❝Intelligence is quickness in seeing things as they are.❞

GEORGE SANTAYANA

✩

0.9 : surprise, surprise

OR

season 4, episode 2 : the angel maker

"THIS IS DELILAH GRENNAN. SHE WAS BLUDGEONED AND RAPED DURING THE NIGHT AT HER HOME IN LOWER CANAAN, OHIO." JJ clicks the remote to show photos on the screen, taking her seat nearest the TV.

What a delightful way to start the day. Fin beelines to the coffee bar, making it just ahead of Morgan, who clicks his tongue at her snappishly. She's gonna need coffee for this one; she can feel it.

"Lower where?" Emily asks, frowning.

"Small town forty miles outside of Cincinnati," JJ explains.

"Oh, wonderful, a small town where nothing ever goes wrong." Fin rolls her eyes, plopping down in a chair next to Rossi, who chuckles softly.

Spencer's looking up at the screen, analyzing it. "Staging the body face-up with the arms across the chest like that..." He trails off thoughtfully.

"Ritual," Morgan finishes, stirring his coffee with a spoon. "Nice hair, by the way." On the way to his seat, he pushes Spencer's hair into his eyes playfully, smirking.

Spencer sighs and brushes his hair back into place, disgust all over his face. "Thanks."

His haircut is really nice, Fin thinks. It's shorter, less curly, but it suits him, although she still prefers him with long hair, if she had to have an opinion.

"Uh, there's more." JJ draws their attention back to the screen, where she's pulling up more photos, this time of the victim's abdomen. "Small puncture wounds on her stomach. Note the lack of blood."

"They were inflicted post-mortem," Emily says, nodding. "Were there any other victims?"

JJ bites her lip cautiously. "Kind of."

Fin raises her eyebrows. "What does 'kind of' mean? How do you 'kind of' kill someone?"

"That's not what I meant." JJ shakes her head. "Victimology and signature match a serial killer from the same town ten years ago–six victims spanning over ten months." The pictures she's pulling up are almost identical to the first photos: blonde woman in her twenties, bludgeoned, puncture wounds in the stomach. "He called himself–"

"The Angel Maker." Hotch nods, looking up from his file. "I remember the case."

"They caught that guy," Spencer says.

"And executed him," Rossi finishes, eyes on JJ.

"That's right." She nods. "He was put to death by lethal injection a year ago yesterday."

"Yesterday." Emily gives Fin a significant look.

"So...a copycat?" Fin's not dealt with a copycat before, but they're groupies, essentially; fans that worship their idol like a god, who'd do anything for them–and when they say anything, they mean anything.

Rossi nods to her, impressed. "Honoring the anniversary of his hero's death."

"It says here they found semen at the crime scene," Spencer says, brushing his hair behind his ear. "Perhaps locals will get a DNA match when they run it through ViCAP?"

"Well, that's where it gets weird," JJ replies, her jaw set.

"Right here is where it gets weird?" Fin shakes her head. It's been weird.

"They ran it already," JJ continues, her tone oddly grim. "And they got a match, too." She hands Rossi a sheet of paper, which he takes and scans quickly, eyes focused.

"Well, if they already have a name, why'd they call us?" Emily asks, and Fin's asking the same question.

"They've got to be kidding." Rossi stares at the bottom of the page like it just told him Frank Sinatra couldn't sing. "The match they got back on the DNA is to a Cortland Bryce Ryan, otherwise known as..." He pauses for dramatic effect, which Fin respects. "The Angel Maker."

You've got to be shitting me.

Hotch's mouth flattens into a grim line. "Alright, wheels up in thirty."

"Want a ride to the airfield?" Fin asks JJ, downing the last of her coffee. She'll get more on the plane–not that she needs it.

"Oh, I'd love one." JJ grins. "But I get to pick the music."

"You drive a hard bargain, Jaj." But Fin doesn't mind. Well, unless JJ tries to play Britney Spears. Then she might actually kick her out of the car.

✩

Well, it wasn't Britney Spears, thank God. JJ actually surprised Fin with the station she chose. It was a soft alternative rock station that played the Goo Goo Dolls, the Cranberries, and even Alanis Morissette's "Out Is Through", which JJ knew all the words to. And JJ can sing! Fin wonders if there's anything she can't do.

"The Angel Maker's victims were beaten with the assailant's bare hands," Spencer says now, sitting next to Hotch at one of the tables. "Delilah Grennan was bludgeoned with a heavy instrument, maybe a hammer."

"Okay, so this unsub's a weaker guy," Morgan replies. "Or at least someone who perceives himself that way."

