ABLOCATE ▇▇▇▇ VOLUME TWO
━━ ❛ 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒕 ❜

chapter no. 058!

❪ 𝙰/𝙽 : 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙸𝚂 𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝟹𝟼𝙺
𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳𝚂!    𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙱 𝙰 𝚂𝙽𝙰𝙲𝙺 & 𝙴𝙽𝙹𝙾𝚈! ❫

❪ 𝚃𝚆 ⠀ : ⠀ ⠀𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝚂𝙴𝚇𝚄𝙰𝙻
𝙰𝚂𝚂𝙰𝚄𝙻𝚃,⠀⠀ 𝚁𝙰𝙿𝙴, ⠀⠀ 𝚂𝚄𝙸𝙲𝙸𝙳𝙴,
𝚂𝚄𝙱𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝙰𝙱𝚄𝚂𝙴  & 𝙶𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙶.
𝙸𝙽𝙲𝙻𝚄𝙳𝙴𝚂 𝚂𝚄𝙸𝙲𝙸𝙳𝙰𝙻 𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽,
𝚆𝙴𝙰𝙿𝙾𝙽𝚂,⠀     ⠀ ⠀&⠀         ⠀ 𝚂𝙼𝚄𝚃. ❫

❝ ACTIONS AND SINS. ❞
▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

﹙ MARCH 3RD, 2018 ﹚

     THE VALENTINE HOUSE OF HORRORS. That's what Rossi had called it after he'd been filled in on yesterday's events in Kamloops, and Cara didn't disagree. Her childhood home was tainted with nothing but sorrow, horror, trauma, and unseeable acts. Not to mention, the vines and cobwebs in every nook and cranny of the building painted a haunting Halloween feel. It was unsettling at best.

     The fact that Cara had been standing in the room where her innocence was taken plagued her. On the outside, to everyone else, she appeared unaffected by the last twenty-four hours. However, most of the team knew better. They knew it was gnawing at her insides and likely bringing her copious amounts of mental agony. None of them mentioned it, though.

     While they were in Canada, Cara would never admit how terribly she was doing. No one would know that she'd rubbed her wrist so hard it was bright red and she had to cover it with her blazer. No one would know that she'd been experiencing PTSD symptoms or flashbacks from her childhood. And no one would know that she'd spent the past thirty minutes throwing up last night's dinner and this morning's breakfast and silently hyperventilating in the bathroom at the Vancouver precinct before brushing her teeth.

     Now, she was in the empty conference room alone.

     Luckily, the team had dispersed, and she was the only one there, aside from Penelope, who was in the surveillance room.

     Blake, Matt, Luke, and Rossi were with the medical examiner, examining Matthew Johnston's remains with fresh eyes. Hotch, Spencer, and Morgan were walking the crime scene at the Bellevue with Marvinhill again. Lastly, Tara and JJ were out getting lunch for everyone.

     So, for now, Cara was alone and left to her own devices. She'd opted out of seeing Johnston or touring the crime scene for a second time. She had no desire to.

     Every inch of her being was crawling with prickling anxiety that spread from the top of her head to the ends of her toes. It was undeniable that the blonde was on edge. Frankly, part of her felt like she would be sick again.

     The anticipation of Le's exultant entrance and next move was almost too much for her to handle. It was inevitable. All she could do was retreat into her mind and prepare for the worst because that's what was coming— who was coming.

     Unlike the BAU team, she didn't want to dissect every little thing that happened the past week and rifle through the past. She didn't want to re-examine or re-visit anything. It was difficult enough getting through a five-hour interrogation. Hell, it was difficult enough not to run for the hills and disappear for good so Le couldn't find her. A tiny bit of her had been considering ending it all, though.

     As morbid and dangerous as it was even to entertain the idea of beating Le to the punch, she was considering all of her options. That just happened to be one of them.

     However, if she killed herself, there was no telling if Le would blame the BAU members and target them. If she were gone, who would protect them? If she were gone, Le would have nothing to lose, and the best bargaining chip the F.B.I. and RCMP had would be dead.

     Le would be desperate while the team was desolate.

     Cara couldn't do that after everything the team did for her. She couldn't do that to Rossi, Hotch, and Spencer. She couldn't, and that's what was holding her back.

     Keeping her eyes trained on the wall in front of her, she heaved a sigh in the empty conference room. A slow shadow of panic and fear was climbing up her spine, sinking its claws into each vertebra. Her thoughts were running wild, and she sensed a budding headache.

     All she wanted at that moment, above all else, was to go home. Cara wanted to sink into the warm and plush mattress in her bedroom and wrap herself in fuzzy blankets. She wanted to sleep and feel safe. She wanted to rest and be free.

     Out in the lobby, Hotch, Morgan, and Spencer returned with Captain Marvinhill. It'd taken them roughly two hours to walk the scene and go downtown to the crime lab to examine the remains of the burned car Johnston died in. Unfortunately, nothing new was found.

     The small group split into three separate directions. Morgan went to check in with Penelope in the surveillance room while Hotch and Marvinhill went to the Captain's office to speak privately. That left Spencer wandering around the precinct in search of a particular blonde, short-haired woman.

     In both hands, he held fresh cups of coffee. He'd made Morgan stop at a nearby café on the way to the VPD. The coffee at the precinct wasn't awful, but it wasn't ideal either. The same applied to the coffee at the hotel the team was staying in. Cara had declared as much that morning when she scowled and cringed at the taste of her drink at the hotel. It was an outward reaction Spencer had caught and chuckled at under his breath.

     So, proper coffee was needed to get through the rest of the day. That, and Spencer knew the sight of it would comfort Cara a tiny bit. It was no secret that she wasn't doing well, and he was going to do what he could to help.

     After a minute of searching, he managed to locate her.

     Spencer peered through the conference room windows, his eyes resting on Cara's figure. She was sitting on top of the rectangular center table, her feet resting on a black chair. The styrofoam coffee cup she'd been drinking from earlier was empty and placed to the right of her. Her chin rested in the palm of her left hand while the other rubbed her temple.

     A frown crept on his face, and he glanced down at the hot drinks he held. This would be the first time they'd been properly alone with no one around in days. They could talk about what was going on.

     That fact ignited a spark of determination, and Spencer resumed walking.

     "Hey..."

     At the sound of a familiar voice, Cara quickly located Spencer's approaching figure. Her eyes fell on the two cups in his hands. "Hi," she returned softly, correcting her posture.

     The door to the room closed quietly behind him. "I got us some real coffee," he said, holding out one of the to-go cups.

     Gratefully, Cara accepted it with a small and tired smile. "Thank you. I've been drinking nothing but gasoline," she muttered, sighing in satisfaction when the hot liquid traveled down her throat.

     The coffee was a small and thoughtful gesture that warmed her heart.

     "Oh, I know. Your reactions to the coffee here and at the hotel have been amusing," he replied, rocking back on his heels.

     Cara took note of the action but didn't comment on it. "I'm glad you think so." She took another long swing of the drink.

     "Hey... Since no one is in here, can we talk?" Spencer asked hesitantly, inhaling deeply as he gathered his thoughts and emotions. This was something he'd been stewing on since yesterday, and this was the first opportunity they had to somewhat talk privately.

     Cara peered up from her cup and felt her heart pause. There was a slight twitch in the corner of his left eye, and he'd begun tapping a familiar one-two-one pattern against his outer right thigh. It was a nervous tick she hadn't seen in years. A grim expression was directed at her, and it wasn't a sight she was expecting. It did nothing but bring out a sense of mild panic.

     After their eyes locked, Spencer let out a slow and steady breath. "I..." His mind was beginning to unravel as it set in that they were finally going to discuss this. "What was that?"

     Cara's eyebrows scrunched together. "What was what?" She had an inkling that she knew what he was referring to but wasn't quite sure.

     "W-What was wh..." Spencer stuttered; his buried and brewing frustration and fear were resurfacing. His nose twitched. "Yesterday."

     That singular word was more than enough for the blonde to freeze. It wasn't lost on her that her actions yesterday were reckless and thoughtless. Hotch had effectively hammered in that point.

     "Cara, you just took off running without saying a word to anyone— to me," he stressed, gesturing to himself. "You didn't communicate at all. One minute, you were there, and the next, you were gone. I-I thought what you said on the plane was coming true, and Le somehow took you. It sounds a little absurd now, saying it out loud, but that's where my brain defaulted to. It jumped to the worst possible scenarios because you were gone. Vanished. It felt like I'd been sucker-punched because I'd lost you again and didn't read your behavioral cues for what they were.

     "You'd been quiet since we landed in Canada; you began to shut out the world and showed signs of a past version of yourself. You didn't utter more than a few words until you had to with the RCMP. You were detached and separated from the group by standing in the back. You were intentionally not drawing attention to yourself. You were preparing for the worst and to leave; I overlooked that. I shouldn't have, but I did, and then you were gone."

     A frown appeared on her lips, and she put her coffee beside her on the table. "Spen, me running off had nothing to do with you nor was it your fault," she insisted firmly, taking in his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. A couple of the veins in his neck were visibly prominent.

     He was angry.

     His ever-present fear of her disappearing again was back in full force, and she recognized that. He needed clarity and reassurance.

     Spencer's chest heaved up, and his line of sight flickered to one of the glass boards. "It doesn't feel like that," he argued, voice quiet.

     "Hey, listen to me." Cara waited until he met her gaze. "I am the only one responsible for myself and my actions. Not you, not Hotch, not Rossi— nobody. It was my decision not to tell anyone the truth or communicate. It was my decision to lie to everyone, including you. And it was my decision to go inside my childhood home, knowing there was a fifty-fifty chance it was a trap.

     "I believe what was inside that house is important, and I was willing to break the rules and the law. I didn't care what the consequences were. I only thought about myself and Le, and that's where I messed up. I allowed anger and resentment to influence my decision-making. I also made the conscious choice to do something reckless that scared all of you. I didn't think twice about how my choice would affect you, Hotch, Morgan, or anyone else, and I should have. I'm sorry."

     A tense silence settled in the room while Spencer processed her statement and apology. It was wholeheartedly sincere and truthful. He knew that for a fact by the tone of her voice and her countenance. It helped ease the weight on his shoulders.

     "I'm sorry," she said, surveying his body language to ensure that initiating physical contact wouldn't upset him. Slowly, Cara leaned forward and lightly touched his free hand. Almost instantaneously, his fingers curled around hers. "Do you feel that?" she whispered, watching how he stared down at their hands.

     Spencer took a few steps closer until only a couple of inches separated them. "Yeah," he replied, voice quiet.

     With her other hand, Cara lifted his chin until they locked eyes. Her index finger pressed against the tip of his chin before it slid up. Chills rushed down Spencer's spine as she cupped his cheek, lightly running her thumb over it. "And that?"

     He melted under her touch and bounced his eyes between hers. "Yeah."

     "Good," she murmured, the corners of her mouth tugging up. "You're not going to lose that. You're not going to lose me. I'm not going anywhere."

     The exchange taking place brought on a wave of déjà-vu for Cara. It was reminiscent of her and Penelope's conversation two days before she disappeared in twenty-fourteen.

     When a tear rolled down Penelope's cheek, the blonde snapped out of it and stepped forward. A hand rose, and she cupped her cheek, her vision obscuring, but only slightly.

     This was the most emotion she'd ever shown to Penelope. Part of her hated it and how defenseless she felt, but the other couldn't help it. She was emotionally attached to the analyst now, and seeing her cry, especially over her, hit her square in the chest.

     "Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey," she murmured, dipping her head down in an attempt to catch her eye. Penelope felt another hand cradle her face. "Pen, look at me."

     Giving in, Penelope lifted her head. The second their eyes met, Cara brushed away the fallen tears. "I-I can't do it, Cara." The very thought of losing one of her best friends hurt too much.

     "You won't have to. I'm not going anywhere." Cara wiped away more tears with her thumbs.

     Penelope frowned. "How do you know that?"

     A lump rose in her throat and the blonde inhaled deeply. "Because this," she gestured between them, "you and I, is never going to change. All right? Never. Even if I'm not here physically."

     And just as she meant every word back then, she meant every word now. As long as she could help it, she wasn't leaving Spencer, Rossi, Hotch, or the rest of the team. It wasn't happening again.

     Spencer's features relaxed at her words and reassurance. "Thank you." He leaned into her touch and pressed a kiss to the wrist next to his face. "In the future, will you communicate when something's wrong or relates to the case?"

     Even though Cara knew it was a potential lie, she still responded, "Yes. I will."

     "Thank you," Spencer said, subconsciously breaking into a tiny smile. "How... How are you feeling?"

     Ah, yes. The question everyone wanted to ask but hadn't.

     Cara pressed her lips together and tried to formulate a response that wouldn't raise too many red flags. "Uh, overwhelmed," she eventually said, retracting her hand from Spencer's cheek and moving to grab her coffee.

     Eyebrows pinching, Spencer bit the inside of his cheek. The inner corner of his eyes pressed together lightly as he observed her casual yet reserved mannerisms.

     It wasn't hard to deduce that she wasn't open to sharing what she was experiencing right now. It was a lot to throw at her— what was happening with the Founding Fathers and Michael Le's return— especially taking into consideration that she'd spent two years in captivity with them. It was unimaginable.

     "It's okay not to be doing okay," Spencer reassured her. "It's a lot... It's understandable that you're feeling overwhelmed."

     After downing more than half of her coffee, Cara nodded. "It is a lot. I'm going to be okay, though."

     I'm going to be okay.

     That was exactly what she'd told him on the jet, and he believed her. This time, the doctor wasn't so sure. The emotional and mental aftermath of seeing Shirzad and Johnston's corpses had to be weighing on her. So did Le and the unknown of when he would strike next.

     If anything, being overwhelmed was likely an understatement.

     "I know..." Spencer waited until she met his concerned stare. "I know there hasn't been much progress made yet, but we're going to catch Le. He won't torment you forever."

     Inhaling deeply, Cara's chest heaved up. "Forever is never as long as now," she muttered, averting her gaze. "Not when it comes to him."

     Forever is never as long as now.

     It took a moment for those words and their meaning to sink in. Once they did, Spencer frowned.

     The statement was simple yet profound. It spoke to Cara's psyche and revealed where she was mentally when it came to Le. The torture he put her through, starting at eleven years old, would never end in her eyes.

     Forever meant nothing when the now was dragging out at an excruciatingly slow pace. Forever meant nothing when the now had no end in sight. It meant nothing.

     Dead or alive, Le would always torture a tiny portion of her soul. Until two days ago, Cara had made peace with that and was coping healthily. However, life can turn on a dime, and things have turned.

     Spencer swallowed harshly as he thought about all the things the Founding Fathers, specifically Le, had done to her. He could easily make a five-page list, front and back alphabetized, and that was only for the things he knew about. There was a plethora of instances and experiences he was unaware of, and the mere thought of what they did to Cara made him sick.

     Especially the thought of Cara being taken advantage of as a child— teen— in general— would always make Spencer feel sick to his stomach. And knowing that she had been held hostage by the man responsible for destroying her confidence at such a young age— destroying her innocence and happiness, and everything that ever happened to her— infuriated him.

     To this day, he still couldn't entertain the idea of what happened because the very suggestion of her being harmed made him want to put a fist through the wall. He didn't want to know anything else unless she wanted him to.

     "After everything Le's done to you... When I see him, I am going to kill him." Spencer stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for convincing.

     Cara saw his dead-serious expression and knew he meant it. He wanted to kill Le, and she didn't blame him. She finished her coffee and placed the empty cup next to her empty styrofoam cup to her right.

     "While a large chunk of me wants him dead, I also want him to go to the highest security prison in Canada for the rest of his life. Locked in solitary confinement. Locked inside with nothing but his actions and sins haunting him until the day he dies. I want him to know what it feels like to be so close to the outside world, so close to what he desires, but never close enough. I want the what ifs and his daydreams to warp his mind so drastically he can't discern fiction from reality."

     Spencer blinked. "Considering the fact he's escaped from a high-security prison before, I believe death is preferable."

     Raising an eyebrow, Cara tilted her head. "Yes, but I prefer having a boyfriend who isn't behind bars for murder."

     "And I prefer having a girlfriend whose life isn't plagued by paranoia because prison bars don't always stop situational child molesters and murderers," he pointed out evenly. For nine seconds, the noun 'boyfriend' went in one ear and out the other. Once he finally registered it, he realized he'd said 'girlfriend.'

     Immediately, his pupils widened. "Wait, wait, boyfriend?"

     It took quite a bit of self-control to keep from smirking. "Girlfriend?" Cara asked innocently, biting her bottom lip. The subtle change in topic was appreciated.

     A gradual blush overtook his features, and Spencer subconsciously glanced at her lips. "Well, I mean... you said it first," he choked out; his thoughts were lagging, and he cleared his throat.

     When she noticed where his gaze rested, Cara almost smiled. "I know," she shrugged casually, fighting the urge to laugh at how flustered he was becoming. It was taking a great deal of effort to maintain a straight face.

     The tension in the room disappeared, and both of them relaxed. This was a tiny break from the stress they felt, and it was needed. For a moment, the case wasn't on their minds.

     "Spen?"

     "Hmm?"

     "Just kiss me already."

     Since a few inches were separating them, the doctor took one step forward and leaned down. It took less than a millisecond for Spencer to press his lips to Cara's tenderly. Her lips tasted faintly of mint and coffee against his own, and he placed a hand on her thigh. His other hand put his coffee on the table and flew to cradle the left side of her face. The only thing that kept him from standing between her legs was the black chair her feet rested in.

     Cara's hand traveled to his upper arm and squeezed it. She pulled away slightly and brushed her nose against his. "Thank you," she murmured, keeping her eyes shut, "for being here." Her lips grazed his as she spoke, and he kept his eyes shut, too.

     The fact that he was there with her meant more than she could verbalize. His presence was a game-changer, and she doubted she would have made it this far without him, Rossi, or Hotch.

     If it weren't for his encouragement and faith in her, she wouldn't have that extra boost of confidence that strengthened her belief that she could face Le and her past head-on. She also wouldn't believe that she'd eventually be okay when the case was over for good.

     "Of course," Spencer matched the volume of her voice. "I'm not going anywhere."

     This time, Cara smiled. "Good because I like this, and you."

     "Oh, I know," Spencer replied, directly quoting her from two days ago. He drew back a few inches, just enough so he could see her entire face. There was a glimmer that transformed into a gleam in those deep blue eyes that made his heart race. It was the same reserved gleam that appeared whenever she looked at him. Every time he noticed it, he almost fell in love all over again. He'd never grow sick of it.

     He'd never grow sick of anything related to her.

     Cara's lips parted, and her eyebrows rose. "I... Touché," she chuckled, shaking her head. She should've seen that coming. "Touché."

     A cheeky and proud smile spread from ear to ear, and Spencer quickly pecked her lips one last time. He went to reply when the conference door opened.

     "Break it up, love birds," Rossi called, smiling at the sight of the two at the table.

     "It's time to find this son of a bitch," Morgan added, strolling in behind the man.

     Begrudgingly, Spencer let go of Cara's cheek but kept his other hand on her thigh. It wasn't until she motioned for him to back up that his touch left her entirely.

     Cara had been sitting on the table with her feet in Blake's chair while the team was gone. Now that they were back, she needed to move elsewhere. Within seconds, she found herself by Spencer's side.

     Tara and JJ were the next to enter the room with bags of food in their hands. Everyone had wanted different things, so they'd been driving all over town for the last hour and a half.

     Trailing shortly behind was Blake, who somehow held all the drink trays.

     Lunch had arrived.

     A pit began to grow in Cara's stomach. The odds of her being able to keep her food down weren't high despite being hungry. She had to, though. It would do her no good to operate on an empty stomach, and Dr. Ruzek had given her tips for eating when feeling nauseous. She just needed to eat dry foods, avoid hot and spicy foods if possible, and chew slowly.

     "I don't want to hear a single person complain if their food isn't piping hot or one tiny thing on their order is wrong!" Tara announced loudly, placing the four bags she held on the rectangular center table. A heavy and dramatic sigh tumbled from her lips.

     "Be grateful you got any food at all!" JJ remarked, huffing in relief when she put down her bags.

     Blinking, Cara watched Blake slowly walk to the table. She was struggling to hold three drink trays steady, and Cara rushed over to help.

     "Here. I got it," she said, taking two trays from the brown-haired woman.

     "Oh, thank you," Blake breathed, grabbing the final tray with both hands. "I was waiting for one of them to slip."

     Cara cracked a small smile. "It looked like all of them were about to fall, truthfully."

     "With six men present, you'd think they would make themselves useful," Tara muttered when Cara and Blake joined her and JJ.

     JJ gave her a pointed expression. "Not these idiots," she said jokingly, jabbing a thumb over her shoulder.

     By now, the entire team was present, and Penelope was making her way to the women. She had her laptop in hand and wore an enthusiastic smile. "I love it when all the crime fighters are together!" she squealed, placing her laptop beside JJ's spot at the table.

     "Didn't you say that yesterday?" Cara asked, raising an eyebrow. She peered around Blake's figure and caught the colorful analyst's eye.

     "Yes, I did, and I am saying it again! It's like a family reunion. I love it!" Penelope gushed, pulling JJ into a quick side hug.

     Suddenly, someone called, "Love what, Garcia?"

     Instantly, her mood dipped drastically, and a scowl pulled her purple-painted lips. She almost forgot he was there. "Newbie, why do you have to ruin everything?!" she exclaimed, releasing JJ and spinning on her heel.

     Luke's eyebrows were raised, and he held his palms out. "Hey, I didn't do anything," he defended himself.

     "Uh, yes, you did. You're here." Penelope eyed him distastefully with a sour expression. "Your presence irritates me greatly."

     Jaw slackening, his head reeled back an inch. "You consistently break my heart, you know that, right?"

     A tiny smirk appeared, and she stood taller. His comment gave her a confidence boost. "Good," she replied, turning her backside to him. If he reacted to her response, she didn't hear or see it.

     "Boys, come get your food so we can sit down and eat," JJ raised her voice slightly, ensuring it wasn't too loud and wouldn't startle Cara.

