Cassandra wakes up in a great mood, a rarity that she plans on taking full advantage of.

It's unusual for her to not experience some sort of sleep issue, whether it's not getting nearly enough or having a dream about Lexie only to wake up in a world that she isn't in. On the worst nights, she has nightmares: about the hospital shooting, the crash, or, most recently, one where Cassandra was forced to shoot an unsub only to discover that she'd shot Lexie instead.

So, in her eyes, waking up from a dreamless sleep and feeling normal is something to be celebrated. Which is why she dresses up in one of her nicer button ups, a striped navy blue one she rarely wears, and even takes the time to put on mascara, eyeliner, and lipstick. Most days she's lucky if she throws on mascara or lip gloss.

Derek jumps on her as soon as he sees the box of donuts she's holding, and she laughs as she sets them on her desk. He has it open and a chocolate frosted donut half eaten within seconds.

"I'd grab yours while they're still here." She deadpans to Spencer, rolling her eyes fondly when Morgan thanks her with his mouth full.

Spencer moves straight for the chocolate frosted with sprinkles, while Cassandra grabs her personal favorite, twisted glaze. A lot of people find her boring for it, but it's always been her favorite.

"Reid, Morgan, Grey, documents up on the screen regarding the kidnapping of Trish Davenport." Hotch calls down to them, walking with Elle.

Cassandra sighs, handing a donut over to Anderson and the guys sitting at his desk–she doesn't know their names, and fears that it's too late into working here to ask–before she follows Derek and Spencer up to the conference room.

"Have you read them yet?"

"Yeah, I got a copy from the document examiner." Hotch answers.

"What's it say?"

"That we've got until 8:00 tonight."

Cassandra hates cases with clear deadlines, and this is exactly that. As soon as they're in front of the screen, Spencer reads the document out loud.

"'You will follow instructions carefully. You will do this to ensure the safety of your daughter. You will wait for the call. You will answer the call at 8:00 PM. You will write down the instructions and follow them to the letter.'"

"That is beyond impersonal on the unsub's side." Cassandra breathes out, almost impressed. There's no emotion in that at all, just a string of you will's. "Not even 'my instructions' but 'the' instructions."

"We have less than nine hours to get to Connecticut, work up victimology on Trish Davenport, and prepare her father for the ransom drop." Hotch gives them a timeline, and with every word he says, Cassandra's heart drops.

"How do we know the letter's real?" Gideon questions.

"Uh . . . handwriting is a match for Trish's." Hotch pulls up a side by side of Trish's handwriting, with the other example being a different, much more personal and loving, letter to her father. Match accuracy shows 99.4%. "He dictated it to her, and they found saline on the paper."

"Her tears."

"Grey was right, the writing is very removed." Morgan notes, nudging her shoulder. "He never says 'I.' He doesn't say 'I will call,' he says 'you will answer the call.' He's distancing himself from the kidnapping. If he said 'I' he'd be taking responsibility for it."

"There's also another missing element." Hotch points out.

"No mention of the police." Elle recognizes it. "Ransom notes almost always forbid police involvement."

"So is he expecting law enforcement to get involved?" Hotch questions.

"Well, if he's expecting us, let's not disappoint him." Gideon states, leaving the room. The rest of them follow, grabbing their go bags and boarding the jet.

"Everyone familiar with the father?" Hotch asks while on the jet. Cassandra shifts, trying to get comfortable after closing the blinds. When she sits in a window seat, she can't handle looking outside and seeing how far away the ground is. The first time she flew after the crash, she had a panic attack for that reason. A flight attendant had to help her calm down, and it'd been mortifying.

"Evan Davenport, US Attorney, Executive Assistant, Southern District, New York." Spencer states. "Widower, assigned US Marshals three times in the past ten years due to death threats."

"Is the protective detail still current?" Morgan asks.

"Around the clock, but Trish declined protection when she turned 18."

"Too bad for the boyfriend." Morgan says, since Trish's boyfriend had been found shot in his own car.

"But why kill him?" Spencer asks.

"Well, if I'm gonna kidnap someone, I know I have to take out whoever's with them." Morgan answers easily. "It says here she's got a sister."

"Cheryl."

"Any problems? Were they close?"

"Yeah. They're identical twins." Spencer finds the picture before the rest of them, turning to show it to Morgan while Cassandra's heart drops. She shuffles through her notes until she finds a picture of two blonde girls posing in cheer uniforms. They're clearly trying to differentiate themselves, with one girl smiling with her teeth, the other with a closed mouth. They part their hair in different ways, with one of them clipping it back, and their makeup is slightly different.

Lexie wasn't her identical twin, but they lived a lifetime of people being awestruck over them being twins, and trying to force them to be one person. How many baby pictures exist of them in the same outfits until they grew old enough to find that annoying?

How many pictures exist of Trish and Cheryl doing the same thing?

That picture is framed inside the Davenport Household, and it's one of the first things Cassandra notices.

"I have, uh, six people on my staff." Mr. Davenport tells them, his voice shaking ever so slightly. "I have three bodyguards. They've all had polygraphs. Everybody's been vetted."

"And they all have alibis for the night of the kidnapping?" Hotch asks.

"All accounted for by the local FBI field office. Cheryl flew in yesterday. I'm just making sure that she's not alone even for–" He trails off, letting out a weary sigh as he scrubs his hand down his face. In just moments he looks years older, the wrinkles on his forehead aging him. "Sorry. I just feel like I'm suffocating here."

Cassandra knows that feeling all too well. She spent an entire year alternating between renting a hotel, sneaking into her older sister's new house, or living in the attic that Lexie had called her home. She knows exactly how suffocating fear and grief can be.

"I just want somebody to tell me that she's okay." Mr. Davenport adds.

"Dr. Reid." Gideon calls Spencer over. "What do the statistics tell us?"

"If you follow their instructions and give them the money, your daughter will be returned." Spencer says directly to Mr. Davenport, who nods with teary eyes.

"Done. This house is bug free." One of the agents calls out to them.

"Alright. Bring it in." Someone else calls out, while Mr. Davenport leans in closer to them.

"So, what are your theories so far about this kidnapper?"

"That he targeted you for a reason." Gideon tells him, holding eye contact. "Every line of the letter starts with the word 'you.' He's angry at you, probably feels like you owe him. That everything you own, you don't deserve."

"And from the language of the ransom, we most likely believe that he's working alone." Hotch continues.

"Is Cheryl here?" Cassandra asks. "I'd like to speak with her."

There are some things that are only shared between sisters, after all.

