the time to make herself a cup. The smile she receives is worth the extra effort.

"Two weeks, three shooting incidents, six victims, all shot in the abdomen." Hotch informs them, and Cassandra can't help the way her hand flies down to her own abdomen. This just got personal quickly. She sees Reid track her movement, but thankfully he doesn't say anything or draw attention to her. "First and only fatality, Henry Sachs. Married, father of three, was shot in a shopping center parking lot. Nine days later, Doug Miller and Kevin Parks were playing basketball at a community center. Franklin Park, four days later, Jerry Middleton, Kate Murray, and Tim Reilly. Des Plaines Police have found no link between any of the victims."

"Ballistics?" Derek questions before Cassandra gets a chance.

"He's using frangible rounds, which fragment on impact, making ballistics comparisons impossible."

"The good news is that all the park victims are going to make it." JJ tells them, and Cassandra stares at the screen, memorizing their faces. They're all smiling in their ID pictures, with no idea of what awaits them. "The bad news is that none of them saw anything. However, one of the patients does have an intact bullet lodged in his spine."

"What's the prognosis?" Gideon asks, while Cassandra flips through the file, eager to get her hands on that case.

"Well, there's a disagreement among surgical staff as to whether they can remove the slug without paralyzing the patient." JJ continues, and Cassandra can feel several pairs of eyes digging into her until she looks up.

"What do you think?" Gideon asks, and she hesitates, remembering her time working under Callie Torres. As a trauma surgeon, Cassandra had spent months learning everything she could about orthopedics, and she'd participated in dozens of spinal surgeries.

"I wouldn't be able to say anything for certain without scans, which we don't have." She tells them, not wanting to get any hopes up. "It depends on the placement of the slug. If I can go to the hospital when we arrive, I could tell you more."

She's still technically a board-certified surgeon, and there'd been a lot of talk amongst the FBI when she'd gotten transferred as a result. She's been cleared to perform life-saving measures in the field and on their cases, although she hasn't had to put that to the test yet.

"I'll come with you." Gideon nods. "For now, let's continue this conversation on the jet."

Cassandra runs a hand over her face as she swings her bag over her shoulder, exhaustion hitting her hard. On her desk, her phone pings, stopping her just as she was about to leave without it. Of course, her work phone is on her, so it wouldn't have been the end of the world.

I'm getting called into work anyway. Derek said he'd call you later.

The text from Meredith has her raising her eyebrows, a little worried before the feeling clears. If something was wrong, Derek would be calling her now. She hasn't talked to him in a bit and it's likely just him missing her the same way she misses them. She responds as she walks with Morgan, some of her frustration vanishing at the thought of talking to her family soon.

If I don't answer, let him know I'll call back when I can. Love you! Kick ass in the OR.

"Ooh, is that a lover?" Derek makes kissy noises, trying to lean in and see her phone. He barks out a laugh when she uses her palm to push his face back, shaking her head in amusement.

"I hope not. I think our dad would have a problem with that." She deadpans, giggling at the disgusted face he makes as realization hits.

"Ah. Meredith?" He asks, and she snorts.

"Well, it sure as hell isn't Lexie." He stops dead in his tracks, shock freezing him, and she laughs as she pushes past him into the plane where the rest of the team has gathered. "You coming, Morgan?"

"I want to make so many comments." He mumbles, ignoring the curious looks they receive as he sits down next to her at the table. Cassandra is just glad that they're taking the jet with more of a common area so they don't have to talk louder and twist to see everyone.

"And yet you won't." She smirks, knowing that he won't betray her and discuss Lexie around anyone else.

"Alright. Hotch?" Gideon nods for Hotch to start their debrief, sitting in an armchair while Spencer and JJ are across from Cassandra and Derek.

"L.D.S.K's are so rare, we haven't been able to build a standard profile." Hotch informs them. "Here's what we do know: they're always male, they frequently have law enforcement or military experience, and they always contact the police or the media."

"To take credit or relive the experience?" JJ asks, while Spencer reaches across the table to grab more of the crime scene photos. Cassandra watches him, intrigued by how he arranges the information in front of him. It's different than how she would be doing it, in order of the crimes. Instead, he's arranging them by gender.

"Both." Gideon answers. "All serial killers attempt to relive the ecstasy they get from their killings. Some use souvenirs taken from their victims, and . . . others return to the dump site to interact with the body. Both modes require contact with the victim, contact which, by definition, long distance serial killers don't have."

"The Beltway shooters left a tarot card at one of their crime scenes." Hotch tells them, and Cassandra makes a note of that name, wanting to look into it later. "Later they called a tip hotline, which ultimately led to their capture."

"But our unsub hasn't contacted anybody." Derek points out.

"He will."

"Until he does, what do we have?" Elle asks.

"Sometimes it's not what the unsub does that reveals the profile. Sometimes it is what they do not do." Gideon tells them, and Cassandra thinks that over, biting her lip.

"He doesn't kill his victims." Reid realizes.

"Underkill's a unique signature."

"Question is, does he shoot them in the stomach intentionally just to wound them, or is he just aiming at the biggest part of the target?" Hotch asks. "Specifically, does the unsub lack the skill to make the head shot, or simply the will to take it?"

Metropolitan Hospital is incredibly calm for being under so much stress. Cassandra handles the introductions, knowing how impatient Gideon can get and how busy hospital staff are, and her kindness gets them led out of the waiting room much faster. JJ is with them, and she helps spead the process along even further.

"Come on, Barry, you don't know that!" A man is snapping at the doctor when they arrive.

"Good morning, doctors." Their guide interrupts loudly, pushing the door open.

"Forgive us. We were just reviewing the cases at hand." The one who had been yelling apologizes, turning to face them.

"This is Dr. Neil Erstadt, Chief of Surgery, and our trauma specialist, Dr. Barry Landman." She introduces them to the doctors, and Cassandra is the first to step forward and shake hands.

"Dr. Cassandra Grey." She introduces herself, and the Chief tilts his head.

"Doctor? As in–?"

"I'm a board-certified trauma surgeon." Cassandra answers instantly. "I completed my residency at Seattle Grace Mercy West Hospital."

Cassandra can see the second he makes the connection, although he has enough tact to not start talking about her dead sister in front of her coworkers. Hallelujah.

"An amazing hospital, that is." He compliments. "I'm assuming you would like to see the charts."

"I would appreciate that." She says with a warm smile, hoping to encourage him more. "Any information we get can be helpful in catching this guy. I'm willing to help however I can."

"I don't suppose you could." Dr. Landman dismisses her, shaking his head when Gideon tries to shake his hand. "I don't shake. My hands, you understand? Dr. Grey . . . I appreciate your offer, but we know what we're doing here."

Great. Another surgeon with an untouchable ego. 'Cause I haven't experienced that enough.

"Another set of eyes never hurts." She says lightly, walking past him to the scans hung up, instantly getting back into that doctor mindset that she can never fully turn off. "It's between the L4-L5 vertebrae. Were you thinking of performing a discectomy?"

"That is Dr. Landman's plan." The Chief answers, sounding surprised that she'd instantly realized it. "What do you think?"

Landman grits his teeth, clearly bothered that he's asking for her opinion.

"I think it's a good plan." She answers, and Neil sighs, looking uncomfortable. He definitely doesn't want to take the risk. "I would, of course, recommend a microdiscectomy over an endoscopic one, but I'm not his surgeon."

"No, you are not." Landman states. "I'll . . . keep that in mind."

"Excellent." She gives him a smile, seeing the way JJ tilts her head to hide her own, and listens as Gideon starts asking the Chief questions.

"You also think it's possible without paralyzing the patient?" Erstadt asks her after a few minutes, sighing when she nods. "I . . . okay. Okay. Dr. Landman, you can perform the surgery."

Satisfaction flickers across the doctor's face as he gives a curt nod, walking past them but stopping in the entryway and turning back to Cassandra.

"What made you quit being a surgeon?"

"I needed a change of pace." Cassandra answers easily, not missing the look on Landman's face as he turns away and leaves. It's an unmistakeable emotion, and even as his face remains impassive, his eyes give him away.

Disgust.

"If I'm the unsub, why do I shoot my victims between 2:55 and 3:15?" Elle asks, having joined them in a conference room in the hospital. Landman is currently operating, and Cassandra keeps looking at the clock, wishing she was in the room with him. She'd take being in an observation deck, even, but this hospital doesn't have one and Landman was clear about not wanting her involved.

"That's when I'd do it." Gideon answers, looking up from his own notepad. "There are fewer cops on the street."

"Why's that?"

"Overlapping shifts." Cassandra answers, remembering her own time on patrol. She'd been pulled from it quickly, having caught the attention of Fin Tutuola of SVU, Olivia Benson's right hand man. That had been the quickest promotion of her life, and she'll always be thankful for it.