     "I love how you talk to these grown men like they're your children," Tara snickered, passing Blake and Penelope their food. They'd both ordered from Panda Express.

     JJ glanced up from digging through one of the take-out bags. "Sometimes they are."

     From there, the whole team gathered at the rectangular table and passed each other their food. Everyone was satisfied with their orders and took their seats. Given there were eleven of them and only ten seats at the table, an extra chair had to be brought into the room. It took some time and brief bickering between members before everyone sat down.

     At the end of the table near the entrance to the conference room was Tara, who'd given up on fighting with Luke for a spot closer to the evidence boards. On her left and the left side of the table were Spencer, Matt, Luke, Hotch, and Rossi. Then, on her right and the right side of the table were Cara, JJ, Penelope, Morgan, and Blake.

     It was a full room and a little crowded, but it worked.

     Hotch cleared his throat to gather everyone's attention. The rest of the team quieted down and shifted their attention to the man. "Let's get started," he said, wiping his hands with a napkin.

     This was the first time everyone was properly seated and together to discuss the case. It was well overdue.

     Blake took the initiative to begin. "Well, we—" she gestured between herself, Luke, Matt, and Rossi,  "—went to speak with the medical examiner again and examine Johnston's remains with fresh eyes today."

     "And..." Luke began, tilting his head in Matt's direction.

     "We found nothing new," Matt finished anticlimactically. It wasn't all that long of an update.

     "Absolutely nothing," Rossi added, placing extra emphasis on the word 'nothing.'

     Cara nodded slowly. "Nice."

     Flashing his line of sight to her, Rossi sighed. The drink in his hand lowered. "Caralyn, don't start—"

     "What?" she asked innocently, reaching for her water bottle.

     "You know what." Rossi wore an unamused expression while her face remained blank.

     Cara was quick to say, "Sarcasm's good for the soul, David."

     "What sou—"

     "We had the same poor luck at the Bellevue with Marvinhill," Morgan interjected, effectively cutting the Italian man off. He gestured from himself to Hotch and Spencer with a french fry.

     "Unfortunately..." Hotch trailed off, darting his eyes from Rossi to Cara and back. The pair seemed to be having a silent conversation across the table with facial expressions that resulted in Cara flashing Rossi the middle finger. An amused smirk decorated Hotch's lips for a split second. "Reid, you and Simmons were building a timeline this morning, correct?"

     Spencer reluctantly tore his gaze away from Cara. "Yeah. Yeah, we were," he replied, placing his fork down. He was halfway done with his chicken tandoori.

     "It's a timeline of Shirzad and Johnston's deaths based on the M.E. reports," Matt said, wiping his hands with a napkin.

     "Let's hear it." Tara grabbed her box of rice and beans and leaned back in her chair.

     In unison, Spencer and Matt stood from the table and walked to the front of the room. There were two whiteboards and one glass board.

     The latter was being used to display a mugshot of Michael Le, pictures of the Valentine home, a photo of the page Le had written on in Macbeth, and crime scene photographs of Shirzad and Johnston. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Meanwhile, the two whiteboards were being occupied by the newly constructed timeline.

     "It was difficult to piece together how Le was able to pull off both murders on the same day in the morning, in locations three hours and forty-four minutes apart," Spencer announced, spinning to face the team, "but I believe we've figured it out."

     Matt nodded in agreement. "As we know, Le started with Shirzad." He stood on Spencer's left. They were positioned in front of the whiteboards. "According to the M.E., Shirzad's time of death is estimated to be between two to three on Tuesday morning. So far, there hasn't been any evidence to suggest that Johnston was there with them. With that in mind and what we know now, Reid and I wrote out the sequence of events we believe happened."

     Everyone watched as the pair stepped back and flipped the whiteboards over. Both had two black lines running parallel; they almost read like a story. There was writing and time stamps scribbled out, along with a few photos and small maps.

     Penelope robotically reached for her purse, which was hanging on the back of her chair. Once it was within her grasp, she began to dig through it. Considering how far away Cara was from the whiteboard, she was going to need her glasses to see.

     "First, Le and Shirzad arrived at Riverside, likely before or by two o'clock given the time of death. Police found tire tracks yards from Cara's childhood home, so they likely drove to it." Spencer pointed at the first point on the timeline. "Next, presumably, there's a conversation, fight, or both after they reach the house. The M.E. discovered several defensive wounds around Shirzad's arms and hands. It's hard to tell in the crime scene photographs due to how many stab wounds he'd sustained and the amount of blood on him."

     Matt continued. "Chunks of skin were found underneath his fingernails as well. A DNA analysis was run. It came back as a match for Michael Le. The fight between him and Le was violent. He was bludgeoned with a crowbar before Le switched weapons and stabbed Johnston a total of fifty-seven times all over his body. M.E. confirmed that the cause of death was ultimately exsanguination. This encounter lasted three minutes, give or take."

     There was a sudden nudge against her knee, and Cara glimpsed away from the men. Penelope was reaching across JJ and holding the woman's glasses out to her. A small smile tugged at her lips.

     She completely forgot she'd given them to the analyst to hold onto yesterday.

     "Thank you," she whispered, taking the glasses.

     Penelope winked at her. "Can't have our best girl blind."

     Rolling her eyes with a slight smile, Cara slid the glasses on.

     "It takes a lot of energy and strength to beat and stab another person. However, for many, it's easier to do if it's something personal or sensitive. With this level of violence and overkill, Le was either motivated by rage or anticipation knowing that Shirzad's death would bring Cara back to British Columbia." It pained Spencer to utter those final words, but it was the truth. There was no running from it anymore.

     Lucky me.

     Cara blinked solemnly.

     "It also speaks to Le's physical appearance," Matt added, adjusting his footing. "If he wasn't before, he's likely physically fit now. That's the only way he'd be able to maintain this level of violence."

     A few sets of eyes swiveled to a particular short-haired blonde. Nobody asked, but there was a silent expectation for her to share details about Le.

     Nothing had changed in the last hour. Cara still didn't want to dissect every little thing that happened the past week and rifle through the past. She didn't want to re-examine or re-visit anything. However, it was becoming abundantly clear that she would have to indefinitely sacrifice her boundaries and comfort.

     A total of eight seconds passed until Cara caved.

     "He was never in shape until sometime during my captivity, maybe halfway through," she spoke. A flash of Le shirtless and waving a crowbar in front of her face played in her mind. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, and it didn't go unnoticed. "He's probably maintained that."

     Spencer visibly frowned. He didn't want her to revisit her time in captivity and become re-traumatized. Unbeknownst to him, she felt the same way.

     "Once Shirzad died..." Spencer trailed off, coming to Cara's rescue, "Le cut down the long willow trees concealing the Valentine home. Given how little time transpired between the murders, we deduced Le most likely used a chainsaw for the willow trees. The chainsaw was probably hidden in the car they drove. Then, Le left by or sometime after three."

     The team's attention returned to the timeline.

     "Now, there's Johnston," Matt announced, gesturing to the board behind him.

     Nodding, the genius cleared his throat. "It takes approximately three hours and forty-four minutes to drive from Riverside Park to Bellevue if you take British Columbia Highway 1 West, British Columbia Highway 5 South, and British Columbia Highway 3 West. That's the quickest route and covers three hundred and fifty-three kilometers. Taking into account that Le is a wanted man and was trying to murder Shirzad and Johnston uninterrupted, driving was his best means of transportation.

     "If he only went the speed limit, and he probably did so he wouldn't be pulled over, and traffic wasn't terrible; I've estimated that his time of arrival at the Bellevue to be between six-forty-four and seven-thirty in the morning. That gives him enough time to get to Vancouver, pay for gasoline with cash if he didn't already have it with him, get or eat food, and meet Johnston at the Bellevue."

     "We already informed Garcia about this, and she's been working on tracking Le down through traffic cameras." Matt motioned to the technical analyst.

     Penelope nodded confidently. "So far, I haven't had any luck, but fear not; I will find something," she promised everyone.

     Luke snorted and shook his head. She quickly scowled at him.

     "So, Le arrives in Vancouver and meets up with Johnston. Since there aren't surveillance cameras nearby or at the abandoned apartment complex, what transpired between the two is up for speculation. Reid and I think it's possible that Johnston knew about Le's plan to murder Shirzad. It could explain why Johnston wasn't with Le and why he was trusted to be so far away from the other two.

     "Valentine once shared in twenty-thirteen that the Red Scorpions sometimes operate through "missions." These missions are divided into different "plans" that each have their own steps. Every plan involves different members so no one is ever working on more than one, except for the leader or leaders."

     Tilting her head, a confused expression appeared on Cara's face. It'd been almost five years since she shared that information with the BAU. She scarcely remembered.

     When he saw the confusion on her face, Matt explained, "Reid told me."

     Cara just nodded slowly.

     "Le has always been regarded as the primary leader of the Red Scorpions and Founding Fathers. Maybe he crafted a new mission that has led us to where we are now— in British Columbia with Valentine— exactly what he wants more than anything."

     Rossi shrugged as he twiddled his pen. "I wouldn't put it past Le."

     "Me either," Hotch briefly glanced at him.

     "Honestly, you and Reid are probably right," Morgan said, grabbing the remaining half of his burger.

     Sighing, JJ commented, "Then that means he double-crossed Johnston when they reunited at the Bellevue."

     "Treasure loyalty my ass," Tara muttered under her breath.

     Cara couldn't help but smirk. This was a beautiful irony she was taking pleasure in.

     "Based on the M.E.'s findings, it appears that Johnston actually died from asphyxiation and not from burning alive," Spencer said. His eyes were trailing amongst the group and eventually settled on a particular blonde. She was wearing glasses now, and the sight made him smile for a second. "So at some point in his and Le's conversation, if there was one, Le flipped a switch and strangled him. Once Johnston was dead, Le put his body in the driver's seat of a car, maybe the one he drove, doused it in gasoline, and lit it on fire."

     "At exactly nine-oh-one, Le called nine-one-one. He gave the Vancouver police the location of the burning vehicle and stated that he had killed "them"— which we know is Shirzad and Johnston. He then went on to self-identify and confirm that he killed Johnston," Matt stated.

     Thankfully, nobody requested for Penelope to replay the phone call. They'd heard it enough times yesterday after Hotch, Morgan, Spencer, and Cara arrived.

     "The average human body takes from two to three hours to burn completely and produces an average of three to nine pounds," Spencer told the team. "By the state of Johnston's corpse, the M.E. was able to narrow down the time of death to sometime between seven-thirty to seven-forty."

     Matt circled back to his previous comment. "The duration of the phone call was fifty-eight seconds. Firefighters arrived at Whiteshield Crescent Street at nine-ten a.m. That gives Le eight minutes to leave the crime scene if he hadn't already. Once the fire was put out, Johnston's corpse was discovered and the police arrived. From there, the scene was processed and Johnston was transported to the local M.E."

     "And that's all we got..." Spencer trailed off.

     "Good work." Blake complimented the two, receiving a thumbs-up from the doctor. "Unless we get full confirmation from Le himself, I believe this timeline is as accurate as we'll get."

     Tara nodded. "Agreed."

     "I just received an email from Sergeant Pillay," Hotch announced abruptly, reading over the email on his tablet screen. All attention was diverted to him. "Traces of Shirzad's DNA weren't found in the Valentine's home. However, eight sets of fingerprints and a few traces of DNA were discovered."

     Blake's eyebrows furrowed. "Were any matches made?"

     Hotch nodded while staring at the report on the screen. "Yes. All of them came back as matches."

     "For who?" Luke asked curiously.

     "Joseph Arthur, Kirk Farell, Owen Sánchez, Raine Russo, Ace Ingram, Ross Valentine, Michael Le, and me," Cara answered the question before the Unit Chief could. "That's everyone, minus my father and Le, who was in the house the night of the Surrey Six. It was also the last night anyone stepped foot inside the house until recently. At least to my knowledge. The DNA belongs to me, my father, Raine, Ace, Owen, and Le."

     "How—"

     She didn't give Hotch a chance to get his question out. "Le's DNA will be the most recent given he left behind the copy of Macbeth I read to him as a child. Knowing him, he intentionally left behind DNA so I knew he was there. Mine is recent, too, and scattered all around the house since I lived there. The same applies to my father. Raine and Ace were shot dead in the foyer by Arthur and Kirk. Owen lived with my father and I briefly. The fingerprints are self-explanatory."

     A beat of silence passed.

     "Uh, who are Raine and Ace? I don't, uh, I don't recognize the names," Penelope spoke up hesitantly. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know who they were.

     Immediately, Spencer looked at Cara. There was a glimmer of grief in her deep blue eyes, but it only lasted a split-second. It'd been a while since she mentioned Raine or Ace.

     He quietly observed as she stood from her seat and moved to the front of the room. She was physically distancing herself from the majority. This was not a subject she liked to think or talk about.

     "They were my friends," the blonde answered honestly. The only people who knew about them were Spencer and Rossi. She pivoted to face the team; she positioned herself between the two whiteboards with Matt on her right. "They were members of the Red Scorpions, too. Le ordered Arthur and Kirk to kill them as punishment for my father's betrayal in the wake of the Surrey Six."

     Penelope's jaw dropped. Yup, she didn't want to know.

     A string of "I'm sorry" floated about the room. All Cara did in response was murmur, "Thanks."

     Switching the tablet off, Hotch placed it on the table. "It's good we got the DNA results. However, they ultimately don't help the case much. I believe shifting away from the Valentine home is best. There's nothing further to discuss on the matter."

     It was an implicit order that Cara's childhood home would no longer be a point of focus. Not unless something happened that concerned it.

     "Let's focus on the day Shirzad and Johnston were killed— Tuesday," Tara said, shifting focus onto something else.

     While she spoke, Blake got to her feet and trailed over to the glass evidence board. Her eyes were locked on the photo taken of Act Two, Scene Three, page seven, in Macbeth. Le had rewritten the words "My violent love" at the top of the page. There was a double line drawn under the word "love."

     Since yesterday, this particular piece of evidence had caught her attention. Yes, it made sense why Le chose to leave the original copy of the book that Cara read to him the day he took advantage of her. It was a dig at their past and a reminder he hadn't forgotten about their relationship; he hadn't forgotten anything and wanted to ensure that she hadn't either.

     It made complete sense yet something was itching at Blake. There was more to be said about those three words and the double lines, but she didn't know what.

     "When it comes to Valentine, we know that dates and places are crucial to Le. I doubt Le chose Tuesday because it's Tuesday. It likely has something to do with the date. So, February twenty-seventh. What's important about that day?" Luke asked, and most of the group took a moment to ponder. Blake glanced away from the glass board.

     February twenty-seventh was just a day to them. To Le, though, it was much more than merely a day. It was significant, somehow, but no one understood why. The date didn't coincide with anything pertinent in the Red Scorpions or Founding Fathers cases.

     However, three people in the room knew exactly why that day would be important to Michael Le. It was something they should have realized sooner, and the fact that they didn't was infuriating. It had been staring them right in the face.

     "The twenty-seventh," Cara whispered, meeting Hotch and Rossi's remorseful countenances. Dread was inscribed all over her features, and she audibly sighed.

     The interaction didn't go unnoticed, and the team looked among the trio. What were they missing?

     "You know it?" JJ asked, eyebrows forming a jagged line.

     Rossi nodded and glanced at Hotch. "Yeah, and we should have—" He stopped himself from continuing. If anyone was going to answer, it should be the blonde.

     "It's my birthday," Cara quickly told everyone, shifting her footing so her body was angled away. It shouldn't feel this awkward telling people when her birthday was, but it did. It did, and she hated that the Red Scorpions made something this trivial become a burden to disclose.

     All was quiet until Blake inquired, "Valentine, how old did you turn this year?"

     "Thirty-four," the woman answered without missing a beat, ignoring the expression of disbelief that crossed Spencer's face. All it did was make her uncomfortable.

     She hadn't said anything to anyone about it being her birthday on Tuesday. If he'd known, Spencer would have ensured that he carved out part of his day to spend with her or taken the day off of work entirely. He would have done something to make it special for her, but he also knew that she didn't see her birthday as a special occasion. It wasn't a big deal in her eyes, but in Le's, it was.

     "What?!" Penelope gasped, sitting up straighter in her chair. Her jaw was slack, and she was hurt. "Rose, why didn't you say anything?! I can't believe you didn't tell us! I can't believe I didn't know. Oh, my God, I'm a horrible best friend."

     "Garcia, none of us knew," Luke pointed out, gesturing to the entire team with a finger.

     Waving a hand dismissively, Penelope brushed away his comment. "Oh, hush. What do you know? You've known her for three months, and that's being generous."

     Not waiting for Luke to counter back or for anybody to add to the conversation, Cara cleared her throat. "There's a difference between why Le murdered Johnston and Shirzad and why he chose February twenty-seventh specifically. We already know why he killed them— power, control, for him and I to be reunited, and to remind me that he hasn't forgotten about me and our relationship.

     "I believe he chose my birthday so he could give me a present money can't buy. By murdering Johnston and Shirzad, he was gifting me something nobody else could— justice, vindication, and a shred of freedom. Simultaneously, he was gifting himself with the knowledge that their deaths would inevitably bring me back to British Columbia."

     A deep frown pulled at Spencer's face, and he crossed his arms. He didn't like this.

     "I... I also can't help but make another connection," she said apprehensively.

     Rossi leaned back in his chair. "Which is?"

     Wetting her lips, the short-haired woman swung her line of sight to the evidence boards. "In twenty-fourteen, exactly two months after my birthday, Le spoke to me for the first time in thirteen years. Before then, the last time we spoke was in January two-thousand-and-one. I was sixteen, almost seventeen."

     Confusion fell over everyone.

     "But you were part of the team for the first half of twenty-fourteen..." Tara noted, unsure if she was missing something.

     Matt's eyebrows furrowed. "So he talked to you while you were on the team?"

     "And if he did, why the hell weren't we told about it?" Morgan retorted, folding his arms over his chest.

     "I thought they knew..." Cara said with perplexity evident in her tone, turning to the right. "Weren't they informed of the contents of Operation Azrael?"

     Hotch stiffened when their gazes met. "Yes. Everyone was. However, Cruz chose not to disclose the B&E and trespassing incidents. I followed suit." She blinked, unimpressed. "Like Marvinhill, he was still hesitant in believing it was related to the Red Scorpions. He also believed the incidents didn't amount to much in the grand scheme of things."

     "Even after I confirmed that it was Le who left the message and both of you believed neither was a coincidence?" Cara asked, squaring back her shoulders. She received a nod of confirmation.

     "Hold on," JJ interrupted, lifting a hand. "Can someone explain, please? What are we talking about?"

     Without a word, Rossi riffled through his briefcase in search of an old file. Once he found it, he pulled out the manila folder and passed it to the blonde. The exchange was silent and meticulously watched by the group.

     Cara opened the file and ran her eyes over the familiar document. It was a police report filed nearly four years ago by Officer Tremblay regarding trespassing. Behind the first page was another report detailing a breaking and entering incident. Both incidents occurred at 3260 Pagey Avenue— an address that would take decades to forget.

     "Toward the end of April twenty-fourteen, two incidents were called in by the police here in Vancouver. They transpired on two separate nights, a day apart. The first was for trespassing and the latter, breaking and entering."

     "Where at?" Luke asked, reaching for his and Matt's shared box of french fries.

     "Castaway's Mansion. It used to be the primary headquarters for the Red Scorpions," Cara answered smoothly, not giving away how she nearly said, "It used to be our primary headquarters."

     The mention of Castaway's Mansion caught every agent's attention. The original team members on the initial Red Scorpions case, excluding Hotch and Rossi, tensed.

     It'd been years since the mansion had come up in conversation.

     "Castaway is located at 3260 Pagey Avenue. When Cruz and Hotch brought me the reports on April twenty-seventh, I informed them that the mansion is known for its affiliation with the Red Scorpions. Rival gangs knew that it was the primary headquarters. At the time, given the news that the Founding Fathers were allegedly dead and the majority of the Scorpions were in jail or prison, it made sense that people would break in. It used to happen every once in a while, but with the place unprotected and abandoned, it was a free-for-all. It still is. However, like I stated earlier, neither believed it was a coincidence."

     Eyebrows furrowing, Blake curiously tilted her head. "How come?" she asked, folding her arms across her chest.

     Soundlessly, Cara flipped to the next page in the report and rotated the file. There, staring back at her, was the disturbingly familiar photograph of a blank wall with the words, "If thou beest he; But I how fall'n! how chang'd," inscribed in red paint. She trailed to the opposite side of the room and handed the file to Blake.

     Everyone, along with Cara, watched the brown-haired woman stare down at whatever was inside the folder. A tense stillness settled over the group.

     Blake's eyes widened a fraction, and she took a deep breath. "This is from Paradise Lost, correct?" She and the blonde locked eyes. A single nod was given. "And Le wrote it?" Another nod.

     "Let me see that," Spencer muttered, hastily joining the two women. He stood behind the pair, reading over Cara's shoulder with a hand resting on the small of her back.

     "What's it say, Reid?" Morgan asked impatiently.

     Spencer rubbed his jaw with his free hand, already aggravated at the written, taunting lines. "If thou beest he; But I how fall'n! how chang'd," he recited, not meeting anyone's stare.

     "Someone wanna transcribe that in modern-day language?" Luke questioned, glancing at the rest of the team.

     There was a familiar hollow pit settling in Cara's chest, and she withheld a sigh. "Those words are from a line in Paradise Lost. "If thou beest he; But O how fall'n! how chang'd From him, who in the happy Realms of Light, Cloth'd with transcendent brightness didst out-shine Myriads though bright: If he Whom mutual league." That's part of the entire line, and these are the first words spoken by Satan in the poem," she explained, meeting his gaze.

     Tara's eyebrows formed a jagged line. It'd been a while since she'd thought about Paradise Lost. Truthfully, she only read half of the book while working on the case years ago.

     "What's the context in which Satan says that? Is it significant?" Tara asked.

     "Uh, yes. It is significant. Both in relation to Le and I and the progression of the plot for Paradise Lost," Cara replied, feeling Spencer begin to tap that familiar one-two-one pattern against her backside.

