Cassandra has never properly argued with Derek before.

In their years living together, they had moments where they annoyed each other, or they argued over something silly: forgetting to take out the garbage, not cooking when they'd promised to, leaving their shoes in the hallway, etc. Small fights that are typical of siblings, which they'd acted like since they met. Moments where tempers flare and they snap at each other, only to forgive each other ten minutes later.

Cassandra isn't sure forgiveness will come so easily this time.

She'd been the one to start it, fired up from a call with Meredith, where they'd been comforting an upset Zola. He'd missed his scheduled facetime call with her, and she misses her dad, and Meredith is left to deal with the effects of that. So, when Derek had waltzed through her door a short while later, Cassandra had let him have it. They've been fighting ever since.

"All I'm saying–all I'm saying–is that you have a responsibility here!" She shouts, repeating herself louder when he tries to speak over her. "The second you adopted Zola, the second you got Meredith pregnant with Bailey, you signed up for this! You're not there, and whatever, that's between you and Mer. But she's the one parenting by herself, having to hire a nanny so that she can still work, and the least you can do is answer your damn phone when your daughter calls!"

"I forgot!" Derek screams, throwing his arms in the air. "I forgot about it, and I–my work is important—sorry I didn't check my phone! Why do you care so much, anyway?"

"Because I love all of you!" She snarls back, shaking her head in disbelief. "Because Meredith is stressed beyond belief, and most of it comes back to you! Because you've barely been reaching out to her, and they deserve better!"

"I thought you of all people would understand." Derek scoffs, narrowing his eyes at her.

Cassandra crosses her arms, in complete disbelief that this is how her night is going. "Understand what exactly?"

"Running! I mean, you did it!"

"I–I didn't have the responsibilities that you do, Derek!" She shouts, throwing her hands up now as she shakes her head. "I don't have a wife and kids–"

"And whose fault is that?"

Cassandra freezes. Derek doesn't notice, on a roll now. He doesn't see the way her body locks up, or notice a shift in the air at the mention of her failed relationship: the relationship she'd destroyed after her sister died, unable to claw her way out of grief, feeling like she was choking every day that she stayed in Seattle and tried desperately to act normal, act human.

"I mean, you gave up everything! You didn't try saving the hospital with us, or picking up the pieces, you just took your settlement money and ran! You don't get to stand there and point fingers at me as if we aren't the same. At least I still have a relationship."

"And how long do you think it'll last, when you can't even be in the same city as her?"

She sees the exact moment that her words hit him, sees the flicker of pain, followed by fear, in his eyes before he closes himself off. She's glad for it: both for the vindictive part of her that wants to strike out in return, hurt how she's been hurt, and for the part of her that loves him no matter what and wants him to reunite with his family.

"You know what? I'm done." He snarls, pushing past her and grabbing his suitcase. He packs in a rush, throwing his belongings into it while she watches, feeling off kilter. She's not completely sure how her evening derailed so quickly: she'd made a comment about him calling Meredith back, and next thing she knew, they were going for blood. "I'm not staying here anymore."

"Fine." She says flatly, moving and holding the front door open for him, not protesting the decision. "Hopefully wherever you end up has good connection so you can call your goddamn kids."

On his way out, he has one last parting gift for her, and it shakes her to her core.

"If Lexie was here, she wouldn't recognize you."

There's a club a block away from her house.

She doesn't make a conscious decision to go out, or at least she doesn't remember doing so. One minute she's sitting with her back against the front door, frozen in place, and then she blinks and she's grinding up against someone on a dance floor, with the taste of alcohol on her tongue and music blaring in her ears.

Before she knows it, she's washing her hands in the bathroom as the woman she'd just had sex with slips back onto the dance floor. For a second the music–Work Out by J Cole–streams into the bathroom, but it grows distant again as the door shuts behind her. She never got her name. If she said it, Cassandra didn't hear her.

She didn't wash her hands, Cassandra thinks to herself with a grimace, suddenly regretting letting her touch her at all. She feels dirty and sticky in a way she hasn't felt in two years. It's a feeling she doesn't enjoy, and for a second she considers going home and sleeping this off, but then she catches her reflection in the mirror.

If Lexie was here, she wouldn't recognize you.

She shuts her eyes, trying to block it out, but the thought grows louder when she opens them again, unable to help herself. There's mascara sticking under her eyelashes, and small streaks of it down her face. Her hair is shorter than it'd been when Lexie was alive, with none of the blonde highlights she used to love. More than anything, it's her eyes that stop her in her tracks.

Is everyone else able to see how dead they look?

Not dead enough. Not dead like Lexie's were before Cassandra reached over and shut them, blood trailing out of her mouth, her body ripped apart–

When she's bent over the toilet, the only thing that comes up is tequila.

"Well, someone had a fun night." Derek laughs as soon as she reaches their desks, reaching out a hand to fist bump her. Cassandra returns the gesture on auto-pilot. She'd woken up ten minutes before she had to leave, because she'd forgotten to set her alarm. She'd barely had the time to brush her teeth and throw on an outfit, feeling beyond disgusting but relieved that she'd taken a bath the night before, so she at least didn't smell like the clubs she'd frequented that weekend. The only reason she'd taken a bath was because she'd spilled wine all over herself, and then she'd proceeded to drink a bottle in the bath, but she's grateful to her past self anyway.

"What?" She asks, frowning when he grabs her wrist and turns the back of her hand over to face him, whistling. The sound shoots straight through her, and she winces, seeing Elle wince in solidarity with her.

