Criminal Minds Fanfic

by spinner

67 Bodies

1  2  3  4  5 

6  7  8  9 10

Epilogue

 1

“What’s our situation,” General Scott demanded.  His aide snapped to attention without saluting, which is to say the uniformed young woman drew herself tall and tight, and timed her step with his step as she followed him down the long corridor. 

“At approximately 1 p.m. this afternoon, Dr. Spencer Reid was involved in a high speed chase along the GW Parkway.  He was forcibly wrecked off the road at a point near Dead Run, and then was dragged from his vehicle and taken from the scene.”

General Scott went scarlet and inhaled deeply.

“Not again,” the general moaned.  “What other vehicles were involved?”

“Two Porsche Panamera Turbos.  Black.  One was located at Dulles, one at Reagan National.  Fake Russian diplomatic plates.  Untraceable VINs.”

“Stolen?”

“Presumed, yes.”     

“Do we know which vehicle Dr. Reid was transported in?” General Scott asked.  

“No, we do not.  One was used as a decoy to buy time for the actual target to escape.  Park Police and Virginia State Troopers were on the scene at Dead Run in under two minutes but managed to lose both cars, because they stopped to help wounded bystanders.”

“What is Dr. Reid’s condition?”

“True condition unknown.  Dr. Reid is presumed to have at least minor injures due to the blood evidence at the scene at Dead Run.  There was no blood found in the trunk of the vehicle at Dulles.   The vehicle at Reagan is being processed.”

“Any witnesses?”  

“Dozens of witnesses, the best of which is another member of the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit.  He was also in the crash.”

“Who?”

“Agent Derek Morgan.  He has minor injuries, cuts and abrasions, bullet grazes.  His condition was described as shaken but responsive.  Combative.  He has returned to Quantico to brief the rest of his team.  We can presume they mean to locate Dr. Reid on their own.”

“The FBI’s jurisdiction is stateside.  If Dr. Reid has been taken out of the country, the BAU will need help to track his whereabouts.  Do we know who has taken him?”

“No, we do not.”

“Do we know why they have taken him?”

“No, we do not.”

“Lieutenant Spaulding, is there anything we do know?  I need to talk to Dr. Reid’s SAIC at once.”

“Agent Aaron Hotchner?”

“Oh Lord.  Hotchner?  Get him on the phone.  This minute.”

2

Morgan told Hotch everything that had occurred.  ***Flashback***

***Reid looked into his side-view mirror for the fifth time that minute, then threw a glance back over his left shoulder.  He shrank down in the seat, stopped singing along with the radio, and cast another nervous look behind. 

Morgan studied the rearview mirror.  He spotted two slim, sleek, black vehicles approaching, coming over the Humpback Bridge at a fast clip in spite of the on-going construction.  They were like sharks streaking through the rest of the multi-colored fish cruising along on the light-drenched pavement river of the George Washington Parkway. 

Derek wondered what their hurry was.  It was a beautiful fall day.  The sun was shining.  The autumn trees along both sides of the road were alive with color.  Leaves drifted lazily down as they drove along.   Willow trees waved on the bike path and jogging trail by the river’s edge.  This was a day that should be savored, not rushed.

“Morgan, I don’t want you to panic.”

“About what, Pretty Boy?”

“I have to ask you an important question.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to drive or shoot?” Reid asked, turning off the radio. 

From the dead serious expression on Reid’s face, Morgan understood at once that he was not kidding.   Morgan looked at the two black cars again, wondering what about them was making Reid go pale and dramatic.  They had diplomatic plates—Russian Federation.  Why did they make Reid smell danger in the wind? 

This was not supposed to be a dangerous day at all.  They had headed into DC that morning so Morgan could be in federal court for one of their recent cases.  Reid had spent an hour or two in court as an expert witness on a different case, then spent two hours devouring exhibits in the nearby museums.  Morgan had located him at the Air and Space Museum, following one of the school tours, quietly adding comments about each exhibit after the docent’s monotone rambling finished.  By the end of the tour, the group of school kids was paying more attention to Reid than the docent.   

This was such a beautiful fall day.  Why did this have to happen now?   Morgan let go of his relaxed state and got down to business. 

“Being as you can’t hit the broadside of a semi, you’d better drive,” Derek told Spencer. 

“Trade places with me,” Reid agreed, unbuckling his seatbelt, sliding across the cabin of the SUV.  Morgan felt Reid’s foot slide under his on the gas pedal, felt his slender frame slither under him on the seat.  Morgan wriggled over Reid to get to the passenger side, and settled himself as Reid steadied the SUV.

“Can I ask who I’m shooting?” Derek said, pulling out his gun, checking the clip, slamming it back in.  The vehicles were nearly on them.  Reid squinted tight at the rearview, then the side view, then down cautiously out of the open driver’s window. 

“It’s not Korsakova.  She drives a dark blue Jaguar XK, says they handle much better than Porches,” Reid said, his voice unsteady.   He raised the driver's window up.  The SUV revved into overdrive, and took off, leaving the black vehicles temporarily tangled in traffic behind. 

Morgan was roughly reminded why they didn’t let Reid drive on a regular basis, as they weaved in and out and around the other cars.  They blew under the arches of the Key Bridge like a cat on fire, their engine echoing off the walls before getting open air once more.  The sign for Spout Run said to keep left.  Reid moved towards the left, and the two black cars followed.  Spencer waited until the last second to peel away to the right.  Neither car was fooled for long.  They bumped over the wide triangle bisected by yellow lines, and veered back onto the GW Parkway.  The two pursuit vehicles followed, blessed with maneuverability that the SUV could not match. 

As Reid and Morgan jetted under the Memorial Bridge, the first bullet hit the side of the door.  Reid cringed down towards the steering wheel.  They slid back into the left lane in order to get around a car coming in from the merge area.  The car in the left lane simply would not let them around, and the car on the right didn’t have room to properly merge.  Derek finally pulled out his badge and slammed it flat against the windshield.  The teen boy in front of them jolted with surprise and dialed back on the speed, allowing the SUV in front of him. 

The two pursuing vehicles went around the teen on either side, spinning his car to the left side median, leaving him shaking and listening to his heart beat loudly.  The car to the right jerked to a stop and horns blared around it. 

“Put on the sirens.  We need to make room before someone gets hurt,” Morgan said.  Reid touched the switch.  Lights and sirens blared, but it didn’t seem to make any difference to the traffic around them.  Very few vehicles parted aside, or even bothered to slow down to get out of the way. 

“Stupid people!” Reid shouted in frustration. 

“Who is Korsakova?” Morgan asked.  “What the hell is going on, Reid!?  Talk to me!”

Reid was too busy driving to answer, eyes darting around the lanes, calculating distances.  He was not too busy for a slightly hysterical muffled laugh.  Morgan thought he might be muttering in Japanese for a moment or two, as if channeling evil spirits.  It was moments like this when he was reminded how much about the young genius remained a mystery to the entire team.  

The trailing vehicles divided, one hugging the right door and one keeping close to the rear of the SUV.  Morgan glanced right as Reid took the SUV that direction, hoping to force the Porsche to their right towards the low rock wall and the line of traffic merging in from the Roosevelt Bridge.  Reid was hoping to get it tangled in traffic and unable to follow.  The ploy did not work though. 

Both lanes veered left and they had no choice but to follow.  Reid was slowing down again, because weaving through the other cars was getting more and more difficult.  Clearly whoever was following them felt Reid needed to be convinced to pull over.  Bullets took out the passenger window behind the driver’s seat.  Safety glass sprayed through the interior of the SUV.  Reid yelped loudly as greenish glass sprinkles went down the back of his neck.   He took his eyes off the road to stare at the Porsche on their left, and he blanched white.  He ducked back down as more bullets peppered the SUV. 

“It’s Davydov.  Viktor Davydov,” Reid stammered, “and he is very, very angry.”

“Shoot out their tires?” Morgan asked.

“Panameras have front wheel drive, but in all likelihood taking out their…”

“I’ll aim for the front wheels then….”

“…..front wheels would surely send the car into an uncontrolled tangent.  Hold on!” Reid shrieked.

They reached a relatively-open area between traffic groups, and Reid took off.  The SUV careened through the lanes for several sickening seconds, catching up to the next pack of traffic.  Reid managed to dodge most of the ordinary drivers with a close call or two.  The black vehicle hugging their backside rode up the grassy median to their left, dodging trees in order to get close enough to swerve into their path.  Reid veered away, but the smaller vehicle was far more maneuverable.  It clipped the front left panel going around them and getting in front of them.  A bullet smashed into the windshield, wrinkling the material with cracks and scars.  Another bullet followed.  And another.  If the safety glass had not held, Reid would have had an aerated skull, a fact he was all too aware of as he studied the bullet patterns in the glass.  The three indentations followed his path of ducking down to the steering wheel.  Luckily for him, the safety glass of the windshield was stronger than the side windows, and it was holding, for now.