"So he brought along the hammer to make certain his victim wouldn't fight back." Emily nods slowly, thinking it through.

Rossi's leaning against the back of Emily's seat, biting the inside of his cheek, and then suddenly asks, "They have parachutes on board, right?"

"They should," Spencer replies, although he's frowning in confusion. "It's standard on all federal air transport."

Fin walks back from the coffee bar, stirring her coffee carefully with a spoon, and leans against the seat across from the others. "What are you getting at, Rossi?"

"Maybe we can give one to the elephant in the room, get him out of here," he says sarcastically, and Fin snickers. I like you, Rossi.

"I'm assuming that's the elephant with the dead guy's semen?"

"Bingo." Rossi smirks at her.

"Well, obviously somebody planted the semen on the victim," Hotch says, his brow furrowed.

"In the victim," Morgan corrects him seriously.

But Spencer has a concentrated look on his face. "That's one theory."

JJ frowns, leaning over the back of his seat. "There's another?"

"Think about who shares the exact DNA makeup of another person," Spencer says, almost rapturously, like he can't believe he thought of this.

"Reid, you're not seriously floating around the idea of an evil twin, are you?" Morgan asks skeptically, eyebrows raised.

"No, I'm not." He shakes his head. "I'm floating the idea of an eviler twin."

Fin wrinkles her nose. "What the hell are you talking about?" Sometimes Spencer is a wonderful genius, and then other times, it's like this.

"Traditionally, the concept is a good twin and an evil twin," Spencer explains, eyes on Fin. "But in this case, it's evil twin, eviler twin."

Everyone has matching 'you've got to be kidding me' looks on their faces, and after a long moment of silence, Fin lets out a snort. "Spencer, you really are a dork sometimes."

His jaw drops. "Hey!"

"But you're a cute dork." She reaches over and ruffles his hair gently. Not too much touch, she's not a monster, but enough for him to know she's joking.

Hotch looks like he's not paying attention, leaning over toward the window, his fingers pressing against his forehead. Fin frowns. Is he allowed to fly, what with the busted eardrum and all?

Clearly, Morgan's thinking the same thing. "Hotch?"

"Yeah?" Hotch's tone is dismissive and Fin can hear the pained undertone. He's hurting.

"You have been cleared to fly, haven't you?" Morgan asks, ducking his head so Hotch has to look at him.

But Hotch just closes his eyes and sets his jaw. Idiot. Fin knows for a fact he could permanently damage his eardrum if he oversteps his boundaries, and they'd do just fine without him for a few cases. But he's too damn obsessed with his work.

And there's nothing she can do about it, so she pulls out her iPod and her headphones and presses PLAY. The soft piano notes of "Bring Me to Life" by Evanescence start playing and she closes her eyes, waiting for the harshness of the hook. This is a nostalgic one for her; she remembers it playing at parties in college, dancing with the lights down low, a red solo cup in hand.

When they touch down in Ohio, Hotch delegates tasks as usual. He's taking Spencer and Fin to the crime scene, Emily and Rossi are going to the coroner's, Morgan's going to the local prison to check out Ryan's fan mail, and JJ's setting up at the police station.

They meet the sheriff, a tall, older man with a close-cropped haircut, at a small, isolated cottage, already swarming with cops, and the look he gives them upon first meeting isn't the best. "You must be the BAU. Sheriff Merrill Dobson."

Hotch shakes his hand firmly. "I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner. This is Agent Hazel Finley and Dr. Spencer Reid."

Dobson gives them both a grim nod. "Pleasure." He leads them toward the house and up the front steps. "You know, before Cortland Ryan, this town hadn't seen a homicide in over thirty years. He didn't just kill those six women. He killed a way of life."

Small town, 1,650 people. I bet he did. But Fin doesn't say anything.

"Now this thing's got people thinking he's come back," Dobson continues, taking off his sunglasses and leading the way inside the house.

"They don't really think that, do they?" Spencer asks, stepping back so Fin can go in ahead of him. What a gentleman.

"I guess when you've been scared by something–I mean, really scared–that fear's in you forever," Dobson replies.

"Let's stick to the facts," Hotch says, his tone making it clear that he's not into all of the rumors. "Were there any signs of forced entry?"

Dobson shakes his head. "None that we could find, but whoever killed Delilah Grennan opened up every window in this house before he left."

"That's a signature–" Spencer starts to say, walking over to one of the windows and examining it closely.

"From the previous murders," Fin finishes for him, nodding. "Yeah, I read about that." She went over the whole file on the plane; Cortland Ryan was a sick bastard and a seriously weird guy.

"And a detail we never released to the public," Dobson says, like he can't believe someone could've found that out.