"Second shift starts at 3:00, first shift walks at 3:30." Gideon explains further.

"Wouldn't there be twice as many cops on the street at that time?" JJ asks, jotting down notes.

"In theory. First half hour of your shift, you're in roll call. You're not out on the street."

"You have to get your beat assignment, car keys, all of that." Cassandra goes more in depth. "Sometimes you have a partner, sometimes you don't. It all changes every day. So, if you take longer to get your assignment and get out on the street, and the cop you're replacing is busy giving back his reports, getting changed and ready to go home, neither of you are out. It happens a lot. Something as simple as stopping to grab a coffee leaves your assigned area uncovered."

"Huh." JJ muses, nodding her head. "I never thought about it."

"Most people don't." She assures her. "It adds to the theory that this guy has a law enforcement background, though. Or comes from a family with one."

The door behind them opens, and Landman drops the slug–thankfully inside a plastic bag–on the table.

"Hope you find it useful." He tells them dryly, sending another look Cassandra's way as he turns around.

"Dr. Landman?" Gideon calls him back before he can leave. "How's Mr. Middleton?"

"Patient will make a full recovery, as I told you he would." He winks at Elle as he leaves, who scoffs and instantly turns to Cassandra when the door is shut.

"He does not like you."

"No, he's disgusted by me for switching careers. He doesn't respect anyone that isn't a surgeon, and even then, he thinks he's the best." She states casually, flipping to the next page in the report. "I'll take that over the winking, though. Gross."

"You're telling me." Elle mumbles, wrinkling her nose at the reminder.

"Radiology is set up to take photos and email them out for consults." JJ tells them, referring to the bullet in front of them.

"Call Hotch. We're gettin' the bullet out to Garcia. Fill him in on the shift change theory." Gideon orders, gathering his materials and rushing out of the room.

They give the profile after their unsub shoots three more victims, all of whom had been enjoying their day outside of a row of restaurants. JJ warns the cops that the profile is not ready for the media, and that releasing any information from it could get people killed.

Hotch delivers the profile: "We're looking for a 30 to 40-year-old male veteran, driving a car large enough to shoot from, but not so large it was noticed. Like the Beltway shooter, it's probably a sedan, customized to conceal the shooter, his weapon, and the sound of his shot. The unsub suffers from both narcissistic and paranoid personality disorders. He works out obsessively and is never without a weapon. He's completely self-centered and cannot empathize with others."

"Sounds like a doctor we met." Cassandra murmurs to JJ, making sure to keep her voice low enough that no one can hear her. JJ grins, nudging her in the shoulder in silent agreement.

"Incapable of admitting fault, he blames his shortcomings on those around him." Hotch continues. "He has no friends, and his career history has been marked by frequent job changes. He's drawn to high-stakes jobs by a need to prove his superiority to a world he perceives has undervalued him, and these shootings are the ultimate expression of that need. We believe he changes jurisdictions intentionally and strikes during the first/second shift change, indicating an intimate knowledge of law enforcement."

"You're saying he's one of us." An officer interrupts.

"We're saying he once was, or is now, a police officer."

"Is he driving a white van, too?" A different officer scoffs, looking around for approval. A class clown who never grew up. Tragic. Unfortunately, a few of his fellow cops laugh at his stupid joke, until they're reprimanded by Sergeant Weigart, who asks to talk to Hotch in his office. JJ follows them in while Cassandra slides over to Reid, who has been subdued all day.

"Got your acting pants on?" She asks with a small smile as they go outside, waiting for the others to join them. They're going to be reenacting the third shooting during the shift change, trying to see inside the unsub's head. "Ready to be a victim?"

"Well, I can't exactly be the unsub." He says dryly, kicking out at some gravel as they wait, referring to the way he didn't pass his qualifications. Cassandra sighs, watching him and trying to figure out how to handle his mood. Honesty seems like the best idea. She doubts he'd respect anything else. Also, the best way to comfort someone who feels humiliated? Commiserate with them.

"You know, I used to be terrified of guns." She tells him, tapping at her abdomen when he looks over. "The husband of one of my old patients didn't handle his grief well. He bought a gun at a surpermarket and went on a killing spree. He killed a handful of nurses and doctors, and he nearly killed my brother-in-law. I–I refused to tell him where my brother's office was, and he recognized me as one of his wife's doctors, so . . ." She shrugs, knowing that he can piece together the rest. "Gun's freaked me out after that, obviously, but I forced myself to go to the range and learn how to shoot."

"You carry it with ease." Spencer points out, sounding surprised, and Cassandra smiles.

"Would you believe that I peed myself the first time I shot a gun? I heard the noise, felt the recoil, and fully panicked. One noise and I was right back there." She admits, remembering how disgusted she had felt with herself. Her instructor had been so kind about it, knowing that she had trauma, but she hadn't been nearly as forgiving with herself. She'd cried in the bathroom and gotten Derek to come pick her up, wanting her big brother in that moment. "That was a real motivator. I didn't want to be that scared of anything ever again."

"I'm not scared of it." Spencer protests, shifting his weight back and forth, and Cassandra only shrugs. She's not so sure she believes that.

"But do you respect it?" She asks, explaining further when he looks confused. "I had to let go of my fear, and then I had to let go of my anger and uncertainty. It wasn't the gun that nearly killed me, it was the man holding the gun. Learning to shoot meant taking my fear back, and it gave me a way to protect my family. I had to learn to respect every part of the gun and what it represents. Maybe start there."

"Would you help me?" He asks, and she smiles.

"I'm no instructor, but sure. Just tell me when and I'll be there."

Cassandra stands where Kate Murray had been when she was shot, looking around the park. Over her bluetooth earpiece, Gideon orders her around, having her move to different positions, look in different directions, and try to find the "unsub" in the parking lot. She has no clear view of the parking lot from where she is, let alone the police officer pointing a gun at them from inside a trunk.

She records as she moves, hoping that the others are having more luck.

Hotch calls with an update, explaining that the Class Clown from earlier had leaked the profile to the press and that he is currently cosplaying as the unsub. Cassandra nods along, doing her best not to look suspicious since he is still inside of a trunk with a sniper rifle pointed in her direction.

Honestly, of all people to hand a gun and stick in a trunk, Weigart picked the worst option.

She moves until she's at a better position to see into the parking lot, even though it makes her feel like an easier target. That comes in handy when SWAT surrounds his car, dropping a smoke bomb. Cassandra ducks behind a tree as soon as she sees the smoke cloud the trunk, watching as Elle does the same and Derek tackles Spencer to the ground.

Cassandra waves for them to move, watching as Derek quickly and carefully pulls Reid with him until they're hidden behind the tree next to hers.

They watch from a distance as Weigart and SWAT get McCarty to drop his weapons and leave the trunk, instantly being shoved to the ground and handcuffed. They only manage to lead him a few steps away before he's shot straight in the forehead.

"Get down!" Gideon screams, pushing JJ down before he follows, curling himself around her.

They don't find the unsub in the park, and do the walk of shame back into their makeshift office when they arrive at the station.

"How did McCarty end up playing the unsub?" JJ questions.

"Weigart punished McCarty for mouthing off during the profile briefing by making him the unsub and sticking him in the trunk of the car all afternoon." Detective Clavin answers with a sigh.

"Wait. Then how did the unsub find out about the reenactment?"

"Come on. Cops talk." Derek sighs, sharing a look with Cassandra, since they have experience being cops. "Pissed off cops talk loud–at home, at the bars, at gyms–"

"Pissed off cops who think they're class clows talk louder." Cassandra adds, because she knows McCarty's type. "Rest in peace, but it's not hard to believe that he would complain to anyone who would listen."

"What do we know?" Gideon brings the conversation back around. "Our unsub went from wounding civilians to executing a police officer, so he's escalated. He's not staying on script."

"Sometimes it's what they don't do." Hotch brings up Gideon's words from earlier, his brows furrowed.

"He did not pick McCarty at random." Spencer states, following Hotch's lead.

"He didn't take the gut shot." Derek adds.

"Which means that he could've killed all the others, but wanted to give them a chance." Cassandra says slowly, an idea slowly forming in her head, although she doesn't want it to be true. "It's not about killing, it's about injuring."

The others continue talking, about McCarty being a message–don't take credit for his work–but Cassandra is frozen, reviewing the profile. Narcissistic, self-centered, cannot empathize with others. And, well, she'd said it herself: she knows someone who fits that description.

"Landman." She says slowly, her eyes widening, just as Hotch and Gideon make the connection about it being a doctor, since he'd have contact with the victims that way. "He was insistent that he should be the only one performing that surgical procedure, he–he fits the profile."