A frightened woman with a car full of children jerked from the left lane to the right to get out of their way, and she side-swiped another car.  Both vehicles went towards the short rock walls to the far right. 

“Are they okay?!” Reid shouted.   “ARE THEY OKAY?!!”

“I don’t know, Reid!” Morgan shouted back. 

“Oh fuck,” Spencer whimpered.  He was eyeing the low wall and the sheer drop to the right.  Any car going over would roll down a rock embankment and into the Potomac River.  The left side of the road was bordered by a rock face that lead only upwards. 

Reid floored the gas.  They raced over the bridge at Windy Run.  When the grassy median reappeared to their left, the SUV went through the patch of green, threaded two trees, lost the mirror off the passenger side.   Reid tightened his grip on the wheel, hands like clawed talons.  He was white as a sheet.  He whipped the wheel around.  They arced back onto the northbound side of the parkway and resumed speed.    

As they went past the woman and her children, Reid slowed down.  She was on the phone with one hand, soothing a crying child with the other.   The driver of the other car was also on the phone.  She didn’t look nearly as shaken as the mother did.  Both cars had stopped at the low wall and did not go over.   Both women froze as they saw the SUV had returned.  They had entirely different reactions.  The mother started yelling angrily, waving her fists at the SUV.  The other driver burst into tears. 

“They’re okay.  They’re okay,” Reid chanted softly, nodding his head and exhaling a deep breath.   Morgan shook his head in disbelief, patting Reid’s shaking arm.   Only Reid would stop a high speed chase where his life was in danger, in order to check on bystanders who had been in his path of escape. 

The SUV took off again, narrowly missing a small red Mercedes which ducked directly in their path instead of away from them.  The two black pursuit vehicles reappeared over the hill.  The red Mercedes swiped one of the black Porsches and slowed it down, but didn’t take it out.  Another series of shots was fired, not at Reid and Morgan, but at the red Mercedes.   There was return fire from the Mercedes. 

“It’s Davydov,” Reid decided.   The fact this mystery man was now firing at innocent civilians had cemented the conclusion about his identity in Spencer’s mind.  Morgan didn’t like that one bit.  The SUV did another wide arc, blew back across the grassy median to the southbound lanes, and raced across Windy Run once again.  

Derek held tight to his stomach and fired twice out the rear window on the driver’s side as Davydov’s car regained its footing and approached again on the left.  Reid flinched at the gunfire but continued concentrating on the road.   They could only see one pursuit car now.  Where had the other one gone?  Had the driver of the red Mercedes gotten in a lucky shot?

“Taki!  What have you gotten me in to!” Reid shouted.  The other black Porsche appeared out of nowhere.

“Reid?  What are you talking about?!” Morgan demanded.  “Who is Taki?”

“Zero to sixty in 3.3 seconds, quite impressive,” Reid muttered.

The second Porsche looked battered but not out of the picture as it was cutting across their path.  Reid bounced diagonally across the bridge at Donaldson Run.  Morgan could not look down.  The bloody sickening ravine yawned at them, and there was no way the guardrails were going to hold the SUV if it collided with them.

The SUV managed to stay on the pavement by splitting the two lanes with a large Jeep and an even larger Hummer 2.   Horns blared at them from all sides.  Cars ahead fled out of the way once they had crossed the bridge.  Reid swung the SUV sideways.  They careened towards a scenic overlook past Donaldson Run, and Morgan held his breath.  He knew of at least two suicide attempts which had succeeded from this very point, using the scenic overlook as a ramp into eternity.  How desperate was Reid to escape Davydov?

“Reid, I did not bring a wetsuit,” Morgan said, daring to imagine their path over the drop.  The Potomac River raced below the rocky embankment.  It looked serene on the surface, but the undertows below the calm were deadly.  No matter.  The nasty, vicious drop to the rocks would kill them first if Reid didn’t keep the SUV on the pavement.   The joke about the wetsuit was pointless.  They wouldn’t reach the water alive if they went over. 

A series of bullets slammed into the SUV, and one of the back tires went flat.  It started thumping hard as the vehicle limped along, shooting sparks from the rim that was catching the pavement.  Morgan took out a new clip and changed, throwing the spent clip into the seat.  He could hear sirens other than their own.  He could see police on the other side of the highway, and also coming up the rearview.   The red Mercedes appeared with a red and blue stick-on police light clinging to the roof.  It had joined the pursuit.  Was it an off-duty cop?  An M.P. who worked at the Pentagon?  Possibilities raced through Morgan’s mind. 

The SUV raced over the bridge at Gulf Branch.  Up the slight hill, the metal guardrail in the middle of the parkway mocked them, blocking them in.  No way to turn around at this point.  Glebe Road.  Fort Marcy.  Trees dotted the grassy median, but the metal guardrail was there still too.  Pimmit Run went by. 

“What exactly did you do to Davydov?” Morgan asked.  Reid shook his head, unable to answer.  He was concentrating too hard.  “Reid, WHAT did you DO?!”

“I’ve never even met the man!” Reid defended, his voice rising. 

“Who is he!?”

“Can we talk about this LATER?!” Reid screamed. 

One black pursuit Porsche went around them to the right.   Davydov’s car went past on the left.   The two vehicles were converging ahead of them, attempting to block their path. 

Reid continued to stress the SUV, pedal to the floor, face tight with fear.  They managed to get through before the two cars were in place.  The lanes veered right, up a small hill, past a wide median with lots of trees.  The road went up and left, and the exit for the CIA Headquarters went past.  They would soon reach Turkey Run.   Where the hell was Reid headed?  Did he plan to race all the way back to Quantico with these two cars in pursuit?  Why didn’t he slow down and let the police and troopers catch up? 

Thwarted once before, the two black pursuit vehicles again converged ahead of the SUV.  Reid and Morgan went past Turkey Run, past the wide median with more trees.  They passed the low wall as Reid started murmuring numbers.  

“36.0.  36.1.  36.2.”

Mileage, Morgan realized.  The two black vehicles roared ahead and stopped, touched noses across the parkway.  Occupants got out of the cars.  A young man in a fine, tailored suit raised a submachine gun, like a scene from an old gangster movie.  He was grinning with excitement. 

“FLOORBOARD!” Reid warned, taking a death grip on the wheel, slamming both feet on the gas.  Morgan unhitched his seatbelt and went down.   Reid slipped out of his belt and went down hard to the seat of the SUV.  Bullets sprayed the windshield, and it gave way.  Bits and pieces of green safety glass went everywhere.  The spent clip in the seat was flying in the air.  So was Reid’s nearly-empty cup of coffee. 

The SUV collided with the two merged cars, and the SUV lurched upward.  Blue sky sailed past the open area where the windshield should have been.  Trees and grass appeared next.  Gravity caught up with the sailing, rolling SUV, yanked it back to earth hard and sharp.  Tarmac and debris and green glass and tufts of grass and dirt slammed through empty windshield next.  Then they saw sky and trees again.  Then grass and dirt again.  Morgan realized they were rolling uncontrollably down into the basin median at Dead Run, the one filled with green grass and trees.   He grabbed Reid and braced for the next lurching roll, hoping they didn’t get a tree limb or trunk through the open area of the cab.    

When the SUV came to a stop, Morgan smelled blood and coffee and grass.  They had rolled through the middle of the grassy median and crashed against a brace of trees.   They were lying on the ceiling of the cab on a bed of glass pieces and leaves and wooden splinters.  Morgan heard footsteps.  He heard sirens.  He heard his phone ringing.  He was lying on top of Reid, whose limbs were all  akimbo. 

Spencer was shaking and whimpering.  “Ow, ow, ow….Morgan….off….please…..”

“Are you okay?” Morgan murmured as he pulled himself up slowly.  Reid’s face was a mask of pain.  It was streaked with blood.  He put a hand under his back and came away with blood on his fingers.  Morgan was dripping blood down onto Reid from above, from a slice on his left shoulder.  Droplets sprinkled onto Reid’s pale face and he shuddered.  Spencer opened his mouth, inhaled sharply, and let out a horrible scream.  He lurched downward by a foot.  Morgan couldn’t understand what was happening until he heard Russians speaking outside the demolished SUV.  The cold-hearted bastards were laughing.  He could see three sets of legs, black pants, and black shoes.  Reid lurched another foot away, screaming and kicking and flailing every inch of the path.  They were dragging him out of the car by his left leg.  Morgan scrambled around, grabbed Reid’s outstretched arm, held tight, held his hand, clutched his fingers.  Reid continued to slip away.  Reid screamed again, this time at him. 