"Four different clubs. Damn, mama, you were busy." Derek laughs, releasing her hand and sliding a bottle of Aspirin her way. She jumps for it, and then steals his coffee mug to wash it down. Thankfully, the remainders of the stamps come off with hand sanitizer, which she rubs into her skin viciously. "What was his name?"

"I didn't get her name." She tells him, leaving out that there was more than one girl and more than four clubs: the other stamps had been washed off to allow her entry, not wanting to get stopped by the bouncers on the second night. He fist bumps her again, stealing back his coffee, although Elle takes pity on her and leaves to make her one. "Wait. How'd you know?"

"Profiler." Derek smirks, slipping away to the bathroom. Cassandra just sighs, looking over to Spencer for help, and he gestures to his own neck with flushed cheeks. Instantly, Cassandra's heart drops. She hadn't looked into a single mirror this morning, in such a rush that she'd been brushing her teeth while getting dressed, all done in the dark.

"Fuck. Are you kidding me?" She groans, holding her phone camera out and getting a good look at the line of hickies on her neck. Of all days to wear a v-neck shirt, too . . . not that her button-up would've covered the ones higher up, but still. She tentatively touches one of the bruises, wincing at the feel of it. "This is so unprofessional. Fuck me."

Spencer clears his throat awkwardly, and when she looks over, he's holding out a bundle of fabric. She grabs it and unwraps it, her heart leaping when she sees that it's a burgundy turtleneck.

"Are you sure?" She checks, and when he nods, she's quick to throw it on. She feels a little creepy for noticing that it smells good as she does, but she thinks he might have spilled coffee on it at some point, although there's no noticeable stain. It's a bit big on her, since he's taller, and she has to roll the sleeves up a few times to regain use of her hands. It's comfortable in a way she's never considered turtlenecks to be, and soft enough that she doesn't feel like it's choking her, and she honestly wants to keep it forever.

"How do I look?" She smirks, playfully spinning around, laughing when the sweater falls down even further, going to about mid thigh.

"Oh, um, great. I mean, red is always a good match with dark hair, which you have . . . obviously. I mean, you know that. You look amazing." He stumbles, and Cassandra smiles to herself, amused by him. After a weekend of non stop flirting and sexual behavior, it's nice to be around someone so sweet.

"Thank you. Seriously, I would've died if I had to be around Hotch and Gideon like that. You're an actual life saver." She gushes, and he nods, opening his mouth just as JJ comes down to inform them that they have a case. They all gather in the conference room, where a man's vehicle operator's license is on the screen.

"Walter Derbin, age 52." Hotch tells them as they take their seats, and Cassandra ignores the smirks that Elle and Derek send her way, seeing her new outfit. "His body was found in his cap in East Harlem."

Cassandra perks up, sharing a look with Elle. Does that mean they're going to New York?

"He was blindfolded and shot once in the chest. Death was caused by a knife stab through his ear." Hotch continues, putting the crime scene photos up on the screen. "The unsub broke off the handle but the blade lodged in his brain."

"It's the same signature as two other murders." JJ informs them. "Rachel Holman, 24, found in her apartment three weeks ago on the lower East side. And Kaveh Surrani, 30. The police found him two weeks later inside his painting studio in Hells Kitchen."

"Different locations, different victimology." Hotch notes. "It's possible we're looking for someone who'll hunt indiscriminately."

"NYPD have any leads?" Elle asks, while Cassandra flips through the crime scene photos.

"Guy's a ghost."

"He kills at night, there's no witnesses." JJ says, and Cassandra hums.

"The night part doesn't mean much in NYC, and he'd know that. He had Derbin drive him to an abandoned area, Holman was killed in her apartment, and Surrani was in his private studio. He makes sure they're alone." She points out, because NYC is truly the city that never sleeps. "Sounds to me like we're looking for a local."

"Is the NYPD feeling the strain?" Gideon asks.

"Well, they've withheld details so the press hasn't sniffed out a link between the murders." JJ explains.

"With no discernable victim patterns, the killer's practically impossible to stop." Derek says.

"Did you know the original Zodiac Killer actually continually changed his victims?" Spencer asks them. "Young, old, men, women, white, black."

"Exactly. And he killed for 30 years without ever being caught." Gideon states, quickly darkening the mood.

"This is not how I planned to spend a few days home in New York." Elle sighs on the jet. She's playing cards with JJ and Spencer, although Cassandra has taken the seat behind them, sinking into an armchair. She's been chugging caffeine, and her headache isn't so bad, but she still feels off kilter and doesn't want to be in Hotch or Gideon's direct line of sight.

"I'd kill for an afternoon at Barney's and dinner at Il Cantinori." JJ adds.

"I'm looking forward to seeing New York." Spencer tells them, sounding excited.

"You've never been to New York?" Derek asks, surprised.

"We've never had an unsub there." Spencer answers as if it's obvious, and Cassandra leans forward, her mind rushing.

"I can think of ten places you would adore off the top of my head." She tells him, smiling as she thinks about showing him around the city she'd grown to love. "If we don't have time on this case, I'm dragging you out here on our next weekend off."

"Sounds exciting." He gives her a small smile that she returns, already planning an itinerary. First on the list is Argosy Book Store, naturally, and she imagines they could easily fill the seven hours that they're open.

"I thought you were gonna talk to Reid about taking some vacation time." Hotch tells Gideon.