     "Satan delivers those lines as a speech to his followers, which consists of other demons. This was his first speech to them. He describes how he's been defeated and lost the war but still gives them hope of winning Heaven back. According to him, the reason for Satan's defeat was that God had thunder, which he lacked; hence, God won. However, Satan still wants revenge, and his mind is filled with nothing but all the possibilities of how he could win.

     "At the time, symbolically, Le was Satan, and I was God. I beat him because I was free from the Red Scorpions and got away with becoming a traitor and escaped him. I had the F.B.I. on my side; he had nothing but the rest of the Founding Fathers. There was a difference in how much power we had; he wanted more. He wanted revenge for what my father and I did, causing the past co-leaders to be arrested and put away. Using that beginning line was him saying that he was coming for me, and he did."

     Silence momentarily filled the conference room.

     Penelope was the first to break it.

     "Oh," was all she managed to squeak out while the events of the day Cara went missing replayed in her mind. That was in the top ten worst days of her life.

     Opening her mouth, Cara hesitated to add something. Years ago, she'd left out the whole meaning of the message when she translated the line to Hotch. She chose to bite her tongue, and she saw what that got her— even though she never regretted it.

     "There's something else to be said about these lines, though," she spit out. "These are just the beginning lines of Satan's first speech in the overall story of Paradise Lost. Many scholars believe that the point of this entire monologue is to paint Satan as attractive and an underdog that readers instinctually want to sympathize with. This can be seen in Satan's first line, "If thou beest he; But O how fall'n!"

     "Those words manage to capture the unpretentious position Satan adopts as a defeated usurper of God. Satan presents himself as a martyr unable to resist the tyrannical victor he classifies God as in line ninety-five later on. For the majority of Paradise Lost, Satan is proud and unwilling to admit defeat. After all, his pride and the blindness that results from it lead to his downfall.

     "So, for Satan to admit defeat a few lines down in his speech, "so much the stronger prov'd He with his Thunder," it's out of character. While it appears as though Satan is simply motivating his followers or using an appeal to emotion to preserve their support, there's something more sinister within the speech.

     "Satan has willfully and wholeheartedly rejected God and views himself as superior. He even mentions that his matter is indestructible and he has greater foresight than God. Satan has moved beyond being perfect in the company of God. Instead, he's decided to embrace evilness. He isn't evil because he was created to be evil by God. In the poem, the application of his free will in a direction contrary to his duty to God is what degrades him, and leads to his fall and punishment. His evilness is the result of abused choice.

     "However, he doesn't explicitly convey all of that to his followers. He wants to be viewed as a rebel the demons can sympathize with. He's relying on the demons' ignorance to his obsession with revenge to maintain the facade of being a martyr. He's presenting his story first to win them over.

     "Does... Does all of that make sense?" Cara checked, surveying each person's body language and facial expression.

     Out of the group, Spencer, Blake, Tara, and Hotch seemed to be the only ones who understood every word she said. Everyone else was either still processing what was shared or more confused than ever.

     "Uh, sure. I think so," Morgan was the first to reply. "How does this connect to Le or the case?"

     "By Le painting the very first line of the speech, he was implying two things. I already shared the first earlier, but I never shared the second," Cara paused, catching Hotch's eye. His face hardened, and he stared at her disapprovingly. Now he knew she'd been holding out on him all those years ago. "Satan's true motivation for rebelling was his jealousy of Jesus. He went through with his rebellion because of jealousy, not revenge. At the time those words were painted, Le was going to carry out his plans because of his jealousy of Owen and Spencer. That was his true motivation.

     "The analysis I shared is accurate and very much real. It came true. In his eyes, I had more power; he wanted to tip the scales. He wanted revenge for what my father and I did. As I stated minutes ago, using that beginning line was him saying he was coming for me, and he did. However, just like Satan, Le was relying on people's ignorance to his obsession with me to maintain the facade of being a power and control seeker. He was presenting a story of revenge to persuade people into believing a true yet false narrative.

     "Castaway's Mansion is where Owen told me he loved me for the first time. I was eighteen. Outside of Owen and I, the only person who knows about that instance is Le. He overheard us. So choosing Castaway's Mansion as the location for his message was a dig at Owen and I's relationship.

     "As for Spencer's connection... Johnston and Leone kept tabs on me the entire time I lived in Quantico. Since I worked for the F.B.I. and they were reported dead, they knew they had to be careful when it came to surveillance. They took turns watching me at my apartment. They knew the entire team was important to me— particularly Spencer. It didn't take a brainiac to deduce that.

     "Everything they saw was reported to Le and the other Founding Fathers. So, Le was aware of Spencer's presence and existence and acknowledged him in those lines. Aside from being a power-hungry control freak, Le is, unsurprisingly, possessive and territorial. He has been since the day I met him. He's never liked any male figure in my life outside of my father, the Founding Fathers, and trusted gang members. He sure as hell hates Owen, and he sure as hell doesn't like Spencer."

     Spencer rolled his eyes. "The feeling's mutual," he muttered, running his hand up and down her back.

     "If thou beest he; But I how fall'n! how chang'd can be applied to what's happening right now," Cara said, lightly nudging Spencer in the ribs. "Again, this is a connection I couldn't help but make. February twenty-seventh, April twenty-seventh... I don't know. It could mean nothing."

     For a moment, nobody spoke. A lot of information had been thrown at them.

     Approximately thirty-seven seconds of silence passed until it was broken.

     "Have you ever considered taking up teaching?" Matt randomly asked, bringing his gaze to the blonde. She tilted her head with a mildly confusion expression. "I think you'd be an excellent English literature professor. Paradise Lost is an English epic poem, right? Seventeenth century?"

     Cara nodded wordlessly.

     Regardless of how much Le and the Red Scorpions had used and abused the story of Paradise Lost, she could still talk about it for days without getting bored. It was no longer her favorite book, and she couldn't recite all of it word for word anymore, but it had a special place in her heart.

     "I don't believe the connection means nothing," Blake voiced to Cara's right. "There's something to be said about Le's double entendre. Despite the message being nearly four years old, it still holds weight. As we all know, everything Le does has a double meaning."

     Morgan shrugged. "I agree. If thou beest he— whatever the hell the line is— is relevant."

     "You stated that many scholars believe the point of Satan's monologue is to paint him as attractive and an underdog that readers instinctually want to sympathize with," Blake pointed out, locking eyes with Cara. "I can't help but also think about how Milton's depiction of Satan provides readers a very human portrait of evil. In order to tempt people into sin, Satan needs to be seductive, compelling, and misleading. Sin needs to be seductive for us to choose it; very rarely is it that sin is chosen for its merits."

     It was instances such as this that reminded Cara of how much she missed Blake's presence.

     "Yes!" Cara quickly perked up at the woman's observation. It wasn't related to Le or the case, but she didn't care. "People are not likely to choose sin for sin's sake, but through our imperfect judgment, we seduce ourselves into it and rationalize sin to make it appear to be the right choice."

     Beside her, Spencer watched her talk animatedly with a doting expression. There was a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and every muscle on his face was relaxed. His vexation was gone. Instead, he was filled with love, and tracing every feature on her face with his eyes.

     For the first time, Penelope noticed the way the genius was staring at the blonde before anyone else. A quiet "aww" slipped out, and she elbowed JJ excitedly.

     JJ only smiled and shook her head.

     Blinking several times, Luke felt himself struggling to keep up. "So... are you saying that Le is using his obsession with you as a facade when his real motivation is his jealousy toward Reid?"

     Teetering her head side-to-side, Cara hummed. "His obsession is still valid and relevant. I just don't believe it's one hundred percent genuine. So, to answer your question, yes. However, it's only a theory and a connection I found."

     "Yeah, and your theories and ideas usually come true," Morgan said, giving her a knowing look.

     He wasn't wrong.

     A brief yet unsettling stillness coated the room. None of them wanted Cara's connection/theory to become real, but it had already begun.

     "There's been something bugging me about this whole case," Morgan confessed, drawing all attention to him again.

     Hotch's eyebrows pinched together. "What?"

     "Something Valentine said on the jet when we were headed to Kamloops..."

     Everyone glanced at Cara.

     Without realizing it, the blonde inched closer to Spencer. He did, though. For once, he easily caught the movement but didn't say anything. It was evident that she wasn't aware of this subconscious action, and it didn't matter to him. Truthfully, it warmed his heart.

     "During captivity, Valentine's stated that things got to a point where she wasn't scared of Le or any of the Founding Fathers. On the jet, she asked what was the point in Le continuing his little game when he could take a break, give her time to be rescued, get help, and regain the life she lost? Then, Le returns when he knows she's comfortable, trusts people, and is used to life out from under his thumb. Once that's established, his return is almost guaranteed to frighten her. He returns in one of the most gruesome ways— murdering the only friends he has left, effectively and emotionally paralyzing her, and forcing her to come back to BC.

     "What's bothering me is how would Le know when Valentine got to that point? To where she is a long way in her recovery, is relatively happy from what I can tell, and trusts those around her? How does he know anything about her life and progress unless somebody's been watching her?"

     Johnston.

     Matthew Johnston and Stephen Leone watched her all those years ago. What's to say Johnston didn't go back to doing that again?

     Cara clenched her eyes shut and withheld a groan. How did she not think of this earlier?

     "I doubt Le has been anywhere near her. It's too risky. He's probably been depriving himself of anything that has to do with Valentine. So when they're finally reunited, he's overwhelmed with satisfaction and gets off on it. That, or he's spent, what, practically the last two years doing nothing but planning for these days? Obsessing over this plan and her?"

     "I mean, I wouldn't put it past him." Tara was the first one to voice her thoughts.

     JJ nodded in agreement. "Or Johnston. He stalked Cara once, he might've done it again."

     Re-opening her eyes, Cara's line of sight fell on Hotch and Rossi. All three of them were thinking the same exact thing— they'd gone to extreme measures to ensure her safety and location wasn't shared outside a small group of people. Not even the entire team knew where her new apartment was. The three had gone to extreme lengths. The odds of any of the Founding Fathers finding her were low.

     Low but not impossible.

     A beat of silence passed.

     "Valentine, Hotch, Rossi, what are your thoughts on the matter?" Blake asked, glancing at the blonde on her left.

     The rest of the team had noticed the wordless conversation happening between the trio. They seemed to have a lot of those.

     "I believe we've taken every extreme measure possible to protect Cara," Hotch answered evenly. "Yes, it's possible Johnston was watching her again, but I'd like to think some of our safety measures and plans have worked."

     Rossi sat up in his chair. "Agreed. Tammy Wyatt wasn't created for the hell of it." He was referring to the short-haired woman's alias they created months ago when she returned to Virginia.

     Then, all eyes went to the woman at the center of the investigation. She hadn't spoken a word on the matter yet.

     Blinking, Cara got the implicit message that the group wanted to hear her honest thoughts. And she was quite certain they didn't want to— not when she wanted to abandon this case altogether.

     "It makes sense. It would not surprise me if Johnston kept tabs on me. I haven't felt the sensation of someone watching or following me, but like Tara, I wouldn't put it past Johnston or Le."

     And she left it at that.

     And the team let her. Nobody pressed on the matter. They accepted her reply and moved on.

────

     THE LAST FORTY-EIGHT HOURS HAD FINALLY CAUGHT UP TO CARA VALENTINE AND HIT HER LIKE A BRICK. An immense wave of fatigue had washed over her in the past thirty minutes since eating dinner, causing her eyes to droop and eventually flutter shut. Her elbow was propped up on the conference table, her cheek leaning on a curled fist with her lips slightly parted. Her other arm was bent and resting on the table. Soft and even breaths left her, and she appeared at peace. Strands of blonde hair cascaded over her face, a few lifting when her breath hit them.

     To say that she looked adorable was an understatement, and David Rossi knew that as he watched Spencer glance across the table, the corner of his lips curling. There was a lovestruck glint in his eyes, and he was appreciating every moment of her presence.

     Cara wasn't one to fall asleep in public or during a case, but the past two days had been nothing but one thing after another. She couldn't rest properly when she was filled with nothing but restlessness and unwavering paranoia. It was exhausting, and her mind wouldn't let her relax.

     Not until now, at least.

     Hotch hadn't noticed the sleeping woman's stance yet while reviewing the case with the team. Everyone was paying attention and engaged. However, one by one, they slowly took notice of Cara's present state. When Penelope noticed, she'd discreetly taken a picture before turning back to the Unit Chief.

     As the minutes ticked by, Rossi watched Cara's cheek gradually slide down her wrist. Eventually, her cheek left her arm, and her head landed on the case files with a soft thud. The noise caused everyone to go mute and look in her direction.

     Despite the movement, the blonde did not attempt to move or wake up. And for a moment, nobody dared to move or wake her. Everyone seemed to hold their breath. Then, the hand propping up her elbow fell on top of her head.

     A hand flew to Tara's mouth, and she covered it to keep from laughing.

     "Reid..." Rossi called gently, breaking the silence. Humming, the doctor snapped his gaze away from the sleeping woman. "Take Cara back to the hotel and stay with her. Make sure she's safe. She needs rest."

     Immediately, Spencer nodded and closed the manila folder in front of him. The rest of the team would continue working on the case, and if they needed him, technology existed for a reason. His number one priority was Cara, and that hadn't changed. It was doubtful that it ever would.

     Next to Cara, JJ gently poked her cheek with the eraser on the end of her pencil. No response or reaction was given. She remained unresponsive. "Car, wake up," JJ sang, and her voice miraculously woke the short-haired woman.

     Blinking rapidly, Cara sat up and rubbed the sleepiness from her eyes. As her vision returned to focus, she took in the slightly amused and endearing expressions on the team's faces. "Hmm? Oh..." she deadpanned, assuming why they were staring. "I fell asleep, didn't I?" A series of nods answered her, and she squeezed her eyes shut with a sigh.

     "Hey," Spencer said softly. The sound of his voice caused her to turn to the left and stare up instantly. Wasn't he just sitting across from her? Guess she missed that when she blacked out. "Let's get your things and head back to the hotel."

     The suggestion caused her eyebrows to crease. "What? No. I can keep working," she protested, picking up a pen. Spencer swiftly reached over and snatched it from her hand, giving Cara a look. A pout pulled at her lips.

     Rossi rolled his eyes. "Figlia mia," he said, capturing her attention. "Vai a riposarti un po'."

     Wow.

     Penelope, Luke, Tara, and Morgan looked to Spencer for clarification or a translation of what the man said. However, the genius couldn't tell them. He could only shrug in response.

     Italian was one of the few languages he had yet to learn. However, considering Cara knew it, perhaps he would take the time to learn. It'd be thrilling and worth it.

     Groaning lowly, Cara cast Rossi a sharp glare and begrudgingly pushed her stack of files away. She knew not to fight back when he spoke to her in Italian. It never ended in her favor.

     "Odio quando fai così," she grumbled, standing up.

     Whenever she tried to argue or refused to do something, he would speak to her in Italian. She hated it, and he knew that.

     At first, she didn't mind, but that was until he taught her the language during her time in recovery, and she finally understood what he was saying. Now, she borderline detested it.

     "Ti amo!" Rossi reminded her, winking cheekily.

     Pushing the chair in, Cara waved a hand at him that smoothly turned into flipping him off. A string of laughter carried through the conference room. "Sí, sí," she lamented, not returning the sentiment. It was still difficult for her to say "I love you" to others, but the man knew she did.

     There was a tug on her free hand, and Cara pivoted to Spencer. Their fingers naturally interlaced. He was already holding her things and wore a sweet smile. "Come on," he murmured, jutting his head toward the door.

     The action and whispered words made her crack a small smile. It also made her heart flutter. So, with a nod, she allowed him to lead her out of the room.

     "Be safe, love birds!" Morgan said loudly, breaking into a wide grin when Cara glimpsed over her shoulder. She only responded with another middle finger. Meanwhile, Spencer had a different approach.

     The genius' face flamed red, and he replied, "Shut up, Morgan!" Chuckles of amusement could be heard as the door shut.

     Side-by-side and hand-in-hand, Cara and Spencer silently walked to the entrance. It was relatively quiet. Many of the officers had gone home while others were out patrolling, leaving behind three police officers chatting in the small kitchenette. They offered waves to Cara and Spencer, and the pair returned the gesture.

     As they neared closer to the glass doors, Cara was mid-yawn when she saw that it was only half past eight. Where had the time gone? Shaking her head, she rubbed under her eyes lazily.

     "Tired?" Spencer murmured, squeezing the blonde's hand.

     The automatic doors to the VPD slid open, and a blast of frigid air hit them when they walked outside. It was pitch black with street lamps and lights coming from the precinct being the only sources of light. Nighttime had certainly fallen upon them.

     The crisp cold woke Cara up a bit more, and she shivered. Unfortunately, her trenchcoat and Spencer's scarf were being held by the brown-haired man.

     "Hmm?" she hummed, realizing he'd spoken to her. "I'm sorry. I spaced—" Her words were cut short when he leaned down and connected their lips. Instantly, her eyes shut. All thoughts were erased from her mind.

     The fleeting kiss lasted only five seconds when Spencer drew back. "It was too tempting not to kiss you," he whispered before backing away and outstretching their intertwined arms. An involuntary blush spread across her face, and Cara followed his movement. "Let's go to the hotel, yeah?"

     Nodding, she squeezed his hand. "Yeah."

────

     EXHAUSTED AND BLOODSHOT BLUE EYES STARED AT CARA IN THE BATHROOM MIRROR. The bags underneath them were worsening, and she was visibly stressed. She thought a hot shower before bed would ease the tension in her muscles and how rigid she felt, but it hadn't. At least not enough to where she noticed a significant difference.

     A defeated sigh filled the silence of the bathroom, and she blinked. Damp strands of short blonde hair stuck to the sides of her face, and she shoved them aside.

     If she were being honest with herself, she looked strung out. It wasn't her best look, for sure.

     Cara side-eyed the hair dryer, stifling a groan. She was already annoyed with the sound it would inevitably make. If sleeping with wet hair didn't bother her so much, she would have exited the bathroom right then and there, but it did. She couldn't stand it and because of that fact, she was going to be awake longer than she wanted.

     One upside, though, was that she had to remove the outer part of her cochlear implant before sleeping every night to avoid damaging it. This meant that the annoying sound of the dryer wouldn't be nearly as loud in her right ear.

     It took a minute before she successfully removed the external piece of the implant. Then, she begrudgingly reached for the hair dryer.

     "Deep within my heart lies a melody, a song of old San Antone, where in dreams I live with a memory beneath the stars all alone," she mumbled sleepily, reluctantly flipping on the device and grabbing her hairbrush with her other hand.

     And there goes that stupid whirring sound.

     On the drive to the hotel, San Antonio Rose by Patsy Cline had randomly come to mind. Since then, it'd been playing on a perpetual loop in Cara's brain. She didn't know why she hadn't been able to shake it. Perhaps it was due to the catchy beat of the song; she wasn't sure.

     "Well, it was there I found beside the Alamo, enchantment strange as the blue up above. For that moonlit pass that only he would know still hears my broken song of love," she continued, allowing the sound of the dryer to drown her out. All of her focus was on the hairbrush and the dryer working in tandem, gradually drying sections of her hair. It was her goal to be done as quickly as possible.

     "Moon in all your splendor known only to my heart. Call back my rose, rose of San Antone. Lips so sweet and tender like petals fallin' apart; speak once again of my love, my own. Broken song, empty words I know still live in my heart all alone. For that moonlit pass by the Alamo and rose my rose of San Antone."

     Cara spent the next fourteen minutes and eight seconds blow-drying her hair, brushing her teeth, finishing her skincare, and getting dressed. It'd felt like the longest fourteen minutes of her life with her eyes involuntarily shutting every other second. Sleep and rest were needed.

     "And rose my rose of San Antone," she yawned the final lyric of San Antonio Rose and rubbed her eyes. "And rose my rose of San Antone."

     At that, she spun to the left and slid the bathroom door open. A significantly dimmer room welcomed her and she let out a breath. She swept her gaze around the space until she spotted Spencer a few feet away. He was quietly rummaging through his things on one of the beds, unaware of her presence.

     A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and she leaned against the doorframe. There was a particular warmth filling her chest and she took a second to embrace their present moment.

     Spencer's hair was gradually falling in front of his eyes as he moved. His curls shifted with his movements, appearing almost golden with the orange hues of the lamps reflecting off of them. There was a focused expression on his face; he was in a world of his own.

     Suddenly, it dawned on her that his belongings were in what was Cara and JJ's shared hotel room while JJ's suitcase and purse were gone. Her eyebrows furrowed.

     "Since when were we rooming together?" Cara asked, her words shrouded in a layer of drowsiness.

    Looking up from his suitcase, Spencer's face flushed. He hadn't noticed how she'd been standing there until now.

     "Oh, uh..." he stammered, realizing he wholeheartedly forgot to tell her. Guilt flooded his nervous system, and he mentally cursed himself. This was the second time he'd done something like this, and he needed to stop. "I-I asked JJ to swap rooms with me earlier. I'm so sorry. I should have asked you before doing that. I'm not trying to— I don't want to make you— I-I'm sorry."

     The panicked and nervous stumbling woke Cara up a bit, and she frowned. "No. No, no, Spen," she said, leaving the light on in the bathroom and walking over. "Hey, stop." At the gentle yet firm command, he quickly shut up. She placed her hands on top of his. "It's okay. You haven't overstepped, all right? Just let me know next time."

     Spencer nodded weakly, surrendering under her kind and sincere gaze. "O-Okay," he muttered, kissing the tip of her nose and the bottom of her chin. It was a gesture that calmed them both.

     Darting her deep blue eyes between his golden brown ones, she felt at ease. "It's okay," she reassured him, aware that he was likely beating himself up mentally.

     In response, he nodded again. The beat of his heart slowed, and he watched her wander to the furthest bed. It was positioned on the wall to the left of the closed hotel windows. The covers had been pulled back by her when they arrived.

     Spencer's eyes were filled with curiosity, no longer guilt-ridden, and his eyebrows shot up when Cara flopped onto the mattress face-first. Tempted to laugh, he pressed his lips together. There were so many different facets to her that he was learning more and more about every day. The one he'd coined, "Tired and Half-Awake Cara," was easily in his top three favorites.