Garcia calls Derek, confirming that the geographical profile matches, with the shootings centering around two hospitals. They all rush out, with Clavin driving Gideon, Spencer and Cassandra to the hospital they'd been at before. On the way over, they explain their Angel of death theory to Clavin.

"The best-known case was hospital nurse Richard Angelo." Spencer starts, and Cassandra frowns, remembering that case. She learned about it in medical school. "He would inject toxins into his victims, then wait for them to crash so that he could run to the rescue and save them. He killed 25 people, and that's just what we know of."

"If he attacked 'em to save 'em, why'd he kill 25 people?" Clavin asks incredulously.

"Wasn't very good at it." Gideon gives the simple answer.

"Yeah, and hospitals don't keep records of people who almost died." Spencer says.

"So what's the profile of one of these guys?"

"Arrogant, conceited, feels superior to everyone around them." Gideon answers, and Clavin chuckles.

"You just described every surgeon I've ever met."

"Thanks." Cassandra says dryly, shaking her head when the woman tries to apologize. "No, don't be sorry. It's true, a lot of surgeons are conceited. Why do you think I remembered Landman? He didn't respect his chief of surgery, he didn't want to hear anyone else's ideas, he's a complete and total narcissist."

"Call Weigart and tell him we need a discreet perimeter around this block." Gideon orders when they arrive at the hospital. Hotch goes to check out Landman's car, while the rest of them enter and find the hospital administrator who leads them to a conference room.

"Okay. Courtesy of Garcia." Derek grabs a paper as soon as it's been printed. "Landman was Army, started out in M.P. school."

"Well, there's your law enforcement." Elle notes.

"But he was smart, got a degree on Uncle Sam, and ended up a doctor with special forces and bounced around from hospital to hospital since his discharge in 2001." Derek continues.

"Has Dr. Landman been under any unusual strain?" Gideon questions, looking out the window. "Has he had a reprimand? Uh . . . has he had any kind of major blow to his ego?"

"Last month, he was passed over for Chief of Surgery." She realizes, which explains the contempt when he spoke to his superior earlier. He wanted that job for himself and doesn't consider anyone else good enough for it.

"Let's get a warrant for his house." Gideon tells them, with Derek instantly moving to do so. "Let's see if we find the weapon."

"What can I do to help?" The administrator asks.

"You can tell me where he is right now."

Gideon holds the door open, waving for Cassandra to enter first. Elle, JJ, and Spencer all wait outside, right on the other side of the glass. It's obvious but they're not trying to be discreet.

"Where's Marston?" Landman asks when he turns, looking annoyed to see them in his space.

"She's not coming." Gideon answers simply.

"Look, I'm very busy right now." Landman says condescendingly, turning back to his scans. "Perhaps you could make an appointment."

"Busy with what?"

"Things."

"What kind of things?"

Gideon's calm tone angers Landman further, and he turns with a scowl. That's when he spots the others waiting outside of the room, and he looks almost amused.

"You're considering me a suspect?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's disconcerting. I heard what happened to your last suspect."

"Do you wanna know why?"

"Collective incompetence?" He guesses, waving to Cassandra. "If you were this awful at being a surgeon, I see why you didn't last long."

He's aggravating, narcissistic, and fits every part of the profile . . . but he isn't the unsub. It only becomes more obvious the longer he and Gideon talk, until Cassandra slips out of the room with a sigh, her shoulders slumping. She really thought she figured it out.

"If I have to listen to him call himself a god one more time, I might throw up." She says flatly, frowning when she doesn't see Spencer with the girls. "Where'd Reid go?"

"With Hotch. They're checking his alibi." Elle tells her, referring to his disgusting comment about Dr. Hannah Pate also considering him to be a god. Honestly, she wouldn't be surprised if sexual harrassment was involved . . . but he still isn't their shooter.

"He's too confident. He isn't the unsub." Cassandra tells them, and they both agree, although they continue watching Gideon talk to him.

When Gideon exits the room, he shakes his head at them. "He has the worst Narcissistic Personality Disorder I've ever seen, but he's not our guy."

"No, he isn't." Cassandra agrees softly. "So who is?"

It would still be someone from the hospital . . . someone with the same background as Landman, someone who takes advantage of the shift change . . .

"He works in the E.R." Cassandra breathes, feeling like an idiot. "I used to work 24 hour shifts in the E.R., we had the same shift changes. If he's higher up, he'd get paged when they get multiple cases . . . and he could work on multiple at once, instead of one like a surgeon would."

"Call Hotch." Gideon orders. Just as Cassandra dials, an alarm starts blaring, and they all take off in a sprint to try and reach Hotch and Reid. All Cassandra can think about is how he doesn't have a gun, and she hates every second that they don't know what's happening as they gather together and learn more about the actual unsub.

"He joined the Army at 18, went to Ranger school, did six years before being dishonorably discharged in '95 for conduct unbecoming. Obviously lied about it, joined the Arlington P.D." Derek reports, having gotten the information from Garcia on his way to join them.

"You were right. He was a cop." JJ notices.

"For nine months. When they found out he lied about the discharge, they kicked him out." Elle elaborates. "Soon thereafter, Dowd got his nursing license. He's been bouncing from hospital to hospital since."

Gideon convinces SWAT to give them time, trusting in Hotch and Reid to work the profile from inside, and buys them three minutes.

It's the fastest three minutes of her entire life.

"Time's up! Ready team's for assault!"

As SWAT bustles past them, Cassandra can't help but grab JJ's hand, needing to do something. She can't do anything to help Hotch or Spencer out of their situation, but she can at least comfort one of their team members.

In the end, Hotch and Spencer act before SWAT can make things worse. Hotch plays up the angry agent stuck with an incompetent one act, ranting about how Reid failed his qualifications, and how he was sent in with him to die. Hotch ended up kicking Spencer in order to pass him the gun he keeps around his ankle, which he used to shoot the unsub.

Straight in the forehead.

How's that for firearms qualificiation?

"Spencer Reid, I did not just see you put that gun in your pocket." Cassandra groans, scaring him into jumping. She'd waited until Hotch was done talking to him to walk over, and now she leans against the doors of the ambulance with a glare, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm not the Unit Chief, but I'll make Garcia hack into the system and remove your brand new qualifications. Don't even."

"I don't have my holster." He complains, pulling the gun out of his pocket and placing it in his lap, frowning when Cassandra reaches over and grabs it.

"The safety is off." She deadpans, her scowl deepening as she contemplates screaming. There's no way this man is real. "You put a gun with the safety off in your pocket. How are you still alive?"

He watches Cassandra switch the safety on with a sheepish smile, and she can't stay mad when faced with the bruises on his face. He doesn't protest when she steps closer, tilting his head with her free hand to get a better view, ignoring the fact that he was already checked out by medics. He's got a bruise forming on his jaw, and a split lip.

"How're your ribs?" She asks, fighting the urge to check for herself. That's inappropriate, and she has a feeling he wouldn't approve.

"They're fine." He brushes off her concern, and she releases his face with a sigh.

"Well, you'll survive." She gives him a small smile, tutting when he tries to grab the gun. "Yeah, not happening. You can have this back after a super fun conversation about gun safety. Yo! Morgan!"

The second Derek is in view, Spencer passes off that whistle with a smirk.

"Touché, kid." Derek laughs, throwing an arm around both of their shoulders. "Now, how about we get you to a shooting range?"

"Thank you." Cassandra sighs, shutting her eyes in relief. "I swear, he damn near gave me a heart attack."

They go easy on him, since he's bruised and battered, but by the end of the night Cassandra feels confident that he at least won't go around sticking guns in his pockets. And really, what more can she hope for?

Strangely, she thinks she trusts him to have her back in the field even more after today.

Haley gives birth to hers and Hotch's baby and brings him in to visit, all of them cooing over him. He's beautiful, and so is Haley, who Cassandra has only met once before. That makes it a little awkward to be meeting her baby, but Cassandra pushes through the feeling.

"Thank you for all the advice on bed rest." Haley smiles at Cassandra. "And the books! They've been very helpful."

"Oh, I'm glad." She smiles, relieved. "I didn't want to overstep but I worked in labor and delivery for a little while, and those were all the tips I heard when I was there."

"He's so gorgeous." JJ breathes out, smiling at the sleeping baby.

"Thank you." She smiles at all of them, while Hotch beams as he cradles his baby. It's the biggest smile Cassandra has seen on his face since meeting him, and it fits him.

"If you find baldness and wrinkles attractive." Spencer tacks on, and Hotch gives him a fond smile, neither member of the couple offended by his statement.

"Look at his little witty bitty nose." Garcia coos. Derek joins them, and she instantly turns to him. "Don't you want one of these?"

"Hmm." He contemplates, grinning. "I'll stick to practicing."