"What's vacation time?" Gideon asks, not looking up from his file.

"Reid, it's a one hour flight." Derek points out, sounding scandalized. "It's a three hour train ride, man!"

"We're taking the train." Cassandra tells him quickly. There's a low probability of her being held hostage on a train again, and she much prefers that to planes. Especially because she doesn't see Hotch signing off on them taking the jet for a joy ride.

"Wait, so we're really going?" Spencer asks, perking up, and Cassandra nods.

"I mean, yeah, if you want to." She says, frowning when his excitement grows. "Did you think I was just saying that?" He looks uncomfortable, and she quickly puts the pieces together. It's fairly obvious that he was bullied as a child–an unfortunate occurrence for the geniuses of the world. "Well, I meant it. I love New York, and I'll happily show you around whenever we get the chance."

"Okay, here's what we know." Hotch changes the subject, and she turns away from Spencer, who looks overwhelmed. "Blitz attackers are almost always male."

"He got picked up in the pouring rain by a New York cabbie, so we definitely know he's not a brother." Derek jokes, receiving laughter from them.

"The fact that he kills in a major Urban setting without detection indicates that he's highly intelligent." Spencer states.

"How intelligent can he be?" Elle questions. "I mean, blitz attackers are textbook disorganized killers."

"Yeah, but he brings along a murder kit." Hotch challenges that idea. "Blindfood, knife. How disorganized can he be?"

"New Yorker's tend to mind their own business." Cassandra points out. "I don't think locations are going to help much, at least not with witnesses. When I worked SVU, we had a case where forty-one people witnessed a rape, and not a single one of them did anything to stop it. The bystander effect in action."

"We'll split up." Gideon decides. "We'll take the last two crime scenes. In the meantime, let's talk about what we can agree on. A blindfold likely means one of two things."

"The unsub might blindfold them initially if he's unsure of killing them and wants to avoid detection." Derek suggests.

"Exactly. But since we know the cab driver couldn't have been blindfolded when he drove the unsub, we're looking at reason number two."

Remorse.

At Rachel Holman's apartment, they find a change of address card filled out, showing that she'd moved in recently: not long enough to have formed any connections with her neighbors. Derek finds a flyer for local Alcohol Anonymous meetings, and Cassandra feels an instant connection to the victim. They'd both moved to New York for fresh starts.

Hotch points out, based on the pools of blood, that the unsub had been in her apartment before she got in, instead of surprising her like the NYPD had thought. She'd been shot inside the apartment, tried to run to the door, and then stabbed through her ear.

The unsub presents with a mixed profile. He's highly organized. He plans out the attacks instead of picking victims at random, although they haven't been able to find a connection between the victims. He likely has a steady day job.

"So, we're looking for a small, angry white guy with a day job?" An officer questions during their profile.

"Maybe it's Wilson." One of the white officers jokes, making fun of his friend, and the cops all laugh.

"Cut it." The lead detective, Nora Bennett, protests, but Gideon smiles.

"No, that's alright. That's alright." He waves her off, laughing too. "You're right. There's a lot we still don't know, but we do know this: these are not blitz attacks. They're too controlled. These are absolutely executions."

"An unsubs signature–ahem–is his own extremely rare combination of MO and ritual." Spencer explains to the room. "An unsub kills to satisfy an inner need, and he'll continue killing until that inner need, which is based on ritual, is lived out perfectly. Because reality never lives up to fantasy, this becomes an impossibility."

"In other words, he's not gonna stop killing until we catch him." Gideon adds.

"Okay. Hit the streets and keep your head on a swivel." Bennett orders. They go over the profile more with her, and before they know it, they're getting sent to a new crime scene. This time, it's a church.

"So this is where terror starts." Bennett sighs as they enter.

"How'd they find him?" Gideon asks.

"The night janitor."

"Did he see anything?"

"No, but he remembered a parishioner who was here earlier."

"So we have a potential witness." Hotch notes.

"Right there."

"This lady?"

Elle stops to talk to her, with Derek joining, while the rest of them continue forward. Their newest victim is currently being examined.

"First public killing." Gideon points out. "He's getting bolder, huh?"

Cassandra squats down next to Spencer, both of them examining the man: blindfolded, gunshot wound to the chest, blood pooled around his head from the handleless blade sticking out of his ear.

"He didn't let his surroundings alter his method." Hotch states. "He's meticulous. The presentation's every bit as important as the kill." He moves to join Elle and Derek. Bennett and Gideon join as their witness explains that she hadn't seen his face, and that he'd been wearing a hoodie. She's blaming herself, a typical reaction.

Spencer clears his throat, ducking down really close to the examiner, who turns and gives him an annoyed look. Spencer gives him an awkward smile, and Cassandra bites her lip to stop her own as the examiner lets out a sigh and moves out of his way.

"I'm sorry. Would it be possible to maybe . . . slide that thing out of his ear?" Spencer asks. The examiner sighs again but moves to do so. Spencer grimaces as he watches, but Cassanda is a little awed. The surgeon part of her wants to be doing it herself. When the knife is pulled out, Cassandra sees what had captured Spencer's interest.

"He's not using any knife. It's made of flint." Spencer states, the two of them joining the others.

"As in stone?"

"In Egyptian Mythology, flint was the symbol for protection and retribution." Spencer explains. "With hieroglyphics, they used to depict dangerous animals like scorpions and snakes being cut with flint knives in order to render them powerless."