     All was silent, and the blonde kept her face pressed against the covers. The hot breath she exhaled was hitting her, and she sighed. Part of her desperately wanted to be back at the precinct, helping the team, but the latter was wiped. So much had happened in the past two days, and it was creeping up on her.

     "Nice penguin pajama pants."

     Rolling onto her back, Cara playfully narrowed her stare on the brown-haired man standing before her. He'd now changed and gotten into his pajamas. The bathroom light was off. "Rossi got us matching sets for Christmas last year," she huffed, the corners of her lips twitching upward at the doting expression on his face.

     "I like them a lot." He held his hands out toward her and wiggled his fingers. It was his subtle way of mirroring the small action she did whenever she wanted him to hold her hand.

     The familiar gesture was not lost on her, and it made her blush. A small smile appeared, and she extended her arms, allowing him to pull her off the bed. "Thanks. Rossi likes to think they're cute." Once she was standing again, Spencer's lips were on hers, and her smile grew. She let go of his hands and found her fingers curling around his waist.

     Spencer broke away and kissed her forehead. "Do you want to share a bed or sleep separately?" A mistake had already been made in not telling her that he switched rooms with JJ. He didn't want to make another one.

     Cara's face dropped, and she stared at him as if he were dumb. "Spencer Reid, you just kissed me and then asked if I wanted to sleep in separate beds," she stated matter-of-a-factly. He nodded in confirmation, a little puzzled. "No. I do not want to sleep in separate beds."

     Oh.

     His eyes widened slightly, and the blonde noticed. "I'm concerned and quite apprehensive to even ask how you and that brain of yours interpreted that." She shook her head and stepped back. There were a lot of ways her statement could be taken, but she was going to let him decide what it meant.

     Observing her thoughtfully, a million concepts were flying through Spencer's mind. Each was as appealing as the next, and he did his best to push them out of view.

     Cara dragged back the rest of the sheets and tucked herself under, glancing his way. "Genuinely, it's up to you," she said softly, hand next to the lamp switch. "I'm comfortable with either, and I want you to be comfortable, too. I trust you."

     I trust you.

     Spencer's skin flushed pink, and his heart swelled. It never failed to make him feel like the luckiest guy in the world whenever she told him that. Actually, he was the luckiest guy.

     Biting the inside of his cheek, he wandered to the right side of the bed where there was about three feet between the bed and the windows. He slid underneath the covers as the room was basked in black.

     Gradually, their eyes adjusted to the darkness, and a comforting silence overtook the space. It was the most peace they'd felt in days and the first moment of calm. It was very much needed.

     After a minute ticked by, Cara switched to lying on the left side of her body. One, to be more comfortable, and two, to be closer to Spencer. Yes, they were close right now. She could feel his legs brush against hers, but it was nowhere near enough.

     Upon opening her eyes, she was pleasantly surprised to find Spencer's face incredibly close to hers. An unconscious, small smile overtook her face, and he instantly mirrored it.

     Spencer wrapped an arm around Cara's waist and brought her to his chest. Another smile lined her face, and she rested her palms on his chest. A soft breath was released, and she placed her forehead on his. It was subtle when it happened, but Spencer slipped the hand that was over her waist under the t-shirt she wore. He began to draw random shapes on her bare skin, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps.

     This was officially one of Cara's favorite things in the world— laying in the darkness of the night with Spencer, soaking in the warmth he radiated, and embracing how safe and secure she felt. It meant a lot to her, and she wouldn't trade it for anything.

     While her eyes fluttered shut, Spencer outlined the shape of her head and every feature on her face that he could see. Even in the dark, her beauty took his breath away.

     He really did win the lottery and become the luckiest guy in the world.

     "Ara?"

     The nickname was so faint that she almost missed it. "Mm-hmm?" she hummed, fanning the pads of her fingers across the fabric of his shirt. The longer she lay there, the more drowsy she became.

     "Can I kiss you?"

     The question made her chest tighten, and she held her breath. It was just a question, but it also wasn't. It meant more for reasons Cara didn't want to waste a single second lingering on. She was happy and treated the way she deserved to be— treated the way Spencer would always treat her.

     "Yes," was the only reply she gave.

     Spencer tilted his chin an inch, and their lips grazed for a moment. Then, he closed the gap and stopped drawing on her skin. Instead, his fingers spread out, and he pressed his palm to her back. He brought them closer until there was hardly any space left.

     One of Cara's hands instinctually flew up, brushing against his jaw before settling in the crevice between his neck and shoulder. The two remained still, their lips pressed together until she pulled away.

     Going to say something, Cara was taken aback by Spencer reconnecting their lips. The fabric of her shirt was lifted higher, and she felt him hover above the straps of her bralette. It took a second before he settled on holding her.

     Breathing in deeply, she began to move her lips against his. They fell into a steady and smooth rhythm.

     Every second that went by only woke Cara up more and more. The drowsiness and fatigue she'd been wearing like a coat all day was gone. Instead, she was alert and aware of every move, every touch, and every sensation. She felt all of it— she felt all of him— and she couldn't care less about sleeping.

     Without warning, she was promptly yanked back to reality three minutes later when his touch traveled from her upper back to her chest. "Is this, uh..." he mumbled against her lips, "is this okay?" A nervously warm hand lightly skimmed over the thin fabric of her bralette.

     Cara let out a tiny gasp, partly because she was out of breath and partly because he'd never touched her there. It was light, but it still felt nice. "Yes, it is," she answered, gulping.

     Not wanting to overwhelm her or rush things further, Spencer kissed her again. This time, it was slow and sensual. He was moving his lips against hers deliberately and strategically, savoring the feeling. She returned the act and sighed contently.

     Their breath entangled as they lost themselves in one another. The air was growing hotter, but neither cared. It felt too good to stop; they wanted more.

     So, Spencer finally decided to go with the idea and impulse he had earlier.

     With the hand he had under her shirt, he began to palm one of her breasts. At the same time, his tongue entered her mouth, and Cara moaned. She wasn't expecting either action to happen yet, but she had zero complaints. The combination was welcomed, and shivers ran down her spine.

     One of her arms draped over his shoulders while the other remained on his chest, and she opened her mouth against his. This gave him further access to explore, and she knew he would take the opportunity.

      Something she'd learned on Monday while they were making out was that Spencer was highly attuned to every movement she made. There was no action too small that he didn't make note of. He paid attention and memorized what she did and didn't respond favorably to, which wasn't much. Cara loved everything he did and had no complaints. The same went for him with her.

     Still, he took the time to remember how things made her react. It was important to him that Cara felt good and cared for. He knew he did, so he wanted to ensure she did, too.

     Knotting her fingers in his hair, Cara added some pressure to the kiss. In response, Spencer inhaled harshly, chest rising and falling against hers. Their tongues danced, and he squeezed her breast. A low whine sounded, followed by a quiet moan when he began to knead it gently. Each of them was equally in love with the way things were going.

     Eventually, the pair broke apart for a moment, breathing heavily. Both of them were feeling light-headed from the lack of oxygen.

     "I don't want to sleep anymore," Cara muttered, unsure if he'd heard her. A piece of her was scared of saying those words; she knew what they meant to her but didn't want to ruin the moment in case Spencer wasn't in the same place. Luckily, they were vague enough that they could be interpreted in a multitude of ways.

     Spencer did, in fact, hear her, and he was doing his best not to assume anything. "Are you—" The question was cut off when Cara placed her lips over his, silencing him. An involuntary smile appeared, and he melted at her touch. "Are you sure?" he managed to mumble, eyes closed. Shivers traveled down his spine as he felt her play with the curls by the nape of his neck.

     Breaking away, Cara brushed her nose against his and nodded. "Yes. I'm sure," she whispered, feeling his hand go from her chest to her hip. "There's no way I'm falling asleep now."

     They both broke into soft laughter, growing shy.

     "That wasn't my intention, by the way."

     "What wasn't? Kissing me twice and not expecting it to turn into something else?"

     "No," Spencer chuckled, averting his gaze bashfully. "It wasn't my intention to keep you awake." At this, he received a skeptically raised eyebrow and blushed. "N-Not like, I... It's just... I, I didn't mean it like that. Y-You know what I— Why are you laughing?"

     Cara was covering her mouth and trying to stifle her giggling. "Noth-Nothing," she replied, shaking her head with amusement.

     "I... I'm confused," he admitted although the corners of his lips were curling. The sound of her giggling remained his favorite song.

     Sighing, she reached up and cradled his face in her hands. The simple action made him weak in the knees, and he'd never been so grateful to be lying down. "You're cute, you know that?" she asked, readjusting her head on the pillow.

     Spencer narrowed his eyes, trying to decipher the blissfully happy expression she wore. "Why do I feel like you're teasing me?"

     "Do you want to know why I was laughing?" Immediately, she received a nod. "It's because one change in my facial features, in the dark, mind you, was enough to make you ramble nervously," she explained, absentmindedly running a thumb across his skin. "It's because you are yourself to a fault, and I wouldn't have it any other way. It's because you make me happy, Spen."

     Every syllable she uttered was true, and he almost folded entirely. "You... You make me happy, too," he breathed, on the verge of breaking into the biggest grin he could muster. Every time she was forthcoming with how she felt about him, he found himself falling further with every word. At this point, he'd fallen so deep there was no way he'd ever recover, and he didn't want to.

     Another smile appeared on her cheeks, and Cara kissed his forehead. "I know," she said, not letting go of him. "Kiss me, Pretty Boy."

     At the demand, Spencer simply smirked. "Who says I want to?" he retorted, subconsciously glancing at her lips.

     Her jaw slackened, and her eyebrows rose significantly high. "All right, all right," she shrugged nonchalantly, withdrawing her hands from his face. The smug countenance dropped. "Don't have to ask me twice. Goodnight." At that, she completely detached herself from him and flopped onto the right side of her body. Her backside was all he could see, and she shut her eyes.

     Oh. Spencer was left speechless. Perhaps he should've just kissed her...

     If she knew him as well as she knew she did, it was going to take him precisely eleven seconds to respond. During that time, Cara was going to attempt to gain back the sleepiness she'd lost while the genius contemplated his options.

     One... two... three... four... five... six...

     Frowning, Spencer propped himself up with his elbow.

     Seven... eight...

     Inhaling deeply, a determined look overcame him.

     Nine...

     A familiar warmth coiled around Cara's shoulder, and she smirked.

     Ten...

     Suddenly, she was forced to roll onto her back, and a shadow loomed over her.

     Eleven.

     Spencer's lips were on hers before she could even take a breath, and she gasped. Seizing the opportunity and not letting it slip by, Spencer latched onto her bottom lip.

     Whenever they kissed, oftentimes and so far, it was Cara who took the initiative to go further or deepen it. This was primarily due to Spencer wanting her to feel comfortable and not pressured. Sometimes, though, he took charge, and Cara liked it more than she let on. Yes, she had no problem deepening a kiss, but it felt a hundred times better when he did it.

     Cara's toes curled as Spencer rolled her lip between his teeth before sucking. After, he tugged lightly and released it.

     Spencer watched with a grin while the blonde kept her eyes closed, shaky breaths leaving her. Tilting his head and leaning down, he wet his lips before pressing them to the skin beneath her ear. The breath in her throat hitched. At the sound, he kissed a little lower. Then, as if he was only teasing her, his lips were back on hers.

     Humming, Cara cupped his face and wrapped a leg around him. She guided him toward her, and he took the hint.

     Not disconnecting from her once, he shifted until he was positioned directly over her. One hand was pressed into the empty spot beside her head while the other landed on her hip. Their legs were tangled, and he felt like he was in Heaven.

    Cara's arms draped over his shoulders, one grabbing his shirt and the other his hair. There was a building heat in her stomach, and she almost moaned when she felt him press his thumb into her hip. Every inch of her felt like it was on fire, and she didn't want it to end. She didn't want his hands to leave her.

     Spencer guided their bodies closer until there was barely any room left. All of his body weight hadn't been placed on her, just enough where he knew she was comfortable.

     Their lips moved in tandem, melding together perfectly like they always did.

     When he found an opening, Spencer latched onto her bottom lip for a second time. He held onto her hip tightly and rolled her lip between his teeth. Cara's back arched, and she instinctually pulled at his hair.

     The hair tug seemed to be the thing that got to Spencer as he groaned, pulling away to catch his breath. In the dark, their eyes soon locked, and he couldn't help but lose himself in staring at her.

     Being this close felt better than he ever imagined, and he was reminded of that fact every time they were. And just like every time, he didn't want to stop, even though he always did. He wanted to hold, touch, and kiss every inch of her and feel her smile against his skin. He wanted to make her feel cared for and loved— safe. He wanted it all.

     "Do you..." Cara's voice was a little raspy when she spoke, and she had to clear her throat. "Do you want to stop?"

     The question caused the doctor to blink. "No," he answered honestly, brushing strands of hair out of her face. "Why? Do you?" It was important to him that he knew where she was at. He didn't want to ever violate her or overstep in any capacity.

     Shaking her head, she blushed. "No," she said, playing with his curls. "I'm glad you wised up and decided to kiss me."

     Spencer couldn't help but break into a grin. "Which time?"

     "Every time," Cara shrugged, glancing at his lips before meeting his endearing stare. "I just want to make sure that we were on the same page... 'Cause I want to keep going," she admitted quietly, reddening at how fast he nodded.

     "We are," he confirmed, pecking her on the lips. They shared a smile before he dipped down and attached his mouth to the skin under her jaw. Immediately, she angled her head back and into the pillow, providing Spencer with more access.

     Repeated kisses were pressed along her jaw in different places, each better than the last. Next, Spencer kissed down the right side of her throat and nipped very lightly at the skin. His tongue and nose trailed behind his lips, gently blanketing each kiss he left.

     Heavy breaths tumbled from Cara's mouth, and she swallowed harshly. The heat in her stomach burned, and she was reminded why this was one of her favorite things in the world.

     When he got to her collarbones, Spencer didn't stop like he had in the past. Instead, he moved the collar of her shirt and kissed the areas of skin that he could reach. He made sure not to leave a single spot untouched. There were a few places, though, that he lingered on longer than others.

     The ghost of a smile was slowly spreading across Cara's face, and she ran her fingers through his hair for the millionth time. Unfortunately, the smile abruptly dropped. Spencer had unknowingly found her sweet spot, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Her body tensed for a split second, and he noticed.

     "W-What? What's wrong?"

     Letting out a breath, she gulped. "Nothing, nothing," she replied truthfully, her tone scratchy and delicate. "You just..." Unsure of how to tell him or if she should, she closed her mouth.

     "Did I go too far?" Spencer's heart dropped, and he moved so he was staring down at her. The air was much hotter when he was positioned above her, and he hadn't realized how much he missed it. When his gaze landed on Cara, he fell speechless. He always knew she was beautiful beyond words, and that would never change. However, her swollen lips and knotted blonde hair added to her beauty.

     Opening her eyes, Cara met his worried and remorseful expression. "No. God, no. No, not at all. I promise. You just... You found... my sweet spot."

     At her reassurance, Spencer nodded in relief. "Oh, okay, good. I-I don't want to..." he trailed off when he registered the familiar phrase. He'd heard Morgan say it once or twice but wasn't well-versed in its meaning. "What do you mean by sweet spot?"

     Cara froze. Oh, fuck. Great. She cleared her throat again and stared at the ceiling to avoid eye contact. "Uh, it's a..." she almost cringed at how raspy her voice came out, "it's a spot on the body that some people have where touched or kissed, respond... pleasurably." That was the only way she knew how to describe it, and she felt awkward doing so.

     "And... I found yours?" Spencer double-checked, raising an eyebrow. She nodded weakly, trying to ignore how red in the face she was becoming. Thankfully, he could hardly tell. "Somewhere on your neck?"

     A breathy laugh escaped her in an attempt to hide how flustered she was. "I am not answering that."

     "I guess I'm going to have to find it then."

     Squeezing her eyes back shut, Cara pressed her lips together. He had no idea how much his words just turned her on. He really didn't.

     Another trail of kisses was scattered along her neck, and Cara shivered. Repeating his actions from moments ago, Spencer moved the neckline of her shirt to the side so he could keep going.

     Suddenly, a series of words he wasn't expecting were uttered.

     "You can take it off."

     Instantly, his head shot up, and he frowned. He didn't want her to give permission to remove her clothes because of him and not mean it. He would never want that.

     "Are you sure? Ara, I don't—"

     "I'm sure," she breathed, detaching her hands from his body and bringing them to hold his face. Unlike the first time they made out, she no longer minded him seeing her skin and all its imperfections. To him, she was beautiful regardless, and that reassured her. "I'm sure."

     Spencer stared down at her for thirteen seconds, deducing whether or not she was comfortable with this. She'd been through so much, and he didn't want any of what he did to hurt her or make her feel like she'd taken steps back in her healing process. Yes, they both said they wanted to keep going, but he wanted her to be certain.

     Once those thirteen seconds were up, he was content with what he found.

     The corners of her eyes crinkled as she gave him a reassuring and crooked smile. She looked as if she were in complete and utter bliss. The sight made him accidentally place more of his weight on her, but she didn't comment on it. She was still comfortable.

     "I trust you," she whispered earnestly, eyes darting between his. Cara knew nothing bad would ever happen to her while she was with him. She knew he would never do anything to hurt her.

     Spencer nodded, wholeheartedly believing her. "Enough to find your sweet spot?" he teased, feeling his heart race at the angelic laugh that escaped her.

     God, he loved her laugh.

     "That all depends on whether you can find it," she murmured, dragging her thumb to his bottom lip. Tracing over it, she watched him briefly close his eyes and inhale shakily.

     "I'll find it," he said determinedly, kissing her thumb before leaning back on his knees. Curling his fingers around the hem of her shirt, he tugged. Cara allowed him to briefly pull her up and watched him bite the inside of his cheek while taking her top off. He placed it on the nightstand, and she returned to lying on her back.

     Lowering himself on top of her, Spencer didn't waste any time. He was back to searching for the mystery sweet spot.

    What started as innocent pecks and kisses tracing her jaw, neck, and collarbones transitioned to love bites. Cara let out an unsteady breath, feeling his teeth repeatedly nip at her skin and run his tongue across it.

     Unexpectedly, her hands stopped running through his hair, and her toes curled again. The breath in her throat hitched.

     He found it.

     And he knew it, too.

     Soon, he was biting and sucking at the ivory skin in the crevice of her neck, right above where her collarbone began. It was apparent that he was successful, and she was enjoying every bit of what he was doing. Spencer could feel her slightly squirming under him and hear her struggling not to make any noise.

     Cara's eyes were squeezed shut, and she was biting on her bottom lip to avoid making a sound. Her attempts to stay silent didn't work and was soon defeated as Spencer discovered another sweet spot. It was underneath her collarbone and close to her chest— it was located lower than he'd ever kissed.

     "Fuck."

     At the sound of her cursing, he released her thigh that he'd grabbed hold of amid his search. Instead, Spencer clutched onto her hip again and pressed up against her as he sucked on the second sweet spot. He wasn't holding too tightly to where it was painful. It was just hard enough to indicate how dedicated he was to her, and the message was quickly conveyed.

     A strangled gasp echoed, followed by a small whimper. Cara's head rolled back when Spencer's tongue swiped across her skin. He pressed multiple kisses on the soon-to-be hickeys, beginning to process how many he'd made. It wasn't a lot, but it was three more than he thought.

     "So, did I find it?"

     The question made Cara's stomach churn. "You tell me," she answered weakly.

     In response, he happily kissed along her jawline to a spot behind her ear. Then, he ducked and nibbled at the raw spot on her neck. Feeling her shudder against him and hearing the soft whimper that left her mouth, he returned to leaving kisses and tiny love bits everywhere. He was mindful not to go too low, though.

     "Come here."

     Instantly, Spencer stopped and made his way up, wearing a grin. "I'm taking that as a ye—" His words were cut off when Cara reconnected their lips. Her hands cradled his face, causing him to lean further into her. Slowly, she sank onto the bed and wrapped a leg around him.

     "Have I..." Cara spoke between kisses, "ever told... you... how much I... I love this?"

     The speed of Spencer's heart rate quickened. The breath in his throat hitched when he heard her utter, "I love." It wasn't equivalent to "I love you," but it was major progress. He'd never heard her say, "I love," before; now that she had, it meant something.

    It meant a lot.

     "T-This?" Spencer choked out, breaking off the kiss.

     Cara nodded, tracing his jawline with her thumb. "Yeah, this— us— being and spending time together— the intimacy— everything. I know I said I like kissing you, and I do, so much. I also like and love every moment we spend together, so thank you."

     God, he was so in love with her.

    That's all Spencer was able to think as he stared endearingly at her. "You're welcome," he replied, pecking her lips. "You don't ever have to thank me. I love it and this just as much. So, thank you."

     A blissfully crooked smile appeared and he nearly folded right then and there. That smile of hers could light up the entire world. He was certain of that. Of course, that wasn't realistically or scientifically possible, but he still believed it.

     "I love your smile," Spencer whispered, slowly mirroring it.

     Cara blushed. "Thank you. I love your smile, too."

     "Thank you." He studied her peaceful and happy countenance for seven seconds. This was the most relaxed and at ease she'd been since arriving in Canada. It was needed and well-deserved. A lot was going on and weighing heavily on her shoulders. It wasn't until now that she let go of everything and was okay. "I have a confession."

     At those four words, Cara's heart stopped. Her eyebrows raised, and she held her breath. Based on how things were going, the confession likely wasn't anything bad. That didn't stop her anxiety from spiking, though.

     "Oh?"

     "I don't want any of this, right now, tonight, to be about me," Spencer admitted, kissing her chin and nose. "I want to focus on you."

     Cara's eyebrows drew in, and she tucked some of his curls behind his ears. She hadn't been expecting that. "Spen, no. I want this to be good for you, too," she said, shaking her head.