"No, she, uh . . . I'll have you brought to her."

Davenport's security team, along with members of the police department, are gathered around their cars when Cassandra and Morgan arrive. Further down the marked off road, a blonde girl lays on her back in the gravel.

"What's she doing?" Morgan questions.

"Lying on the road."

"Yeah, I see that. But why?" Morgan asks with an attitude, annoyed with the answer given. They tell him that she's trying to get a feel for what happened to her sister, and Morgan responds sceptically. Cassandra ignores them, walking over to Cheryl and lying on the ground next to her. She can feel everyone behind them staring at her but she ignores it in favor of staring at the sky.

She doesn't speak, waiting for Cheryl to break the silence first. It's the right move, since she shushes Morgan when he tries speaking to her.

"I'm not crazy." She insists. "I'm lying here for a reason."

"You can feel her, right?" Cassandra asks softly. She believes in intuition and knows that it can be strongest when relating to siblings, especially ones you shared a womb with. Twin Intuition isn't what people think it is: it's not feeling their every injury or reading their mind or anything crazy. It's just a general awareness that out there is another half of you, body and soul.

Cassandra misses that feeling more than anything.

"I can." Cheryl breathes out, relief in her voice. "You don't think I'm crazy?"

"I don't." She answers without hesitation, watching Cheryl curl her fingers through the gravel, every movement feeling purposeful. "Take your time. No one is going to make you move."

She won't let them, even if it means sitting out here all day.

"You're a twin, aren't you?"

Cassandra takes a deep breath, and finds her hands shaking. She hasn't been asked that question in so long.

"I am." She whispers, because it doesn't matter that her sister isn't here anymore. No matter what, she's a twin. She always has been, always will be. When Cheryl suddenly sits up, Cassandra moves with her. Morgan is giving her a curious stare, and she avoids it as best as she can, standing up with Cheryl.

"He dragged her from the car." Cheryl announces, dusting her pants off. Cassandra does the same, although she's not too concerned, thankful that she wore grey slacks today. She walks a few steps forward until they're right in front of Morgan. "This is where she fell. Trish is a fighter. She wouldn't have gone quietly, not even with a gun pointed at her."

"There are nail marks on the car seat." Morgan agrees cautiously, clearly not sure what to make of Cheryl. "So you believe your sister's still alive?"

"I know she's still alive."

"You know the way twin's know."

That gets Morgan an eye roll, and she sends an 'is he serious?' look to Cassandra, who grimaces back.

"Not the 'I can feel my twin's pain' crap." She scoffs. "If you stick her with a needle, I don't cry out."

If she gets buried under a plane, I don't even know. Cassandra thinks bitterly, although it's not fully true. She'd had the gut feeling that something was wrong with Lexie, although she'd brushed it off as anxiety over the whole falling from the sky thing. Still, there was a reason she'd been the first one to find her.

"But if something is bothering her, if something is wrong, I can feel it." Cheryl insists. "Even from 1,000 miles away at College. She's still alive. I can feel it."

Morgan nods, stepping aside to examine the dried blood spot on the road, before stepping off to the side covered in trees.

"What is he doing?"

"He's role-playing. We put ourselves in the kidnapper's shoes, to try and figure out their next moves."

"Shouldn't you join him?"

"I don't want to distract him." She says, focusing on Morgan as he starts talking to himself.

"Okay, she was rarely without the boyfriend. Well, I know in order to get to her, I got to take him out. He was collateral damage. Or was he? Shot was to the face. That's personal."

When Morgan starts walking, Cheryl and Cassandra follow him. Cheryl is lasered in on his movements, looking for any hint of what happened to her twin.

"Kill the boyfriend . . . Get him out of the way so I can get her." He turns to look at Cheryl. "Alone."

"I didn't know that you have sisters." Morgan says as soon as they're back in the Davenport home. They're in the kitchen while Gideon and Reid set the phone up to trace the call, explaining the process to Mr. Davenport.

"Yeah. Three." Cassandra answers tensely, thinking of Molly and Meredith. Molly is two years younger, and while she'd hung onto her every word growing up, they're distant now. They call on the holidays and Molly occassionally sends a picture of her daughter, Laura, but somewhere between their mom dying and Lexie dying, their relationship had died with it. She's closest to Meredith, who she calls at least once a week. The irony of that, after not knowing about Meredith's existence until she was 24, is not lost on her.

"So . . . do you also experience this twin connection?" He asks, a smirk forming on his face.

"Look, she was right about the scene, and you know it." She says, instead of answering his question. She doesn't want to talk about Lexie, or twins, or anything at all. She's never wanted a case to be solved so quickly in her life. "Believe in it or don't, I don't care. Just stop making fun of a girl going through the worst experience of her life."

"I wasn't making fun of her!"

"You were laughing on the scene." Cassandra reminds him, her arms crossed, just as Spencer joins them. "You think she's crazy, for being connected to her twin sister. Just admit it."

"Actually there may be a physiological basis for it." Spencer chips in, quickly connecting the dots of what they're discussing. "Reversed asymmetry monozygotic eggs split late, between nine to twelve days. The DNA matches right down to the very last stranded code, and there's sporadic documentation of shared physiological pain."

"And you believe it?" Morgan asks, ever the sceptic.

"No, I'm just saying it's possible. I don't know everything. I mean, despite the fact that you think that I do." Spencer says just as Hotch and Elle join them, amusement on both of their faces at the comment.

"I never said that. When have I ever said that?" Morgan protests instantly.

"Every day since I met you." Spencer answers.

"This morning at breakfast." Elle continues.

"Yesterday when he beat you at cards," Hotch joins in on the fun. Cassandra is the only one who doesn't add anything, not in the mood for it. Hotch frowns when he gets a good look at her, before addressing the group. "Um, we've got one minute."

He lets the others go first, Morgan complaining about them not recognising sarcasm, and matches his steps to Cassandra's when she follows.

"Everything okay?" He murmurs so the others don't hear, concern heavy in his voice. Any other day and it would be heartwarming. Today, it's just frustrating. She's fine. Can't they see that?

"Great." She forces a smile, not wanting to talk about it. They don't have enough time, and what would she even say? Oh yeah, I have a twin sister who died a few years ago in a plane crash, and I feel like ripping my skin off everytime we talk about twins because I'll never get her back. That would land her straight to a psych eval, and she's had enough of those to last a lifetime.

They all gather around the table, with Mr. Davenport at the head of it. Cheryl hovers, not wanting to sit, and Cassandra finds herself standing next to her.