Gideon grabs a pair of gloves, bending down to examine the victim himself. He carefully lifts the blindfold, looking up at them. "Anything strike you as strange?"

"The blood's all on the inside." Hotch answers.

"So . . . he kills them, and then covers their eyes." Cassandra realizes, frowning. "Not a sign of remorse, then."

Hotch turns away, calling Penelope. "I need you to check all the victims and see if any were ever charged with a crime . . . no acquittals? You're a genius. Thanks." He turns back to them, explaining what he's learned. "All three charged with a felony. All three found innocent."

"And that didn't show up on your men's radar?" Elle asks Bennett.

"Acquittals? No." She responds with an attitude, although Cassandra can't really blame her. It took them a while to figure it out, and they're trained to find connections more than regular street cops. "Why is it important?"

"Because we have a new profile." Gideon answers.

Back at the police station, they give the updated profile.

"We now believe these killings aren't random. We might be dealing with a vigilante." Gideon explains to the gathered cops. "The unsub first shoots his victims in order to subdue them. Flint knife then provides both an efficient kill and symbolic retribution." As he explains, Spencer clicks on a remote, projecting crime scene images on the screen. "Finally, the victim is blindfolded, like the statue of Lady Justice. This particular unsub . . . he displays both a heightened–it's actually almost a poetic sense of right and wrong."

"Serial vigilantes are extremely rare." Spencer takes over, sipping out of his coffee mug. "The exaggerated drama of these killings suggest that they're somehow personal. He, or someone close to him, was likely the victim of a violent crime. His first killing was possibly against his original attacker. And since then he's developed an overblown sense of justice in order to justify that killing to himself."

"Because he chooses the imagery of Lady Justice, it's possible we're dealing with someone who works in or around the criminal justice system. Lawyer, paralegal, bailiff, even a judge."

"We'll cross-check unsolved murders against suspects in assault cases and victims who work in the system." Bennett explains to her team.

"Whatever the unsub's job, he's someone who's a cog in the machine. He's overworked, undervalued. He's used to not being noticed. His sense of theatrics is a way to enhance his own self-esteem, convince himself he has a higher purpose. And he also knows that people look right through him. Being faceless is his best defense against detection. He's everyone. One last thing. We need you to close ranks. The more details that slip out, the more he'll feed off it. We don't want him believing he's captured the public's fear or imagination."

"Too late." JJ sighs, holding up a newspaper. "The afternoon edition's leading with the vigilante story."

"How'd they get it?" Bennett asks.

"I don't know."

"You were worried about this guy becoming another Son of Sam." Gideon tells her, holding up the newspaper. Front page has the title JUDGE AND JURY. "Now we might be dealing with a vigilante folk hero like Bernhard Goetz."

They take a break to get lunch as a team, and Cassandra picks the place. There was a Chinese restaurant by her old precinct that she adored, and they get a circular table there. It's nice to take the time, since most cases have them scrambling so much they tend to skip meals.

"So you know there was a big hole in the profile you presented back there." Hotch tells Gideon, passing a bowl of dumplings around.

"Can you pass the Moo Shu, please?" Gideon asks, thanking JJ when she passes it over.

"Uh, what's the hole?" She asks.

"I left out the possibility our unsub might be a cop." Gideon explains.

"Well, they do know the system. They're definitely overworked and underpaid." Morgan nods.

"They see so much injustice every day they can easily take matters into their own hands." Hotch continues.

"When someone like our victims is killed, police refer to the murder as a public-service murder." Spencer says, frowning as he loses his noodles again. He's been struggling with his chopsticks since they got seated.

"You know how many rapists I saw walk during my sex crime days?" Elle asks, and Cassandra sighs.

"You know how many untested rape kits there are?" She asks as well, depressed by the information. She loved working at SVU but, at the same time, it felt like it was taking her soul. "Thousands. They sit on shelves because of budget cuts and people not caring as much about sex crimes. It's horrifying."

"I still can't believe you worked under Olivia Benson." Elle sighs, looking jealous. "She's the best."

"Don't I know it." Cassandra smiles. "Speaking of my old team . . . after this, I want to go speak to their ADA. Rafael Barba. He knows a lot of people, he could have some information."

"You trust him?" Hotch asks, staring at her intensely.

"With my life." Cassandra answers honestly. "He won't betray my confidence."

"Excuse me." Spencer waves down a waiter. "Can I get a fork, perhaps?"

Derek laughs, and Cassandra shares an amused look with Elle and JJ.

"Did you know that experts credit Confucius with the advent of the chopstick?" Spencer asks. "He equated knives with acts of aggression."

"You don't know how to use 'em, do you?" Derek asks, smiling.

"It's like trying to forage for dinner with a pair of number 2 pencils." He whines, and the whole table laughs.

"Okay, look, let me help you." JJ offers, grabbing the chopsticks from him and wrapping a hairtie around the top.

"Ah, the rubberband trick." Derek laughs.

"Yeah, the rubberband trick."

"Well, New York City cops do have a lot of pressure on 'em." Derek brings the subject back to their case. "Every move they make is scrutinized."

"You know, one of the first cases of criminal profiling happened when a New York City cop asked a criminal psychologist friend to help with the Mad Bomber case." Gideon tells them, and Spencer perks up, his pointer finger going in the air as he speaks up.

"The Mad Bomber was a major inspiration for the Unabomber. He eluded cops in New York for sixteen years, starting in 1940. But he kept his promise and never set off a single bomb during the second World War."