     Nodding, he kissed her forehead. "It already has been, and it still will be. I promise," he vowed, adjusting himself so he was staring directly down at her. "Ara, it's been better than good. Truthfully, there isn't a word in any language I can think of that comes close to describing how it feels to be with you."

     Oh.

     A lump rose in her throat, and Cara swallowed it. It felt like her entire body flushed red at his statement and her stomach churned. His words pierced her heart and soul, leaving her filled with warmth and adoration.

     It was moments like this that further enforced her belief that she was falling in love with Spencer or she'd been in love with him and hadn't begun to realize it until recently. If she were honest, either was probable.

     "I share the same sentiment for you," she said, holding his face in her hands. Both thumbs swept across his cheeks, and she let out a soft sigh. If time and reality would allow it, she'd drown herself in his eyes until the end of time.

     "I'm glad." Spencer broke into a smile, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. The beat of his heart was racing with happiness and nerves. "This is about you and us, but primarily you. I want to make you feel safe and cared for, loved and cherished. I want to make you happy and feel good. Only if you want me to," he said shortly after.

     Cara's face softened, and she delicately captured his lips again. Subconsciously, her palms shifted to the base of his neck, and she began to fiddle with the collar of his t-shirt. "What you just described..." she muttered against him, "you make me feel that way every day. You have since I met you."

     Relaxing, Spencer pecked her lips. "Good," he said, and there was a gentle tug on his shirt. "Do you want it gone?" The question was in reference to his top, and he met her smitten gaze.

     "Only if you're comfortable with it," she said, searching for any hesitation in his irises. There wasn't any. Not even a glimmer of regret or uncertainty, and that comforted her.

     "I am," he confirmed, reeling back and straddling her waist. There was a loving gleam in his eyes that she failed to notice due to the darkness. "Do you want to take it off or me to?" It was only fair as he'd been the one to remove her shirt.

     Although she greatly enjoyed the view she had of him right now, Cara replied, "I want to."

     Her answer added to the tension in his pants, and Spencer nodded weakly. He raised himself a little, providing her with room to slide and sit up. Once they were face to face, Spencer didn't do anything while her hands slid beneath his shirt. He shuddered at how cold her hands were but welcomed the touch.

     Cara lightly dragged her nails across his skin and tilted her head to the right. She leaned forward until her lips landed on his neck and left a whisper of a kiss. The small action was enough to weaken his knees, and Spencer sank into the mattress.

     Guiding her hands down, Cara seized the navy blue fabric and pulled. Spencer raised his arms, making the process only take two seconds. She placed it on top of her shirt on the nightstand. Not a second later, her lips were grazing the skin underneath his ear.

     "I trust you," she murmured, running a hand through his hair. Those three words held a weight, and she wanted to remind him that she meant them.

     Spencer's eyes shut instantly at the feeling of her teeth latching onto his ear lobe and tugging. "I-I," he stuttered, drowning in how good it felt. How good everything she did felt. "I trust you, too," he said, choking out a breath not a second later. Cara had wet her lips, accidentally brushing her tongue on the skin next to his ear.

     "I know you said you want this to be about me..." Cara kissed below his ear before switching to the other side of his neck. "But are you okay if I take a minute to appreciate you?"

     The question sent chills down his spine, and Spencer gulped. "Yes. Y-You don't need to ask," he said, voice raspy as he found it difficult to speak.

     A verbal response wasn't given. Instead, Cara's lips latched onto the skin on his neck.

     It was soft at first. Warm kisses were left a few inches below his ear and trailed across his jawline. Then, she traveled down his throat while one of her hands slid up his chest and curled around the base of his neck. The latter held onto his torso.

     Spencer's eyes remained closed, and he gulped again. His lips were parted, and uneven breaths tumbled out.

     Suddenly, her teeth grazed his collarbone, and he instinctually grabbed onto her hips. Not a second later, her tongue was dragging up his neck, and she began sucking at the skin. It was light enough not to leave any marks, but that didn't mean he didn't feel every breath, every love bite, every brush of her tongue, every movement of her jaw and lips pressed against him.

     He felt everything.

     The sound of soft groans filled the room, and Spencer squeezed her hips.

     Smiling in between kisses, Cara shifted down. Given their height difference, especially with how they were positioned right now— him straddling her and both of them sitting upright— she was able to leave a trail of kisses a third of the way down his chest. She wanted to ensure there wasn't a single spot left untouched that she could reach.

     A minute later, for another time, Cara dragged her tongue up from where she'd last kissed his chest. She made sure to leave a kiss every few centimeters.

     Spencer's breath became ragged, and he was entranced by her every sensation. It felt so good.

     It wasn't until Cara felt Spencer's hand slip under the band of her black bralette that she faltered. The clasp was held between his thumb and index finger, and an unspoken question lingered. All she did was nod and wet her lips.

     The clasp snapped, and she removed her hands from his body. One at a time, he slid the straps off her shoulders. All the while, she started to form a hickey in the spot separating his neck and collarbone.

     Unable to reach the nightstand, Spencer tossed the bralette onto the empty bed a few feet away. Shortly after, his fingers spread across her bare back and he relished in how warm she was. His hands traveled from her upper back to the waistband of her pants. They stayed there for a split second before going to her hips and sliding up her sides.

     Cara pulled a few inches away right as he cupped both breasts and squeezed. She swallowed harshly and briefly shut her eyes.

     Spencer didn't know it, but he had her so wrapped around his finger that she forgot she'd been with anyone else. Everything felt new again. Being touched like this by him drove her up a wall, and every touch felt better than the last.

     Dipping his head, Spencer caught her off-guard by reconnecting their lips. One hand wrapped around her back while the other pushed into the mattress. Slowly, he leaned forward until her back was pressed against the bed.

     The pair broke apart for a moment, breathing heavily.

     Neither spoke a word, and Spencer didn't hesitate in nipping a spot behind her ear. All of her thoughts flew out the window, and Cara felt shivers run down her spine. The heat in her stomach intensified when she felt him palm one of her breasts, beginning to knead it gently. A low whine sounded, quickly followed by a quiet moan.

     Spencer traveled down and kissed the other one, teasing around her nipple. She tangled her hands in his hair and pulled at his curls, causing him to groan.

     The teasing he'd been doing with her breasts stopped as he placed his lips around one nipple, circling the latter. Then, he switched and repeated the same actions.

     "Oh, God," Cara muttered aloud, staring at the ceiling. She would never get over how good he made her feel.

     Spencer heard her and smiled to himself. Tonight, he had one goal— to do any and everything to make her feel good. He didn't want anything in return. He already knew he would keep enjoying this as long as he could.

     "Can I ask you something?" He pulled away and peered up at her. It took a second until she met his smitten gaze. "Can I kiss lower?" The question made the breath in Cara's throat hitch, and he heard it. "Are you okay with me touching you lower, past your hips?"

     His questions left her speechless and her heart was racing. "Um..." She cleared her throat and wet her lips. Her mind was spiraling and envisioning scenarios of where tonight was inevitably going, and she was okay with all of it. "Yes. I'm okay with... Yes."

     There was no hesitancy in her words. There were no micro-expressions or body language that indicated otherwise. Her response was genuine, and the corners of Spencer's lips unconsciously tugged upright.

     "Okay," he said, ducking his head. Immediately, his lips met her skin and he closed his eyes. Slowly, he began to spread an array of kisses and love bites across her chest and stomach. He kissed each scar and dent, followed by a whisper of either, "You're beautiful," "You're skin is beautiful," or "This is perfect. You're perfect."

     Thankfully, his voice wasn't quiet enough that she didn't hear him. Cara heard every phrase clear as day, and she believed him. His statements only made her more comfortable in her skin and with him.

     There wasn't an inch of Cara's torso that Spencer didn't kiss or touch in some capacity. One hand was holding onto her thigh while the other was roaming her bare skin. As he told her, he wanted to make her feel safe and cared for, loved and cherished. He wanted to make her happy and feel good.

     Eventually, Spencer reached the edge of her pajama pants. A trail of kisses was left directly above the band, and he glanced up. Once he saw her face, he broke into a grin at the sight of Cara attempting to catch her breath.

     Cara was breathing heavily with her eyes shut and lips parted. No words needed to be exchanged. She already knew he was looking at her. "I... You have no idea what you do to me, do you?" she choked out.

     "I have a vague notion," he said, moving forward until they were face to face. His eyes traced the outlines of every feature, lingering on her swollen lips and deep blue eyes. The hand that'd been holding onto her thigh traveled up. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"

     Cara felt Spencer's thumb press into her hip, and she bit down on her bottom lip. He guided their bodies closer until there wasn't any room left. It almost felt electric— feeling their skin touching like this. It felt better than they imagined.

     "I have a vague notion," she repeated, feeling how hard he was against her leg. Opening her mouth to speak, Cara was instantly cut off by a kiss. At the same time, his tongue entered her mouth, and she moaned as he explored it.

     Their breath mingled together the longer they kissed and the air became hotter— if that was even possible.

     They pushed the comforter off in unplanned unison, leaving only the bed sheet.

     Knotting her fingers in his hair, Cara added a slight pressure to the kiss. In response, Spencer inhaled harshly, chest rising and falling against hers. Their lips moved in tandem, melding together perfectly.

     It wasn't until a few minutes later that Cara said between kisses, "I think... our... pants... should... go. If you... are... comfortable and want... to."

     The suggestion made Spencer's heart race faster. "I... do..." he said, adjusting himself without disconnecting. With one hand, he managed to remove his sweatpants in less than ten seconds. The pants were tossed to the floor.

     Suddenly, Cara gasped, accidentally breaking the kiss off when she felt Spencer's hand slip underneath the waistband of her pants. Her eyes shut and she swallowed harshly when he began kissing along her jawline. His free hand was holding the right side of her neck and his thumb was rubbing along her throat.

     This isn't what she meant by taking off their pants, but she wasn't complaining or stopping him. If Spencer's question earlier was of any indicator, they would have gotten there eventually. Not to mention, she wanted this.

     The room filled with the sound of raspy breaths as Spencer slowly dragged his fingers across the fabric of her underwear. "Is this okay?" he checked, shifting his body upward slightly. "Are you okay? Comfortable?"

     Cara's eyes fluttered open, and her cheeks burned red. Luckily, he still couldn't tell in the dark. They could see each other well enough. "Yes," she replied, inhaling deeply. "I'm okay. I'm very comfortable." Then, her chin upturned and she kissed him.

     Instantly, Spencer's eyes shut and he felt one of her hands untangle itself from his hair. Her fingers trailed down his arm, leaving behind goosebumps, and joined his under her pants. Slowly, she guided his hand further down and underneath the fabric of her underwear.

     Before they got too far, she cut the kiss short. "Is that okay?"

     Neither of their eyes re-opened.

     "Yes," Spencer murmured, inching lower. His heart was racing again. He almost couldn't believe tonight's events. "Yes. As long as it's okay with you."

     The tension building inside of her was intensifying, and Cara nodded. "It's more than okay," she whispered, withdrawing her hand and placing it around his shoulders.

     Before she knew it, his lips were back on hers. It wasn't forceful, but it wasn't soft either. It held just the right amount of pressure.

     Cara was softly tugging and pulling at his hair with one hand while she dragged her nails up and down his back. Meanwhile, Spencer was focused on one thing.

     Groaning, Cara's head collapsed onto the pillow, effectively breaking off the kiss again. "Oh, God," she choked out, keeping her eyes closed. Instinctually, her grip on his hair tightened and her toes curled.

     The sound of her frail tone made him falter. "Please tell me if I hurt you. I-I don't want to hurt you." Spencer's heart dropped at the prospect of ever hurting her or making her uncomfortable. If that happened, he wouldn't know what to do with himself.

     Cara met his nervous countenance. "You won't. I know you won't. I trust you. If you do, I'll let you know."

     At her reassurance, Spencer nodded in relief. "Okay, okay. So, is—"

     "I-It feels good," she said, inhaling sharply. It'd taken a moment, but she adjusted to his touch while they spoke. The pace had slowed down; he hadn't stopped completely. "Really good, Spen."

     A contagious grin spread across his face, and he gave her a quick kiss. "It'll get better," he vowed, bringing his lips to her left ear. "You're pants will be gone soon." The volume of his voice lowered, and he kissed the skin below her ear.

     The comment sent chills down her spine, and Cara gulped. Her mind went blank, and she struggled to respond. So, she didn't say anything at all.

     Similar to what she'd done with him, Spencer's lips latched onto the skin on her neck. Warm kisses were left a few inches below her ear and trailed across her jawline. Simultaneously, he shifted his hand and added another finger. His pace picked up.

     A raspy gasp left Cara's mouth, and she instinctually pulled at Spencer's hair with one hand while the latter gripped his bare back. Spencer's mouth opened against her skin, and he moaned.

     The room was cluttered by a series of moans and noises of pleasure.

     It wasn't until a minute and a half later that things slowed down. Spencer retracted his hand and kissed from Cara's neck to her waistband again. He was in the middle of dragging her pants down her legs when she found it in herself to speak.

     "We are never falling asleep," she muttered aloud, staring at the ceiling. Her chest was rising up and down laboriously as she fought to catch her breath.

     "No, we're not," Spencer replied, peering up from where he was positioned by her thighs. "At least not yet unless you want to stop."

     Blinking, she met his stare. "Oh, I can assure you the word "stop," will not leave my lips."

     Flushing red, Spencer's body felt hot. "I can assure you the same."

     And throughout the rest of the night, the word "stop," was never mentioned.

────

﹙ MARCH 4TH, 2018 ﹚

     DEREK MORGAN WAS THE FIRST TO NOTICE. The moment Cara Valentine and Spencer Reid entered the conference room, Morgan knew something was up. For a profiler and a woman who was a master at masking her emotions, one would think they'd be better at hiding things than the average person. But alas, they weren't.

     Something between the pair was different. That much was obvious.

     Morgan's eyebrows furrowed, and his eyes darted between them suspiciously. Their fingers were tightly bound together, and Spencer pressed a kiss to the top of Cara's head. They shared small smiles before separating.

     Spencer made his way to the front of the room where the evidence boards were while Cara went to stand with JJ and Tara. So far, the team appeared to be taking the same seats from yesterday.

     As Cara's eyes swept across the space, she paused when she saw Morgan staring pointedly at her over JJ's shoulder. He wore a knowing yet curious and accusatory facial expression. It was like he knew something she didn't, but she already deduced that he'd picked up on the difference in her and Spencer's dynamic and energy from yesterday. It wasn't overtly noticeable in her mind; to him, it was.

     So, she met his look with a challenging brow. A slow smirk spread across his lips, and she rolled her eyes.

     Once Cara glanced away and began talking to JJ and Tara, Morgan set his sights on the brown-haired doctor. It took a second, but Spencer eventually noticed his stare. Still wearing the same facial expression, Morgan watched the genius quickly avert his eyes when they made eye contact. That and his cheeks burning pink was all the confirmation Morgan needed.

     Pretty Boy told her.

     Not that he liked her because Cara already knew that, but that he loved her. He finally said it.

     Morgan's jaw slackened in disbelief.

     From there, David Rossi was the next to pick up on what Morgan had.

     The Italian man had witnessed the silent exchange between the pair and the glances between Morgan and the two. His gaze was now resting on Cara as she, JJ, and Tara lowered themselves into their chairs. They were looking at something on JJ's phone.

     On Rossi's right and at the opposite end of the table, Spencer sat in the seat he occupied yesterday. Hotch, Luke, and Matt were positioned between Rossi and Spencer but hadn't taken their seats. Matt and Luke hadn't arrived. It was their turn to grab breakfast. For Hotch, he was at the front of the room with Blake. Penelope was off to the side, typing away on her laptop.

     Bringing his attention to Spencer, Rossi furrowed his brows when he noticed the pink tinting his cheeks and the purple scarf wrapped around his neck. Sure, it was cold outside, but the doctor wasn't wearing it yesterday when the temperature had dropped significantly lower.

     Rossi glimpsed back at Cara and watched her navy blue blazer shift while she brushed strands of hair out of her face. The shift revealed a minuscule sliver of blue and purple located where her neck and collarbones met. It was very light and could scarcely be seen for only a second. Lucky for her, her blazer wasn't oversized and covered most of her neck, shoulders, and chest. That, and she was wearing makeup.

     It was then that a different realization struck the man.

     The kids had done it.

     A wave of shock barrelled into him. He glanced at Morgan, assuming that's what the man recognized, too.

     It wasn't.

     Upon seeing Rossi staring at him in the corner of his eye, Morgan twisted his head. The man wore an astonished yet inquisitive expression, and Morgan smirked.

     He'd noticed, too.

     After he nodded in confirmation, Rossi broke into a shit-eating grin. Neither knew they were on completely different pages of a book, and only one of them was right.

     At the sound of her name being called, Cara glanced to see Hotch standing behind her. With a small jab of his head toward the open precinct floor, he exited the room. No further words were exchanged.

     A slight frown almost crossed her lips. It took some effort not to spiral into a black hole of what-ifs and worst-case scenario situations. However, something likely happened if he wanted to speak with her without the team eavesdropping. She silently got up and followed him.

     JJ, Tara, and Spencer noticed the interaction but didn't make a move to stop either from leaving. Something was going on that they weren't aware of.

     "What's going on?" Cara asked once they were in the kitchenette area of the precinct. No officers were around, and they were a reasonable distance from the conference room.

     "I believe our best shot at finding Le is you." Hotch didn't waste any time beating around the bush.

     Blinking, the blonde stood taller. Deep down, she knew this was coming. She knew what he was about to ask of her.

     "Dave and I know more than the team does when it comes to your relationship and past with Michael Le— Dave more than me. Everyone must be on the same page and working with the same level of knowledge."

     Ah, hell.

     "You want to question me about Le with the team present." It was more of a statement rather than a question.

     "Yes. I know it won't be an ideal or comfortable conversation, but it's important," Hotch spoke, giving her an encouraging nod. "I believe in you, Cara."

     Cara wanted to force a half-smile at the compliment but couldn't. "Thanks," she muttered, resisting the urge to rub her wrist. "No questions about captivity or my father's murder. Those are my conditions. Other than that, I'll do it."

     Hotch nodded. "Done. I'll relay that to the team. They can jump in with questions of their own throughout, but it'll primarily be me asking. A lot of the questions will be regarding your childhood and adolescent years. It's important to be as explicit as you feel comfortable being. No detail is too small."

     Nodding, she let out a slow and controlled breath. It made her feel better knowing Hotch would be conducting the mini-interrogation. 'Cause that's what it was, frankly.

     And she thought the interrogation from eight days ago would be the one that changed the team's perspective of her.

     "Ready?" Hotch asked, raising an eyebrow.

     Upon meeting his stare, Cara gave him an honest answer. "No," she said bluntly. A small pit of dread settled at the bottom of her stomach. "Let's do it anyway."

     An amused smirk decorated Hotch's lips for a split second. It was the same response she gave last week. "That's the spirit," he muttered, stepping around her and going for the conference room.

     With a final deep breath, Cara spun on her heel and trailed after him. When she returned to Virginia, she and Vanessa would have an extra-long therapy session. The toll the case was taking on her was increasing.

     With every step she took, she felt herself sliding on the coat of the character she embodied five years ago— the persona she'd worn when she was restless, on edge, or working to remain undetectable. It was an old defense mechanism she detested nowadays. However, it was necessary, and luckily, she was able to utilize it today.

     The chatter in the conference room came to an abrupt halt when the two approached. The entire team was present and at the table, and breakfast had been distributed by Matt and Luke. No one was aware that a few of them were about to lose their appetites.

     "Good morning. Let's get started," Hotch announced, making his way into the space. "Today, we're focusing on Michael Le and only him."

     A look of confusion washed over JJ, and she stopped eating. Was that a good idea? Yes, the team was making their way toward focusing on solely Le, but this early in the day?

     The rest of the team, minus Rossi, paused.

     At the Unit Chief's words, Cara inhaled sharply and shut the double glass doors behind her. She didn't want to do this. She didn't want to talk about Le and her relationship with him.

     Spencer's bewildered gaze darted to the short-haired woman. She was focused on the evidence boards, and her hands were curled into fists. She stood at the back of the room. A slight frown was on her lips, and there was a particular coldness in her eyes.

     "Cara..." Hotch called, hands sliding into the pockets of his pants. Blinking, the blonde swiveled her attention to him. "To find Le, the team will need to know everything you know about him. Any detail, no matter the size, is crucial. I need you to be as honest and transparent as possible. Have I made myself clear?"

     Unfortunately.

     Cara forced a nod. "Crystal."

     She didn't want to do this.

     Momentarily holding her breath, Penelope fidgeted in her seat. This was not how she envisioned her morning going. She reckoned her best friend felt the same way.

     "Additionally, everyone is welcome to jump in with questions. However, the topic of Cara's captivity and Ross Valentine's murder are off the table. Got it?"

     She didn't want to talk about her childhood with the rest of her friends.

     Nonetheless, Cara knew that she and Le would become the focal point of Johnston and Shirzad's murder cases. It was inevitable and she'd dodged it the past three days, but she couldn't anymore. Michael Le needed to be found and arrested.

     There was a unanimous nod of agreement, and some answered, "Yes, sir," or "Yeah." The only person who didn't respond was Spencer. He was preoccupied with observing Cara and how stiffly she moved toward the table. She sat between JJ and Tara, similar to yesterday. He was directly across from her.

     It wasn't until Hotch was sat, too, that the first question was asked.

     "When and where did you meet Le for the first time?"

     They were starting at the very beginning.

     Cara's response was instant. "In the living room of my childhood home one night in February. The day following my eleventh birthday— the twenty-eighth. My father brought him over after finalizing a drug deal. I didn't know who he was. Le was introduced to me, and I was told to call him Uncle Michael."

     It was obvious by the team's body language that no one was expecting her to answer that fast. However, she knew she needed to. If she talked, they'd get closer to finding him, and she wanted all of this to end. That, and the quicker she answered, the sooner this would end.

     That's what she was telling herself, at least.

     Rossi and Hotch were the only ones who weren't the slightest bit taken aback by her immediate response. They knew this portion of the case wouldn't be easy— not when it surrounded the last remaining Founding Father. They knew she'd want to rush through it.