“LET GO!”

Morgan wanted to hold tight, but Reid’s blood-slicked fingers slid from Derek’s hand.  Terrified brown eyes were glued to Morgan as Reid vanished, was dragged upside-down and backwards out of the hole where the window should have been.   Morgan was stunned speechless.  He saw the thin trails of blood where Reid had been dragged, and heard him screaming again.   Bullets sprayed the SUV.  One grazed Derek’s arm, another his cut shoulder.  His main concern was not the pain, but the fear of a fuel leak and an explosion.

“MORGAN!!!!” Reid wailed.  “STOP!  PERESTAN!  PERESTAN!  PAZJOLISTA!”

The bullets stopped.  Derek fumbled for his gun as he scrambled backwards out of the driver’s side window area.  Tires squealed as Reid was forced into the back of the Porsche.     Morgan got to his feet, gun in hand, wanting to fire at the escaping black car, but he worried he would hit Reid, and so he held his fire.

The Park Police and Virginia State Troopers all popped up over the hill at Dead Run and nearly collided with one another as they stopped to see to Morgan.  Only the red Mercedes went past the scene, fixated on the black Porsches.  Derek pined his hopes on that blood red streak of sound and movement as it raced by him. ***

Morgan shook himself out of the memories once he had finished relaying the events to Hotch.  He was staring up into Aaron’s dark eyes, feeling scared and miserable, like he had let Hotch down, like he had let Reid down even more.  The rest of the team stood by, sympathy and support in their faces, maybe JJ most of all, because she knew how it felt when your partner vanishes but you come back safe.  Derek fought hard and shut his emotions off, squeezed away the tears clogging his throat, and rubbed at his bandaged left arm.  Garcia put both hands on Derek’s shoulders and rubbed soothingly.  Prentiss stroked his other hand. 

“Don’t worry, Morgan.  We’ll find Reid.  When we get our hands on the bastards who did this, I promise to let you shoot them,” Hotch said deeply. 

Morgan nodded his thanks, swallowing the lump in his throat and letting it settle into his heart. 

3

“What time is it?” General Scott asked as the glass doors were held open for him.

“It’s 4:00 pm now, sir, Washington time,” came his aide’s crisp reply.

“I’m here to see…..” the general snapped at the back of the first man he saw, who immediately turned to face him.  “Oh.  It’s you.”

“General Scott,” Hotch replied coldly.  Clearly there were some hard feelings between the two men, but neither one was forthcoming with details.

“I’m here about….”

“Agent Jureau told me to expect you.  How could you possibly still be in command of Reid’s security detail?  Doing about the same job as always, I see.  Come into the conference room.”

“After you.”

“JJ, bring Korsakova to the conference room,” Hotch called out.   “Garcia!  Get back on Reid’s computer.  See what you can find about anyone named Davydov with a connection to Reid.  Find out who ‘Taki’ is?  What is that?  Is it Chinese?  Is it Japanese?”

“Japanese,” Morgan insisted.   

“I’m on it,” the tech promised, sprinting away.

JJ returned with a thin, blonde woman of medium height, in her mid-forties, with light brown eyes and a small nose.   She was  dressed like a college professor in a suit of smoldering brown, creamy beiges, and buttery caramel colors that echoed the autumn season.  If you passed her on the street, you wouldn’t look twice at her.  She was so completely ordinary and unthreatening at first glance.  You saw her clothes, not her face.  Her Russian accent was the only aspect of her person which might have piqued your curiosity.  The voiced ‘H’ she used when she said Aaron’s last name drove him fucking nuts. 

“Agent Khotchner, I’m a linguist.  Why is it when anyone with a patronymic gets too close to Dr. Reid, I’m the first person you pull in for questioning?” Korsakova did not pull any punches from the start. 

“Linguist?  Really?  You’ve tried three times in the last ten years to kidnap Reid,” Hotch replied.  He wasn’t pulling punches either.  Honesty would seem to be the basis of their relationship, if they both weren’t trying to figure out how to lie to one another while delivering at least a fraction of the truth for sincerity’s sake.  

“I succeeded once,” she smiled wolfishly, giving the blushing General Scott a quick wink. 

“Then you shouldn’t be surprised you’re here,” Hotch hissed. 

“If this government kept better tabs on Dr. Reid, he wouldn’t slip surveillance so often.”

“We’d be astonished if he didn’t slip our surveillance once in a while,” the general answered her this time. 

“How long has Dr. Reid been missing?” Korsakova asked.

“Three hours,” Hotch interjected.  Korsakova watched Morgan’s face wrinkle with pain and dread, took in his condition and his bandaged arm.  Sympathy washed through her features, followed by concern. 

“Why did you wait so long to contact me?”

“I couldn’t find your new cell number,” Hotch admitted.   “We had to break into Reid’s computer to find it.”

“You couldn’t dial directory assistance? I am listed: Yulia Korsakova, linguist.  Three hours, Aaron?”

The concern was sincere and touching.   Korsakova stood up from the chair and pulled out her cell phone, dialing quickly, chattering in Russian to the first voice that answered.  The team pulled back from the table and let her talk, pace, talk, pace.  The team talked among themselves.  General Scott and his aide stared at each other and watched every move of Korsakova’s animated conversation.

“What’s she saying?” Hotch asked Prentiss. 

“ ‘Alexei, R16 is missing.  He’s been taken. I need you to put out feelers.  I don’t care what you’re doing.  Drop everything else.  That’s right.  R16’,” Prentiss repeated to him.  

“She’s kidnapped Reid before?” Morgan asked.

“You would not believe the lengths she’s have gone to,” Hotch said. 

“Why?” Prentiss pressed.  “She says she’s a linguist.”

“That’s her cover.  She’s a former spy wrangler who handled the scouting and recruitment of foreign human resources which might prove useful to the Soviet government, when it was the Soviet government.”

“Now that it’s the Russian Federation?” Morgan asked.

“Her title changed, her location changed, her citizenship changed, but her job remains much the same,” JJ said.

“Ooooh,” Emily whispered.  “A young genius with more degrees than a full circle would prove wery useful to the Russian government, I bet.”

Morgan fingered the wrap on his left hand, shaking his head. 

“Reid has never said anything about being tailed, by Russians or friendlies either one.”

“You can’t be surprised to learn the government would want to keep tabs on a resource like Reid.  General Scott is in charge of Reid’s security detail.  Officially he is only there to observe and report back.  Reid is under strict orders to never mention that he knows they are there,” Hotch explained.   “If they’re doing their job right, you never see them.”  

“Besides,” Prentiss murmured.  “Reid is probably worried if he mentions being tailed, you’ll think he’s slipping over the border into Schizophrenia-stan.”

“You said Korsakova succeeded once?” Morgan questioned. 

“You know that aunt in Wyoming where Reid spent Christmas one year?” JJ asked.

“Yeah?”

“He doesn’t really have an aunt in Wyoming,” JJ said. 

Hotch half-smiled as he explained, “Reid was going home to see his mother.  Korsakova managed to nab him in Cincinnati between connecting flights.  Took him by private plane to Meeteese.  Kept him in a cabin in the woods.   He played nice for a couple days, then he drugged Korsakova’s eggnog and managed to escape.  He hitchhiked two days across Wyoming to get away from her.  She was so pissed.”

Hotch winced at the memory of Reid, standing in the lobby of the Super 8 in Thermopolis, waiting patiently for Hotch to pick him up, passing the time by reorganizing the tourist brochures in the stands by the door.  Spencer had been so nonchalant about the entire episode, but Hotch could tell he had been shaken up by it.       

Korsakova silenced her phone with a sharp whack, and got their attention.

“I have put out a message that anyone who sees Dr. Reid or hears of him should contact me at once, for a substantial reward, mind you.  I would like to leave now.”

“That’s not going to be possible,” Hotch said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Khotchner, I can stand here and argue my innocence in this matter, or I can be out there, helping you search, reaching other contacts who might know more than we do.   Do you understand what I am saying?  I am more valuable to you out there.  You know how good I am at locating and tracking what I want.”

“How do we know you’re not going to go underground and disappear yourself?” the general demanded, getting in Korsakova’s face.  She stared him down with dangerous eyes, and then gave her full attention back to Hotch.

“Khotchner, how long have we known each other?  A decade?  More?”

“London, 1999.”