"Psychiatrist James Brussels, he developed a profile so accurate he predicted that when they caught the bomber, he'd be wearing a double-breasted suit and it would be buttoned." Gideon informs them, and Cassandra shakes her head. That's just insane.

"You guys, we're here in New York and even when we're not talking about our case, we end up talking about another profiler." Elle points out.

"You're right." Hotch nods, a smirk forming on his face. "So, Cassandra . . . you've been wearing that turtleneck for two days now. Any reason?"

The smirk on his face shows that he knows exactly why she is, and Derek laughs from next to her.

"Cassandra's got a girlfriend," He sings, and Cassandra is quick to swat at his shoulder, annoyed.

"You are so beyond annoying!" She complains, rolling her eyes. She opens her mouth to continue berating him, but freezes when the door opens and she sees who enters the restaurant. She's on her feet in an instant, ignoring the questions behind her as she rounds the table and throws herself at Fin. "Fin! Sonny!"

Fin laughs in her ear as she squeezes him tightly, only releasing him so that she can do the same to Carisi, beaming at the sight of them. "How are you guys?"

"Good. We just wrapped up a case, figured we'd get some late lunch before we get back to paperwork." Sonny explains. "How are you? What brings you back here?"

"I'm on a case," She explains, waving behind her at the table of FBI Agents. "Do you want to sit with us? I'm sure they'd all love to meet you."

"Why not?" Fin shrugs, waving for her to lead the way. She does just that, smiling when Derek instantly squeezes two more chairs to the table.

"Guys, this is Detective Odafin Tutuola and Detective Dominick Carisi Jr." She introduces, waving for them to take the new seats so they're now between her and Derek. Sonny sits next to her, with Spencer on her other side. "They work under Benson in SVU."

"Call me Sonny." Carisi insists instantly, and Fin nods.

"Fin."

"Fin, Sonny, this is Dr. Spencer Reid; Agents Jennifer Jareau, JJ for short; Jason Gideon; Aaron Hotchner; Elle Greenaway, and finally, definitely least, Derek Morgan." Derek rolls her eyes at his greeting while Fin chuckles.

"It's nice to meet you." Hotch smiles, running a calculated gaze over the two of them before relaxing. "We got a lot of food. Please, help yourselves."

"Hotch, Sonny is a lawyer as well." Cassandra mentions, smiling when the two of them instantly start comparing stories. Derek is making friends with Fin, and she dreads to imagine what kind of blackmail they're giving each other about her, but she focuses on Spencer who is still struggling with his chopsticks.

"You need to pinch them more." Cassandra explains, showing him the motion with her own chopsticks. "You only move the one, like this. See?"

He doesn't become a professional during the meal, but she does get him to stop dropping half of his plate on the floor, so she'll take it as a win.

She leans over to Sonny during a break in the conversation: "Do you know if Barba is in his office, or has he been with you guys?"

"I haven't seen him today, so I imagine he's either in court or at his office." He explains easily, furrowing his brows. "Is everything okay?"

"Liv is gonna be upset that we saw you and she didn't." Fin tells her pointedly, and she smiles.

"I'll try and stop in to see her." She promises, meaning it. "Everything's okay. I just think he might have some information that could help our case. He's not a suspect, don't worry."

She ignores the look Gideon gives her at that. They don't know Barba the way she does, and she refuses to even entertain the idea of considering him suspicious.

"Well, make sure to bring him a coffee." Sonny snorts, shaking his head. She's missed him and that thick Italian accent of his. "The last two times he refused to let me in his office unless I brought him a snack. Said he needed the caffeine to endure my presence."

"Awe, is he pulling your pigtails?" She coos, patting his cheek mockingly. "Don't worry. He'll let me in."

The entire break goes by quickly, with a lot of teasing being sent her way, and before she knows it she's reluctantly saying goodbye to her old team members.

​

Their next victim is a cop killer. Shawn Cooley; he killed two Port Authority cops the year previous. The only witness against him was shot six times outside of his apartment, and so Cooley walked.

Cassandra leans back in her chair at the precinct, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She'd stopped at a department store last night, picking up a few turtlenecks. She's wearing a purple one right now, with Spencer's folded up neatly in her bag. She plans on washing it before returning it to him, to be extra kind. She's sure he doesn't want her scent in the thing when he gets it back.

"More bad news." JJ sighs, walking over to them with the morning paper. "It's the same reporter every time. Uh, Lance Wagner. He's practically deifying him."

"I'm not even happy with the results when god plays god." Gideon says dryly.

Cassandra groans as soon as she hears the name. "Oh, Wagner is a piece of work. He was a nightmare for me during my SVU days." She complains, frustration building. "The way he talked about victims, the lack of respect . . . it always made my skin crawl."

"You know, a few of the men were talking about making him wish lists of other suspects." Bennett tells them.

"'Some day a real rain will come and wash all the scum off the streets.'" Hotch reads from the article.

"Taxi Driver." Spencer recognizes the quote.

"This town loves a psychopath." Bennett states.

"Why hasn't he contacted the press yet?" Spencer asks.

"Reid's right. He's got the symbolism, the inflated sense of duty. He should be seeking out acclaim." Hotch nods, setting the paper to the side. Cassandra glares at it, annoyed that Wagner is hurting another case of hers.

"Maybe it's not about acclaim with him." Gideon suggests. "He's on a mission. Maybe it's about the work."