"And it came out at the trial?" Hotch asks, brow furrowed.

"No, sir. Prosecution had Ryan nailed nine ways to Sunday. Didn't need it. So I'm hard-pressed to know how this copycat knew about those windows."

"The man we're looking for is most likely a fan who exhaustively studied the first killings," Hotch replies, turning around and staring at the walls, the ceiling, "and used them to form his own murder fantasies."

Fin rolls up the sleeves of her red blouse. It's hot in here; surely they have air conditioning? "Our killer knows this case inside and out, just as well as we do."

"Better, maybe, if he had actual contact with Ryan while he was incarcerated," Spencer adds.

"We sent one of our agents to Hawksville Prison to look into it," Hotch says, turning back to face the rest of them.

"And the semen?" asks Dobson.

Hotch shrugs. "Smuggled out of the prison, kept on ice, brought out on the anniversary of the execution."

"There's an entire cottage industry based on serial killer effects and memorabilia," Spencer explains, almost excitedly. "You can find absolutely anything if you know the right people."

"And you know this...how?" Fin asks, cutting her eyes at him slyly.

He frowns, and then the realization of what she's implying hits him like a freight train and a flush creeps up his neck. "Oh, uh–No, nothing like–I don't–Um, no."

"Okay, okay, I believe you." Fin pats his arm, smirking. She loves messing with his head; it's adorable. "But if I ever find out you have Ted Bundy sex toys, I'll have some questions."

Spencer chokes, avoiding her eyes, and Fin snickers. He's like an awkward twelve-year-old. Well, a cute one, anyway.

"You two, enough." Hotch sounds like an exhausted father. "The question is, is this a one-time commemoration, or is it just the beginning?"

Then his phone rings. He pulls it out, answers. "Hotchner. Yeah, JJ? Okay. We'll be right there."

"What was that about?" asks Fin, stepping closer.

"Someone delivered a letter to a local newspaper," Hotch replies. "Someone claiming to be the Angel Maker."

Well, shit. "So I'm guessing we should probably...get back?" Fin jerks her thumb toward the door, raising her eyebrows.

Hotch nods, opening the door and holding it open for her. "We'll need to examine the letter for authenticity."

"We're gonna examine a letter to make sure it's not a dead guy who wrote it? Doesn't that seem a little counterintuitive?" Fin asks. "Also, can I drive please?" Because the driver gets music privileges.

"Actually, if the copycat had close personal contact with Ryan while he was in prison, it's highly likely he has original letters and memorabilia," Spencer replies, sliding into the backseat of the SUV.

"That's one theory." Hotch nods. "And also no. I'm driving."

Fin juts out her bottom lip in a pout. "You're no fun, Aaron."

"Don't ever call me Aaron again."

Turns out Aaron doesn't like Coldplay, either, which explains a lot.

✩

"'I give you a legacy, a breath of life from the Angel Maker himself,'" Spencer reads, holding two sheets of paper side-by-side, one of which is the most recent letter and the other of which is an older letter written by Ryan. "'Those who prayed to forget me will one day see my face and shrink in fear.'"

Dobson sighs, pacing up and down. "That's the last thing people need right now." Fin can tell this case is seriously bugging him; it reminds her of the way the terrorist incident affected Detective Brustin. Something about cases like this resurfacing is personal, deep-rooted in your soul.

"Reid, how's it compare with the original correspondence?" Morgan asks, arms folded tightly across his chest. Fin hasn't noticed before how much heat he radiates, but now, leaning against the desk next to him, she can attest to the fact that he's like a human space heater.

"They share some compelling characteristics," Spencer mutters absently, walking over to one of the desks and laying the letters out next to each other. "I'd obviously like to look at it under magnification with a better light."

"Best guess, though, Spencer?" Fin asks, looking over his shoulder at the letters, which look really damn similar to her.

He blinks, swallows, then looks up at her. "I'd say it's authentic."

Well, damn. Fin shakes her head, running her fingers through her hair. This case keeps getting weirder and weirder. It's giving her a headache.

"How can this letter be authentic if the guy's been dead for a year?" asks Dobson, pulling off his reading glasses.

"Could be an elaborate forgery," Hotch replies, still examining the newest letter.

"Or it could be the genuine article, just written before his death." If Spencer could be any closer to the letters, he would be; he's sitting in a chair, pulled right up to the desk, with his arms spread out and his nose almost touching the paper.