The grandfather clock chimes eight times, signalling that they've hit their deadline.

"Remember, keep your voice even and calm and agree with everything he says." Gideon tells him softly.

"He's late." Mr. Davenport stresses after a minute has gone by, sweating.

"He'll call. Just try to relax. This is his strategy. He wants you on edge." Hotch advises him. It's a power move, giving a time and then being late for it. He jumps when the phone rings, and Cheryl gasps, suddenly gripping Cassandra's arm. She doesn't say anything or move, even as she feels her grip tightening by the second.

"Remember to repeat any important information he gives you to make sure you understand." Gideon reminds him while Spencer puts on his headphones, computer ready in front of him. Hotch and Morgan also have pairs, along with Elle. "You try to keep him talking to reveal something about Trish or about himself."

With that said, he answers the phone.

"This is Evan Davenport." He says, his voice small.

"Hello, Mr. Davenport." The automated voice responds.

"Are you the man who has my daughter Patricia?"

"I have your daughter."

"Can I ask you–?"

"You may ask me nothing." Their unsub responds, and even through the automated voice, his tone feels colder. "This is not an interrogatory. You will listen only to my instructions."

"Okay." Mr. Davenport chokes out.

"But I will not give them to you."

Mr. Davenport's eyes furrow, confusion and panic building at this new information. "I don't understand."

"I do not want to talk to you, Mr. Davenport."

They all share a surprised look, not having expected this hurdle. Although, now that she's thinking about it, the original letter said nothing about Mr. Davenport talking to the unsub. No, it said you will answer the call and you will write down the instructions. They had just assumed that he would be the one being talked to.

"Excuse me?"

"I want to talk to her. I want to talk . . . to Cheryl."

Cheryl's grip tightens so much that Cassandra is sure she's drawn blood.

They mute the call so the unsub won't be able to hear them.

"What's he doing?" Mr. Davenport asks, looking between Gideon and Morgan as he takes a seat next to him.

"What most of the offenders we catch try to do . . . establish dominance." Morgan sighs, shaking his head.

"How long can we keep him on hold?" Elle points out.

"We can't put her on." Hotch declines the idea.

"What?" Cheryl instantly protests. "Why not? I want to help. I'll talk to him."

"Cheryl doesn't have the authority that Davenport holds." Morgan points out. "He shouldn't want to talk to her."

"Let her." Cassandra insists.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" The unsub questions. "I want to talk to Cheryl. Put her on the phone. Now."

One look at Cheryl, and Cassandra knows what she needs to do. Whatever it takes, she's getting her sister back to her. She can deal with the ramifications on her career later.

"No." Gideon says, but Cassandra carefully extracts her arm from Cheryl's grip, instantly grabbing her hand and leading her around the table so that they're by the phone.

"I think she should speak to him." Elle agrees with her. "He wants to talk to her."

"They're right, Gideon." Morgan agrees, but Gideon shakes his head again.

"He has my sister!" Cheryl protests.

"No." Gideon repeats himself. "Elle or Cassandra: one of you do it."

"He has Trish. He knows what they sound like!" Cassandra reminds him, shaking her head and turning to Cheryl. "Try to say what he wants to hear so that he'll keep talking–"

"Grey, I said no!"

"I'll give you sixty seconds." The unsub threatens, and Cheryl's hand shakes in hers, the tension rising. "Sixty seconds or her sister's dead!"

"I'm right here, and I'll help you. Let him guide the conversation. Humanize Trish as much as you can. He needs to know that she isn't an object, but a human being. Use her name, talk about missing her, but don't get angry. If you need a second, mute the call and I'll help you." She continues, ignoring Gideon's continued protests as she snags a pad of paper and a pen, hitting the button to unmute the call as soon as Cheryl nods.

"This is Cheryl." She says after a few seconds of silence, gathering her bravery.

"Hello, Cheryl." The voice has softened. "How are you?"

She doesn't take her eyes off of Cassandra, who nods for her to be honest.

"I'd be a lot better if I knew that my sister . . . Patricia's okay." She says, her hand gripping Cassandra's tighter as the silence builds.

"I can tell you have a lot of empathy, Cheryl. You care about others."

"Yes, I–I do." She chokes out. "And it sounds like you understand."

"You mean that I empathize? Yes. I do. Very much. I empathize. I empathize with you, Cheryl."

Why the focus on empathy?

"I know you want to be with your sister." He continues, and Cassandra nods furiously, telling Cheryl to work with that.

"Yes. I want Trish back." She speaks firmly and clearly.

"Good. Tell me what you want, Cheryl. I'm very interested. Tell me all about yourself. What's your favorite color?"

When Cheryl opens her mouth, Cassandra shakes her head until she shuts it, looking uncertain. Keep it about Trish, she scrawls on the notepad.

"If I tell you, will you let me talk to my sister?" She asks, her leg shaking up and down as the unsub chuckles.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"I like blue." Trish answers, tears forming in her eyes as her dad wraps his arm around her shoulders, squeezing in comfort.

"How ordinary." The unsub answers, and Cassandra raises her eyebrows. Was there a color he wanted to hear instead? "Do you like chocolate, Cheryl?"

When she doesn't respond, looking confused, he repeats himself slowly.

"Do . . . you . . . like . . . chocolate?"

"Yes."

"I do as well."

"Please let me talk to my sister." She begs. There's a long stretch of silence, while she whimpers and then pulls herself together, her grip tightening and loosening repetitively. "All I wanna do is hear her voice. Please."

Cassandra couldn't tell anyone what Cheryl notices on the line, a change only perceptible to a twin, but she sits up with hope shining in her eyes. "Hello?"

"Cher . . .?"

"Trish!" Cheryl exhales, her dad's eyes squeezing shut as his daughter's weak voice fills the line.

"Cher, is that you?"

"Trish, it's me. I'm here." Cheryl promises, leaning in closer to the phone. "Are you okay?"

"Cher, I can't . . ."

"Where are you? What do you see?"

"I . . . I see the moon."

So she's outside . . . or near a window. The excitement Cassandra had felt lessens a bit with that second thought. 'The moon' isn't as helpful an answer as she'd thought for a second, but at least they know she isn't in a basement or anything like that.

A creaking sound fills the room, a door opening, and Cheryl panics.

"Trish! Trish!"

"Have $500,000 ready." The unsub finally states his price.

"Let me talk to her!" Cheryl pleads, crying now.

"$500,000 is what I'm owed. The Davenports will wait by the phone. You will receive a call with precise instructions in exactly 15 minutes."