“I recall wery well.  Agent Gideon and you were part of the team escorting Dr. Reid to a conference at Oxford.  You never let him go abroad alone.”

“With good reason,” Hotch snapped.

“Dr. Reid slipped your leash in order to sneak back to London and prowl through Whitechapel in the dead of night.  He stayed away too long, and you discovered he was missing.  You and Gideon were all aflutter.   By morning, you had everyone from Scotland Yard to Interpol on the lookout for him.  I found him wandering the streets near Cheapside.”

“Yes,” Hotch nodded. 

“I could have taken Dr. Reid then, could have made him disappear so easily.  You would have never seen him again.  But what did I do?  I escorted him back to the hotel in Oxford.  I scolded him for creeping away from you, complimented him for being able to do so in the first place.  I handed him right back to you.   Safe.  Secure.  Unharmed.  Did I not?”

“You did.  It took you nine hours to give him back though.”

“Khotchner, we are on the same side here.   We both want to protect Dr. Reid.  Have I ever misled you?”

“Yes.  Often.”

“Why can’t we let bygones be bygones?  I didn’t bring up Rotterdam, did I?  Perhaps I should.   Would you like to see my scar?”

“No.”

“Were you surprised I survived?  Do you consider the mission in Rotterdam a failure or a success?”

“Neither.  Both.  I was doing my job.”

“So was I.  When someone like you asks me for my help, I understand you must have very good reasons.  Do you really think what I want is to stand here chatting with you about past misunderstandings?  Let me out there so I may search too.  My resources.  They are very …… resourceful.”

“Give me your passport.”

“What?”

“You will surrender your passport.”

“You wound me.  I am an American citizen.”

“You will surrender your passport, Korsakova, or I will hold you in the darkest, deepest, rankest cell until Reid is found.”

“What if he is never found?” she pondered.  Hotch’s face went murderous for more than a fleeting second.  Korsakova took a tentative step back from him.  “You enjoy this, don’t you?” she asked. 

“What?”

“Intimidating innocent people.  You’re quite good at it.”

“Give me your passport.”

She sighed, retrieved the small wallet from her satchel, and put it in his hands.

“Talking with you is like talking with my ex-husbands.   Like bulldogs.  You sink your teeth into your opinion and you refuse to let go.  Would it make any difference at all if I swear to you I had no idea about this?”

“No.  Even if you didn’t take Reid yourself, I know you have connections that would be more than happy to lend you a hand, do the dirty work for you, and give Reid to you in the end, whenever they were done with him.  So don’t play innocent with me, Korsakova.  I know you far too well.”

“How well do you really know me, Khotchner?  All you have to do is ask me my whereabouts for the last week.  I have been at a conference in the city for nearly four days.  You can easily verify my alibi – I’ve been seen by dozens of witnesses each of those days.  I called Dr. Reid on Monday.  We had lunch in the city on Tuesday.  Oyamel.  Do you know it?”

“Yes,” Hotch replied.  It was one of Reid’s favorite places to eat because of the grotesque Dia de los Muertos figurines that lined the outer windows. 

“We made plans to have dinner next Friday or Saturday, before I must leave town again, this time for a conference in Prague.”

“What’s your point?”

“If my evil intent was to kidnap the boy from under your very nose, would I be telling you that I planned to meet with him again right before leaving town?”

“He’s not a boy,” Hotch growled under his breath.  

“You might be trying to throw off our scent,” Morgan interjected. 

“Maybe you had plans to take him Friday or Saturday, but someone jumped the gun on you, beat you to the target,” JJ said. 

“Now you want back out there so you can find out who swooped in for the snatch before you could do the deed yourself,” Prentiss speculated.  

“If anyone in my purview has taken Dr. Reid without my permission, there will be dire consequences, I assure you.  I want out there because I know what kind of danger the dear boy could be in.  If it is in my power to do so, I will collect Dr. Reid, and bring him back to you at once.  Agent Khotchner, you of all people know what I would do to protect Dr. Reid.”

“What would you do, and why?” Prentiss asked, hinting at a smile.  Korsakova smiled icily in reply, but offered no explanation.  Prentiss looked to Hotch, who shook his head no. 

“Korsakova, you are free to go.  If you find Reid, you call me.  No nine hour delay this time,” Hotch warned the “linguist”.

“I will call you at once,” Korsakova said, fishing around in her satchel once more.  She produced a small card and gave it to Hotch. 

“What is this?”

“It’s my contact information.  This has my home address.  It has my work address.  It has all my cell phone numbers.  It even has my email.  See that your records are updated.  I will contact you as soon as I know anything.  You do the same for me.”

“I will.”

“Three hours, Aaron?” she murmured, shaking her head.  “If I know Spencer, he is out there in this November chill with nothing more than a sweater vest and ball point pen.”

“He’s got a sidearm,” Morgan interjected.

“Unless they’ve taken it from him,” Prentiss coughed.   

“You’re letting him wear a gun again?” Korsakova scolded Hotch. 

“Yes,” Hotch defended. 

“Has his accuracy improved?”

“Yes.”

“Good to know.  He may manage to shoot his captors instead of his rescuers.  I will be in touch, give you regular updates.”

Korsakova spun and headed for the door, outside which Garcia was waiting to come in. 

“Wait,” Hotch called.  Korsakova paused, faced him again.  “Yulia, I’m sorry about Rotterdam.”

“No reason to apologize.  You were doing your job.  We both know what happened that day and why.  If I had had my hands free, you would be the one predicting weather changes with your knee,” she replied, giving him a crisp smirk before marching away.   

General Scott made his presence known once again, drawing Hotch’s attention. 

“We expect to be kept abreast as well.”

“Of course, general,” Hotch agreed.  Scott leaned to Hotch to murmur quietly. 

“Did you really shoot her in Rotterdam?”

“I shot her in the leg,” Hotch replied. 

"Why not go for the kill?” Scott wondered.

“I’d rather not talk about Rotterdam, if you don’t mind.”

“Whatever,” Scott sighed.  “As his SAIC, I want you to know that if Dr. Reid keeps disappearing like this on my watch, making me look like an idiot, I’m going to chain that tweedy little fucker’s ankle to his desk.”

Hotch agreed with a smirk, giving General Scott and his aide a nod goodbye before they departed the conference room. 

4

Garcia entered the conference center and closed the door. 

“Anyone reach Rossi yet?” Hotch asked.

“No, I got his voice mail again,” Prentiss fussed.

“Everyone needs a vacation,” JJ said. 

“What do you have on Davydov?” Hotch demanded of Garcia. 

Penelope sat down at one of the chairs and plunked a laptop down on the table. 

“Okay,” she expelled a dismayed huff as she rooted around her information network.   “Where to begin?  Viktor Valerievich Davydov.  Former Russian operative.  Current Russian mobster.   Ex-pat Brit mom, dead.   Ukrainian army tough-guy dad, dead.   One sister, dead.  One aunt, dead.  One uncle, disappeared.   As far as I can tell, everyone who has ever been close to this man is dead, except Korsakova.”

“She’s very adept with firearms.  Chalk her longevity up to her own survival skills,” Hotch said.  Everyone stared at him, blinking.  “Go on,” Hotch said to Garcia.

“Davydov is the on-again, off-again boyfriend of Dr. Moriko Takahashi,” Garcia added. 

“Which does not bode well for her,” Prentiss put in.    

“Davydov is allegedly involved in drug running.  The goods come out of South America, are routed through West Africa, and then pushed up through Europe and the Balkans.  Davydov handles the Balkan link in the chain, but he’s not shy about getting his hands dirty when it comes to finding new sources, or eliminating the competition.  He’s wanted by Interpol in connection with 17 different murders, not the least of which was the machine gun massacre of his former partner, Ilya Yashin, and Yashin’s wife, their two kids, and mother-in-law,” Garcia catalogued.

“What else?” Hotch said, sensing she was holding back.  Could it get worse?

“Dr. Moriko Takahashi has been missing for six weeks.  She’s a geneticist specializing in abnormalities in human DNA.    She wrote her doctoral thesis on the rise in birth defects in Russia’s former satellite nations and the surrounding independent nations since the Chernobyl disaster.”

“Way to make friends with the Russians,” Prentiss whispered. 

“On the contrary, they were highly supportive of her work, and gave her an open invitation to come and do field work whenever she wanted, with full cooperation.  Maybe they were hoping she could offer insight on how to prevent the birth defects.  She took advantage of the invitation, and did visit, often, which was probably how she met Davydov in the first place,” Garcia supplied. 

“Do we know what has happened to Dr. Takahashi?  What does this have to do with Reid?” Hotch wondered. 