Dobson says something else, but Fin's not paying attention; she's staring at the letters. Hotch said forgery, but she doesn't think so. "Hang on, look at this." She points at the word 'legacy' in the newest letter, and then at the word 'garden' in the older one, specifically at the letter 'g'. "See the lower loop in his lowercase 'g'? Typically, in graphological studies, the letter 'g' is an indicator of sexuality and libido, and using that standard, Ryan has a massively inflated lower loop, which means he has lots of sexual desire, up to sexual obsession–which fits–but that's not what I'm looking at.

"See here, at the end of his lower loop?" She points to the end of the 'g' in both words. "There's a little dot, like he pressed down harder at the end of the letter before moving on to the next. It's barely there, but it's identical in both letters, and there's no way a forger could time it that perfectly. It's got to be the real thing."

When no one says anything, Fin looks up, frowning. "Is everyone okay?" she chuckles, staring around at all of their shocked faces.

Spencer's jaw is slack, his eyes wide. "You–you studied graphology?" he asks, managing to configure his face out of the confused goldfish look.

"I was too broke to afford a TV in college," Fin replies, her lips quirking up in a grin. "So I had a lot of free time."

"You never cease to amaze me, sister." Morgan chuckles, then turns to Dobson. "We're going over the prison visitor logs to check who had multiple visits with Ryan, try to narrow our suspect pool."

A door opens to their right and a middle-aged woman in a white cardigan and flowy skirt walks through. She's walking with a purpose, determined about something, and judging by the mood of this whole town, Fin's got a pretty good idea of what that something is.

Dobson's eyebrows contract in a frown. "Sela?" He hastens over to her. "What are you doing here?"

"Is it true?" she asks, twisting her hands together. Fidgeting: a classic sign of anxiety. "There's a letter?"

"How did you know?" Dobson asks quietly.

"You didn't really think you could keep that quiet around here," Sela scoffs, shaking her head.

"The letter's not from him, not the way people are saying," Dobson replies.

"What does that mean?" Sela's eyes are searching his face, looking for some inkling of hope.

"It–" Dobson turns to his left, looking at Morgan, Reid, Hotch, and Fin for help.

Hotch opens his mouth to reply, but Fin is faster. She steps forward, pasting on a comforting smile. "It means that we think he had someone on the outside. A friend, a follower, maybe even a lover. Someone who cared enough about him to want to bring back his memory."

"Who–who are you?" Sela asks, her eyes on Fin now, confused.

"Agent Hazel Finley. I'm with the FBI." Fin can feel Hotch's frown on the back of her neck. Oops.

"But what if you're wrong?" she persists, looking between Fin and Dobson. "What if–?"

"There's no such thing as ghosts, Sela," Dobson says patiently, almost patronizingly.

"I'm not talking about a ghost!" Sela's almost angry now, and Fin hopes she can defuse this before it gets too bad. "I am talking about those rumors about the execution–"

Hang on a damn minute. "What rumors?" Fin asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

"How there were problems," Sela replies. "How it didn't work right."

"We didn't hear about this," Fin says, narrowing her eyes at Dobson. Way to be informant.

He ignores her, all his attention on Sela.

"What are you suggesting?" asks Hotch now, stepping up beside Fin.

"What if he's still out there?"

And there's the bomb drop. Fin closes her eyes, presses her index fingers to her temples. "Ma'am, Cortland Ryan is dead. There's a headstone, a coffin, and a medical examiner's report that all say the same thing."

Dobson just shakes his head, which makes Sela even more angry. "Don't do that. You think I'm the only one?" She points to the window. "Look outside. They want proof that he's dead."

Dobson cuts his eyes at Hotch, and a silent conversation passes between them, one that Fin's not interested in joining. "Ma'am, they need some time to talk a few things over. Can I walk you outside?"

Sela glances at Dobson, then looks back at Fin and nods, albeit reluctantly.

Fin takes her arm and leads her to the door and out into the warm sunshine. There's silence for a minute as they walk slowly through the parking lot, toward a blue Ford sedan that Sela asserts is her car.

Sela stops at the driver's side door and looks back at Fin. "How old are you, Agent Finley?"

"Um, I'm twenty-five." Fin's not sure how this applies to anything they've talked about, but she'll roll with it.

"My daughter was twenty-three when she was murdered by that bastard," Sela says quietly, her hand tight on the door handle. "I lost my baby girl, and now there are more parents losing theirs."

"Ma'am, I am very sorry for your loss, but I can promise you this is not Cortland Ryan." Fin places a hand on Sela's arm, hoping to comfort her. "People don't come back from the dead. This is just a copycat, a fan, someone obsessed with him."

"Who could be obsessed with someone who killed innocent women?" Sela whispers, horrified.

A sick, sick bastard. Fin bites her lip, wondering how to respond. "Someone with a mental illness, childhood trauma. Things like that affect people."