When the call disconnects, Cheryl sobs and runs from the room. Her father follows after her, and Cassandra is left in an incredibly tense room.

"Any luck tracing?" She asks Reid, who shakes his head, sliding the headphones off of his head.

"No. He's probably using a disposable cell phone. They're impossible to trace."

"She said she could see the moon." Elle points out.

"She sounded delirious." Gideon tells her, shaking his head slightly.

"She was sedated." Spencer adds.

"Could've been a light."

"If he's keeping her drugged, it could mean that he's not very strong. He might have to keep her weak just so he can dominate her." Morgan points out, and Cassandra frowns.

"Cheryl said Trish is a fighter. Drugging her doesn't necessarily mean that he's weak so much as cautious." She tells him, not wanting to rule anyone out. Not that they have anyone to rule in. They don't have a suspect list.

"Has Davenport told us everything about his staff?" Gideon asks.

"Yeah, we have detailed reports, but we should probably revisit background on household staff, aides and current docket." Hotch says, and Cassandra sucks in a breath. That's such a long list, and they have such little time left.

"Guys, she wasn't blindfolded." Morgan points out something that they overlooked, too busy focusing on the moon aspect to realize what it means that she could see anything.

"No."

"If she's seen his face, as soon as he gets that money . . ." 

"He'll kill her." Gideon finishes Morgan's thoughts, and Cassandra has had enough, shoving her chair back and leaving the house.

When the back door swings open, footsteps sounding behind her, Cassandra shakes her head.

"It isn't time yet, Hotch." She protests, swiping angrily under her eyes to hide her tears. It doesn't matter if they're gone or not: she's an obvious crier, always going pale and her waterline turning red. Everyone will know what she was doing with one look at her.

"No, it isn't." He agrees, not leaving. Cassandra hears him move over so that he's leaning against one of the pillars on the porch. "We still have eight minutes. Which is why I need to know if you're coming back in or if I should keep you out here."

"Of course I'm coming back in." Cassandra tells him, still not turning around. "Believe it or not, I'm dedicated to this case."

"Oh, that's been made clear. You don't get to disobey orders like that." He tells her, his voice cold, and Cassandra scoffs.

"'Orders.'" She repeats, shaking her head. "Last time I checked, you're the Unit Chief, not Gideon."

"Gideon is our Senior Supervisory Special Agent, which makes him your superior." Hotch reminds her. "You've only worked a handful of cases. You don't get to take control like that. What if he'd killed her?"

Cassandra is on her feet instantly, the question hitting her exactly where he'd wanted it to. He has a point, and she knows it: giving into the unsub is exactly what they're trained not to do. If Cheryl had said the wrong thing, it could've been fatal for Trish . . . but not giving him what he wanted could've also been fatal. There's no way of knowing.

"If you're going to suspend me, do it after this case." She tells him bluntly, pushing back into the house.

Six minutes.

"How quickly can you get the money?" Gideon asks Mr. Davenport, who is back downstairs with them. Cassandra walks past them, finding Elle taking a glass of wine from Cheryl in the kitchen.

"Look, I know I shouldn't drink, but under the circumstances, you'd think you could let this one slide." Cheryl protests, turning hopeful eyes to Cassandra when she enters the room. One weighted look and Elle is slipping from the room. "You're reasonable. Please?"

"Drink once you have Trish back, and no sooner." Cassandra tells her, going a step further and pouring the glass out. "We need you completely sober when he calls back in five minutes."

"I don't want to be sober." Cheryl whispers, and Cassandra swallows thickly.

"I know. Trust me, I know." She says softly, because she does, and Cheryl scoffs.

"Please. How could you know?" She snaps, and Cassandra knows she shouldn't take it personally, but she can't help it. "You couldn't possibly . . . oh."

Whatever face she made, in that split second that she couldn't control it, is enough to have Cheryl's anger vanishing.

"What was her name?" Cheryl asks softly. "Your twin."

Was.

Cassandra can't help the way she laughs, even though nothing is funny. If this stranger figured it out, how long before the BAU does? Is it that obvious? Do they already know?

"Maybe you should switch from physics to profiling." She tells her, but Cheryl shakes her head.

"I could never do this job. I don't know how you do it."

Me neither.

"Lexie." She answers finally, looking at the clock. How has it only been two minutes? Time is moving too fast one moment and too slow the next. "She called me Casie."

She'll never let anyone else call her that, the way Lexie never let anyone else call her Allie.

"You heard her call me Cher. When she's pissed at me, she calls me Earl." Cheryl's admission punches a real laugh out of Cassandra. That's such a sister move.

"You've spoken to her." Cassandra says softly. "I know it hurts to hear her in so much pain, but you know that she's alive. Hold on to that."

Cassandra is placed as far away from the phone as they can get her, right next to Morgan, and given a pair of headphones. She can feel Hotch's gaze burning into her neck, daring her to step out of line again.

As soon as Gideon answers, the unsub is speaking: "Everything will be done by Cheryl. Cheryl will gather the money packets. Only she will touch the money. Cheryl will make the drop. If she is wired, if you use a look-a-like, Patricia dies. Cheryl will get in her car. No one is to be in the car with her, no one is to follow her, no air surveillance, no car surveillance of any kind will be tolerated. I will give directions over a cell phone as Cheryl drives. She must make the drop at exactly 3:00 A.M. She will follow each instruction to the letter."

When the call ends, Hotch instantly states that she can't go alone.

"He said if he sees anyone–" Mr. Davenport starts.

"I know. One car, unmarked. Tinted windows." Hotch decides.

"If he sees one of you and Trish dies–if my daughter dies–"

"Trust us." Cassandra says softly, knowing that this is the hardest thing he'll ever have to do. He meets her eyes, nodding after a long moment.

"You listened to him before." He whispers. "I want you to go."

"Okay." Hotch agrees after a long moment, narrowing his eyes on Cassandra, who knows she has a long conversation awaiting her. "Grey and Morgan, you're coming with me."

"This doesn't feel right." Cassandra tells them, frowning. Hotch is driving, with Morgan in the passenger seat on the phone with Spencer who is navigating them since he has access to Cheryl's car's GPS. Like they'd expected, he's sending her to a rental car lot to switch vehicles. They get there before her, waiting for her to arrive. "Something has been bothering me."

"What?"

"He kept asking about Cheryl." She muses, feeling like the answer is right in front of her, just out of her reach.

"Asserting dominance. Making her answer any question he came up with." Morgan explains it away, but Cassandra shakes her head.