They all laugh, and Elle joins them, immediately congratulating the two of them.

"Thanks. She–she's amazing. I'm a little terrified." Hotch admits, and Haley laughs.

"Well, uh, we should get going." She says, and they all take the hint.

"Pleasure seeing you, Mrs. Hotchner." Spencer waves at her, his hands instantly going back into his pockets. JJ and Garcia do the same, turning to go back to their offices, but Cassandra moves forward, unable to help herself. While Elle and Hotch have a hushed conversation, Cassandra turns to Haley.

"I know Hotch gave you my number when you were on bed rest, but please don't be afraid to call if you need anything." She says, meaning it. "Don't push yourself. Your body did an amazing thing and you need to . . . oh my god, I am being so overbearing! We barely know each other and I'm not your doctor and–"

"It's sweet." She cuts her off, smiling. Hotch is grinning, too, which is a relief. "My actual doctor all but shoved me out of the door as soon as I stopped bleeding. I appreciate it."

"Right." Cassandra gives them an awkward smile, knowing her face is red. "Well, I'll see you soon, I hope."

She drops her head down on her desk as soon as she reaches it, groaning loudly. Next to her, Derek pats her head mockingly, already laughing at her.

"What'd you do?" Spencer asks, and she groans again.

"I should not be allowed to talk to people." She mumbles, turning her head and blowing strands of hair out of her face. Derek bats them back down just to annoy her, snickering as he does, and she flips him off.

"Ah. Is this about your crush on Haley?" Derek snorts, and she whimpers.

"Have you seen her? She's gorgeous. Who wouldn't have a crush?" She defends herself, because that woman is amazing. Gorgeous and so kind. Hotch is one lucky man. "I gave her unsolicited medical advice. God, everyone hates that."

"Haley didn't. She thought it was sweet." Hotch assures her from behind, and she jumps, quickly spinning her chair around. He laughs at the sight of her, all flushed cheeks and messy hair, looking far too amused at her suffering. "You have good taste. I also have a crush on my wife."

Oh my god.

"I'm glad." She chokes out, stomping on Derek's foot when he snorts again. "That's–I mean, that's great. Lovely. Amazing and–"

"You can stop now." Hotch suggests with a smile, and Cassandra instantly shuts up. "We're meeting in the conference room in ten minutes."

"You are all dead to me." Cassandra snaps as soon as he's gone, whirling around to glare at Derek and Spencer as they laugh. "Neither of you thought to mention him standing there?"

"Perhaps, as an FBI agent, you should be more aware of your surroundings." Spencer smirks at her while Derek laughs even harder at his words. Despite her best efforts, she has nothing to say in response.

She wants a new team.

"Crawford family. Murdered three days ago." Gideon tells them as soon as they're all in the conference room, and Cassandra sighs, setting down her coffee. None of their cases are easy, but getting one involving an entire family is especially horrible. She'd seen it on the news when it first happened, and she'd instantly video called Meredith to see her and the kids.

Which is how she found out that Meredith has another sister, a half sister named Maggie. And guess what? She's also a surgeon. Cassandra had joked that she should walk around hospitals with DNA tests, just in case, and then cried herself to sleep as she thought about Lexie and how she would feel about this. Honestly, she'd probably feel the same way Cassandra does: she'd always been the jealous type. Cassandra hadn't been, but it's been just her and Meredith since Lexie died, and she doesn't like the thought of that changing. What does Meredith need another sister for, anyway?

"They were found in the basement of their house." Gideon continues, and Cassandra sighs, rubbing her eyes.

"Bags packed for a vacation they never took." JJ adds, and somehow that's one of the worst parts of this case. The thought of how excited they must've been planning the trip, counting down the days, packing their bags . . . all to be murdered the day of their trip.

"Report said it was a murder/suicide." Derek points out. "Father stabbed the mom, then shot himself."

"That's the conclusion Maryland State Police came to." JJ answers. "The gun was found next to the father, and he had gunpowder residue on his right hand."

"And now you must have some compelling reason to think that Chris Crawford didn't off his family?" Derek asks.

"Yeah. Another murdered family." JJ passes over a picture of this next family. "The Miller's–found a month ago. The mother Reese Miller, her two children, and her new husband. Again, they were found in the basement. And, like the Crawford's, their suitcases were packed for a vacation."

"Both cases, the bodies were discovered five days after their vacations were supposed to have started." Gideon points out.

"Yet the coroner determined that they had been dead only 24 hours." JJ tells them.

"So for four days, both families remained in the house." Spencer states.

"Location of the bodies, both cases, the basement." Gideon points out another similarity. "That indicates a level of organization."

"With a quick, but disorganized application of overpowering force." Derek adds.

"He has to know that they're going on vacation and that they don't have anyone staying in the house. No house or pet sitters, no one coming by to water plants or take care of anything." Cassandra notes, remembering the people her parents had paid whenever they would go on a family trip. Her mom was not willing to lose her garden. "No one that would notice them being there for a week, when they were supposed to be on vacation."

"If these aren't murder/suicides, someone's doing a damn good job of making them look like it." Spencer says, grimacing at the crime scene photo of the Miller's.

"Possibly this man–Eric Miller." JJ holds up a picture of a 6'3" black man's mugshot. "Biological father of the Miller children. Arlington P.D. issued a bolo for Miller after the bodies were discovered."

"Ex-wife Reese Miller had a restraining order against him for domestic violence." Gideon reads out from the case file, and Cassandra shares a disgusted look with Derek.

"When'd she get re-married?" Her partner asks, leaning forward.

"The week before they were killed."

Derek sighs, his shoulders slumping. "Violent husband's believe their wives and children are property. Reese Miller getting re-married possibly made him snap."

"If he can't have her, no one can." Cassandra sighs, thinking about her time at SVU. So many of the cases that came across her desk involved an ex seeking vengeance.

"Well, the Virginia cops finally located Eric Miller last night, responding to a drunken disturbance at a motel where Miller had been hiding out." JJ informs them. "When they found him, they discovered blood on his black leather jacket. Belonged to his children."

"Was any of his DNA found at the Crawford house?" Derek asks next.

"No."

"Did he know the Crawford's?" Spencer tries a different angle.

"If he does, he's not saying." JJ sighs. "In fact, he hasn't said a word since his arrest. Uh, the Arlington P.D. have asked us to interview him."

"If anyone could apply overwhelming force, he's your man." Spencer whistles, looking at a picture of Eric. It's not surprising Spencer would feel that way, considering how thin he is.

"I want you to find out. Talk to him." Gideon decides, and Spencer splutters.

"Y–Y–You want me to talk to him?" He checks, clearly hoping that the answer will change. He turns to Derek and Cassandra, giving them a desperate look.

"Yeah. You've done interviews before with other agent's running point. You can go solo." Gideon doubles down on the idea. Spencer scratches at his neck, clearly not pleased with the idea, while Gideon turns to Derek next. "Morgan, the Crawford house is a fresh scene. Grey, you're going with Hotch, Elle and Reid."

"You got it." Cassandra nods, following Derek down to their desks. On her way, she texts Meredith, not expecting an answer for a while.

Please tell me you don't have a vacation planned any time soon.

Surprisingly, she gets a response before she can buckle into her seat, Hotch driving them: When have you ever known me to go on vacation???

She laughs slightly at the answer as she types out her response, knowing that Meredith is right. She's too hard of a worker, and too dedicated to the hospital, to take vacations. Although the woman more than deserves one. Well keep it that way.

You're so weird. Meredith texts back, and then: I'm just going to assume you can't talk about whatever this is. I'm not going anywhere. Love you.

They've gotten better at saying those last two words in recent years, and she tries not to think too hard about why that is as she returns the sentiment.

Hotch plays a recording of the coroner for the Crawford's, and every word out of his mouth makes Cassandra sick to her stomach.

Sam Crawford. White male. Age 5. Multiple stab wounds. Laceration to the left ventricle. No defensive wounds present. Allison Crawford. White female. 32. Multiple stab wounds. C.O.D: exsanguination. Emily Crawford. White female. 8. Multiple stab wounds. C.O.D: exsanguination. Christopher Crawford. White male. 36. Point-blank single 9-millimeter gunshot wound to the temporal lobe.

As they go through the crime scene photos, Cassandra can't stop thinking about the children. They fit her niece's ages: Laura would be around Emily's age, and Zola would be around Sam's. This could've just as easily been them. How can anyone harm a child like that?

"Where's his wedding ring?" Hotch points out suddenly, showing her a picture of Christopher's hand, where there's a clear tan mark where his ring normally would've sat.

"Trophy, maybe?" Cassandra sighs. "They didn't find anything like that with Eric. Not that that rules him out. Should we check on them?"