Sela's eyes search Fin's face with the same look she gave Dobson. Piercing, reaching for some sliver of hope. Then her expression softens. "I'm sorry."

The hell? Fin frowns. "Excuse me?"

"You've lost someone, too." A sad smile crosses Sela's lips. "I know that look."

"I–I'm sorry, ma'am, but you're mistaken." Lie lie lie lie.

Sela just shakes her head. "I saw that look on my own face for years after Robin died. You can't hide it, Agent Finley."

You're damn right I can. And I have. But Fin just nods and watches her drive away, chewing on her bottom lip. Strange how some days, no one knows what she's thinking, and then other days, a stranger can see right through her.

✩

Spencer doesn't much like technology. He prefers pen and paper, something to really do with his hands. Give him a computer and he's lost, but he can do anything with a pen and a sheet of paper. And God does he love letters.

But he's gotten everything he can off of these two, with a little help–no, a lot of help– from Fin, so now he calls Garcia, to check on the visitor log searches. With ten years to go through, he imagines it's a lot of work.

"Penelope's castle of cracking codes. Speak and be heard!"

"Hey, Garcia," Spencer replies. He won't admit it, but he loves her goofy moods. It's like a little ray of sunshine in a gloomy world of murders. "How are the visitor logs coming?"

"I'm halfway through year five, Boy Genius, and let me tell you, this guy had a metric ton of fans." Garcia sighs. "Who knew murderers with weird sexy time rituals could rack up such a following?"

"Anyone stick out to you yet?"

"If we're going under the search parameters of 'creepy', 'obsessional', and 'determinedly weird', I'd say almost all of them. Like I said, this isn't easy."

Spencer's gaze wanders over to the window, where he can see Fin talking to the sheriff's wife in the parking lot. Fin looks calm, relaxed, like she could do this all day.

"Earth to Reid," Garcia's voice trills in his ear. "What, did you suddenly solve Bell's theorem or something?"

"No, Bell's theorem has too many loopholes to be accurately experimented with," Spencer says absently, his eyes still on Fin. She has pretty hair.

"Reid, is there a girl around? You sound like you're staring at a girl."

"What? No! No girls."

Garcia gasps. "Wait a minute, this is about Fin, isn't it? Are you staring at her?"

Spencer looks determinedly down at the letters on the desk in front of him. "No."

"Well, obviously you're not now, but were you?"

"No!"

"Oh, my god, you think she's pretty."

There is no good answer to this. Spencer can't say he doesn't, because that would be a lie, but if he says he does, then Garcia will make fun of him and Morgan will find out and there will be neverending teasing. The Spencer Reid paradox? And–oh, no–Fin's walking back toward the door, her conversation with Sela over now. She could hear him.

So he just says, "Hang on, Garcia, I have to finish analyzing these letters. I'll call you back later."

"Okay, lover boy." He can hear Garcia smirking through the phone. "Sure. Garcia out!"

"Who was that?" Fin asks, walking toward him, the door falling shut behind her. She looks really nice in red.

"Just Garcia. I was checking on how the prison log searches are going." Spencer hopes his voice sounds normal.

"Ah." Fin nods slowly. Please believe me. "How are they going?"

"She says he had a lot of weird fans," Spencer replies, leaning back against the desk.

"Not surprising. Serial killers rarely have normal fans," Fin says, her lips quirking up in a grin. "You want some coffee?"

"You're offering to get me coffee?"

"No, I'm asking you if you want to make out, but in code."

Spencer almost chokes. "W-what?"

Fin bursts out laughing. "Yes, I'm offering to get you coffee! God, Spencer, you're adorable."

Phew. "Y-yeah, I'd take some coffee."

"Your usual truckload of sugar?"

"Yes, please."

Spencer watches her walk to the coffee bar, fighting to keep his jaw from dropping. Fin scares him, but in a good way. He's never met someone so smart who could keep him on his toes like that, be so confident so effortlessly.

He wonders, deep down inside, how long it'll take for the butterflies to go away.

~

hehe boy's already the most adorable thing ever. i love him sm

also thank you guys so so so much for 350 reads!! it seems so minor in comparison to other books but i'm seriously so grateful for all of you, wherever you live (also it's wild to me that people are reading this story from places like australia and el salvador like wHAT that's so cool)

and i promise i'm not gonna drag all of their cases out to multiple chapters (maybe), but i'm picking a few different ones that help flesh out fin's backstory and making them a little longer so that we can get to the nitty-gritty of her ~childhood trauma~ woohooooooo

okay i love you all so much! smile today and be happy!!! <33