"Yeah, but the last two cases were a cop killer and a pedophile priest." Hotch points out. "Those are higher profile cases."

"He's getting more confident." Spencer says.

"He's growing into his role as the city's judge and executioner." Gideon sighs, turning to Cassandra. "This would be a good time to check on that ADA . . . Barba, you said?"

"I'll check the press archives for controversial acquittals. Maybe we can target the victim before the unsub, have the police waiting on him." JJ suggests, and Cassandra nods, pleased with the idea. It would be amazing to get ahead of this guy.

"Hey, guys. Listen to what came off the tip hotline." Elle joins them, hitting play.

"I gotta dip. Let the guy be." A man's voice says, followed by a woman. "How come the NYPD wants to catch this guy? Are you jealous he's doing the job better than you?"

Elle hits pause, "It goes on for half an hour."

"He's a hero." Gideon points out how the public views him.

"The exact same thing happened with the Goetz-New York Subway shooting in the early eighties." Spencer says, and Gideon gives him a strange look.

"You weren't even born."

"I read a lot."

On her way to Barba's office, Derek texts her with information from Penelope: each victim was processed at the Manhattan Criminal Courthouse at 100 Center Street. The very same courthouse she frequented when she worked here, and that Barba frequents now. Luckily for her, when she is given access to the building–his assistant recognizes her–she finds him alone in his office.

She knocks twice before entering, holding two coffee cups and a bag from his favorite street vendor. Or, at least, it was his favorite last year. She's hoping that it still is.

"I brought gifts." She jokes, taking a seat in front of his desk as he looks up with a grin, handing over his coffee. He takes a cautious sip, grins, and then grabs an empty tray from the side in preparation for the tacos.

"I was worried you were Carisi." He jokes back, grabbing the takeout container that she'd labeled with his name and passing hers over. They share the tray, the way she's done with him in the past. "But he hasn't learned that the way to my love is birria. Thank you."

"You love him." She smirks, shaking her head. She's always loved the little rivalry he has with Sonny. It's cute, and it was her only source of entertainment through some of their worst cases. "You know, if you really want to thank me . . . I didn't come here just to share a meal, as much as I adore your company."

"Hmm, I figured. I do read the paper, you know." He tells her dryly, raising his eyebrows at her as he begins eating. "Ask away, but know I may not be able to answer."

"All of our victims were processed at a certain beloved courthouse." She starts, quickly explaining the unsub's profile to him, looking for any sign that he recognizes him. "Anything sound familiar?"

"You described nearly everyone I work with." Barba points out, sounding unimpressed. "If you figure out more, I can try to help, but right now no one is coming to mind."

"Well, thank you anyway." Cassandra sighs, giving him a smile. "Honestly, I was just hoping I wouldn't have to talk to Wagner."

When his lip curls in disgust, Cassandra bursts out laughing.

Someone poses as their unsub, killing an undercover cop in a park and then walking into the station to give himself up. He showcases narcissistic behavior, lying through his teeth about murders he knows nothing about. They come up with a plan to give information to Wagner, hoping that the unsub will reach out if he finds out someone is trying to copy him. Derek discovers that their unsub is likely a court reporter, since there are no records available yet from the taxi driver's trial.

Cassandra leaves with Spencer, Hotch and Gideon for the courthouse.

"That means that anyone who knows the details of that case had to have been in that courtroom." Hotch is explaining as they walk.

"Court reporter's take their work home with them." Gideon points out.

"They get paid overtime. They take their notes in court and finish transcribing them at night." Hotch adds, and Cassandra pulls out her phone, texting Barba.

"You know what Bennett said about not being able to get the sound of bagpipes out of her head?" Gideon asks, referring to the bagpipes played at police funerals. "Maybe that's why the unsub stabs the ears."

"Killer's often harm their victims in ways that they themselves have been harmed." Spencer agrees.

"Court reporters, by definition, are a faceless cog in the machine. He sits there day in and day out transcribing testimony."

"What if the voices wouldn't stop when you left the courtroom?" Gideon asks.

"The witness at the church said that the unsub was playing a piano-like motion."

"Transcribing."

"Killing is a good way to get the voices to stop, huh?" Gideon asks. Hotch calls Penelope to find out the name of the court stenographer in the original trials for the victims, while Cassandra finally gets an answer from Barba.

"Same one every time. Marvin Doyle."

"Doyle?" Cassandra checks, frowning as she looks up. "Barba just told me that a judge named Doyle as fitting the profile."

"Cross-check him against crime records." Hotch orders, just as they reach where their car is parked. "See if he was ever the victim of a violent crime."

"No, not him. His parent's were killed in an attempted robbery, '04." Penelope answers quickly.

"That's his stressor. Where is he working?"

"100 Center, Courtroom 103."

"We've got him!" Hotch exclaims, and they all quickly get into the car to drive to the courthouse. Cassandra texts Barba on the way, thanking him and promising to buy him a drink later. When they arrive, it's quickly revealed that Doyle had noticed Hotch and Spencer in the courtroom the day before, and hadn't come into work since. They quickly get a warrant and a home address.

"Marvin Doyle. FBI! Open up!" Gideon calls out, receiving no response. At Gideon's nod, an officer kicks in the door, and they flood into the apartment. The windows are covered in aliminum foil and tape: an attempt at soundproofing the place.

"Clear!"