"No, it's not . . . ransom calls are normally about the victim. They taunt that they have them, but he kept asking about Cheryl. He only talked about Trish when prompted."

"To freak them out, which worked."

"No." Cassandra says, frustrated. They don't understand, and she doesn't fully get it either, so how can she explain it to them? "It's not–he kept stressing that he empathized with her. Why? Why empathy?"

Cheryl's distinctive yellow Volkswagen Beetle pulls into the lot, and Cassandra has to fight down the instinctive urge to punch Morgan in the arm at the sight.

You mean that I empathize? Yes. I do. Very much. I empathize. I empathize with you, Cheryl. I know you want to be with your sister.

I know you want to be with your sister.

"This is about Cheryl." She blurts out, her eyes widening.

"What?" Hotch turns to her, confused.

"He didn't want to talk about Trish, or talk to Mr. Davenport, even though he's the one with the access to the money. He never said that he would return Trish, only that he would kill her if we didn't send Cheryl alone. This isn't about the money, it's about getting Cheryl!"

They're all out of the car within seconds, screaming for Cheryl, who has exited her car with the money bag and her phone pressed to her ear.

"Cheryl!"

"Get down!"

She gasps, slamming down to the ground just as a black sedan peels out of the lot. Morgan and Hotch chase it, shooting after him, while Cassandra drops down next to Cheryl. Her terrified look cuts straight through Cassandra as she helps pull her to her feet, keeping her tucked in close to her.

"You're okay, I promise." She assures her, smoothing her hair down.

"What just happened?" She panics, flinching when Hotch shoots after the car right before it leaves the lot. "Why–why'd you stop me? I was going to get Trish! I was going to get my sister!"

Cassandra lets her shove her, angry tears flowing down her face, and shakes her head when Morgan starts to intervene.

"She wasn't here." She says softly, knowing that she's hurting Cheryl with every word she speaks. "She wasn't in the car. He wanted to kidnap you."

"At–at least I would be with her." She sobs, falling forward, and Cassandra is quick to catch her. "I just want to be with her!"

"I know. I know." Cassandra shushes, her voice breaking as she tucks Cheryl's head into her shoulder and walks the both of them to the SUV. They need to come up with a new plan, and that means going back to the Davenport's.

Cheryl doesn't say another word, shutting down as soon as she's in the car.

Morgan calls and explains everything on their way back, since Spencer had still been on the phone for the revelation before he was hung up on. He also assures Mr. Davenport that she's alright when they make it to the house, walking ahead of them. Hotch holds the door open for the two of them, looking concerned at how despondent Cheryl has become, and Cassandra leads her right to the table where everyone is gathered.

When she tries letting go of her hand, Cheryl doesn't let her.

The phone rings as soon as they're gathered together, and Mr. Davenport grips Cheryl's shoulders, fear entangling the two of them.

Morgan is the one to answer it after a few rings.

"That was fun, wasn't it?" Their unsub asks. "A little running around, getting our pulses racing. Are you there, Cheryl?"

Morgan holds his hand up at the same time as Cassandra shakes her head, telling her not to answer.

"Are you there!? Tell me you didn't feel a slight tingle, a thrill run up your spine. Huh? But those clever and cunning FBI agents deduced my plan just in time. They figured it out. If they hadn't, I would've had you both. The whole set. The matching pair."

There it is: they're toys to him. Intriguing for being twins, for being nearly identical: mirror twins. Why have one when you can have both? It's disgusting.

In front of them, Spencer is typing notes as he listens. He's a collector.

"Why are you doing this?" Cheryl asks, the first words she's spoken since shouting at Cassandra, ignoring the way Morgan and Cassandra try to silence her.

"Because you asked me to, Cheryl. You asked me with your glances. The way you talk. Those little gestures."

Spencer waves frantically for her not to speak, and Morgan hits the mute button just in time.

"What are you doing?" She panics.

"Do not answer this man." Morgan explains, but Cassandra takes it a step further.

"If you can't sit here silently, you need to tell me." She tells her firmly, ignoring the way Cheryl's eyes fill up with tears at her tone. "Trish's life depends on you being quiet and letting us do our jobs. Do you hear me? Or do I need to grab duct tape?"

"Fine." She bites out, glaring at Cassandra and ripping her hand away from hers.

She'd rather have both Cheryl and Mr. Davenport removed from the room, but they clearly know the unsub, and they need help figuring out who it is. If he slips up and says something, they'll be the ones to identify him.

"You asked for this! You asked for it, Cheryl!"

None of them manage to stop her from unmuting the call, her face twisting in anger at the words.

"What do you want!?" She shouts into the phone. Morgan turns around, his hand flying up to his face in anger.

"What do I want? You! It may not be today, it may not be tomorrow, but I promise you, we will be together."

He hangs up, leaving Cheryl shaking her head in a silent room, her dad's arm wrapped around her. She pulls away from them, sinking into a chair, and Cassandra removes herself from the room before she says something she'll regret.

Her hands shake as she grabs a glass, filling it with water and downing it in seconds. Her second one she sips on, before she rolls up her sleeves and starts cleaning her arm. There are little crescent marks from where Chery's fingers dug into her skin, drawing blood, and she winces as she cleans the skin. It feels too raw, but with her luck, it'll get infected if she leaves it alone.

"You know, I'm trying really hard not to profile you right now." Morgan admits from behind her, having entered while she washed away the blood, and she sighs.

"Is that so?" She pats at her arm with a paper towel, pulling her shirt down when she feels dry enough. She's glad she didn't wear white.

"Yeah. I mean, I thought I've been getting to know you pretty well, but I've noticed some things. You never talk about your family. If we get too personal, you keep the conversation on us or change the subject. You've been working with us for a few months now, and while you have little figurines on your desk, you don't have a single family photo up. I thought you were just private, or maybe didn't have a family, but you told me you have three sisters. I think you're running from something. Is that right?"

"Keep this up, and you might just become a profiler after all." She pats him on the shoulder, pausing in the doorway and looking back at him. The calculated expression on his face annoys her into speaking again. She feels like nothing more than a puzzle piece to him, instead of a human being. She's not going to sit around and let him treat her like just another case. "Aren't crimes of obsession supposed to be your specialty? Maybe, if you did your job instead of profiling me, Trish would be here."

She's managed to annoy Gideon, Hotch, and Morgan within one case. Honestly, she thinks she should get some sort of trophy. God forbid a woman speaks up and bruises their egos.