“She and Reid were in a few graduate courses together, became friends.  They correspond.  She and her staff were last seen in Serbia six weeks ago.”

"She sounds like an intelligent woman.  Why would she get mixed up with a guy like Viktor Davydov?” JJ wondered.  

“He’s a dangerous boy, and she’s looking for adventure?” Prentiss speculated.

“He’s a dangerous boy, and she’s an idiot?” JJ offered.

“He’s a dangerous boy, and he looks like Spencer,” Garcia replied. 

“Oh, crap,” JJ blurted, glancing down at the picture that Garcia produced.  Davydov had darker hair and cold blue eyes, but his build and his features were undeniably similar.

“That’s spooky,” Morgan commented.  Hotch agreed. 

“What’s the connection between Dr. Takahashi and Reid?” Morgan wanted to know.  “ ‘Taki, what have you gotten me into?’  He said that during the chase.”

“Like I said, they took a few college courses together.   From the messages on his computer, I would say they are friends.  She makes romantic overtures now and again that she would like them to be more than friends.  He delicately avoids the topic.  She jokes a lot about wanting to lop off a finger and clone him.  ‘What’s one finger?  You’ll have nine others, Frodo.  I’ll settle for a toe’.”   Garcia was not smiling as she relayed this. 

“Her interest in him sounds more scientific than romantic.  Takahashi is a geneticist studying abnormalities in human DNA,” Morgan said. 

“And for all intents and purposes, Reid is an abnormality,” Hotch whispered.  “Could Dr.  Takahashi be pulling the strings from behind the scenes?  She’s mad Reid won’t cooperate with her scientific plans.  She gets Davydov to kidnap Reid so she can obtain a DNA sample.”  Hotch trembled as he voiced the thoughts.  He couldn’t let his mind go any further than that. 

“While that would make a great plot for a spy novel, my bones say no,” Garcia answered quickly.  “She seems normal in most respects, caring even.  Maybe she is joking about the cloning thing.  I hope so, anyway.  She’s not a bad person.  She’s volunteered to take her skills into places where most doctors won’t venture without an armed escort.  She’s not afraid of putting herself at risk to help people.”

“She does sound a lot like Reid, actually,” Prentiss mused.

“Another point of interest – Dr. Takahashi is the sole caretaker for her invalid grandfather, someone she loves most dearly, judging from how Reid praises her for having the strength and ability to care for him as she has done since she was a teenager.  Takahashi would never leave her grandfather alone without help.  She brought her grandfather from Japan to the US while she was attending college here.  She makes sure he has the best of care, the best of everything.   Yet he has not seen or heard from her since her disappearance six weeks ago.   He’s being taken care of by a hospice nurse at this point.  Takahashi has funneled most of her personal resources over the years into her grandfather’s care, so he’s good for another twenty years, but it will be a surprise if he lasts another six months.   He’s dying.  A distant cousin is coming in from Hawaii to care for the grandfather, since Dr. Takahashi seems unlikely to return any time soon.  The fact that she has not tried to contact her beloved grandfather in six weeks more than likely means she’s dead,” Garcia continued. 

“She’s dead,” Morgan and Prentiss both agreed. 

“If Takahashi is dead, where does that leave Reid?” JJ worried.

“Did Davydov kill Takahashi?” Hotch wondered.

“Did Davydov discover the link between Reid and Takahashi?” Morgan asked.

“Did Davydov kill Takahashi because he thought she was cheating with Reid,” Prentiss worried, casting a fearful glance at Hotch.   “Did he take Reid to kill him too?”

“All we have are questions at this point.  What we need are answers.  Morgan, Prentiss.  You two take Reid’s apartment.   We need to comb through things there.  Find out everything we can about Takahashi and her disappearance.  And about Davydov, if there is anything,” Hotch said.   “JJ and I will contact Interpol and the CIA, and see what we can learn from them.  Garcia, keep digging on Reid’s computer here.  When you’re done with this one, take a look at the one at home too.”

5

“It’s been three days, eight hours,” Hotch reported.  “I am starting to lose my faith in your tracking abilities, Korsakova.”

“You’re lucky I like you, Khotchner,” Korsakova replied as she climbed up into the SUV, tired and cold. 

Every second of those three days was scratched in Aaron’s guilty conscience like a fresh wound.   The BAU team had spent their time combing through every facet of Reid’s life which they could access.  He had proven to be an incredibly boring individual outside of work.   In three days, the team learned Reid spent most of his off-time at home reading, or writing, or watching tv.  He had four different articles in progress in separate piles on his desk.  He was supposed to speak at a lecture at Georgetown University in mid-December.  He had more maps than AAA.  He had subscriptions to twenty-seven educational journals across a wide spectrum of interests.  He had 25,673 books in his apartment, and the floor in his hallway, where the bookcases were bursting to the brims, it was nearly ready to fall through to the apartment below. 

Reid cooked a little.  He ate take-out a lot.  He had menus for every delivery service in the ten-block radius around his apartment.   He was almost out of shaving cream.   He needed to do laundry.  He had nearly 200 ties, and 70 sweater vests.   

Reid had every letter his mother had ever written to him.  He kept them in chronological order in tidy boxes, one for each year.  Hotch would not allow the team to read the letters, saving them as a last resort if nothing else provided a solid lead.  It seemed too much a breach of etiquette.  He was sure that Spencer would want it that way. 

Someone named Bubbles had left three messages on his home phone in a sultry, smoky voice that made Morgan rumble happily with interest. 

“ ‘It’s Bubbles, Dr. Precious.  Give me a call.  Stop by.  I have something for you’.”

“ ‘Bubbles here.  It’s Tuesday.  Where are you?  I miss that sweet face’.”

“ ‘Bubbles again.  Last message, Dr. Precious.   Please call me when you get back.  I’m giving you a week, because I love you, but this offer is not indefinite.  I can’t hold onto this forever, you know.  You better call me soon’.”

“Reid, you dirty boy.  What is Bubbles holding for you?” Prentiss wondered aloud.  

“Hooker,” Morgan speculated in a sing-song voice.  It was the first sign of humor out of Derek in days, so Prentiss allowed him to continue. 

“Not so sure,” Garcia called back from the desk, pouring over Reid’s computer.

“Is she in his contacts?” Morgan asked Garcia. 

“Yes.”

“Hooker?” Morgan asked.

“Exotic dancer?” Prentiss questioned.

“No,” Garcia grinned, holding up a name card from the small box on the desk. 

Alas, it turned out that Bubbles was Barbara McFergus, the owner and proprietor of a bookstore in Georgetown which Reid haunted on a regular basis.  She was holding a first edition of Edmund Spenser’s “The Fairie Queene” which Reid would have climaxed over if he’d have known about it.  Morgan and Prentiss pooled resources and bought it on the spot, hoping they would be able to give it to him, hoping it would be a birthday gift and not a grave good to accompany him to the afterlife.

While the days had been busy with activity and filled with hope, the nights had been excruciating, empty, and desperate with despair.  Hotch had spent the sleepless nights curled up in bed alone, hugging a particular oatmeal-colored, heavy wool sweater to his chest, and flinching with horrible dread every time the phone rang.   The not-knowing was worse than actually knowing.  The not-knowing gnawed at him like poison, eating him from the inside out.  It was somehow comforting though that Korsakova looked more worse for wear than Hotch did. 

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Korsakova said to Hotch.  “Thank you for coming alone,” she added, tossing an amused glance at Morgan and Prentiss, who sat in the rear of the SUV, glaring daggers at her back.

“Do you have news for me?” Hotch asked. 

"Is General Scott listening?  Where is the wire?” Korsakova asked, studying Hotch’s person quite closely for a few seconds.   She fixated on the small American flag on his lapel, and she reached for it. 

“The mirror,” Hotch told her, pushing her hands away.  “The button with the phone on it.”

“Ah.  Very nice.  I forget that these now come with a phone.  Such decadence.  General Scott? Your aide.  Lieutenant Amy Spaulding.   How long has she been with you, on this detail you have to observe Dr. Reid’s movements?”

Hotch, Morgan, and Prentiss all stared at each other, perplexed.   They had been studying Reid.  They had not even thought to uncover information on General Scott and his team. 

“Don’t worry, General Scott.  She is not a traitor to you.  Her new boyfriend, however, has been eliciting information from her, piece by piece, with the most delightful of torture.  Do not be hard on the girl.  She’s young.  She’s in love.  She had no idea,” Korsakova crooned.  “You’ve been in love before, haven’t you, General Scott?  We all have.  She should of course stop seeing this young man at once.  And perhaps be given a remedial course in confidentiality about her workplace movements.  Other than that, I would say the guilt and horror coursing through her at this very moment should be punishment enough for one lifetime.”