Within a few minutes, it's evident that Doyle isn't there. Gideon pulls back the foil in one of the windows, revealing the acoustic foam on the other side, which he pulls aside in favor of looking outside. With the gap, they can now hear sirens as cars drive by.

Spencer picks up a picture frame, showing that he crossed out the other person in the picture, while Elle points out that he'd ripped the speakers out of his TV and his radio. Next to it, she finds a life insurance check for $250,000. He never cashed it after his parents died.

"He won't accept blood money." Gideon says, and Cassandra looks away, her stomach churning.

"Here's a box full of flint knives." Hotch sets them down, having brought them up from the basement. "There's got to be a hundred of 'em."

"Hey, guys. Come take a look at this!" Derek calls for them. He's standing in Doyle's office, which has boxes lined up along the walls. "It's a stenography machine. Look at the keys. They're all worn out."

"It's like he was trying to transcribe the voices in his head and he couldn't keep up." Gideon says, flipping through one of the boxes. It's filled to the brim with transcribed notes.

"Looks like hieroglyphics." Elle points out, opening another box.

"It's called steno." Spencer tells them, and Cassandra looks over, intrigued. "It's basically a phonetic series of syllables. No court reporter takes notes in the same way so no one can translate them except the reporter himself."

Cassandra smiles at him, making a mental note to ask more about that later. It's fascinating to her.

"He's getting paid overtime to study potential victims." Gideon points out.

"He knows we're onto him. He's racing us now." Hotch says.

"Someone in these boxes is targeted to die. We need to get inside his head and figure out who so we can stop him. Let's go. Start fishin'."

"You know, this is a lot of boxes." Derek points out with a weary sigh, bringing two more into the kitchen. "How are we supposed to narrow it down?"

"Check and see if it ended in acquittal." Gideon answers. "If it didn't, toss it aside."

Each box has dozens of files in it, and Cassandra feels like her brain is leaking from her ears as she continues reading.

"It has to be a capital case." Hotch adds. "He's escalating. The more brutal the better."

"Why not go by most recent?" Elle asks.

"Judging by his elaborate filing system, Doyle obviously has Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder." Spencer explains, flying through files faster than the rest of them. "People with OCD often finish tasks then go back to the beginning and start over."

"So he continually goes through the transcripts, and the first one to trigger him becomes his next victim." Derek concludes.

"Here's one." Elle tells them. "This is a liquor store owner who was shot with his own gun."

"Flip to when they present the defense." Hotch tells her. "Did the defendant testify?"

"No."

"Stick with the ones where the accused took the stand. This is personal. He hears their voices."

"Doyle's victims all claimed to be a type of victim themselves." Gideon says. "The first two threw themselves on the mercy of the court, pleading alcohol and drug dependency. The priest said he was a victim of recent hysteria."

"Look for key phrases." Hotch interrupts, summarizing what Gideon is telling them. "Victim, mercy, anything that signifies they thought the crime wasn't their fault."

"That's every rapist I used to deal with." Cassandra sighs, tossing another file back.

"I think I might have one, guys." Spencer announces. "Ted Elmore. He shot and killed both his parents after claiming self-defense for years of physical abuse."

"Doyle lost his own parents. Hearing someone get away with killing their own, that would haunt him." Gideon agrees, and Cassandra twists around, looking through the file that Spencer readily hands over.

"There's a phone number listed." Cassandra notes, reading it off for Gideon, who calls Elmore's house.

"Hello?" A woman answers the phone.

"Is Ted Elmore there?" Gideon asks.

"Not right now. Can I take a message?" She asks.

"Who's this?"

"This is his wife. Who's this?" She asks, clearly finding the question offensive.

"My name is Jason Gideon. I'm with the FBI." Gideon tells her, just as they hear a door open on the other end.

"Honey, the FBI is on the phone?" Mrs. Elmore asks. A second later, there's a gunshot and a scream, and they all jump to their feet. Bennett and a whole squad of officers, including SWAT, meet them at the apartment building.

"He's in there." Bennett tells them, pointing to the apartment.

"I think I can talk him out." Gideon decides, and Cassandra instantly nods.

"I'm going with you." She insists, ignoring the startled look she receives from Spencer and Derek. "He's shot. You need a doctor in there."

"I have snipers up high." Bennett tells them, pointing them out. "If they get a clean shot, they have my order to take it."

"We might be able to reason. We rushed him. He doesn't want to have an innocent hostage. He has an exaggerated sense of right and wrong."

"And so do I." Bennett states.

"Talking's worth a shot." Gideon says, while Cassandra shoulders her med bag, glad that she had kept it in Hotch's SUV. Gideon leads the way into the apartment, with Cassandra following one step behind him, determined to save Elmore's life.

"Tell her how you lied." Doyle is ordering when they arrive. "Tell her how you killed your parents and pretended they'd been hurting you!"

"They did hurt me." Elmore chokes out, slumped against Doyle, just as Gideon and Cassandra enter the room with their guns raised. Mrs. Elmore whimpers at the sight of them, and Cassandra wishes she had time to comfort her. All she can do is gently push her behind them, not liking the thought of her being near that gun.

"I'll kill him." Doyle states, looking up at them.

"Then you wouldn't get to hear the truth." Gideon says. "If he admits the truth, the voices will stop, right?"

"They always lie." Doyle insists, shaking his head. He turns his gun around, pointing it at Cassandra, and keeping the flint knife facing Elmore.

"We're the FBI. We can get the truth out of him." She promises, wanting to get distance between them.