     Cara's tone had been cold and blunt, and Rossi could visibly see her stiffening and shutting down. If she was going to get through this, she would have to put back on that cold and stoic exterior from years ago. It was a part of her that she worked hard to leave behind. It wasn't who she wanted to be anymore.

     "How often did Le visit after that?" Hotch asked next.

     "There wasn't a pattern to his visits." Cara kept her profile empty and unreadable. "He came over whenever my father invited him. Although, his visits became more frequent in the summer."

     Morgan and JJ glanced at each other.

     The Unit Chief nodded. "What were your interactions like?"

     Spencer frowned at the question, and his foot tapped anxiously against the floor. He wasn't sure if he liked this.

     No. He knew he didn't like this.

     "Harmless... at first." Cara didn't meet anyone's eye when she spoke. She didn't want to see someone's reaction and talk herself out of answering. "He'd play games with me and listen as I rambled about whichever book I was reading at the time. He gave me special attention, understanding, and a sympathetic ear. Three months after we met, he began bringing over presents for me. He manipulated the friendship so it appeared he was the only one who fully understood me. He did that through his gifts. He bought me items he knew I wanted or knew I would like. The gifts ranged from stuffed animals to a new book or new clothes."

     This was textbook grooming.

     Everyone in the room knew and understood that. It wasn't hard to see and it wasn't hard to see where the woman was headed with this.

     "Towards the end of summer, my father saw that Le had become my friend and someone I trusted. So, he trusted Le enough to leave him at the house with me..." Cara didn't say anything for a moment. A gradual frown began to show. "Our interactions began to evolve. Le started singing Oh, My Darling Clementine and said I reminded him of it. Every time we were alone, he would sing it to me or hum the melody under his breath. I was a kid. I didn't think anything of it.

     "He escalated to reciting Tim Burton poems, and heavily invested himself in the story of Paradise Lost, which was my favorite book. One poem by Burton that Le would recite most often was Roy, the Toxic Boy. At the time, part of me believed that he found the story comical in a twisted yet incomprehensible way. Also, it was during this time that I registered his odd behavior around me and felt uncomfortable. I didn't like the tone he would speak to me in."

     Blake furrowed her eyebrows, soaking in the information Cara was sharing with them.

     Nearly two years ago, Spencer shared similar information with the team. It was never as detailed as this but it was close enough. Ages ago, Cara had revealed this all to him and now it was time for her to tell everyone else her story.

     "Is this when Le began to make advances?" Blake asked, jumping into the unofficial interrogation.

     It wasn't intentional, but Cara slightly flinched at the sound of the brown-haired woman's voice. She met her warm and kind gaze.

     "Sort of," she replied softly, teetering her head side-to-side. Her line of sight trailed to Rossi. "He built up to it. This is when everything between us reached a tipping point... really..."

     Rossi gave the blonde a reassuring nod, gesturing for her to keep going. It was evident to him how hesitant she was to continue. After all, she was essentially re-living some of the most traumatic moments of her childhood and sharing details for the first time with her friends.

     "My father and Le were both hooked on cocaine and got high at our house frequently. Le was also addicted to Hydromorphone for a few years." A few people appeared confused at the unfamiliar drug. "It's otherwise known by its brand name— Dilaudid. Le took it so he could relive the memories he had of his brother."

     At the mention of Dilaudid, Spencer, Morgan, JJ, Penelope, and Hotch subconsciously tensed. They knew Dilaudid well and had a history with the drug. Well, Spencer did.

     "Initially, my father and Le got high when I was asleep so I couldn't interfere and try to stop my father. Eventually, they got high at any time during the day, despite my insistent attempts to throw away the drugs or stop them. Most of the time, my father would be as high as the sky and never noticed that this was when Le went for what he really wanted— me."

     Under the table, Cara's palms spread across her thighs, and the tips of her fingers gripped at the fabric of her pants and the skin beneath. She inhaled deeply, feeling the button on her pants press against her stomach. What she was saying next was something she'd told Vanessa during one of their first meetings.

     "When Le started making advances... I was old enough to remember all of it and young enough to understand none of it."

     Her words cast a dark shadow over the room, and everyone sat up. Her words resonated with each of them in one way or another. The statement was a combination of simple words that anyone could understand yet it held such a profound meaning and weight.

     "I didn't understand what was happening. It started small. He'd ask me to read to him while sitting in his lap. He would braid my hair or run his hands over my back and across my legs. Once I was used to that, he told me to face him while sitting in his lap. He would wrap my legs around his waist. Eventually, he went from touching my legs and back to under my pants and up to my chest.

     "The first couple of times, I pushed him away and told him I didn't like it. I didn't understand what he was trying to do. He told me what he was doing was natural and right— that it happened all the time to other people— and I started to believe him. In all eleven years of my life, from my memory, I never left my house or met anyone aside from Hennessy Lu and Kirk Farell once or twice. But Le... he'd experienced the world and had a life outside the walls I lived in. How was I to know if this was normal or not? So, I ultimately gave up fighting and let it happen— let him do whatever he wanted. It wasn't until he kissed me for the first time that he said I couldn't tell my father about us."

     That last word pulled at everyone's heart and filled them with simmering anger.

     Spencer's fingers curled into fists, and he exhaled through his nose. He felt sick to his stomach and wanted to put a fist through a wall.

     "He said it would upset my father if he knew and ruin their friendship. So, it had to remain our little secret."

     Luke and Morgan grimaced.

     Tara, Matt, and JJ frowned while Penelope's vision blurred.

     "In January the following year, my father was out meeting some clients one night. Le snuck into the house while I was asleep and raped me for the first time. I didn't... I didn't understand what was happening. I was hysterical and in pain. Le threatened to kill me and my father if I told anybody. Afterward, his obsession with me intensified. He wanted me involved in every aspect of his life. So, he went over my father's head and had me initiated into the Red Scorpions once I turned twelve."

     Throughout the process of re-telling one of the darkest periods of her childhood, Cara maintained an emotionless tone and expression. It was something that made her a tiny bit proud. She'd retold pieces of her story so many times to her many therapists and Rossi that it no longer caused her to tear up or feel guilt.

     Matt cleared his throat, capturing her attention. "The sexual abuse continued until you were sixteen, correct?" Cara nodded. "During the ages of twelve to sixteen, how did Le maintain keeping what he was doing a secret? Surely your father must've noticed something was up."

     Even though nothing about this was funny, Cara couldn't help but laugh quietly. "I-I promise I'm not laughing at you or your question, Matt," she quickly reassured him. "It's just... During that time, my father couldn't care less about me and what I was up to. He was furious when Le had me initiated and tried to get me out but failed in the end— which wasn't his fault. Once you're a Scorpion, you don't go or look back. My father gave up and gave in to his addictions. I became the last thing that he cared about. He didn't even bat an eye when Le forced me to live with him. He didn't pick up on it; he was so high and drunk that he thought I was still at home."

     Tara scoffed. "Father of the Year award," she muttered under her breath.

     Snorting, Cara looked to her left. "Tell me about it."

     "How old were you when you began living with Le?" Hotch asked. His eyes were focused and rested steadily on her. This was information he knew the rest of the team wasn't privy to.

     "Thirteen to fifteen."

     Morgan's eyebrows raised significantly and his jaw slackened. "For two years? And your father never noticed?!"

     Cara shook her head, shrugging. "As I said, I was the last thing he cared about."

     "And at sixteen?" Hotch followed up.

    "I left Le," she stated bluntly. There was no other way to put it. "My father overdosed. Ace and I found him barely breathing outside a stash house the Red Scorpions frequented. Ace had Narcan on him. It bought my father enough time to get to the hospital alive. A member of the gang worked at a hospital and any time there were any medical emergencies, we went to her. That day, I decided enough was enough and I was going to get my father clean— even if he didn't want my help. So, I moved back home and didn't tell Le."

     "Let me guess," JJ said, picking up her coffee mug, "he didn't take that well."

     Cara pressed her lips together. That's putting it delicately.

     "You would guess correctly. Over those years, I never had a say in what happened to me and I was forced into silence if I tried to tell anyone what Le was doing to me." Morgan shut his eyes and ran a hand over his face. "If I didn't listen to him, I got punished. At the time, leaving him was the worst thing I'd ever done. He made that clear."

     "Wasn't the last time Le assaulted you in your childhood home?" Luke asked, watching her nod. "So, as punishment, Le came to your house to assault you while your father was being treated in the hospital?"

     "Uh, yes, but that wasn't the last time..." Cara trailed off, already feeling exposed despite not revealing the next part. It was a moment that quietly lived in the back of her brain. "When he came to my house, he was furious. He wanted me to leave with him. I refused and threatened to kill myself if he tried to make me. He laughed. He..." she inhaled sharply and briefly averted her gaze to her lap. "He didn't believe me until I pressed a knife to my neck and started to slit my throat."

     The conference room was silent and still. Everyone was seemingly holding their breath at the woman's confession. Even though it happened over a decade ago and she was in one piece, that didn't stop it from hurting.

     Her confession struck a chord inside Spencer, and his heart dropped. His face fell. If he could, he'd hold her for the rest of the day. He'd keep her safe and far away from having to answer more questions. He'd do what he could to help her from not having to reveal parts of herself she very clearly didn't want to. He'd hold her and cherish every millisecond of her presence.

     "Nothing deep," Cara shortly added, catching Spencer's fallen expression. "Le didn't know that, though. Immediately, he backed off and proposed a compromise: I got to live at home and care for my father as long as Le came over and saw me whenever he wanted. And when he was over, I couldn't physically fight back as I had been. I agreed. I didn't bother to negotiate; I knew that was the best I was going to get from him. I could have altered the compromise by cutting myself deeper, but I wasn't going to risk killing myself. No matter how much I wanted to, how much I wanted to get away from Le and the Red Scorpions, I wasn't going to leave my dad."

     Feeling something bump against her shoe, she met the somber gaze of Spencer Reid. By the look in his eyes, she knew he wanted to hold her hand as much as she wanted to hold his. However, they couldn't. All they could do was share small smiles.

     "When was the last time?" Hotch asked, clearing his throat.

    Blinking, the short-haired woman brought her attention to the question asked. She cleared her throat, too, relaxing a bit when she felt Spencer's foot lean against hers. "A few months later. The progress I'd made with my father was shaky. Owen had been helping me out, but it didn't do much. By this point, my father was on and off the wagon of sobriety. The way I like to put it, and the way I put it to Spencer years ago, is that he was sober enough to notice that his best friend was taking advantage of his daughter, but not sober enough to realize that I needed him to be there for me. He caught Le at our house and that was the end of my "relationship" and in-person interactions with Le."

     "And by caught, you mean..." Luke trailed off, wanting to make sure he was taking what she was saying in the right direction.

     "He caught Le raping me in his bedroom," Cara clarified; her cold tone was creeping back. "I fought back and managed to break his nose. Le got mad. Then, my father came home earlier than expected and intervened. He called Hennessy, Kirk, and Owen, and they helped remove Le from the house. The next day, my father told Johnston and Shirzad. Things got ugly. Le had crossed an unspoken line and after that, he never laid a hand on me again. That night was the last time I saw Le in person until I was abducted."

     Spencer's jaw clenched. When they found Le, he would pay for everything he'd done to her. Everything. He would make certain of that.

     "You'd heard from him, though," Rossi spoke up for the first time.

     Nodding, Cara met his supportive stare. "That's true. I never directly heard from him again until he was put in prison. He tried to call me numerous times and sent letters that I never read. He would call every two weeks, like clockwork, on Fridays at exactly two in the afternoon. I never answered or talked to him."

     Hotch's chin upturned. "What did you do with the letters?"

     "I threw them into a fire a year before I was arrested," Cara replied.

     Suddenly, a thought occurred to her, and JJ sat up. "Two days ago, when you ran into your childhood home..." The two blondes locked eyes. "Reid said you left with a lockbox of photographs Le had taken of you. Didn't you find them in your father's room?"

     Cara hummed. "Mm-hmm. I stashed it in my closet under this hollow, decorative box years ago. Owen and I managed to find and collect all the photographs Le took of me or us. I chose not to burn them because I wanted definitive and visible evidence of what he'd done to me and forced me to do. If there was ever a chance for me to get revenge... I needed those photos."

     "He placed the box in there because he wanted to remind you of the day that the two of you were first torn apart," Morgan said, laying his arm on the table as he leaned back in his chair.

     "Yes, exactly," she agreed.

     A thought popped into her mind, and Blake sat up. "Le also left behind a copy of Macbeth, correct? I know a picture of it is on the evidence boards."

     "Uh, yes, he did." Cara's line of sight bounced to the picture on the board. It was at the front of the room, about ten feet from the rectangular table. "It's the original copy of Macbeth that I read to him the day he raped me for the first time. I know it's the original copy because I dog-eared pages one and four in Act Four, Scene Two. I underlined my favorite lines and drew stars around them when I was eleven."

     Spencer was quick to ask, "What lines?"

     "First, seventeen to twenty-two: "I dare not speak much further; but cruel are the times, when we are traitors and do not know ourselves; when we hold rumour from what we fear, yet know not what we fear, but float upon a wild and violent sea each way and none." Second, seventy-four to seventy-nine: "I have done no harm. But I remember now I am in this earthly world; where to do harm is often laudable, to do good sometime accounted dangerous folly: why then, alas, do I put up that womanly defence, to say I have done no harm?" Truthfully, I'm unsure why those were my favorite out of the entire story."

     While the woman spoke, Blake got to her feet and trailed over to the glass evidence board. She was mimicking her movements from yesterday. Again, her eyes were locked on the photo taken of Act Two, Scene Three, page seven, in Macbeth.

     My violent love.

     And again, something was itching at Blake. There was more to be said about those three words and the double lines under "love," but she didn't know what.

     "So, Macbeth represents the beginning and the lockbox represents the end of the sexual and non-consensual relationship between the two of you," Tara said, motioning to Cara.

     Luke snapped his fingers and pointed at Tara. "And each was left in the exact places where the abuse began and ended."

     Puffing out his cheeks, Matt let out a sigh. "Le really does have a double meaning with everything he does."

     "He's infamous for it for a reason," Morgan replied.

     Unexpectedly, Rossi got up from the table. "My violent love," he muttered, wandering over to the evidence boards. "Why did he re-write that particular line?"

     All eyes diverted to him and the photograph Blake was staring at.

     "To represent the type of love he views him and Rose having?" Penelope asked skeptically, eyebrows scrunching together.

     "Not necessarily," Spencer spoke up, his voice capturing everyone's attention almost instantaneously. "The "violent love" that Macbeth describes in the story is his lust for power. He becomes an unknown version of himself and begins destroying everything and everyone in his life to obtain the title of "King." Le could be applying that element of Macbeth to his own personal storyline and how he perceives himself. As a collective, the Founding Fathers are power and control seekers— that includes Le. He thrives and gets off on having power and control over others."

     Nodding slowly, JJ twisted her lips to the side. That almost made sense. "So Le is becoming an unknown version of himself and destroying everything and everyone in his personal life— i.e. Shirzad and Johnston— to obtain what? What title could he possibly want?"

     For a moment, nobody had an answer.

     "Maybe not what..." Tara trailed off apprehensively, "but who."

     It didn't take a genius to know who the woman was referring to.

     "Me," Cara stated matter-of-factly. It hurt to say these next words, but it was the truth. "He wants me all to himself without Shirzad and Johnston or any of you this final time. In his mind, it's either we're reunited and together, or I die by his hand. If he can't have me, nobody can."

     The team didn't take kindly to her sentiment— especially since they knew she was right.

     All was tensely still for sixteen seconds. Each of them was processing their thoughts and emotions on the matter.

     "Yeah, that's not happening." Luke was the first one to gather himself and break the silence.

     Morgan nodded in agreement. "Agreed. I said it the other day, and I'm saying it now: I'll be damned."

     Cara pressed her lips together and leaned back in her chair. All she did was share a nod of appreciation with the two men. She chose not to share her thoughts; she had a feeling the team wouldn't be a fan of them.

     A slight pressure leaned against her shoe, and she glanced at Spencer. He wore a firm yet empathetic expression. His eyebrows were drawn in and his head was tilted to the right. The tap on her shoe and facial expression were enough to convey that he was checking in. He wanted to ensure she was still there and okay.

     A small and forced, reassuring smile tugged at the corner of her lips for five seconds, and then it disappeared. It was obvious that she was putting on a front. Neither of them pointed it out, though. It was the easiest way she was going to get through the case.

     Hotch got up and stepped away from the table. "What's the meaning behind the double line under the word "love"?" he asked, pointing at the image. He came to a stop next to Rossi. "Do we think it holds any significance?"

     "Maybe, but what?" Penelope asked exasperatedly, looking up from her laptop. She was in the midst of responding to emails from Cruz, updating him on the case. "Couldn't it just be that Le did it to place emphasis on that word?"

     JJ shrugged, absentmindedly throwing a hand up. "Possibly. In his own twisted way, he loves Cara to some extent," she sighed, motioning to the short-haired woman, "or at least thinks he does."

     "Valentine," Matt called gently. "Has Le ever told you he loves you?"

     An uneasy feeling settled in Spencer's stomach, and he looked from Matt to Cara. It almost seemed obvious what the answer was, but he still inhaled sharply. He was tapping the recognizable one-two-one pattern against his outer right thigh. Le and Cara's entire relationship and dynamic made him sick. Spencer couldn't wait for the day Le was put to a permanent stop.

     "Yes," Cara answered, noting the genius' unwavering gaze. "He told me he loved me a lot as a child and teenager. My father didn't say it often the older I got, so Le ensured he told me. I stopped believing him and don't to this day. Le might love me; however, I don't believe he knows what real love is. Truthfully, not everybody does."

     Morgan's eyebrows drew in. This was the first time he'd ever heard her speak about love subjectively. "Have you ever said it back to him?"

     "A few times when I was eleven before our relationship darkened and a few times while I lived with him. As a kid, I considered him a friend and cared about him. It was genuine when I told him that..." Cara inhaled deeply, feeling the button on her pants press further into her stomach. The very notion of saying "I love you," still made her uncomfortable. She was working on it, though. "When I got older, I no longer meant it. I said it to survive. If I didn't, I got punished."

     It wasn't lost on everyone that Cara Valentine couldn't utter those three words. None of the team members, old and new, had heard her say them. Some believed they never would.

     Penelope paused in her movement, frowning. All of her one-sided conversations with Cara about their love lives flashed through her mind. Here and there, she would manage to squeeze nuggets of information out of her. One thing she learned through those conversations was that Owen meant a lot to her despite their shortcomings. He was likely the last person she told she loved. Maybe her father, but Penelope wasn't positive about that.

     "Le and Owen are the reasons why you can't say, "I love you," aren't they?" Penelope asked softly.

     The question immediately caused Cara's face to blank.  "Yes, they are. Thank you for that, Bubblegum," she deadpanned, not an ounce of emotion laced within her tone.

     Narrowing her eyes, Penelope frowned again.

     "Don't worry, Garcia. Figlia mia loves everyone in this room," Rossi reassured the analyst, lifting a hand. "Deep down she does, and one day she'll say it. Just give her a couple of decades."

     "Dave, stai zitto, cazzo." Cara said, rolling her eyes.

     Rossi gave her a disapproving glare. "Hey now. Mind your manners," he warned, pointing a finger at her.

     "Both of you," Hotch said, intervening before the pair could spiral into petty bickering, "stai zitto, cazzo."

     Cara's jaw slackened. Did Hotch curse at them?

     A wave of confusion washed over Morgan. "Hotch, since when did you learn Italian?"

     The Unit Chief briefly met his stare. "I didn't. I only know that phrase because those two say it frequently." He jutted his chin at Cara and Rossi.

     Luke tilted his head to the side an inch. "What's it mean?"

     "I was telling Dave to shut the fuck up."

     Morgan laughed, quickly covering it with a cough when Rossi and Hotch shot him haste glares. An amused smirk played on his lips as he resumed eating, shaking his head.

     "Oh..." Penelope squeaked, eyebrows raised and lips parted in surprise.

     JJ hummed, holding back an amused smirk. "Lovely."

     Meanwhile, Tara and Luke chuckled, and Matt and Spencer smirked. Blake didn't react. Instead, she pursed her lips and re-read the evidence boards for a third time.

     There was something on these boards that would aid in their search for Michael Le. Blake could feel it; she just couldn't place her finger on what it was. It was there, though.

     "I'd like to add that the entire line for My violent love is, "The expedition my violent love outrun the pauser, reason." Spencer explained its meaning already. It also happens to be Le's favorite line," Cara shared, clearing her throat.

     Tara's eyebrows furrowed. "How—"

     "He told me," the blonde said, wanting to answer the question before it was posed to the group. "He liked how I read it to him, which wasn't in any particular way. I simply read the words, but something about it excited him."

     Penelope's nose scrunched up, and she grimaced. "Gross."

     "Cara..." Cara's head swiveled in the Unit Chief's direction. He and Rossi still stood by the evidence boards with Blake a few feet away. "Is there anything else this team needs to know about Le or his background with you? Or any information you'd like to share?"

     She didn't want to disclose the information she'd shared earlier, but she didn't exactly have a choice. So, anything else?

     No, there was nothing else she'd like to share.

     Were there things she should? Probably, but she couldn't think of anything specific.

     "I..." Cara was getting fatigued, and she took a deep breath. This was taking most of the energy she had, and leaving her drained. Drudging up the past wasn't for the faint of heart. "I don't believe so. Nothing I can think of right now. If someone has a question, they can ask."

     Luckily, nobody had any further questions about Le.

     The mini-interrogation ended there, and the team took a break to finish eating breakfast. Small chit-chat about obscure topics filled the room. People left their seats and wandered around the space to stretch their legs. Almost everyone was participating in the many conversations happening except for two people.

     Cara was standing near the conference windows and tapping her right foot against the carpet. She just finished pulling half of her hair into a tiny ponytail at the back of her head. Strands of white blonde hair had kept falling in her face while eating and she'd had enough. There were times when she regretted cutting her hair short, and this was one of those.