Hotch doesn't protest, following her out of the room, along with Elle. There's a TV outside of the interrogation room, broadcasting live from inside.

"Did you know them?" Spencer asks, undoubtedly referring to the Crawfords.

"What are you getting at?" Eric asks, his voice gravelly.

Spencer flips open his folder, pulling out one of the pictures and slowly setting it on the table. His discomfort is clear in every line of his body, but his voice doesn't shake when he speaks. Cassandra respects that.

"They were killed in the exact same way that your family was killed." He says softly.

"And? I've been slapped around all night by every cop in Virginia. What makes you think a damn photo is gonna scare me?" With one quick move, he yanks at his chains, a slamming noise filling the room as he hits the table. Spencer flinches bodily, his anxiety clearly rising by the second. "Is that what this is about? Hmm? You think I'm crazy, man? You think I suddenly snapped and I slaughtered my own wife and kids?"

My own wife. Cassandra takes note of that, knowing that it fits right in with the domestic abuser profile: not accepting that she isn't his property, but her own person. Was. Was her own person.

"You think I did this?" He continues, his voice rising with each question, his anger and–is that sadness?–growing. "Huh!? Is that what you think!?"

With the last question, he surges to his feet, towering over Spencer on the other side of the table. That's the final straw for all three of them, who quickly enter the room. They don't care that there's an officer in the room already. Spencer has stood up by the time they make it into the room, even though it only takes them a few seconds.

"Sit down, now." Hotch barks.

"Is this your daddy?" Eric screams at Spencer, who tilts his head. "I'm done talking to you people!"

"You don't have to talk." Spencer says quietly, clearing his throat and speaking louder. "Just listen. On the–on the occasions you assaulted your wife, you were intoxicated. Once the effects of the alcohol wore off, you were overcome with feelings of remorse."

"I'm gonna tell you this just one time, you shut your mouth!" Eric bellows.

"Genetic factors contribute to alcohol stress interactions." Spencer continues, speaking much faster now. "Your mother was an alcoholic and she was often too drunk to stop the beatings that your father gave you."

Eric moves as if he wants to lunge, his face twisting up in pain.

"I think we should stop this." Elle says quietly, but Cassandra shakes her head. She trusts Spencer, and she wants to see where this leads.

"He's not finished." Hotch agrees, keeping his eyes on Spencer as he continues talking.

"Age six, you were orphaned to a family where the abuse continued, only this time it was sexual."

"You shut your mouth, or I'm gonna rip your face off." Eric swears, although it sounds more like begging. He's not shouting anymore, instead whispering, and tears have formed in his eyes.

"The abuse continued well into puberty." Spencer continues, maintaining eye contact in a way he was struggling with only seconds beforehand. "But my–my one concern is, Eric, did you or did you not continue the cycle with your own children?"

Eric freezes for a moment, tilting his head, and the pain in his eyes at the question tells the answer before he says it out loud.

"I never laid a hand on my children. You hear me!?"

"I hear you." Spencer nods, and Eric swallows thickly, staring back at Spencer. Cassandra wonders if anyone has ever said that to him before.

"I found them like that." He says softly, ducking his head. "Dead. Bloodied. My babies. My sweet, little babies."

He starts crying, and the officers are much more gentle as they lower him down into his chair. He doesn't fight the movement, his quiet cries filling the air for a moment.

"I was crazy out of my mind. I didn't know what to do." He sniffles, looking back up at Spencer. "And I knew the cops were gonna blame me, and they have."

"So you ran?" Spencer asks, looking confused.

"So what've I got now?" Eric asks, finally looking over to Cassandra and Hotch, before he turns back to Spencer as if there's a magnet leading him back to him.

"You have your innocence." Spencer tells him. "For the–the sake of your children, I believe that they, at the very least, deserve the truth."

Very slowly, every move deliberate, Spencer shuts the folder to hide the crime scene photos. He stacks the folders on top of each other, clearly stating without words that Eric isn't the one responsible, and that he won't interrogate him for these crimes.

"I can't get the image of my dead children out of my mind." Eric confesses, his gaze broken as he looks up, and Cassandra swallows thickly. "Ty, my little boy, he was clutching a . . . a piece of paper. I think it was a drawing. Maybe a painting. Please. I'd love to know what he painted, Dr. Reid."

Spencer leaves the room, followed by Elle, but Cassandra feels frozen in place. Hotch looks at her, clearly wanting her to leave before him, but Cassandra just stared past him at Eric. For a second, staring into his heartbroken eyes, Cassandra feels completely understood by another human being in a way she rarely does. That's all she can think about as she leaves the room, with Hotch following after her.

"Interesting interrogation technique." Elle states. "What did you hope to accomplish?"

"Well, he was closed off, defensive, hostile." Spencer explains to her, keeping pace as he clutches the folders to his chest. "I needed a way in. He's suffered a breakdown but I don't think he killed his family, and I know he still loved his wife."

"Why do you say that?" Hotch asks.

"Even though they were divorced, he still wore the wedding ring."

"That look on his face." Cassandra says, swallowing thickly. "In his eyes. You can't fake that kind of grief. He was horrified. I believe that he had domestic issues with his ex-wife, but I don't believe that he killed her or their children."

She's not sure she'll ever forget that look in his eyes.

How many times has she seen that very same look in the mirror?

"I believe the unsub had control over this family." Gideon states when they've all gathered together. "He may have separated each family member. Tells the mother, 'if you scream, I'll kill your children.' Tells the children, 'if you cry, I'll kill mommy.' The suspect found a way of restraining them without leaving marks. Based on lividity . . . the M.E. estimates that the father was the last to die."

"Which means he witnessed the whole thing." Derek says softly.

"Psychological torture." Cassandra sighs. "He was a black belt in Judo, but couldn't do anything to stop his family from being murdered."

"Grey was right before. He knew he had time to spend with the families." Derek nods in her direction.

"'Cause he knew they were going on vacation." Spencer continues the thought.

"Look at travel agents, relatives, work colleagues, contract workers, children's tutors."

"We know they had a dog." Cassandra adds. "Even though they had a collar that let him in and out of the door by himself, he still would've needed to be fed and taken care of. Could've been someone hired as a dog sitter."

This list is way too long for comfort.

"Gideon." Hotch's voice comes over the intercom on the phone. "We've been looking into the Crawford financials."

"Allison Crawford spent way more money than Chris could afford." Garcia tells them, which confirms what Derek and Gideon had assumed based on their house: they were living above their means. Derek had pointed out that Chris's car was much worse than Allison's, which the neighbors and others saw more often, since she drove it to take the kids to private school. "They were in major debt."

"And Chris Crawford wrote a number of checks for a series of visits to a therapist."

"She had two cell phone accounts . . . one of them billed to a separate address in Southeast Washington, D.C."

"Did you get that?"

Before they know it, Derek is breaking down the door to that address, all of them rushing in.

"Federal agents!"

"FBI!"

"Clear!" Hotch shouts from the living room, while Cassandra moves to the dining room. The house is filthy and cluttered, clothes and food scattered on every available surface and the floor.

"Clear!" She shouts back, moving back to the living room, where a picture grabs Gideon's attention.

"What's that?" Elle asks as he takes it down from the wall.

"It's a child's painting. It's a colonial house." He states, and Cassandra's lips twist, staring at the art. The big yellow sun, the pink house . . . she has a picture like that from Zola, with them outside of a zoo. She'd drawn the tiger purple. "Mom, dad, two children out front holding hands."

"And a big dog." Elle adds.

"I think it's the Crawford house." Gideon says. "It's signed by Emily."

"Strange." Spencer says softly, sharing a look with Cassandra. "Eric Miller said he found his son clutching a painting. He wanted to know what was on it."

"What was on it?" Elle asks.

"His son's blood." Gideon answers. Something shattering has them all looking up, and Cassandra is instantly moving, her heart racing. She meets up with Derek and Hotch quickly, keeping her steps quiet, not willing to let her partner go in without her. Even if he's with Hotch, she's not risking it.

Outside of the last door, Hotch tries the handle, finding it locked. Derek moves into position while they cover him, quickly kicking the door in. When a loud barking fills the room, Derek drops to the floor.

"Hotch! Cas!"

"Easy." Cassandra says softly, reaching down and grabbing Derek's shoulder. One quick yank and he's in the hallway with them, just as someone whistles from the back door, and the dog races past them.

"Freeze!" Hotch shouts, all of them turning their guns on him. Cassandra steps forward, covering Derek with her body, not liking him being vulnerable on the ground. The giant man–he's covered in shadows, making any identifiers impossible–slowly opens the door for the dog, letting it slam shut behind him as he holds his hands up.

Derek is the one to handcuff him, with Cassandra watching the man's every move, her heart racing. They came way too close to Derek getting mauled for her liking.