Hotch cleared his throat and cautiously smiled, though his humor faded fast.

“May I please disconnect the call now?” Korsakova asked. 

Hotch reached up and flipped the button, imagining Scott glowering at his chagrined aide.

“Dr. Reid has been located by one of my resources in Serbia.  I have sent a team to extract him,” Korsakova delivered the message with a tight but happy smile.   The relief that flooded Hotch’s features brought more warmth to her face.  Morgan clutched Prentiss’s hand, and Emily jumped in place twice with glee. 

“Where is he?  Who took him?” Hotch demanded. 

“Is he all right?” Prentiss whispered.

“Was it Davydov?” Morgan growled. 

“I do not know his exact coordinates—they have been in the air now thirty minutes.  I do know that he is relatively unharmed.  He has minor injuries.   Yes, it was Davydov who engineered this entire foolish escapade, for which purpose, I have not yet learned.  This abduction was not officially sanctioned, and I assure you that Davydov will be punished when I get my hands on him.  Curiously, no one has been forthcoming with a reason why Viktor should wish to take Dr. Reid prisoner or do harm to his person.”

“We know the connection between Reid and Davydov,” Prentiss supplied. 

“Dr. Moriko Takahashi,” Hotch added. 

“Go on,” Korsakova said.  She made good face of not knowing what they were telling her. Clearly she wanted to hear what they had learned and wanted to compare it to what she already knew. 

“Takahashi was a geneticist studying anomalies in human DNA.   She and Reid were in a few graduate courses together.  She made romantic overtures towards Reid but was rebuffed.  Either Reid didn’t understand the overtures or he wasn’t interested.  They remained friends, regardless,” Prentiss supplied. 

“Dr. Takahashi was very discretely involved with Viktor Davydov off and on for a number of years, up until she disappeared six weeks ago,” Hotch said.  

“A doppelganger,” Korsakova said cryptically. 

“What?” Hotch questioned. 

“It may be nothing, but Dr. Reid and Viktor Davydov do bear a passing resemblance to one another,” Korsakova said.  “Having spent time with both of them, I can promise you the resemblance is only skin deep.  But if she could not have one, maybe she settled for the other.  It’s only a thought.  You speak of her in the past tense.  You believe she is dead.”

“Yes, we do.  We searched Reid’s computers at home and at work.  He corresponded by letter with Dr. Takahashi off and on.  He calls her ‘Taki’ or ‘Blue Shoes’.   We don’t get that reference, but it must be something personal,” Prentiss said.

“Davydov is in love with Takahashi.  She goes missing, or he makes her go missing.  He searches her correspondence.  He discovers the link to Reid.  Davydov comes after Reid, assuming he must know what has become of Dr. Takahashi, or wanting to exact revenge for the assumed affair between Reid and Takahashi,” Morgan speculated.  “Reid already knew about Davydov, how dangerous he was.  Takahashi told Reid all about Davydov, hoping to make him jealous.  Reid cautioned her to be careful.”

Korsakova snorted softly, shaking her head.

“What?” Hotch asked.

“I have never known a man so cautious about love as Spencer is.  I was mentally picturing how the conversation might have gone.  Forgive my amusement.  It was inappropriate,” she whispered. 

“On the GW Parkway, Reid knew who was following us.  He said it wasn’t you, but it was Davydov.  Is Davydov one of yours?” Morgan asked. 

"Do you follow Reid often enough that he knows when you're there?" Hotch asked Korsakova.  Yulia ignored the question.

“When he was an operative, Viktor was one of my protégés, yes,” Korsakova answered briefly, looking embarrassed.   “We had a falling out a few years ago.”

“Over what?” Hotch asked.

“I foolishly allowed myself to become romantically involved with Viktor after my first divorce.  It was a mistake, and it didn’t last very long.  I am human, Khotchner.  Don’t fault me for having feelings.  Fault me for being stupid enough to act on them.”

“Then Davydov has two reasons to want Reid dead.  Great,” Prentiss muttered. 

“Davydov took Reid, but not at your request,” Hotch cut off Prentiss’s line of conjecture but not before Korsakova gave her the nastiest look. 

“I told you before that this abduction was not sanctioned.”

“You’re sure Davydov will give Reid back to you without a fight?” Morgan asked.

“He has already given him back,” Korsakova promised.  “They contacted me thirty minutes ago.  They were already in the air. You should be able to collect Dr. Reid at National within a few hours.  He will be routed through Paris and then Quebec, I imagine.”  

“I don’t know what to say,” Hotch murmured.

“Specibo?” Korsakova suggested. 

“Specibo,” Hotch replied grimly. 

“Pajzhohlista,” Korsakova whispered, patting Hotch’s hand.   “I should like to see Dr. Reid once he is back.  If I may?”

“We’ll see,” Hotch grumbled.   “I’m certainly not leaving him alone with you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I only wish to see him.  I promise to behave,” Korsakova smiled patiently, patting Hotch’s hand again before popping the door and climbing out, disappearing into the DC streets.   Once she entered the crowd, she was practically invisible.  Prentiss and Morgan looked to Hotch and waited. 

Hotch touched the tiny American flag pin on his coat.  “General Scott?  Are you there?”

“I am, Agent Hotchner, and you don’t have to say a word.  We’ll be in touch.”

Hotch pulled off the pin and disconnected the wire.  Morgan got out of the backseat and climbed into the front seat, buckling himself in.

6

Hotch and Morgan circled around the concourse like bloodhounds sniffing a fresh trail.  Aaron froze in place, his instincts going on high alert.   He had finally located Reid.  Spencer was sitting curled in the last chair at the end of a line of chairs before the large windows, in between kiosks selling jewelry and cell phone covers and other useless things.  He was pale and quiet, looked to be in shock.  He was clutching his bag to his chest, ignoring the people around him, studying the mosaics on the floor like a giant puzzle. 

“REID!” Morgan bellowed.  The young doctor did not react to Morgan’s shout.

Hotch, Morgan, and Prentiss had spent the entire night at National, watching planes from Paris and Quebec come and go with no sign of Reid anywhere.  Then Prentiss had suggested that he might not have flown in on a commercial jet.  He might have made more than one layover along the way, and if the last one was close enough, he could have come in on a private jet like the one the BAU team used all the time.  That suggestion had sent them all scurrying to different parts of the airport, doing another hard target search of the entire complex. This time, the search had paid off.  How many times had they walked right past Reid and not seen him? 

Hotch was the first to Reid’s side.  Ignoring any sort of decorum or protocol, Aaron drew Reid to his feet, threw his arms around Spencer, held him close enough to feel his heart beating.   He may have even kissed his cheek a time or two, unconscious of the action.   Hotch must have broken through the fog around Reid – Spencer melted into Aaron's arms and refused to let go.  Morgan wanted to hug Reid as well, and he had no choice but to do so around Aaron.   Even after Hotch stopped hugging him, Spencer continued to cling to one of Aaron’s arm. 

Prentiss had heard Morgan shout and had rushed to join them, sprinting through passengers disembarking from various parts of the airport.  She hugged Reid, taking his bag away, offering her arm as support. 

With Reid stumbling and limping and half asleep, they guided him through the crowded concourse, back towards the top level of the parking garage, through the glass doors, up the elevator, out into the cold wind and towards their waiting SUV, which was now surrounded by several other sleek black vehicles.  Reid froze in place, frowning, trembling.  Hotch took off his coat and slipped it around Reid’s bowed shoulders. 

“We need to debrief Dr. Reid while the events are fresh in his mind,” General Scott said, attempting to prevent Derek from opening the passenger door of the BAU team’s SUV.

Reid was leaning between Hotch and Prentiss, barely upright.  He kept his eyes on the tarmac, hardly breathing, hardly moving. 

“It’s one in the morning,” Morgan protested.  The wind whipped around them.  He was ever-so aware of how thinly dressed Reid was, watching him shiver under Hotch’s coat.    

“Dr. Reid.  You need to come with me,” General Scott pressed, reaching out to put a hand on Reid’s arm.   

Spencer’s eyes got wide.  He pulled away from the hand.  His breathing began to speed up.  He tugged backwards, ready to claw out of Hotch’s grip and bolt away if needed.  Hotch caught Reid’s elbow and held him upright and in place. 

“General Scott, look at him.  He probably hasn’t slept for days.  Do you think you’ll get anything coherent from him at this point?” Prentiss growled.

“Let him have eight hours of sleep,” Morgan coerced.  

Hotch glared hard at Scott and said nothing at all. 

“Bring him to Quantico by 10 a.m. tomorrow,” General Scott relented, growling in frustration.