     A pensive facial expression covered her face, and she was staring at the floor. Her mind was simultaneously racing with a million thoughts and empty. Part of her was trying to forget about the last two hours while the latter was working on accepting it. At least she'd managed to get through it and could eat afterward. That was progress.

     Meanwhile, Spencer was lost in thought. The skin below his eyebrows was triangulated and the inner corner of his eyes was pressed together lightly. He knew he shouldn't, but he was trying to get a read on Cara from where he sat. It wasn't working. He couldn't decipher a single emotion from her countenance.

     A quiet sigh fell from his mouth, and he continued to silently observe his girlfriend. His girlfriend. The corners of his lips tugged upward.

     God, it felt good knowing they were together. He was certain a day wouldn't come when he wasn't grateful and head over heels for her.

     Blinking, Spencer shook his head and stood up. He needed to refocus. The questioning had ended for now; he could finally comfort and be there for Cara in the way he wanted to earlier.

     Soon, a pair of arms wrapped around Cara's waist from behind as someone hugged her. There was no need to tense, though. Like always, every inch of her body knew who it was.

     "I'm proud of you," Spencer whispered in her ear, unknowingly sending chills down her spine. Immediately, she stopped tapping her foot and relaxed. "So proud."

     A small smile began to line her face, and Cara's stomach twisted. "Thank you," she murmured, the volume of her voice so low that only he could hear. She didn't realize it, but while she spoke, she'd placed her arms on top of his.

     The couple accepted the other's touch without hesitation. Neither cared that they were with the team— at least not for this short moment. They needed it.

     "I'm here for you, whatever you need." Spencer had said that sentence multiple times over the last four days and still meant it. "Anything you need." He pressed a kiss to the side of her head, lingering for a few seconds.

     A light pink color dusted her cheeks, and Cara tilted her head back to stare at him. "Thank you," she breathed, peering up through her eyelashes.

     The longer the pair maintained eye contact, the more they relaxed. It was eight seconds of pure bliss before someone spoke up.

     "Marvinhill, the Captain of Ucluelet PD, and the Captain of Surrey PD just checked in," Hotch announced over the group. The floating conversations died down. "The searches at Castaway's Mansion and the Pink Dolphin concluded. Nothing was found. The same applies to Stephen Leone's old apartment at the Oaks-Rose in Ucluelet. Balmoral Tower and its basement are clear. Marvinhill just arrived back, he'll be in his office."

     So, all known locations associated with Michael Le were dead ends. Great.

     Morgan ran a hand down his face, grumbling under his breath.

     The team had so much information on Michael Le, the Red Scorpions, and the Founding Fathers yet none of it was coming in handy. Hell, they had the expert on everything to do with this case, and they still had a pile of questions and no shovel.

     "And there haven't been any updates from Kamloops PD or the RCMP. I haven't received a single email so I'm assuming nothing's happened there," Penelope added with a slight frown.

     Great.

     Even though Luke posed a similar question last week, Matt didn't think it would hurt to ask it. "Valentine, do you have any ideas or theories as to where Le is?"

     All attention was diverted to Cara. Presently, she stood alone for Spencer had gone to his seat to eat the remains of his breakfast. She'd heard his stomach growl and told him to finish his food, assuring him that she didn't mind and would be fine without the physical comfort.

     "There being no new activity at my old home or any of the locations mentioned is expected," Cara answered, sighing quietly. The atmosphere in the room had shifted the moment Matt posed the question. "Le cannot go anywhere that has any known ties to him or the Red Scorpions— the RCMP and various police departments routinely check all known locations in Canada, and have never found anything.

     "However, this is about him and I. Everything he's doing is with intention and purpose. He wanted me here so he found a way for me to be. He wanted me to revisit my childhood home where we met and where we were broken apart, so he murdered Shirzad there. He wanted me to revisit the location where I was arrested and the place that led to my betrayal of the gang, so he murdered Johnston at the Bellevue. Whatever he has planned next, it has to do with our past, and nothing to do with my capture. He's going to focus on something he knows has imprinted itself in my mind.

     "I-I don't know what he could... what it could... I don't know," she breathed, shutting her eyes. There was a mass weighing on her heart. She wanted this to be over. "He's going to do what he can to outsmart us and stay out of sight until he wants to be seen. It's part of his endgame. He's had nearly two years to plan our reunion. And frankly, I'm out of ideas and theories right now."

     Even though she was masking it considerably well, it was evident that the woman was tired. This case and Michael Le were taking their toll on her.

     "Well," Penelope began, folding her hands on the table. "Does anyone other than Rose want to contribute to the empty idea jar?"

     An awkward beat passed by.

     "I have an idea," Luke finally voiced, looking up.

     Rossi raised a brow and angled his body to the right. "Which is?"

     "We bring Owen Sánchez in to help."

     At the front of the room, Hotch and the Italian man exchanged similar looks. If Owen assisted, things could go from bad to worse. Both with Cara's mental and emotional state and Le's plans. There was no telling how quickly things could escalate.

     "What?" Spencer deadpanned, arms falling to his sides. He'd finished eating and was standing behind his chair.

     "Sánchez and Valentine are the only two people left alive who have the potential to track Le down. Nail his ass to the wall. If we all work together, we have a better chance than without him," Luke explained, hoping someone saw where he was coming from and how this might prove beneficial.

     JJ's hand fell from her cheek, and she glanced at Cara's rigid posture. "Emphasis on the words two and left alive," she commented, glimpsing back at Luke.

     "No," Spencer said stiffly with a tone of finality. Everyone, minus the short-haired woman, directed their attention to him. "No. Sánchez brings nothing but trouble. I'm not comfortable working with him or using him and Cara as potential bait to lure Le out."

     Luke shrugged and stood taller. "I think it's worth a shot. Valentine, what do you think? Do you trust him enough to help or not?"

     Unfortunately, the question went straight over her head, and she wasn't given the time to respond.

     "Not," Morgan answered harshly, stepping forward and partially blocking Cara from view. "Going to Sánchez while she was held hostage and afterward when she wanted to see him was one thing, but going to him to help us find Le? As far as we know, Sánchez still has a bounty on his head and was reluctant to tell us a damn thing in the first place. Why would he want to find the man who wants him dead? How does that benefit him?"

     At that question, Cara blinked. A low groan fell from her lips, but only Blake heard it despite there being five feet of distance separating them. The brown-haired woman's eyes filled with concern.

     Luke redirected his gaze to Morgan, and his face softened. The suggestion had hit a sore spot. "I'm not trying to step on anyone's toes. All right? But I do believe that we need to consider all of our options. Also, Valentine has more knowledge on this case than all of us combined. Her input is important, and she's more than capable of suggesting or deciding what we do next."

     Pressing the pad of her thumb into her wrist, Cara's jaw subconsciously clenched. The initial question asked was one she knew the answer to, but she also knew she was burning out.

     Everything was taxing on her psyche, and every second spent in British Columbia, Canada, was another second she spent drowning in the past. All she wanted was to leave and be rid of the Red Scorpions, Founding Fathers, and Le permanently.

     "Not when her suggestion or decision might be stupid," Morgan argued, watching the blonde disregard his statement. "We don't need Sánchez. Besides, this is our case. We're a team. We need to work together and not let one person call all the shots."

     Huffing quietly, Cara placed the palms of her hands against the back of her neck and stared up at the ceiling. This bickering wasn't helping her anxiety. All it was doing was making her even more frustrated and unsettled. Their voices were getting increasingly louder, too.

     She let out a slow breath, and her eyes fluttered shut. If she didn't think about something else, anything else, her anxiety and mind would spiral. The Michael Le backstory and now this...

     "I agree with Luke. I really think we need to consider all of our options here, Morgan," JJ piped up, but she was ignored.

     "In case you don't remember, you left, man." Luke was doing his best to remain mindful of the volume of his voice. "Just because you're consulting on the case doesn't mean you get to decide anything either."

     Tara pursed her lips out to the right and glanced to the side. Yikes. That one wasn't going to elicit a favorable reaction.

     Diligently, Rossi, Hotch, and Spencer observed Cara's body language and facial expression. Her muscles were tense, and she was tapping her foot relentlessly against the carpet. She was staring at the ceiling with her eyes clenched shut. With her lips pressed together, cheeks pink from anxiety, and eyebrows pinched, they knew she was trying to cope with this situation the best she could. They knew her, and most of her tells like the back of their hands. The arguing and raised voices were eating away at her.

     Things were going to worsen if somebody didn't step in, and Rossi knew that. "All right, let's bring it down—"

     "I'd watch yourself there, Alvez. I was in this unit long before you ever joined the F.B.I.."

     Penelope's eyebrows skyrocketed, and her dark brown irises danced wildly between the two men. Oh, crap. This was so not going well. She didn't like this.

     The distance between Morgan and Luke began to diminish, and everyone else stood or sat a bit taller. Yes, tension was high, and they were in a high-risk, sticky situation, but arguing with each other wouldn't do anything. It didn't fix or resolve the dilemma at hand.

     "Hey, both of you back off," Hotch ordered, physically inserting himself between the pair. He pressed a palm to each of their chests and lightly pushed them in opposite directions.

     Shaking his head, Morgan gestured to Luke. "Hotch, I know you're listening to this, man. What—"

     Suddenly, the door to the conference room slammed shut loudly. A few people flinched. The argument died, and the team watched Cara stalk toward Captain Marvinhill's office. Strands of platinum blonde hair flew behind her, and she was visibly rubbing her wrist.

     Great.

     "Way to go, Newbie," Penelope grumbled sourly, glaring at him over the lid of her laptop.

     Luke's jaw slackened in disbelief. "What—"

     Frowning, JJ tried to come to Luke's defense. "Hey, Garcia—"

     "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what happens when you push too hard," Rossi announced, aggrieved at the events that took place.

     Morgan and Luke were too old to behave this way and knew better. Also, they'd gotten too caught up in the moment and allowed their egos to get the best of them. Despite knowing the nature of this case and the boundaries that Cara gave the team, they overlooked all of it.

     The Italian man's statement caused JJ to close her mouth, and she shot Luke an apologetic expression. Luke responded with a shake of the head, conveying that it was fine.

     Morgan ran a hand down his face. "Rossi, look—"

     "Can everyone be quiet?!" Blake snapped, stepping forward and waving a hand in the air. She had reached her limit today and was growing increasingly frustrated. The level of insensitivity with the topics and individuals being discussed was bothersome at best.

     Immediately, nothing could be heard. Most of the team's eyes were wide, and a few were taken aback. Alex Blake was not known for snapping; she always preserved her cool and calm demeanor until now.

     Cara wasn't the only one who'd been pushed too far.

     With a sigh, she dropped her hand. "None of that needed to escalate the way it did," she stated, meeting each person's stare. "Valentine is not a child, and she is her own person. The more we try to coddle, excessively protect, and shield her from making decisions, the farther we push her away."

     "We know that, but—" Morgan started.

     "No," Blake promptly cut him off; she needed the team to hear her on this. "She is already self-isolating; she does not need us to make this more challenging than it already is." Guilt and grave expressions painted the space. "Personally, the last thing I want is for her to give herself over to Le in hopes of keeping us safe. That is a possibility no one is talking about, but one that's appearing likely to happen. It's happened once. Bottom line: Cut the nonsense. Respect and listen to her. If she wants Sánchez to help, she is entitled to that decision."

     Spencer looked down at his converse, a deep frown on his lips.

     Every word spoken was true, and they all knew it. None of them were helping the situation.

     There was a high chance that Cara would attempt to hand herself over to Le to protect the team. It happened in the past, and she would do it again in a heartbeat if it came to that point. All of them knew that. She'd said as much in the interrogation last week. It was time each of them acknowledged it.

     Before anybody could drown in their thoughts and feelings, the door opened.

     Striding back into the room, Cara steered toward the chair where she'd placed her things. Not a word or sound escaped her mouth; her lips were pressed together, and her jaw was clenched. There was a cold confidence in how she walked, and unlike many times before, she didn't go out of her way to duck her head and not meet anyone's questioning stare. Instead, she kept her attention forward, and her chin and head tilted up.

     Penelope gulped and glanced at Matt across the room, unsure who would be brave enough to say something. Truthfully, there was nothing to say. They'd pushed her too far— specifically, Morgan and Luke had pushed her too far.

     When Cara reached the chair, she reached for her black trenchcoat. Tara was on her left and Blake and JJ were on her right. Nobody was standing where their original seats were.

     "Valentine—"

     "I don't want to hear it." Those were the first words to leave her mouth, and Cara stared directly at Morgan. He stopped. "I don't do shouting, overtly loud voices and noises, or aggressive arguing. I haven't for a long time. Every single person in this room knows that. Until I adjust to it, all I ask is that people respect that boundary."

     A heavy wave of guilt washed over Morgan and Luke.

     "I'm sorry."

     "I'm sorry."

     Cara shrugged her coat on. "I know."

     Noticing how the blonde was preparing to leave, Blake slid her hands into her pants pockets. "Where are you going?" she asked softly, not wanting to upset the woman more than she presumably was.

     "Prison," Cara deadpanned, catching the aghast and fallen expressions spreading across the group. "I'm done standing around the precinct and theorizing. I'm done being asked what I think while nobody else contributes anything meaningful to the conversation. There is one person left who knows what it was like when Le was abusing me and how he operates. He's going to help whether he wants to or not. I'm done playing games."

     No one outwardly objected, but Morgan, Hotch, Spencer, Penelope, and JJ were tempted to. Matt, Tara, Luke, and Blake were the only ones to nod in support.

     Rossi was the first to react. "I'll go with," he said, removing his hands from his pockets.

     Following right behind him was Spencer. "Me too," he joined in, hastily making his way to her. If she was going to do this, he wanted to be there to ensure her safety. He couldn't risk something bad happening.

     At both responses, Cara shook her head. "No," she stated firmly, leaving no room for debate. Rossi and Spencer went to disagree, but she continued. "Only Marvinhill and I."

     Tara, Luke, and JJ shared apprehensive looks. Matt shuffled his feet uncomfortably while Penelope's eyes widened, and she bit her bottom lip nervously. Morgan heaved a sigh, rubbing his jaw.

     That didn't sound like a good idea in the slightest.

     "Cara... I don't believe that's a good idea," Hotch expressed, slowly uncrossing his arms. To him, that was putting it nicely. Truthfully, it sounded like a nightmare and a self-set trap.

     "With all due respect, I do not care," the short-haired woman snapped, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. "I'm not reinstated or part of this team. I respect you and everyone here, but I will not take orders or consider other options. I trust Owen enough to get him to help me. Marvinhill is readying the helicopter."

     The usage of me instead of us in her statement was noticeable. Everyone heard it clear as day. It almost cut like glass.

     Cara Valentine had shifted into a Her vs. Le mentality. Things were worsening for her. Right now, she wasn't trusting the team to know what to do next or asking for their input. She was going to do what she wanted.

     Blake was right.

     The more they tried to excessively protect and shield her from making decisions, the farther they pushed her away. She'd successfully isolated herself mentally, and that was evident in her tone and language.

     Fingers curled around her bicep, and Cara turned her head to see Spencer standing closely. Devastation and desperation were etched into his features, and he was scared. "You don't have to do this alone. Please let one of us go with you," he whispered weakly, flitting his eyes between hers.

     Without thinking, she placed a hand over his and squeezed. "I know I don't, but I will. I can and will do this alone, and I don't need you to understand. I need you to respect—"

     "—Your decision and you," he finished, inhaling sharply. This was a need that he didn't have to think twice about. He would always respect her and always had. "I know you can do this. I know you can. Just..."

     There was a knock at the conference door, and the team looked to see Marvinhill standing outside. He was motioning for Cara to get moving. The helicopter was presumably ready or about to be.

     Cara nodded at him before glancing back at Spencer. A few tears were gathering in his eyes, and she froze. In his mind, with Le roaming free, this could be the last time he saw her. Inhaling deeply, she tried to ignore the rising lump in her throat. If she allowed herself to go down that rabbit hole, she'd never escape.

     "I'll see you later, okay?" she whispered, squeezing his hand again. "I'll text you when we land and when we're on the way back. Penelope can track Marvinhill and I's phones, too."

     "Damn right, I can," the technical analyst piped up, interrupting the moment the pair was having. This was not a plan or idea she was a fan of, but she would take any positive she could get out of this situation and clutch onto it.

     A breathy laugh slipped from Cara's mouth, and she briefly met Penelope's gaze. "Thank you," she said before taking in the anxious, apprehensive, and reluctant expressions surrounding her. Nice. "Thank you all for staring at me like I'm going to make it back in a body bag."

     Not a millisecond after, Hotch bluntly said, "That's not funny."

     "Figlia mia, that's not funny," Rossi stated, shaking his head.

     The rest of the team was quick to chime in with their reactions simultaneously. That single comment woke them up.

     Luke choked out an awkward laugh. "Woah, wait, what—"

     Penelope gasped. "That is so not funny, Rose!"

     "What? Hold up. Cara, don't go there," Tara held a palm up.

     "Car, don't say that..." JJ said, sitting up in her chair at the table.

     "Valentine, I swear to God..." Morgan groaned, staring at the woman exasperatedly.

     Matt's jaw slackened in surprise at the comment. "Hey, no. No. It's going to be fine."

     "Valentine, we know you'll be fine," Blake reassured her, giving an encouraging nod.

     Spencer's eyes widened, and he adamantly shook his head. "No. No, no, no. Our fear and hesitancy have nothing to do with whether you'll come back. Well, it kind of does—"

     Snorting, Cara pulled away from Spencer and walked to the door. "I'll see all of you tonight," she said, grabbing the doorknob.

     "Tonight?" The team, minus Blake, echoed in confusion.

     Cara raised an eyebrow and lifted a shoulder. "Yes. What'd you think? Marvinhill and I were going to ask Owen a few questions?"

     "You're dragging his ass here?" Rossi's eyebrows dropped, and his face blanked. It wasn't a secret how much he and Owen Sánchez detested one another. He could go the rest of his life without ever seeing the ex-trafficker again and live a happy, fulfilled life. Frankly, an ideal one.

     Tilting her head, she gave him a look only he recognized and understood. "I won't leave you alone with him, lo prometto."

     "That means nothing," he deadpanned, not believing her for a single second.

     There was another knock, and Marvinhill called, "Valentine!"

     Rolling her eyes into the back of her head, Cara inaudibly sighed. "I'm coming!" she said loudly, swinging the door open. "I'll see everyone tonight!"

     At that, she left the team standing there with nothing but their hesitancies and worries plaguing their minds. For all they knew, this could be the worst plan ever and they wouldn't be there to help if something went wrong.

     The first person to snap out of it was Spencer, and he blinked rapidly. He couldn't let that be how things were left. He couldn't.

     So, he took off after her.

     Spencer weaved his way between the police officers littering the first floor, muttering "excuse me" under his breath. Marvinhill and Cara were approaching the back of the building, and he picked up speed.

     "Cara! Wait!"

     At the sound of Spencer's voice, Cara stopped a few feet from the backdoor. She turned around and saw the doctor jogging toward her. Confusion drew at her brows, and she wanted to ask why he'd called her name but was interrupted.

     The second Spencer reached her, his lips were on hers, and the force of his actions made her lean backward. His hands cupped her face, and he kissed her like it was the last time he'd ever get to. He kissed her like the world was on fire.

     Inhaling sharply, Cara's eyes shut, and a hand flew up to grab his arm. Regaining her balance and composure, she inched closer. Every emotion running through both of their hearts was tangled within the kiss.

     It was suffocating.

     Not in a bad way, though.

     "I'm... I'm coming back," she mumbled, ultimately drawing away. "You'll see me again."

     Spencer pecked her lips before responding. "I know. I know I will. Just..." he breathed, bouncing his eyes between hers. There were three words on the tip of his tongue that he'd been wanting to say since last night. Honestly, have been wanting to say for a long time. However, he knew now wasn't the time, so he kept them to himself. "I wanted to kiss you just in case."

     Nodding, the short-haired woman understood where he was coming from. She quickly leaned forward and kissed him one last time. "I'm glad you did," she said, letting go of his arm and stepping back. "I'll see you soon."

     When her backside hit the long, horizontal door handle, Cara blinked. Spencer stood across from her with glassy eyes and an expression she recognized but couldn't place where she'd seen it before. She couldn't waste time and decipher what he was thinking or feeling, so she engraved the image of him standing there into her mind.

     They would see each other again.

     The couple maintained eye contact for three seconds until it was broken.

     "See you later, Spen." Cara gave him a crooked smile in hopes that it would provide him some comfort. While she spoke, she pressed on the handle and began slipping outside.

     It did.

     Spencer returned the gesture. "See you later, Ara."

     Right before the door closed, he got one last glimpse of that heart-warming, butterfly-inducing, award-winning crooked smile on Cara's lips. The sight of her smile almost made him weak enough in the knees to fall. It would always make him feel like he won the lottery. He always thought that when that smile appeared.

     Finally, the door shut, and Spencer stood there with half a heart, praying she came back.

────

     UNTIL BEING SHOVED INTO A FAMILIAR HOLLOW METAL CHAIR, OWEN SÁNCHEZ HAD BEEN HAVING A DECENT DAY. Thanks to good behavior and keeping his mouth shut, he'd managed to score time outside with the other prisoners who were being kept in solitary confinement. It was rare to feel the sun's rays hitting any part of his body, but it was always welcomed. What wasn't welcomed was having visitors during visiting hours.

     For a man who had no one and was supposed to be kept in a single cell, hearing that someone was there to see him was never a good thing. The last time it happened, he was forced to reunite with Agent Hotchner and that old Italian man. He couldn't remember his name and couldn't be bothered to.

     He was praying that wasn't the case this time. If he found out his ex-girlfriend got herself kidnapped again, and her old F.B.I. team was there to interrogate him, Owen might be successful in his next suicide attempt.

     Was it too much to ask to be left alone and eventually die peacefully in prison?

     Apparently so.

     Outside the two-way glass stood Cara and Captain Marvinhill. They'd arrived less than twenty-nine minutes ago and were ready to start. If things went well and quickly, and they likely wouldn't, the three could arrive in Vancouver by eight at the earliest.