They get him in an interrogation room with Gideon sitting across from him and Derek standing to his left. He's dressed in a pair of overalls over a grey long sleeve, with a plaid jacket, the kind of outfit that makes him look much less intimidating. Honestly, his height and weight are what do all of the work in that department.

"Why am I here?" He asks them, his shoulders bunching up around his neck.

"I think you know why." Derek responds, walking closer to him.

"That's mine." He points down at the painting, which they've set on the table along with folders on the crime.

"Colors indicate a self-confidence . . ." Gideon observes, picking the painting up and looking at it again. "An outgoing personality. Shows an above-average intelligence. The child that painted this was left-handed. Emily Crawford was left-handed."

"Frank." Derek tosses him his medicine bottle, which he catches with his right hand. "You're not."

"How'd you get the painting, Frank?" Gideon asks him bluntly, setting it down. "You forget to take your meds today, Frank? For a severe manic-depressive, that's not good."

"They make me feel wrong!" Frank tells them, and Cassandra winces. She knows that feeling. It took months for her to be prescribed Setraline, and before that she cycled through a variety of other medications, all of which made her symptoms worsen.

"Wrong enough to kill the Crawfords?" Derek asks him.

"Frank?" Gideon asks when he doesn't answer, only shaking his head.

"I–I did a–a bad thing." Frank says softly.

"What did you do?"

"I shouldn't have gone to the house." Frank says, his gaze flickering between Derek, Gideon and the table. "Allison told me not to. I would never . . . never hurt Ally. She's the only family I got."

"Family?" Derek asks, since that's the first they're learning of any kind of familial connection.

"She's my sister. She's dead. She's dead." He says tearfully, a fist coming up to rub at his mouth before he drops it, anger sparking in his face. "He killed them. Chris did. I know he did it."

"What bad thing did you do?" Gideon asks him again.

"The rule was . . . I was never supposed to go to the house. That was the only rule. Allison said if Chris saw me . . . he would never let me see her again. He was gonna lock me up in the loony bin. He never liked me."

Another case of people not understanding mental health issues.

"You went to the house." Gideon says slowly, trying to get more information out of him.

"She said . . . she couldn't visit me anymore. I just wanted to see her. Seeing Allison made everything better, but they cut my phone off. That day! The day I went to see them! They cut my phone off! I never would've gone to the house if they hadn't cut off my phone!"

Derek carefully sets a hand on his shoulder, keeping him in his seat as he grows more animated.

"There's no way this guy could've gotten into the house without a key." Elle points out, since there was no sign of breaking or entering. "Knowing how Chris Crawford felt about his brother-in-law, you see him having one?"

"No." Hotch answers.

"And I don't see Allison giving him one, since she told him not to go to the house. It was safer to visit him." Cassandra adds, sighing. She can't imagine anyone telling her not to visit her family like that. How often did they fight over her brother? How often did Allison try to convince her husband that her brother wasn't a threat due to his illness? Unfortunately, most people don't believe in illnesses that they can't see.

"Frank, you went to the house. What did you do?" Gideon asks him, moving to lean against the wall across from him.

"It was . . . dark. And cold. I went around to the side to look through the window. And my breath steamed up the glass. And I wiped it clean, and . . . and I–I could see them, sitting down for dinner, I–I saw Emily and Sam and . . . Sam was crying. I guess he was in trouble."

"Did you see Allison?" Gideon asks softly.

"Yes. She was saying Grace over the table. And then . . . she looked up and saw me. And she mouthed something at me. I think it was 'get the hell out.'"

"Or get help." Cassandra breathes, her hand over her mouth. "She was asking for help."

"So I left."

"Did Chris see you?"

"No. He wasn't there. But a friend was at the head of the table."

"You said a friend?" Derek asks, leaning in closer.

"Mm-hmm. I saw someone."

"What did this person look like?"

"I didn't see their face. But, uh, tiny. Really tiny." He describes, although Cassandra is sure most people are tiny in his eyes.

"White or black, Frank?"

"I don't know. But . . . the hair. It–it was red." He gives them something. They see the exact second he realizes who he saw, his eyes widening. "It wasn't a friend."

"Frank." Gideon tries, his voice soft, but Frank shakes his head.

"It wasn't a friend at all. It was him. He's the one who killed them!" He gasps, horror filling his face as Derek gently puts his hand on his shoulder again, trying to comfort him. "I–I–I–I–No! No! No! No!"

His hands fly up, punching himself in the face as Derek and Gideon both try to stop him. He ends up against the wall as Cassandra and Hotch rush in. They manage to get him to stop hitting himself, two of them holding each arm away as he screams for them to let go of him.

A while later, they're gathered in the conference room. Cassandra is cradling a mug of hot chocolate close to her chest, trying to get any ounce of warmth she can.

"Both families had a dog." Derek sighs, holding up the pictures of the dogs and putting them on the board. "And both houses had a dog door."

"Fielding said that the person he saw was small." Elle points out.

"Yeah, well, in order to get through that door you'd have to be 5'4" tops, and real thin." Derek states.

"When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." Gideon says from his spot on the couch.

"Sherlock Holmes was a fictional character." Derek responds, sighing. "Whoever did this isn't. We can be pretty sure he's already found himself another family by now."

Cassandra brings them all breakfast the next morning from a local diner, making sure to have Spencer's kept separate from the rest of theirs. She's learned that he hates communal food, which she can understand. She doesn't understand why he accepted her donut the other day, although she supposes he just didn't want to be rude. She hates the thought of him forcing himself to eat something just to keep the peace.

"He's been looking at those pictures all morning." Elle points out, staring up at Gideon. He hasn't moved away from the case board, even when Cassandra brought him up a breakfast sandwich and a coffee. He'd thanked her without turning away.

"Well, I sure hope he's found a connection, 'cause Grey and I've checked doctors, lawyers, travel agents, tutors, contract workers. We got nothin'." Derek sighs, finishing off his last sandwich. He's wearing a pink button-up today, unintentionally matching with Cassandra. Garcia had cooed when she saw them, making them pose for a picture that will undoubtedly be on Instagram next time Cassandra checks.

"I even tried dog walkers, dog sitters, Facebook groups. Nothing." Cassandra groans, spinning around in her chair a few times.

"Why target those families?" Elle wonders.

"Well, to know that, we have to know how." Hotch reminds her.

"Alright. We know organized killers are often skilled workers with above-average intelligence." Morgan says, nudging Cassandra and making her stop spinning. "High birth status. And in most cases . . . male. In the workplace, he's socially confident. And with women . . . sexually confident. Every offense . . . is pre-planned. Targeting the victim is almost as pleasurable as the actual kill. These guys, they're . . . they're meticulous. It's a compulsion. Everything has to have its proper place. They do exhaustive amounts of research on their victims. They watch 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 coming home from school. When Daddy'll be home. Playtime. Suppertime. Bath time. Bedtime. Plan the work . . . work the plan. This is the way that he maintains control. It's also how he personalizes his target . . . so nothing's left to chance. And absolutely nothing is left out of place, ever. So he plans the work, and when he's good and ready, he works the plan. He takes great pride in his job. I think the workplace has to be the connection."

"But what job gives him those connections to people and gives him time to stalk multiple families?" Cassandra asks with a sigh, feeling a headache forming just as Gideon joins them, holding two paintings. The colorful one they found at Frank's house, and the black one found at the crime scene.

"Both are by Emily." He tells them, holding them up for them to get a better look. "Painted months apart. This one . . . is full of color, life. 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 is his point of view. This is where the killer stood, and just watched the family."

Hotch drops his wedding ring on Cassandra's desk, and they all watch it spin around for a moment before he stops it, sliding it back on his finger. "Each of the dead husbands was missing his wedding ring. 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 gonna come lookin' because they're supposed to be on vacation." Derek continues the thought process.

"He makes the husband watch as he takes his place. He sits at his spot at the table, draws with his kids, all while he's forced to watch and can't stop it. The wife and children are forced to play along: cook dinner, say Grace, act like nothing's wrong." Cassandra sighs, her stomach churning. How scary would that be for the whole family, but especially for the mother? Watching another man act as your husband, as the father of your children? Knowing that neither you or your husband could do anything to protect them? The autopsy didn't reveal sexual assualt, but that would've been a pressing fear with an unknown man in your house.

They endured that for four days.

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

"So, why kill them?" Elle questions.

"'Cause the fantasy can't last."

"Do we know anything that actually helps us identify this bastard?" Elle asks next, frustration heavy in her voice.

"Wait a minute." Derek sits up, snatching one of the files off of Cassandra's desk. "Chris Crawford worked for the IRS and . . . Reese Miller was a secretary at the GAO."