"Marvin, Grey's gonna put her gun away." Gideon tells him, and Cassandra carefully lowers her weapon, trusting him. When it's in her holster, she holds her hands to the side and slowly moves to be next to them, keeping her hands where he can see them.

"Marvin, he needs to be alive so he can tell the truth." She explains softly, and he flinches, his eyes squeezing shut. "He can't tell the truth if he's not here, right?"

"If he dies, they'll go away!"

"Has that worked?" Cassandra asks him. "They come back. They always come back."

Gideon starts listing cases and Cassandra joins him, the two of them going back and forth. It's easy to pull from her own experiences, and from the files he keeps in his office. Doyle shouts for them to stop, but Gideon insists that it doesn't stop.

"You can't kill fast enough to keep up."

"They killed my parents." Doyle says, his face bright red. "I'm so tired."

He holds the gun to Elmore's head.

"Marvin, listen to me." Gideon whispers. "Why don't you just give me the gun? And I promise you . . . I will get you a place to rest."

As soon as Doyle moves his arm, Elmore slumps over, and Cassandra is quick to pull him away from Doyle. She hates turning her back on them, but she trusts Gideon, and she needs to focus more on Elmore. When a gunshot echoes in the room, Mrs. Elmore screams, and Cassandra turns to see that a sniper had killed Doyle.

"Mrs. Elmore." She calls out, unzipping her bag and quickly putting on a pair of gloves. "He's alive! Come here."

The sobbing woman rushes over, falling to her knees beside Cassandra, who gives her a gentle smile.

"You can hold his hand." She encourages, glad that she quickly does so. She watches Cassandra's every movement as she checks his ABC's–airway, breathing, and circulation. She's quick to slip an oxygen mask over his face, relieved when that helps his stats. There's an entry and exit wounds, and she sees no signs of the bullet having knicked anything, although ER staff will have to determine that. With practiced movements, she has the wounds packed and is moving onto placing antecubital large bore IV's before Mrs. Elmore can ask her any questions.

"Do you know his blood type?" She asks.

"O–O-positive." She chokes out, wiping away her tears. "Is he going to be okay?"

"I believe so." She answers softly, sticking a red sticker on his shirt, identifying him as O-positive. Finally, the EMT's arrive with the backboard, and she helps them transfer him as she explains everything she's done. When she turns around, she's startled when Mrs. Elmore hugs her fiercely, pulling away before the EMT's leave the room.

"Thank you." She sobs, rushing to hold her husband's hand again, and Cassandra smiles until she turns to see the heartbroken look on Gideon's face as he stares at Doyle's body. She's gentle as she checks for a pulse, not surprised when she doesn't find one.

She helps them transfer him to a gurney, covering him in a black sheet, and then she helps Gideon to his feet. She keeps an arm around him as they walk down the stairs behind the coroners who entered with the EMT's, and she isn't surprised when Hotch and Derek are the first ones to greet them outside of the building.

None of them speak. There isn't anything to say.

That night, Cassandra drinks again.

She drinks, and she pulls up her contact for Derek Shepherd, and she cries looking at his contact picture. It's the one of the two of them, Lexie, and Zola in her bee costume: all of them asleep on the living room floor of the frat house. When she calls, she's not surprised that it goes to voicemail.

As soon as the beep sounds, she's talking through her tears.

"I saved a man's life today." She says, swallowing thickly. "I saved a man's life, and my first thought was I can't wait to tell Derek about this. Except you're too busy being a fucking asshole, so I can't! I mean, seriously? You're an adult, Derek! Fucking act like one! I mean, what was that? You—you don't get to throw a tantrum because I point out one of your flaws! And you sure as hell don't get to involve Lexie in any argument! I mean, what the fuck? What the fuck, Derek? We—we both love her too much for this shit. Do better. I—"

The voicemail cuts out, and Cassandra sighs, angrily swiping at her tears.

Their last texts were mundane: Derek asking her to pick up Chinese food on the way home. She sniffles, and she smiles, because Derek always eats Chinese when he's away from Meredith, since she hates it.

"Fuck you." She breathes out, typing out a text with trembling fingers.

I love you. I hate you right now, but I love you too. Get your shit together: for Meredith, for Zola, for Bailey. For yourself. We love you but I can't fight with you like this. Not about Lexie. You owe her one hell of a bouquet next time you visit. Please let me know that you're safe.

She doesn't get a response, and some part of her really hates him.

She doesn't put the bottle down that night.

authors note
okay don't kill me but i needed some derek angst before the finale, and as much as i love him, he has a tendency to be selfish and very cruel at times, and no one is immune to that. so they're fighting! siblings tend to go for weak spots, so he fought dirty, feeling judged and mistreated. he's annoying but cas and i love him 🙄

also i love SVU so much and i adore fin and carisi!! also barba!! i am very seriously considering a proper crossover chapter... any interest in that? i'm conflicted between an original case or using one of the SVU/CM ones... or maybe i'll just do multiple crossovers. if anyone has any ideas, i'd love to hear them.

possibly only two more chapters till the finale.. im thinking "somebody's watching" and "secrets and lies" unless anyone wants me to do the other two episodes (and obviously fischer king.)

also if anyone is confused about cassandra's back and forth, i'm trying to show that healing isn't linear.  sometimes you're doing great, and then you get triggered and fall back down. she'll get back up :)  grief is a never ending process unfortunately.

happy wednesday :)