They're gathered back in the kitchen a short while later, after Gideon and Spencer have talked to the Davenports. Cassandra stands with Elle, across from Gideon. Morgan is leaning against the stove while Hotch stands directly in front of him. Spencer is still working through the call transcripts, making any notes he can.

"Crime of obsession. Your specialty, your lead, Morgan."

For a second Morgan glares at her, clearly still upset about her insult, before he turns his focus back to Hotch, sighing as he thinks.

"I think we should recheck everyone on Davenport's staff against the profile of a stalker."

"Aren't stalking behaviors pretty diverse?" Elle questions.

"There's overlap. Narcissistic, inflated sense of self-worth, history of bad relationships."

"What do we know so far?" Hotch asks.

"He's probably white, obviously male . . . sophisticated speech pattern."

"Sophisticated yet bizarre." Gideon interrupts, peeling a mandarin orange. "He rarely uses contractions. It's not 'you're,' it's 'you are.'"

"This guy's pretentious." Morgan continues. "He wants to sound smarter than he actually is. Whatever position of authority or level of success this guy has, he had to struggle for it."

Hotch lowers his voice: "We also have to face the possibility at this point–"

"That Trish may already be dead." Elle finishes. They all nod, but Cassandra shakes her head.

"I don't think so. He wants a relationship with both of them." She reminds them. "He wouldn't kill her so soon, especially if he thinks he can use her to get Cheryl."

Gideon passes slices of the orange to Elle, Hotch, Morgan, and finally Cassandra. It feels a little bit like mutual understanding when she accepts it.

"You know, so far he's called every play." Morgan points out. "I say we apply some pressure, make him sweat."

"Well, there's only one way to do that." Gideon states, leaving the room. Cassandra pops her orange slice into her mouth and follows, waiting for him to call again.

When he does call, Gideon sits back and lets it ring.

After the fourth ring, Mr. Davenport reaches for the phone, but Gideon stops him. "Hold on, hold on, hold on." He stands up over the phone, Morgan by his side. Cassandra is still in phone exile, standing behind Reid on the other side of the table.

Gideon answers on the last ring and immediately hangs up.

"What are you doing?" Mr. Davenport questions. The calling starts back up, and Gideon lets it ring  through for a little bit. "Agent Gideon!"

"Hello." Gideon answers calmly, leaning down.

"Tell me there was a technical issue with the line." Their unsub demands. "Because if you actually just hung up on m–"

Gideon hangs up again.

"What the hell are you doing?" Mr. Davenport asks as the unsub calls again.

"Aren't you going to answer it?"

"Wh–why's he doing this? What is he–what–you're gonna drive this guy crazy. Just answer the phone!" Mr. Davenport stresses, his eyes wide as the phone continues ringing.

"He has a plan. Just trust him." Cassandra tells them.

"Please, quiet." Gideon tells him softly. Mr. Davenport huffs, but Hotch's hand on his shoulder silences him.

Cassandra is prepared this time, pulling Cheryl back when she tries to lunge for the phone. She scratches at her arm, fighting to get to the phone, but Cassandra doesn't let go.

"Somebody has to answer it!" She shouts, while Cassandra body blocks her, not giving her an opportunity to slip past her.

"Do you want to see your sister again? Yes? Then shut up!" She orders, her temper rising.

"Just answer the phone, for God's sake! Pick up the phone!" Mr. Davenport makes a move for it, with Gideon shouting at him and Morgan pulling him back.

"Either calm down or get out!" Cassandra shouts to both of them. "If you want to see Trish again, you'll do what we say!"

As soon as they've stopped shouting, Gideon answers the phone. "Davenport residence."

"Are you out of your mind?" The unsub seethes. "You do realize, you do understand that I'll kill her!? I'll–"

Cheryl cries when Gideon hangs up again.

Gideon smiles when the phone rings.

"You're killing my daughter! Pick up the phone!" Mr. Davenport bellows, once again being blocked by Morgan. "Pick up the phone!"

"Get him quiet!" Gideon orders, while Cheryl turns and buries her face in Cassandra's shoulder, a hand coming up to her mouth as she starts sobbing. Cassandra comforts her even as she keeps her guard up, prepared to handle a sudden burst of anger if it occurs.

"Pick up the phone! Answer the damn phone!" Mr. Davenport screams, getting led carefully to the ground by Morgan and Hotch.

"Mr. Davenport, get a hold of yourself." Gideon commands, and Mr. Davenport starts sobbing, the fear catching up to him.

"Let him go." Morgan says softly. "Gideon knows what he's doing."

"She is dead!" The unsub shouts into the phone once Gideon has answered, and Cheryl screams into Cassandra's shoulder. "You hang up on me again, and I rip her open!"

"I'm sorry, you must have the wrong number." Gideon states calmly, hanging up.

"Come on, Gideon." Morgan says softly. The only other noise in the room is Mr. Davenport's ragged breathing. The phone doesn't ring.

"You killed her." Mr. Davenport sobs.

"No, sir."

"Then what–what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I'm saving your daughter, Mr. Davenport."

The phone rings, and Mr. Davenport buries his face in his hands.

"Have a little faith." Gideon says softly, letting the call ring out a little bit before answering.

"Put Cheryl on the phone."

"No, you're finished talking to Cheryl." Gideon tells him calmly, while Cassandra puts a hand over Cheryl's mouth, not willing to take any risks with her anymore.

"Listen to that tone of authority." The unsub says, his tone dripping with disdain. "Just like your published work, Agent Gideon. Fascinating to hear the same arrogant quality in your own voice. You are a bit of a pedent, Jason, a bit didactic?"

"Well, that's a very interesting conclusion." Gideon responds, amused while Spencer slips his headphones back on, his eyebrows furrowing as he types rapidly. His brain moves too fast for his fingers, ideas and notes appearing as fast as he can get them out. "You sound intelligent, and you certainly sound educated, and . . . we both know that's not true."

"Oh, I know all about all of you. The ambitious Agent Hotchner? Do you want to be director of the FBI someday, Agent Hotchner? Would you step on Jason Gideon to get there? I think you would. Post-traumatic stress is a very good excuse. Even your sick, pregnant wife can't get you to leave your post."

Gideon sits down, a smile on his face as the unsub does exactly what they wanted him to do.

"Jason Gideon, an expert in the criminal psyche, yet unable to diagnose the autistic leanings of the very insecure Dr. Reid." Spencer looks up at that, and Cassandra rolls her eyes. Really? Autism as an insult? What are they, in middle school? "Well, maybe he can make money counting cards in Las Vegas. The lovely Elle was promoted too soon. She doesn't have what it takes to make it in the BAU boy's club. You're no threat to me, you're no threat to anyone."