"That makes them both Government employees." Elle follows the connection, jumping to her feet.

"Let's check out Chris Crawford and Reese Miller." Derek decides, while Cassandra yanks her black leather jacket off the back of her chair, slipping it on as she walks with him.

"Good connection, Der." Cassandra grins at him, nudging him in the shoulders.

"Der?" He asks, arching one of his bushy eyebrows at her, and she smirks.

"You called me Cas, so it's only fair."

"When the hell did I call you that?" He protests, nudging her back.

"When you were scared of the big, bad dog." She coos, smirking. A flush lights up his cheeks and the back of his ears, and Casssandra beams, triumphant. "Ha! You know I'm right!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." He scoffs, shoving her away from him when they reach the elevator. "See if I ever save your life again."

They go back and forth all the way to the IRS building Chris had worked in, where they get themselves together and act like adults. A real struggle for Derek, she's sure.

"He had his share of problems at home, who doesn't." Chris's supervisor tells them as he leads them out of the elevator on Chris's floor. "But he didn't fix 'em by killing his family."

"Were you aware he was in therapy?" Gideon asks him.

"He mentioned a marriage counselor."

"Did he say who?" Derek asks, leading the way into Chris's office.

"No, and I didn't ask. I don't like to pry."

"That's surprising, comin' from an IRS Agent." Derek tells him, and Cassandra snorts as she sits down at Chris's desk. Derek walks with her, opening one of the boxes on the desk. "You mind if we go through Chris's belongings? See if he had any connection to Miller?"

"You're welcome to look through anything you like." He tells them, although the approval doesn't matter since they're already pulling items from the box. Gideon pulls out a colorful drawing made by Sam, according to the scribbled name on the side. It shows four people sitting at a dining table, colored in blue, red and green crayon.

"Family therapists." Gideon says slowly. "They often use children's paintings to assess the family unit."

"Art therapy." Cassandra nods, sharing a look with Derek before pulling out her phone. "I'll tell Garcia and Hotch."

They might just have a lead. Finally.

Reid and Garcia work together to get them a bigger lead: Dr. Rachel Howard, a redheaded woman who prescribed Reese with Diazepam. Hotch joins them at the Applewood Family Center, where they find her sitting on the floor with a blonde little girl, who's coloring.

"Doctor Rachel Howard." Hotch states their presence, getting the attention of the mother on the couch as well. "I'm Special Agent Aaron Hotchner with the FBI."

"Come on, Lacey." Howard ushers the girl over to her mother. "Come on, go with Mommy."

Cassandra moves to the side so the family can leave, and Howard crosses her arms over her chest, looking unimpressed by their visit. Derek shuts the door after the family.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm Agent Jason Gideon, behavioral analysis." Gideon introduces himself, flashing his credentials.

"We both deal with the dysfunctional." Howard states, and Cassandra raises an eyebrow. That's an interesting comment to make. "Happily, in my line, the end results aren't quite as unpleasant as yours."

Aren't they?

"Unless you're the Crawford family." Gideon points out.

"Or the Millers. You knew them both." Hotch adds.

"Yes. I knew them, but–"

"Ma'am." Derek interrupts her. "I think you should take a seat."

"Why?" She asks, her gaze sharpening.

"We're gonna have to check your alibi." Derek tells her, while Cassandra stares at the wall of kid's drawings next to her bookshelf. The shelf is covered in books relating to her field, interspersed with awards and her diplomas.

"Dig all you want. I have four teenagers." Howard tells them. "If I had any time to myself, it wouldn't be spent killing my clients."

"You worked with both families?" Derek asks.

"I assessed their cases. 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 points out.

"I'm the only medical doctor here." Howard sighs.

"That's negligent, at best." Cassandra scoffs. "Why would you prescribe medications to patients you barely know?"

"Who'd you hand the cases over to?" Gideon asks before she can answer Cassandra, who isn't sure anything she says could make her actions better. She would never prescribe medication to a patient she didn't know.

"Uh, I'll have to check my files." She moves to be behind her desk.

"You don't use a computer?" Derek asks her.

"Not all of us have embraced the technical revolution. I keep everything filed. It makes me feel more in control. And please . . . do not read into that." She smiles slightly, unlocking the bottom cabinet and looking through her files, pulling one out. "The Crawfords . . . Karl Arnold dealt with their case."

"What about the Millers?"

"I'd like to see him now." Gideon decides, referring to Arnold as he grabs the file from Howard.

"Well, you can't." She answers. "He works a 4/40–four 10 hour days. He's off today but he'll be in first thing tomorrow."

That schedule would certainly make it easier to stalk families, and to do this final part. He already has three days off in a row. Who would think anything of him coming in late, or calling in sick to get that fourth day?

"Do you have his home address?" Hotch asks.

"Um." She bends down, thinking as she finds a pad of paper and starts writing.

"I'll get a team out to his house." Derek announces.

"In the meantime, we'd like to see his office." Gideon informs her, and she's quick to hand off the paper to Derek and lead them down the hall.

"Suspect's cell is going straight to voicemail." Derek says, having tried it once again.

"Karl's a good man." Howard insists.

"That's what everybody says until they find a body in the basement." Derek tells her just as they arrive at his office, which is locked.

"I'll get security." Howard offers, but Gideon shakes his head, already moving out of the way.

"No. We don't have time for that." Derek quickly kicks in the door, and Cassandra moves in first, followed by her partner.

"Someone will have to pay for that." Howard tells them, sounding annoyed as she follows them in, looking at the damage to the doorframe.

"Karl Arnold will." Hotch tells her, following Cassandra over to a desk. She turns on the lamp sitting on it, casting the wood in a red light. Derek turns on a different lamp, showcasing the paintings on the wall: there's eight of them, all drawn by a different kid, all incredibly similar to the drawing he'd forced Emily to make of her own house.

"Where's Karl now?" Gideon asks Howard, who gapes at them.

"I can't believe that he would–"

"Where is he?"

"I don't know." She says slowly. "If he's not at home, maybe he's gone to see his family."

"He's married?"

"With two children–Karl Jr. and Sarah." She answers, and Cassandra already knows how this is going to go.

"How long ago did the marriage collapse?" Gideon asks, while Cassandra stares at the dolls on the shelf behind Hotch. Two black girls, two white girls, and one baby doll. Next to them is a variety of books, and a toy train.

"About five years ago." Howard admits softly. "It wasn't a good time for Karl. He–he took some time off of work. He–he couldn't concentrate. He started drinking. I can't bel–maybe you've got it wrong. I would've seen–Oh my god. I feel sick."

Derek's phone rings, and he's quick to answer it while Cassandra focuses on Howard, reaching over and rubbing her back.

"You couldn't have done anything." She assures her softly. "But you can help us now. Where do his ex-wife and children live?"

"She took the kids and moved to Idaho." She whispers, closing her eyes.

"They just raided Karl's home." Derek tells them, getting off the phone. "He's not there."

Hotch moves aside, getting information about the ex-wife so that he can call her while they continue looking through the office. Cassandra helps Howard over to a couch, where she starts biting her nails, looking anxious and sick.

"Arnold just called her." Hotch reports when he hangs up. "She heard kids in the background."

"He's already in another family's house."

"Okay, we need to go through his files." Cassandra sighs, her anxiety building by the second. They split up the paperwork, going through and searching for families that fit the profile, but it's slow work.

"There's gotta be hundreds of families in here." Derek sighs from next to her.

"Then we'll send an agent to every last one of them if we have to." Hotch answers.

"Only the ones with a boy and a girl, likely around his childrens age." Cassandra reminds them. "He's targeting families that match the one he thinks was stolen from him."

She has a pile of cases that don't fit that description. Surprisingly, Karl didn't see a lot of families with a mother, father, son, daughter and dog.

"How could I not have seen it?" Howard asks them.

"Because he's that good. If he wasn't, we would've caught him already." Derek tells her, tossing a case to the side when it doesn't fit.

"Does he have a journal?" Gideon asks.

"He writes everything down. Takes it everywhere."

"It's likely he also collects trophies." Gideon continues. "If they're not in his house, then they're here, hidden in this room."

"Like the wedding rings." Cassandra points out, looking around the room again before she refocuses on the cases. A family with two girls gets set aside, along with one with three boys and a girl.

"What does he mean by trophies?" Howard asks.

"I would kill to have Spencer here." Cassandra sighs, setting another case in the 'maybe' pile. They don't have a dog, so she's not too confident about it. "He would've already been done."

"Tell me about it." Derek sighs, sharing a commiserating look with her.

"From the families he killed. If he doesn't confess, we'll need them as evidence." Gideon tells Howard, and Cassandra turns to look at her.