“Quantico.  10 a.m.  You can talk to him then,” Hotch said, opening the rear passenger door and helping Spencer up inside.  Aaron buckled him into the seatbelt, and closed the door.  Morgan climbed in from the other side and fitted the coat tighter, snapped a tissue out of the box on the floor, touched Reid’s nose with it.   

“First thing tomorrow, Agent Hotchner,” General Scott insisted.

7

“I’m taking you home with me tonight.  No arguments,” Hotch said sternly.

Reid didn’t answer.  He was staring down into his lap, eyes glazed, thoughts faraway.  He was hiding beneath Hotch’s coat.  The dark rings under his eyes were frightening, large.  He was in shock.  Hotch just knew it.  Had Reid been awake the entire time that Davydov had been holding him?  Morgan did not take his eyes off Reid for a single second.  Prentiss glanced over her shoulder and watched Reid, then exchanged a concerned look with Morgan. 

Prentiss spent most of the drive on the phone with various members of the team, assuring them that they had Reid, that he was okay, that they were bringing him to the office tomorrow morning bright and early, that all of them should be ready to talk to General Scott about what they knew or didn’t know or weren’t supposed to know.  

Hotch glared out the windshield, wishing bodily and mortal harm on Viktor Davydov with all the ill will brimming in his heart.

When they reached Morgan’s place, Hotch put the SUV in park.  Morgan reached across the seat, put a bear hug around Reid, and squeezed until Reid squeaked in pain, and then he squeezed some more. 

“I’m not going to yell at you, kid.  I’m only going to say this.  Next time we’re being chased by sinister Russians in stealth cars with unregistered plates, I’m driving.  You understand me?” Morgan growled.   

Reid nodded unevenly, eyes brimming with tears.  He touched Morgan’s shoulder, right where he had been cut with glass and then grazed with bullets.  Spencer couldn’t meet Morgan’s gaze.  Derek winced. 

“Sorry I got you hurt,” Reid whispered, one tear spilling over.  Morgan brushed it away, and other tears rushed past in a quiet deluge that Reid didn't seem to be aware of. 

“I’m okay, Pretty Boy.  It was not your fault.  Don’t worry.  It’s gonna take more than bullets and glass to do me in,” Derek soothed.  “Hotch, take him home and put him to bed,” Morgan said to Aaron, letting go of Reid. 

To Hotch and Morgan’s surprise, Emily climbed out of the SUV as well.    She stood beside Morgan, put an arm around Derek, and watched Hotch drive away into the night. 

“We have to talk,” Prentiss said cryptically. 

“Okay,” Morgan agreed, knowing somehow that he was not getting any sleep tonight.   

8

Reid was sleeping lightly when they got to Hotch’s house.   Aaron parked the SUV in the driveway and opened Reid’s door, lifting him out of the car. 

They reached the front door, and Hotch wondered how in the world he was going to get them inside.  But then the door clicked, unlocked, and opened.   Korsakova was waiting.  She opened the portal as wide as possible, then closed it without a sound as Hotch stood in the foyer and held Spencer aloft. 

“I wanted to be sure he was home safe,” Korsakova explained.  Her coat was thrown over the chair where she had been sitting.  Maybe she had even been dozing before she heard the car pull up.  She could not have missed the anger and terror in Hotch’s face.  He tipped Reid upright, set his feet on the floor, held onto Spencer as Reid swayed.  Korsakova stared at Reid with tears in her eyes.  Spencer continued to lean on Hotch.  He blinked in surprise at Korsakova, and watched them talk back and forth.

“How did you get in here?” Hotch wanted to know.

“I sincerely apologize for the intrusion.  Pretend you never saw me.  I am going.”

“Where is my son?” Aaron gulped. 

“Your sister-in-law left him with me.  I explained that I knew you through work.  She and I chatted for almost three hours this evening, waiting for you.   What took you so long?”

“Reid didn’t arrive by commercial flight.”

“Viktor probably shipped him by cargo.  He can be vindictive, that one.”

Reid was nodding in agreement.

“You sat here and talked with Jessica?  Where is my son?” Hotch wondered.

“Jack is asleep upstairs.   We read several books before he finally let me turn out the light.”

“You read to my son?”   

“We had a snack too.  I hope that isn’t forbidden before bedtime.”

“You read to my son?  You fed him?”

“Khotchner, I am a mother myself.  You met my daughter in Rotterdam.  You must remember?  The screaming toddler I was holding when you shot me in the leg?”

“She’s the reason I shot you in the leg and not in the heart.”

“A fact of which I am more than cognizant.   Why does it surprise you so that I might know about caring for children?”

“Why are you here?” 

“I wouldn’t have come, but I wanted to know that Dr. Reid was safe,” Korsakova pined.  She reached tentatively forward and caressed Spencer’s hand.  Reid was watching her, but not believing what he was seeing.  He wobbled in place, wincing as he put pressure on his left leg.  “I hope Viktor didn’t hurt you.  I promise you, I will deal very forcefully with him.  He will never ever do this to you again.”

Reid nodded in reply to the words, swallowing back a sad smile that nearly broke Hotch’s heart.   Spencer could not look Korsakova in the face, Aaron noted as he helped Korsakova into her coat.  Reid blinked at her shoes, swaying in place where he stood.  Hotch put out a hand and steadied Reid so he wouldn’t fall.  Korsakova caressed Reid’s hand and then ever-so-softly, touched his face.  She adjusted her coat and squared her shoulders, putting her emotional guard back in place. 

“I will see you both again soon, I hope.   I will let myself out.”

Yulia closed the front door and was gone.  Hotch turned on the security system, then put the guard chain in place.   He had to guide Reid up the stairs by the arm. 

“My report,” Reid murmured. 

“Forget about the report for now.  You should sleep.   All you need to think about is sleep,” Hotch murmured.

“Borrow your shower?”

“I’ll find you something to wear,” Hotch promised, guiding Reid towards the bathroom and laying out towels for him.   As the water came on, Hotch disappeared down the hall towards Jack’s room, not noticing that Reid actually stepped into the shower fully clothed.  The only things Reid took off were his shoes and his messenger bag.   He stood under the water and closed his eyes.   

A few minutes later, Spencer slipped gracelessly down onto the huge bed in Hotch’s room.  He had eventually undressed, throwing the clothes in the trash.  He was wrapped in a big towel.  Aaron found him lying on his side, staring off into space.   Hotch walked to the closet and dug around inside.  He turned around to walk back to the bed and nearly fell over. 

Random cuts and scrapes covered Reid’s back and his legs, presumably from when he had been dragged bodily out of the SUV at Dead Run.   His left leg was bruised heavily over the knee, right on the scar where he had been shot before.   Was Hotch imagining the impression of a steering wheel in that linear purple mark?  No wonder Reid was limping again.  What’s more, he had other bruises on his arms and chest, some from the tumble around the cab of the rolling SUV to be sure, but others were distinct fist and shoe impressions.  Hotch’s throat tightened and his chest filled as he puffed with anger. 

Viktor Davydov was a dead man.  Aaron Hotchner was going to hunt that bastard down to the ends of the earth and make him bleed for every second of terror Spencer had endured the last few days. 

Hotch cleared his throat and walked over to the bed.  Spencer sat up unsteadily.  Hotch got a good look at the rest of Reid.  His chest and torso and upper arms were also covered with bruises.  Hotch took away Spencer’s bag.  He set it aside with a small thump, wondering what was inside, and trying not to imagine the origins of the splatters of mud and blood and dirty water that marked all sides of the light brown leather. 

Hotch slipped spare pajama bottoms onto Reid, and pulled the top over his head.  He hid his anger at Reid’s condition, watching Spencer’s sleep-filled eyes drooping.  Reid didn’t need any questions tonight.   He was almost asleep sitting up, but continued to fight to stay awake.   

“Lie down.  Close your eyes,” Hotch ordered, patting the pillows.   

Reid relented with a small nod.  Spencer was out before Aaron stood up from the side of the bed, but it was the same light sleep as the last four nights, one which had allowed him to hear all the noises in the room and to sense movement.  Hyper-vigilance, Morgan would have called it. Reid was too afraid to let himself go totally under, but he had been deprived of rest and dreams for too long.  He desperately needed deep REM sleep. 

Reid was vaguely aware that Hotch touched a kiss to his cheek, his nose, his mouth.  Breathed things against his ear like ‘I love you’ and ‘I missed you so much’.  Stroked his hair for several seconds.  Returned the covers over him.   Left the bedroom briefly. 