Morgan and Cassandra share a look, waiting for their turns, and sure enough: "Dr. Grey–or, sorry, is it Agent now? Running away from your problems must be hard when you're scared of planes. Is this case bothering you? Am I getting under your skin, Doctor?"

Cassandra really hates that the answer to that is yes.

"And token Derek Morgan wants to be taken seriously, but he's just a pumped up side of beef!" Morgan smiles at that, and Cassandra glares at him. How'd he get the nicest one? Cassandra got read to filth but Morgan gets comments on his muscles? Ridiculous. She wants a do over.

"I know who you are! I know how you think! And I know what to do next! Do you?" He hangs up, leaving a satisfied silence among the BAU.

"What the hell was that?" Mr. Davenport questions. "Why did he say that he knows what to do next? Is he gonna hurt my daughter?"

"He was grandstanding."

"You don't know that." He says, jumping to his feet. Morgan blocks him instantly. "You–you can't possibly know that."

"Mr. Davenport, I have learned more in the last five minutes than in the last 24 hours."

"Oh, really? Well, I don't understand. Why is he focused on you right now?"

"Because we are interfering in his relationship with the girls." Morgan explains gently.

"He said he knows all about you."

"Yes, apparently."

"He profiled us, Mr. Davenport." Morgan tells him, only confusing the two of them more.

"Why would he do that?" Cheryl asks, pulling away from Cassandra, who graciously pretends not to have a wet spot on her shirt. She's more than used to getting stains on her.

"To show us how smart he is." Elle answers.

"Oftentimes the best profilers are the unsubs themselves. They're the ones that are able to walk into an arcade full of children and pinpoint the boy or girl who can be led out quietly." Reid elaborates.

"But he made a mistake, because he gave us something he didn't expect." Elle continues.

"Which is?"

"He told us how to find him."

"You said you knew how to find him, that you were gonna save my daughter." Mr. Davenport snaps at Gideon a little while later. "Why don't you get out there and do something? What are you standing around–everybody's standing around–!"

"Mr. Davenport–"

"Don't condescend to me. Don't patronize me."

"Evan, Evan, Evan!" Agent Shyer rushes over. "Everybody is doing the best that they can. Come on."

He leads Mr. Davenport away, sending them an apologetic look as they pass.

Morgan sighs once he's left, rolling his shoulders. Cassandra digs through her bag, pulling out a granola bar that she breaks into three pieces, passing a section to Morgan and Spencer.

"Peanut butter and chocolate chip." She whispers, receiving a toothy smile from Spencer.

"That's my favorite." He tells her, eagerly accepting his piece.

"Mine too."

"For the unsub to know that much about us, he has to be one of us." Morgan points out, eating his granola bar as he speaks.

"I'm gonna have Garcia do a search of the New Haven FBI Field Office." Hotch quietly agrees, walking over to them with Elle. "The guy we're looking for knows this house. He knows the family."

"There's 700 agents in New Haven and another 70 in satellite offices." Spencer tells him. "Davenport knows quite a few of him."

"We can't ignore the Marshal's, or any private security that he's hired over the years." Cassandra reminds them, sighing and rubbing her temple. The list just keeps growing and growing.

"While we're narrowing the list, Cheryl can't stay here." Elle points out. "If he's one of us, he has access, weapons, and you bet he's got a strategy."

"So who can we trust?"

"No one. We need to get Cheryl to a safe house." Hotch decides.

"And limit the amount of agents she comes in contact with." Morgan adds.

"I'll go with her." Cassandra volunteers instantly. "She's already bonded with me."

They get her ready quickly, with Cassandra lending out her navy FBI jacket and ushering her into the SUV. Morgan jumps in the passenger side after shutting the door behind the two of them in the backseat, with Agent Shyer driving. Cassandra would prefer going with only the BAU, but she understands why they have to cooperate with local departments.

The safe house is clear, if a little dusty and dirty. Cassandra leads Cheryl up to the bedroom, doing another sweep of the room before she helps the girl get settled. She didn't get to bring anything with her, and Cassandra can't imagine how lonely she feels.

"Do you know how to use a pocket knife?" She asks softly, handing her one of her own from her pocket. She smiles when Cheryl instantly unfolds it before folding it back up. "Great. Just in case . . . don't be scared to use it."

"Do you think he'll find me here?" She whispers, scared.

"Agent's are checking the perimeter now. This is just a precaution. Cheryl . . . don't be afraid to protect yourself, if you have to. I'll be right behind that tarp, though, in the other room. Nothing's getting past me."

Cheryl nods, slipping the knife under her pillow, and then pulling Cassandra into a tight hug.

"I'm sorry about Lexie." She whispers in Cassandra's ear, and for a long moment she can't breathe.

"Thank you." She chokes out when Cheryl pulls back, quickly standing up and leaving her alone.

The next few hours are spent with Cassandra flipping one of her knives and staring at the tarp separating her from Cheryl. No one calls her with an update, and she feels a little insane as time goes on. She can't stop thinking about the last few hours: her disregarding Gideon, snapping at Hotch, her little argument with Morgan, the unsub's analysis of her . . .

Filling out the paperwork for this case is going to be a nightmare.

She feels a little creepy just sitting in a separate section of this girl's room without talking to her until it pays off. As soon as there's a knock on the door, Cassandra has her knife slipped away, and her gun out.

"Cheryl." Agent Shyer breathes out, closing the door behind him with a relieved exhale. "It's good to finally get you alone. Does it ever annoy you when people want to line you and Patricia up together to examine the differences? It seems like it would get old real fast. But I don't need to do that. I've known you both for so long, loved you for so long. . ."

Cheryl scrambles backwards on the bed, and Cassandra makes her move as soon as he's stepped forward enough for her to. He's got a knife raised in the air, moving towards a terrified Cheryl, who has backed herself into the corner.

"Please don't do this." She begs, thankfully not looking over his shoulder and giving Cassandra's position away.

"Agent Shyer, drop the knife." She commands, pressing her gun into the back of his head when he doesn't comply. "Drop it or I'll blow your brains out."

He moves as if to turn around, but Cassandra doesn't trust him for a second. She moves with him, her knee coming up and hitting him in his crotch at the same time as she yanks his hand down, applying enough force to make him drop the knife. She kicks it under the bed and, while he's groaning in pain, handcuffs him and forces him onto his back.