"Killers often take something from the victims, so they can revisit the crime later." She explains, seeing the disgust fill her face. "We know he takes the husbands' wedding rings, but it's likely he takes something else as well. Something from the children, maybe."

"Here's one. The Harris's. One boy, one girl." Hotch tells them.

"I got the Anderson's and the Smith's." Cassandra tells them. "But the Smith's don't have a dog, and the kids are much older."

"I got a few. The Boyds and the Dunkens." Derek adds.

"Wait." Howard looks over. "The Dunkens. That's not one of his cases. That's mine!" She jumps to her feet, looking distressed. "They have a–a baby boy and a slightly introverted 8-year-old named Jackie."

"Jackie . . ." Gideon mumbles, moving for a pile of paintings until he finds one, holding it up to Howard, who is crying. "Jackie's work?"

"He took it from my office." She sobs.

"Were they planning a trip?"

"To the Adirondack's."

"Let's go." Gideon orders Derek and Cassandra, who move instantly. "Hotch, tear up this room!"

"Here, take this." Hotch hands Cassandra the family's case file, already pulling out his phone. "I'll call you some back up!"

"We've got three adults and two children sitting at the dining room table." One of the SWAT officers murmurs to them outside of the house, using a thermal imaging camera. He waves for some of his men to go around the house, which they silently do before it's their turn to move. Cassandra follows Derek, her gun aimed on his other side, watching his back while he covers their front.

They find the family's dog lying next to the house, proving that he's inside.

SWAT enters first, loudly announcing their presence.

"FBI! FBI!"

The mother screams, pulling her daughter away from the doorway as they enter, tears streaming down her face. The father is tied up in the corner, a gag in his mouth and tears in his eyes. They're all in pajamas.

"He's got my baby!"

"Ma'am, is he alone?" Derek asks.

"My baby!"

"Where's the basement?" Gideon asks.

"Under the stairs!"

The lights turn off, the unsub shutting off the breaker, and they all curse.

"Get 'em outta here." Gideon orders one of the SWAT members, leading the way to the basement with Derek and Cassandra right behind him. SWAT goes upstairs as Cassandra carefully opens the basement door, letting the two of them enter first. Cassandra keeps her flashlight under her gun, lighting up their path, and making sure to cover Derek's blindspots as he does for her.

"Karl?" Derek calls out. "Karl, it's the FBI!"

They find him cowering behind a pile of decorations, using a lifesize Jesus to his advantage. He shushes them when they creep up to him, a smile on his face as he looks back down at the baby in his lap.

"Why don't you give me the baby?" Gideon suggests. "Karl?"

As soon as Karl lifts his hand away from his mouth, the baby starts crying, the shrill kind that Cassandra became accustomed to when Meredith adopted Zola. It tugs at her, thinking of his terrified parents and sister waiting for him.

"Karl, I want you to look at me." Gideon urges. "I'm gonna put my gun away and I want you to hand me the baby."

Karl slowly stands up after Gideon puts his gun away, his hands held out for the baby. Before he hands him over, however, suspicion lights up his face and he pulls away from them.

"Hand me the baby."

In a quick move, Karl throws the baby and pulls a knife, lunging for Derek and Cassandra. The next few moments are a blur, the two agents doing what they can to keep the knife away from them while he slashes out randomly. Finally, Derek manages to twist his arm enough that Cassandra can steal the knife from him, kicking him in the back of the knee to get him to fall down.

She shoves the knife in her waistband, pulling her set of handcuffs from her belt as she does. Derek has his gun out again, and his aim is steady as she handcuffs him, applying a little more force than necessary as she does. She pats him down, finding no other weapons on him, and yanks him to his feet.

"How's the baby?" She shouts over the continued wailing.

"I got him." Gideon answers, and Cassandra chances a glance to see him cradling the baby, stroking his cheek and comforting him as best as he can. He'd caught the baby and crashed into a shelf in the process.

When they bring the baby outside, it's one of the best family reunions Cassandra has ever seen. His older sister is so gentle, kissing his face repeatedly while the two of them are cradled by their parents.

It's a moment Cassandra hopes to never forget.

"You're bleeding." Derek pulls her from the moment, tilting her arm to get a better look, and she huffs.

"So are you." She points out his matching cut, smiling slightly as she angles their arms together. If she tilts her arm perfectly, their cuts line up. "Hey, we match."

"Oh god. Just cut it off." Derek tells a nearby paramedic dramatically, frowning down at his arm. "I don't want to match with her."

He yelps when she shoves him off of the ambulance. Gideon smiles as he watches them, looking at peace with the world for once.

They have no forensic evidence to tie Karl to the other crimes, leaving it up to Gideon to get a confession from him.

"Emily Crawford was a very talented and gifted girl. Her brother Sam, a bright, energetic child." Gideon tells Crawford in the interrogation room. JJ is behind him, while Cassandra and Derek stand on either side of Karl. Both of their sleeves are rolled up, showcasing the bandages on their arms. They have an evidence board in the room with them, covered in crime scene photos. "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."

"May I have a glass of water?" He asks calmly.

"Something wrong?"

"No, I'm just thirsty." He answers.

"Water, please." Gideon requests.

"Could you remove my shackles?" Karl asks next, holding up his chained hands and looking over at Derek. "I'm clearly no threat to you."

"They stay on." Derek answers. He grabs the cup of water when it's brought into the room, setting it on the table in front of Karl, who sighs loudly.

"You chose families that reminded you of the one you lost." Gideon tells him while Karl picks up the cup of water, taking a slow sip of it. "You stalked them, you bound them, you terrorized them, and then you killed them. One by one. We have your journals, Karl."

"It's my job . . . to write everything down." Karl tells him, leaning back in his chair. "To get to know them. I can't help them solve their problems without knowing background. And I make home visits . . . sometimes without their knowledge because people lie!" His voice grows stronger at the last sentence, anger rising in him. "You, of all people, should know that."

Gideon only smiles before holding up a picture of the Millers and the Crawfords.

"Eric Miller was an awful husband and father." Karl scoffs. "Allison Crawford hemorrhaged money her husband didn't have. That can strain any marriage."

The next picture Gideon holds up gets a reaction out of Karl, just as they'd planned.

"It isn't right."

"What isn't?"

"You've got the pictures mixed up!" He shouts, looking behind Gideon at the board. "The one in the middle, that is Sam Crawford's. It should be Ty Miller's! You need to swap them! You need to make it right!"

Gideon stands up, facing the board. "This one here?" He asks, pointing to a picture of a child's foot, labeled Victim 1.

"What the hell have I been trying to tell you?" Karl scoffs, disgusted by their ineptitude.

"You're right. They're switched." Gideon tells him. "That is Sam Crawford's foot with the Miller family."

They get the full confession from him after that. It's sickening, listening to him give them all of the details, explaining why he went from youngest child first to father last when killing them. If they hadn't figured him out in time, he would've suffocated that baby in the basement.

"Why, Karl?" Derek asks him.

"So he could see," Karl answers, his voice breaking. "What happens to families when the head of household . . . isn't strong. Wives wither. Children perish. But me? I'm an excellent father."

There's a sick feeling in the air, even though they solved the case. Too many families–too many children–were destroyed in this case for there to be any relief felt. Cassandra feels sick from the hours spent listening to Karl talk about why he needed to commit his crimes and how he's a better father than the ones he murdered. When Hotch returns from Karl's office, he brings a souvenir box with him. They all gather solemnly in the conference room, watching as Gideon tips the box out on the table.

Eight rings fall out.

authors note
this chapter is so long. i'm so sorry 😭

would you rather have shorter chapters?? one case or multiple per chapter?? let me know :)

fun fact: spencer does stick the gun in his pocket at the end of LDSK and it makes me break out in hives. like baby please learn gun safety pleaseeeee. cassandra saw that and confiscated the gun instantly (as she should tbh)

cassandra thinking she nailed the profile only to instantly realize she was wrong... i love her. she's so funny. no fr she was SO proud of herself until landsman started talking and she went "nevermind. fuck."

cassandra has a crush on haley bc she has working eyes and she is NOT ashamed of that at all (her, constantly: hotch can you fight!??) but it's not a REAL crush, just a silly little one. no angst dw.

i adore her and derek's dynamic actually like their scenes write themselves. they're so stupid. also derek tells her about going to the crime scene with gideon who randomly started screaming (one of my fave scenes bc of the look on derek's face) and they gossiped for ages. they're such siblings 🤍

i know it might seem like she's opening up really quickly, but she's REALLY not. derek knows she has a dead sister but doesn't know about the plane crash or anything else. spencer knows she was shot but nothing else. they know these little details and think they know her most traumatic details... meanwhile she's revealing next to nothing. my poor baby 😭😭😭

hope you guys enjoy!! 🤍🤍🤍