     "How do you think he's going to take this?" Marvinhill asked, glimpsing at the blonde. The helicopter ride to the prison had surprisingly been filled with chatter. The two discussed Cara's plan and what their goals were. Luckily, they were on the same page.

     Cara didn't spare the captain a glance. "Horribly," she replied plainly, observing her ex-boyfriend's body language. Nothing was out of the ordinary, and there were no physical signs of stress or anxiety. Rather, he appeared indifferent yet irritated.

     Presently, there weren't any deep and dark circles resting under Owen's eyes. Unlike the last time she saw him, he appeared well-rested and healthy. His hair had been cut and was no longer past his shoulders. The mustache was gone, and he was clean-shaven. His skin wasn't sunken and was clear.

     It'd been years since Cara had seen Owen like this. He almost physically resembled the man she once fell in love with.

     Almost.

     The prison guards exited the private visitor's room, holding the door open for Cara and Marvinhill to walk through.

     "Ready?"

     "No."

     The two had settled on what the focus points were for today's brief interrogation— whether Owen knew Shirzad and Johnston were going to be murdered, if he knew anything at all, and if he had any ideas of Le's whereabouts. If he refused to assist, it didn't matter. He was returning with them to Vancouver regardless.

     With a slam, the door shut behind Cara and Marvinhill as they walked in and toward the table in the center of the room.

     When the ex-partners locked eyes, time seemed to slow down. Just like the last time she saw and spoke to Owen, Cara felt like she was in a fever dream she didn't want to have but needed to. And just like the last him he saw and spoke to Cara, Owen felt like a part of him could breathe.

     Well, this was a surprise.

     The moment was promptly cut short.

     "I'd say it's nice to see you, but we all know that's a lie," Marvinhill sighed, giving the ex-trafficker a pointed glare.

     Silence.

     "How's solitary at Headingley been treating you?"

     Nothing.

     Nice.

     Owen's attention didn't trail to the Captain. Instead, it remained locked on the short-haired woman in front of him.

     "I like the short hair."

     Those were the first five words to leave Owen's mouth, and Cara was already contemplating putting her head through a wall.

     Even though their last interaction healed the part of her heart that'd been broken all those years ago on the night of the Surrey Six, she still found him undeniably irritating. However, what happened between them happened, and they moved on. She moved on.

     "Thanks..." Cara said, now conscious of her physical appearance. "You look better. Healthier."

     "Thanks." To her surprise, his response didn't include a comment about how he missed the sound of her voice. An awkward silence filled the room. "So, why—"

     In unplanned unison, Cara and Marvinhill cut him off. "Le murdered Shirzad and Johnston."

     Immediately, Owen froze. This really wasn't welcomed news. He might as well start counting his days now.

     "Le stabbed and bludgeoned Shirzad to death. Then, he strangled Johnston to death and burned his body," Cara told him, tossing the file she'd been holding on the table. It contained the crime scene photographs and M.E. reports.

     Bouncing his eyes from the file to her and back, Owen didn't touch it. "What do you want?" he asked stonily, not moving an inch.

     "Answers," Marvinhill replied, stepping forward.

     A scoff echoed, and the tips of Owen's ears raised. "Hilarious," he muttered, inclined to shake his head.

     They couldn't be serious.

     "Do you know where he is?" Cara questioned, getting straight to the point.

     They were.

     Disbelief flooded his nervous system, but he remained visibly calm. "Know where who is?"

     Cara blinked, unamused. Nothing more needed to be said.

     Owen sighed. "No, I don't know where he is."

     "I don't believe you."

     "I don't care."

     "Have you heard from Le?" Marvinhill spoke before the blonde could retaliate.

     Finally, the ex-trafficker's stare met the Captain's. "I don't hear from anyone. I know you've already checked my visitor's list and call logs— which don't exist because I don't talk to or see anyone."

     "Did you know that Johnston and Shirzad were going to be murdered?" Cara asked next, raising an eyebrow.

     "No." It wasn't a complete lie yet Owen's chest leaned forward, and his left foot tapped quietly on the floor.

     The action wasn't lost on Cara, and she stood taller. "Liar," she stated not a second later.

     Rolling his eyes, Owen gave her a look. He was annoyed.

     "It's the truth."

     Marvinhill snorted. "The truth my ass," he mumbled, also aware of his tells.

     "Believe me or don't. My answer is no." Again, his chest leaned forward, and his left foot tapped quietly on the floor. His countenance was void of all emotion.

     "Owen, for fucks sake," Cara grumbled, running her hands over her face before sweeping her fingers under her eyes to brush away any fallen mascara. She was reaching her tipping point with him already. "If you're going to lie, put some effort into it for me. Please."

     The tips of the ex-leader's ears raised again, and she took note. Ear raising was a common physical sign for people who were naturally aggressive and on guard. It was an instinctual physical reaction he often had. Most people didn't pick up on it.

     "I'm not going to argue with you. I gave you an answer," he said, leaning forward further. "If you don't like it, kiss my ass."

     Marvinhill narrowed his stare. "You really think we're going to take your word on that?"

     "You have to. Clearly, you're desperate, once again, if you have to come to me for answers."

     "Yes. Truthful answers," Cara explained.

     If progress wasn't made within the next minute, she would cut straight to her ultimate question. Like she told the team, she was done playing games.

     It took a considerable amount of self-control for Owen not to snap. "I gave you a truthful answer," he spat harshly.

     "Sure you did," Marvinhill gave him a sarcastic smile. "What happened to not arguing?"

     Owen went to respond, but Cara interjected.

     "Lying to me is objectively stupid and a waste of my time," she said, enunciating the last five words slowly and separately. She timed each one with a single step forward. "Start coughing up the truth..." her voice was threatening and sharp, visibly irritating him the longer she spoke, "before I make you."

     A slam echoed throughout the interrogation room when her right hand smacked onto the metal table. She was looming over Owen with a hard, calculated, and cold expression. It was the same one she was infamously known for in the Red Scorpions.

     Part of Owen was impressed that this side of her still existed, but it also made sense. Cara Valentine lived in the world of crime and misery longer than she lived the life she wanted. To a degree, it was second nature.

     Marvinhill darted his line of sight between the ex-couple. "She means that figuratively," he clarified, raising a hand.

     "No, I don't."

     "No, she doesn't."

     The ex-traffickers didn't glance in his direction. Instead, they were locked in a never-ending staring contest that neither wanted to break first. However, they both had an inkling who was going to win.

     "Did you or did you not know that Johnston and Shirzad were going to be murdered?" Cara repeated, slowly fixing her posture. Not once did she break the eye contact, and she never blinked.

     "Not," Owen snapped, hitting his hands on the metal table. The shackles of the chained handcuffs clashed together. "It might have slipped your knowledge, but I don't have any allies or resources. I'm alone. The Red Scorpions are over for good. There's one founding member that still has a bounty on my head. I know nothing."

     Narrowing her stare, the blonde's chin upturned. "But you know Le."

     A tense silence blanketed the room, and Marvinhill could feel the atmosphere shift. Those four words struck a chord in the convict; everyone could hear his breath hitch.

     This wasn't going to bode well.

     "You're fucking crazy." Owen's meticulously controlled and unreadable countenance disappeared. His eyes were wide, and he was taken aback. A shaky laugh tumbled from his lips, and he adamantly shook his head. "You've lost your mind—"

     "Mmm..." Cara hummed, tilting her head to the right. "Not yet, but I'm getting there."

     "—if you think I'm helping you find him."

     Marvinhill couldn't help but snort. It was always humorous when criminals thought they had a say in these situations. "Too late for that. A judge and the warden have already approved of you being temporarily transferred to Vancouver," he told the convict.

     That was not music to his ears, and Owen wore a deathly glare that he fixated on Cara Valentine. He hadn't felt this level of contempt toward someone in a while. The sheer audacity that she possessed right now was unfathomable.

     In true fashion, she returned his glare with one that was ten times colder. When it came to glaring, hers was, and always would be, the deadliest.

     "You're officially a consultant on the Founding Fathers case," Marvinhill declared, enjoying every bit of this. It wasn't often that he got a win in the Red Scorpions or Founding Fathers cases.

     Owen growled, "I'm going to make your life a living hell, Lyn."

     "The usage of your personal nickname for me and the fact that you have no allies or resources indicates otherwise," Cara argued, ignoring the urge to smirk.

     Marvinhill, on the other hand, didn't ignore the urge. He wore a shit-eating grin at the fact that the short-haired woman made Owen Sánchez swallow his own words in a matter of seconds. Today was a good day for Captain Oliver Marvinhill.

     "Stand up," Marvinhill jutted his chin at the man. "We're leaving."

     "No."

     An exasperated sigh slipped between Cara's lips, and she clenched her jaw. Fine. We can do this the hard way. One foot in front of the other, she strode around the table.

     Four seconds later, the fabric of Owen's orange jumpsuit was balled between Cara's curled fingers. With a harsh jerk, she hauled him out of his seat and dragged him a foot away from the rectangular table. Then, she spun them around and slammed him against the wall. Their faces were inches apart, and they were almost chest to chest.

     "Guards!" Marvinhill shouted as he rushed over. There was a sense of panic behind his movements. "Valentine, what the hell?!"

     Cara's eyes didn't leave Owen's. "You're coming. End of story," she hissed, narrowing her stare when he glanced at her lips. There was only one person she wanted to look at her like that, and it wasn't him. "Eyes up here, Sánchez."

     "I like the view. I missed it."

     "Valentine! Let him go!"

     "No."

────

     IT WAS DIFFICULT TO IMAGINE CARA VALENTINE AND OWEN SÁNCHEZ EVER BEING IN A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP. At least it was difficult for Marvinhill to imagine. There was so much hostility in their words and mannerisms toward the other. An underlying tone of care was hidden within each glance, but scarcely— especially given the events at Headingley Correctional Institution.

     The two-hour and forty-minute helicopter ride to Vancouver was filled with a tense and discomfiting silence. No one uttered a syllable or initiated conversation. Marvinhill begrudgingly gave up after Cara told him to kick rocks while ignoring Owen's unwavering glare.

     It would be a long night when they arrived at the precinct.

     Once they landed in Vancouver, four police officers greeted them at the landing strip. The trio was escorted from the helicopter and loaded into a black SUV. One of the officers was in the driver's seat, and Marvinhill was in the passenger. Cara sat directly behind him and Owen sat behind the driver. The other police officers were driving in front of them.

     A random pop song none of them knew was playing on the radio. The seats and windows shook from the speed bumps as the car was steered toward the main road. Everyone jostled from side to side and metal clashing could be heard in the backseat. The movement had caused the handcuffs around Owen's wrists to clash together.

     The air conditioning was pumping through a few filters in the SUV, whistling loudly and clouding over the sound of nearby airplanes taking off. It was oddly peaceful for three-fourths of the passengers. The only one who felt everything but peace was Cara, and she was driving her thumb into her left wrist.

     It was difficult to articulate into words what she was feeling. All she knew was that there was a sinking, gut-wrenching tightening in her chest.

     Perhaps she was beginning to regret bringing Owen to Vancouver. Perhaps she knew, deep down, that his presence would cause Le to escalate. And perhaps, even deeper down, she wanted that and chose to selfishly bring Owen to Vancouver.

     Suddenly, there was a nudge against her left leg, and she flinched. Blinking, her head turned, and she saw Owen wearing an inquisitive expression. His eyes flashed to her wrist and back to her.

     Immediately, she stopped rubbing and smoothed her palms against her grey dress pants. A single eyebrow rose as she returned his stare.

     Owen tilted his head to the left and gave her a knowing look. His sour demeanor had vanished. He'd picked up on her declining mood.

     Instead of offering him an answer or reaction, she averted her line of sight. Now, she was gazing out the window and restraining herself from peering behind the car. Part of her wanted to ensure they weren't being followed. However, she didn't want to startle anyone in the vehicle or alert them to her growing paranoia.

     So she remained still and sat with perfect posture.

     Narrowing his eyes, Owen bit his tongue. He could always tell when something was wrong with Cara. To him, she was incredibly easy to read. He knew it was nearly impossible for most people to see through her, but it was second nature to him.

     It always would be.

     After two minutes and sixteen seconds went by, he looked away. Evidently, she wasn't going to explain what was happening inside that head of hers. He wasn't expecting her to.

     Another pop song began to play on the radio, and Marvinhill groaned lowly. It was Too Good At Goodbyes by Sam Smith. He recognized it right away. One of the newest recruits on the force played it every morning.

     Marvinhill reached to change the station when Officer Bellamy smacked his hand away.

     "Nuh-uh, I don't think so," Bellamy sang, turning the volume up. "Ryan got me addicted to this song. We're listening to it."

     "Ryan's depressed over his boyfriend dumping him again and has shit music taste. We are not listening to this," Marvinhill argued.

     Both Cara and Owen glanced toward the front of the car.

     Bellamy gasped and brought the car to a stop at the red light. "I happen to like his music taste—"

     "Then you have shit music taste, too."

     The corners of Owen's lips quirked.

     "Just for that snappy remark, I'm turning it up more," Bellamy said, spinning the circular button for the volume. She wore a triumphant smile as Marvinhill let out a huff of defeat.

     Cara's face remained blank, and she wrapped her black trenchcoat around her torso. The navy blue blazer she wore underneath was nowhere near enough to keep her warm. She returned to staring out the window.

    In the distance, she saw a strike of lightning ignite the night sky. A storm was headed their way.

     "I'm never gonna let you close to me even though you mean the most to me. 'Cause every time I open up, it hurts. So, I'm never gonna get too close to you even when I mean the most to you, in case you go, and leave me in the dirt..."

     A single raindrop hit Cara's window, and it slowly descended across the glass. Cara's eyes followed its movement.

     "But every time you hurt me, the less that I cry. And every time you leave me, the quicker these tears dry..."

     The tiny raindrop slid all the way down and disappeared. Not a second later, a dozen more replaced it. Then, another dozen, and another.

     "And every time you walk out, the less I love you. Baby, we don't stand a chance, it's sad, but it's true. I'm way too good at goodbyes."

     In a matter of seconds, the world was consumed with nature's rage. Rain was downpouring and pounding against the car relentlessly.

     The water hit and kicked at the windows so violently that it was nearly impractical to hear the music. The rest of the chorus was overshadowed. Only the second verse was heard next.

     "I know you're thinkin' I'm heartless. I know you're thinkin' I'm cold. I'm just protectin' my innocence; I'm just protectin' my soul."

     The lyrics caught Owen's attention, and he couldn't help but glance at Cara. She didn't notice his lingering stare. She was too consumed with watching the rainfall. It was her attempt at distracting herself.

     "I'm never gonna let you close to me even though you mean the most to me. 'Cause every time I open up, it hurts. So, I'm never gonna get too close to you..."

     A frown crossed Owen's lips.

     "...Even when I mean the most to you, in case you go, and leave me in the dirt."

     Now, he understood why Captain Marvinhill didn't like this song. He didn't like it either.

     "But every time you hurt me, the less that I cry. And every time you leave me, the quicker these tears dry..."

     Finally, the all-too-familiar feeling of eyes watching her emerged, and Cara met Owen's somber gaze. This eye game of tag-you're-it was irritating.

     "Quit staring," she hissed, nudging his foot with hers. "And I swear to God, if you say you like the view, I'll punch you."

     A cocky smirk lined his cheeks, and Owen ignored his present feelings. "I don't have to. You said it for me."

     Rolling her eyes, Cara forced herself to glance away. All she had to do was wait until they got to the precinct. After that, he would be the team's problem and not just hers.

     The rest of the song played out in its entirety, and Marvinhill changed the station without hesitation. He was grumbling a series of colorful words under his breath that made Owen smirk again.

     Echoes of thunder roared in the distance, and more flashes of lightning appeared. A slight wind was present now and pushing against the car. It wasn't a lot, just enough to cause Bellamy to grip the wheel a bit tighter.

     In precisely three minutes and forty-three seconds, the Vancouver Police Precinct came into view. A collective breath of relief rippled across the group. This had been the longest nine minutes of their lives.

     "Hey, Sánchez," Marvinhill called, not bothering to check over his shoulder. "No funny business when we get out of the car, got it?"

     A soft chuckle echoed from his lips and Owen's brows flickered upward. "Wouldn't dream of it."

     "Sure you wouldn't," the Captain muttered. No one heard him.

     As the SUV pulled into the back parking lot, Cara scanned their surroundings. That sinking, gut-wrenching tightening in her chest was worsening. The feeling of eyes watching her was back, but it wasn't coming from Owen— it wasn't coming from anyone in the vehicle.

     A shiver of panic raced down her spine, and she swallowed harshly. Her face fell, and the hair on her arms rose.

     Something wasn't right.

     Suddenly, everything about the last eight hours felt too easy. There hadn't been a single hiccup in their plan and execution of bringing Owen to Vancouver. There hadn't been a single obstacle on their path. There hadn't been anything.

     It was too easy.

     It was too easy, and she was a fool not to notice it sooner.

     "Valentine, it's a hellstorm out here! Quit waiting around. Let's go!" Marvinhill shouted over the roaring wind and rain. His salt and pepper hair and clothes were soaked.

     Blinking, it was then that Cara realized the car was parked horizontally behind the precinct and everyone had gotten out. Everyone but her.

     Bellamy was standing outside on the left side of the SUV and holding onto Owen's upper left arm. Marvinhill was on the right and holding Cara's car door open for her. Nobody else was there. The parking lot was empty and the woods bordering the back half of the lot were a black abyss. Trash, leaves, and tiny twigs were flying about in the wind.

     It was nearly impossible to see anything.

     And that's what made it the perfect hurricane of chaos, blood, and blindness.

     Unbuckling her seatbelt, Cara slowly exited the vehicle. It was getting harder to breathe. Something was very wrong. She could feel it in her gut, and unfortunately, she would be proven right.

     The door shut behind the blonde, and Marvinhill began walking toward the back door of the building. He didn't stop until he no longer felt anyone's presence with him or heard any footsteps splashing.

     Eyebrows furrowing, he squinted and turned around. Officer Bellamy and Owen hadn't rounded the SUV yet, they were nowhere in sight, and Cara stood frozen. She wore some kind of odd expression, but he couldn't tell what it was with how rough the weather was.

     "Valentine! Bellamy, Sánchez!" he yelled, growing aggravated. He doubted any of them wanted to be out here longer than they already were. He didn't. "Let's go! Hurry—"

     Cara hastily started trekking backward and, without warning, spun on her heel. Not a word or sound came from her.

     "—up," Marvinhill grumbled, shaking his head. He went to follow the short-haired woman to see what the hell was going on but was shortly stopped.

     Cara was running to the other side of the car when a deafening pop shattered the atmosphere. Her feet came to an innate stop, and the breath hitched in her throat. She hadn't even made it around the trunk.

     There was a second sharp pop, and she flinched. It was much closer this time.

     Then, an ear-splitting succession of pops echoed. They went off again, and again, and again.

     And again, and again, and again.

𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒆   ───   ❪ CRIMINAL MINDS ❫
vol. two:     𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚂𝚂,       ²
╱ ✹     ▬▬     ❛ © CARDIIAC      2024. ❜
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━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
𓄹 ━━━ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒓! ࿐ ໋₊ ˖

╭⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀╮

Figlia mia ━━ My daughter
Vai a riposarti un po' ━━ Go get some
rest
Odio quando fai così ━━ I hate it
when you do that
Ti amo ━━ I love you
Sí ━━ Yes
Stai zitto, cazzo ━━ Shut the fuck up
Lo prometto ━━ I promise

╰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀╯

     hey everyone!! i hope you all enjoyed the fifty-eighth chapter!

     this is literally the longest chapter i've written in my entire life. (it's approximately 36k words. don't say anything about the lack of updates pls!!! this chapter has been up my ass for months.) it took soooo long to finish writing &&& editing this chapter, but it's finally done! thank god.

     now, let's get started:

     so sooooo much just happened... here's the basics:

1. cara and spencer had sex (you're welcome!! it's not as explicit as it originally was, but i prefer this version. i hope it was good and everyone liked it! it makes sense to me why it happened, i hope it does to others. if it doesn't, pretend it didn't happen! at least it happened, all right? &&& look... i'm very nervous for it to finally be published and canon, but it's fine. whatever. anyway! "i love you" will happen before the book ends!)
2. morgan + rossi are officially the bau's dumbest™️
3. cara's entire backstory with her father, owen, and le has been laid out on the table. it's been sprinkled throughout this entire book, but now it's all been discussed + revealed once and for all! if you have any questions, let me know!
4. cara valentine is a badass, but we've been knew
5. owen is back and annoyed as per usual, but for how long??
and 6. were those gunshots?? was someone shot? were people shot?! who?!

     the next chapter will be out soon! (i mean it this time!! i'm not disappearing again for months! this is the final super long chapter!) it's very, very emotional and frustrating, so i apologize in advance. the characters are going to be even more on edge and irritable, but it makes sense given the circumstances. i'm very excited to see everyone's reactions!

     NOTE: the line, "When Le started making advances... I was old enough to remember all of it and young enough to understand none of it," from cara is inspired by roscoe from the tv show reacher. complete credit goes to the amazing writers of that show!

     edit time no. 1 ━━ here is the edit i made for chapter 57 and this chapter! this is the outfit + what cara looks like during the last chapter and this one (she wears the same outfit on march 2nd and 3rd):

     edit time no. 2 ━━ here is an old manip gif edit i made forever ago and never posted! (yes, the top right one is the same as the gif at the beginning of this chapter.)

     meme time ━━ my fav part of the author's note tbh

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˒⠀𝑹𝑬𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹. . . ▬⠀⤸

Thank you all for taking the time out of your day to comment on this story. It means a lot and helps the story be spread to a broader audience &&& allows me to grow as an author. All I ask is that people vote on each chapter, please. As a creator, it takes time to write and develop stories. Especially ones such as this that take a while to write and dedicate time to. So please, vote on every chapter. It means a lot more than I could ever express.

Don't forget to vote & comment!

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˒⠀𝑪𝑶𝑷𝒀𝑹𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻. . . ▬⠀⤸

❝ All Rights Reserved.
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