"Woah." Cheryl breathes from the bed.

"Are you okay?" She asks her, not taking her eyes away from Shyer, wincing on the ground.

"Yeah." Cheryl slowly stands up off the bed, fumbling until she finds the knife under her pillow. She holds it out for Cassandra, who shakes her head and tells her to keep it.

"Okay. I need you to go downstairs and find Agent Morgan. If he's hurt, don't move him, and come get me." Cheryl scrambles to do that, her footsteps echoing down the hall, and Cassandra smirks as she looks at the agent at her feet. He's glowering at her, trying to wiggle away from her, and it's slightly amusing to watch.

"You have one chance to tell me where Trish is, or this is going to get really painful for you." She promises, meaning every word.

She promised Cheryl she would get her twin back, and she intends to deliver on that promise.

"You don't understand–" He starts, yelping when she puts her foot right on his crotch, applying more pressure by the second. "This goes ag–against FBI training. I'll get you fired!"

"Good luck with that." She laughs, replacing her foot with her gun. The fear in his eyes as he looks between the gun and his crotch makes it all worth it. "I was trained by SVU. Do you know what people do to guys like you in prison? You won't need your dick to be their plaything, don't worry. Or . . . you can tell me where she is, and get out of here in one piece. One . . ."

"Two . . ." She clicks the safety off, getting a better angle.

"Three."

"Let me see that." Cassandra doesn't give Morgan a choice, sitting on his desk back at Quantico and grabbing the bandage from him. He doesn't protest, twisting so that she can get a better angle of the puncture wounds on his left side from where he'd been tased by Shyer. "Remember, no hydrogen peroxide or alcohol. It'll slow your healing."

"Yes, doc." He drones, yelping when she pinches him. "You really need to work on your bedside manner."

"Good thing I'm not a doctor anymore." She jokes, not bothered by the thought like she assumed she would be. She's on a new path, but she's still finding creative ways to save lives. "Here."

She tucks an ice pack into his jeans, settling it over the injury. She'll have to remind him not to wear it for longer than 20 minutes, but she doesn't mind. Morgan yelps again at the cold feeling, and she laughs at him as she jumps down from his desk, moving around him to her own chair.

"Big baby." She teases him, snorting when he flips her off. He tries to go back to his report, wincing and struggling to find a comfortable position, and she digs around until she finds a bottle of Naproxen. He catches it and then winces again from the movement.

"Are you planning on sticking around for a while?" She asks, nodding when he nods. "Cool. I'm ordering food. Pizza or Chinese?"

"Chinese, are you kidding?" He gives her a duh look, and she quickly places an order. They've ordered it before, so she knows what he likes. "Please tell me you ordered Kung Pao Chicken."

"Derek Morgan, do you know me at all?" Cassandra gasps, scandalized. "I ordered an insane amount, don't even worry. It'll be here in half an hour." She sets an alarm on her phone for five minutes before then. It's easier to meet people outside than to have them go through security.

They work in silence until the food arrives, tease eachother when it gets there, and she has about five minutes to herself after before he speaks up again.

"I shouldn't have pried." He admits, holding her gaze when she looks up. He's genuine and serious, and most of all he's trying: forcing them to have the awkward conversation. "It was obvious that you didn't want to talk about . . . whatever it is. Your sisters, I guess."

"I shouldn't have snapped." Cassandra returns, because she shouldn't have. Morgan got under her skin, sure, but she should've just left the room. The two of them antagonized each other, frustrated over the case. Cassandra just happened to have more going on behind the scenes. "Thank you. It's . . ."

"Complicated?" Morgan guesses, giving her a small smile when she huffs out a laugh.

"Complicated, sure." She agrees easily, pausing. He just nods, turning back to his cases, and the way that he doesn't pry gets her to open up. It helps that they're the only ones in the office this late, and she doesn't think he's the type to run around sharing other people's secrets. "She's dead."

He freezes, his mug halfway to his mouth, and Cassandra can't help the way she bursts out laughing at his reaction. He just gapes at her, and she can see his mind whirring away, connecting all of her behavior together. For some reason, that makes her laugh even harder, and she ends up bent over, desperately trying to stop herself. He has to think she's insane by now.

"Your sister?" He asks when she calms down, wiping away her tears.

"My twin." She admits, sobering up. "Lexie."

"That's a pretty name." He tells her, and she's grateful that he doesn't jump to apologizing. She's found that that's her least favorite reaction to death. "Alexis?"

"Alexandra." Cassandra corrects. "Alexandra Caroline Grey."

"What's your middle name?" He asks, curious.

"Annette." She tells him. "They're flipped. My initials are CAG, hers are–were–ACG."

"That's cool." He gives her a grin. "I wasn't expecting Annette, but I like it."

"Oh, did you assume it would be Marie or Elizabeth?" She jokes, and he laughs, nodding his head.

"Can't forget Lee or Anne."

"Or Leeanne." Cassandra snorts. Their laughter trails off, and she braces herself for him to ask how she died, but he surprises her.

"What was your favorite thing about her?"

Morgan lets her talk about Lexie, interrupting to ask questions or express his disbelief over a story, and it's freeing in a way she didn't expect. Since her death, she's only talked about Lexie to the people that already knew her, and they looked like they expected her to crash every second. Meredith, of course, was the only exception to that, making jokes with her about the accident. They both did their best to brush it away, like it didn't change their lives, until Cassandra hadn't been able to avoid it anymore and ran all the way to New York.

Morgan has no prior knowledge of Lexie, or any expectations. He lets her ramble about growing up with a twin sister, teasing her the entire time, and there's no pity in his voice or his expression. She's not treated differently, like she's fragile or going to break. If anything, she thinks he respects her more by the time they're finished talking.

"I won't say anything." He promises her as he holds the elevator for her. In a few hours, they'll be expected right back here. "If you were worried."

"I wasn't." She acknowledges, because she trusts him. She truly, completely trusts him. "But thank you."

The respect he shows Lexie, who he'll never meet, means more to her than she'll ever be able to put into words.

authors note

long ass chapter but one of the reasons i started in season one was to get this episode. i love it so much, and i love it as a bonding experience for cassandra and derek. my babies i love them. they're so sibling coded just wait

gideon is such a dad in this episode, peeling oranges, handing reid books to read. love him.

cassandra laughing any time someone learns her twin is dead... she is NOT real bro 😭😭😭 i love her and her weird lil trauma responses. she hates people being concerned about her, it makes her break out into hives.

morgan knows!! he's fully adopted her btw.

love you guys <3