When Hotch returned, he lifted the covers again, sliding a small form in against Spencer.   Jack?  Aaron stripped down out of his suit and wingtips, and finally climbed under the covers himself, putting his arms around both Jack and Spencer.   He might actually get some real sleep tonight himself.  Maybe. 

9

Then again, maybe not. 

Hotch’s phone rang before dawn. 

“Hello?” Hotch whined before he was even holding the phone.  It rang again.  He reached for the tiny mechanical tyrant, and stuck it to his ear.  “What?” Hotch growled. 

“Agent Hotchner.  I need to talk to you about Dr. Reid.”

It was General Scott.  Hotch reached over and slid a hand onto Reid’s shoulder, wanting to reassure himself that Reid had not slipped out of bed and vanished.   Spencer shuddered in his sleep.   Jack was plastered to Reid’s front.  The youngster had one thumb in his mouth and the other hand coiled tight to the material of Reid’s borrowed pajama top. 

“What about him?” Hotch asked. 

“There’s been a murder.  There’s no easy way to tell you this, but we’ve found a body, and we need someone to identify Dr. Reid.”

Hotch was peculiarly quiet.  He touched Spencer’s face, listened to him breathing.  He was very much alive.  Aaron caressed Jack’s ruffled hair, wondering how his son had wound up hugging Reid instead of his father. 

“General Scott, I can tell you from here that it’s not Dr. Reid’s body,” Aaron murmured.

“I know it’s hard to believe, and right now, you can’t let yourself think something like this could have happened, but the height, weight, and physical description all match,” General Scott insisted.  “He’s got Reid’s gun and badge and his personal identification.”

Reid’s eyes fluttered open.  He stared at Hotch, dazed and tired.

“General Scott, it’s not Dr. Reid’s body,” Hotch said.  Reid raised a brow, intrigued. 

“How can you be so sure?” Scott demanded.

“Because Reid is lying here next to me.”

General Scott was eerily quiet.  To which Hotch immediately thought if the man had been any good at his job, this statement should not have come as a complete surprise. 

“Scott, he was kidnapped by international criminals and went missing for three days.  You honestly thought I would let him go home alone after that?  I have to make sure he’s going to be safe before I let him out of my sight,” Hotch added.  Reid was giving Hotch a look that said ‘Oh really?’

“Good hunch,” the general offered. 

Hotch breathed heavily and tried not to curse.  “Can we go back to sleep now?” he fumed.

“Reid’s apartment isn’t safe.   That’s where we are now.  The agent who was downstairs thought everything was fine, but then there was a sudden, serious commotion, several gunshots.  He called me and he came upstairs.  It’s an unbelievable mess here.  Maybe you shouldn’t bring Reid back here at all.  It’s not safe.”  

Spencer sat up slowly, touched the lamp on the nightstand.  He moved carefully to avoid waking Jack, patting the boy’s head absently as if he wasn’t quite sure how or where or if to touch him.   Reid was so not comfortable with kids.  It amused Hotch vaguely.   Bless his heart, Jack kept sleeping. 

“Is it Davydov?” Reid asked. 

“What?” Hotch asked.

“What did he say?” Scott demanded.

“The body he wants you to identify.  Is it Davydov?” Spencer asked.

“I don’t care who it is.  Put him on ice.  We’ll see you at 10 a.m.,” Hotch snarled, disconnecting the call.    “Turn out the light,” he ordered grumpily.

“Shouldn’t we go?” Spencer asked.

“Whoever it is, he isn’t going to be any less dead in five hours.  Get back in bed,” Hotch growled.   

Reid’s gaunt face twitched with the faintest hint of a smile.  He turned off the light and crawled back into the covers, nervously aware that Jack was there between himself and Aaron.  Reid started to inch away off the other side of the bed.

“Maybe I should sleep in the guest room.”

Hotch reached across Jack and pulled Spencer close once more, keeping a firm hand around his waist, rubbing his hip.  They were holding Jack between them and sharing a pillow.   Jack flipped over like a small fish, latching onto Aaron’s chest.  Hotch dotted a kiss on the very tip of Reid’s bumpy little nose. 

“Don’t think, Spencer.   Go back to sleep,” Aaron whispered.   

10

“Number 67, and counting,” Reid said, circling around the exam table like an upright vulture, long limbs twisting to his task of determining the identity of the destroyed man before them.   “It’s Davydov.  Two small caliber bullets to the base of the skull.  One shotgun blast to the face, post mortem.  Dead.”

“How can you tell it’s Davydov with his face and half his head missing?” General Scott demanded.

“I recognize the shirt he’s wearing.  And his boots.  Would you like to match the marks on the soles to the bruises on my back?  I’m quite certain there’s an excellent impression mark somewhere in my lumbar section.  If you want a technical analysis, I can match the mud on his boots to the mud on my bag, and match that to the mud in the mass grave I spent the last three days crawling in and out of.”

“Number 67?” Hotch asked. 

“I’ve examined 67 bodies in the last 74 hours,” Reid answered, limping against the cane he and Hotch had retrieved from his apartment before coming here.  “Hmm.  Perhaps his shotgun wound was received ante mortem.  But then why bother with the two bullets to the base of the skull?  That makes absolutely no sense.  Who blasts off your head and then wastes two small caliber bullets making holes in the stump of your neck?  They wanted you twice as dead?  It's like using a chain saw and then giving you a paper cut.  Pointless.  Barbaric.  Wrists show signs of restraint, but I doubt Viktor put up much of a fight.”

“Why do you say that?” General Scott asked.

“He wanted to die.  Without Taki, he had no one.  No family.  No one.   She was his only link to normalcy.  When he learned she was dead, all he wanted was to join her.  It’s even possible he let himself be caught, knowing he would be murdered, because he didn’t have the courage to take his own life.”

“How do you know all this?” Scott demanded.

“He begged me to kill him, but I couldn’t.  No matter how angry I was at him for what he put me through, I couldn’t take his life.   Why do I feel like I failed him?”

“67 bodies?” Hotch asked again.

“18 men.  27 women.  17 children.”

“That’s 62.”

“Dr. Takahashi and her staff – the other four bodies.  Davydov, the last.  67.”

“Go on,” Hotch motioned.   

“Taki went missing six weeks ago in Serbia.  Davydov discovered our letters in her things, wondered if she had dropped a trail to Serbia in order to come to the US and find me.  Then someone uncovered the mass grave by accident in a farmer’s field.   They thought it was another case of religious genocide, but then realized these corpses were much too recent to have come from those times.  Davydov knew that Taki had been last seen in that location.  He went to find out if she was there, but due to the condition of the bodies…..”

Reid’s voice trailed off.   The ghosts of the last few days danced before his eyes. 

“Viktor needed professional help to sort out the bodies.  They had all been shot in the base of the skull and in the face in this exact manner, but then they had been dismembered, and thrown into the mass grave.  Viktor knew that Taki had vanished near there, but no trace of her had been found.   66 bodies.  264 limbs.  Thousands of skull fragments.  I’ll never do another jigsaw puzzle in my life.  He knew my occupation from reading Taki’s letters, and decided he would make me help discover her body if she truly was dead, as punishment for being the object of her affections.”

“I’m sorry about Dr. Takahashi,” Hotch offered, hoping Reid didn’t realize how circular his speech patterns became when he was dead-tired and upset.  If Hotch had any idea the horrific conditions in which Reid had spent the last few days, he would have recommended psychiatric counseling and six months of leave time at the very least.  Reid pondered how exactly he was going to write up his report and leave out the goriest of details while still managing to relay the truth of the events.  He frankly didn’t want Hotch to know what all had happened. 

“Have you been able to reach Taki’s grandfather?  How is he?” Reid asked.

“Garcia said he’s being taken care of by a distant cousin,” Hotch relayed.

“I should take him the news of Taki's death."

“Like hell you will," General Scott growled.  "I'll make sure he is notified."  

Hotch looked down at the corpse on the exam table. 

“Korsakova called Davydov your doppelganger.  He reminded her of you.”

Reid nodded slowly, narrowing his eyes.   Did Hotch mean Korsakova or Takahashi?

“He must have hated you,” Hotch went on. 

“You have no idea,” Reid quiped. 

“Yet he came to you for help?” Scott asked.

“Help?  No.  Misery loves company.  He wanted me to share his pain.  He misinterpreted the connection between Taki and myself.  I’m alive because he needed to find out what happened to her more than he wanted to make me dead.  Then when we found her, he no longer wanted to kill me.  He only wanted die, so he could be with her again.”

“Did you remain friends with Takahashi because you felt guilty you didn’t feel anything more than friendship for her?” Hotch wondered.

“I was a scientific curiosity to her, nothing more,” Spencer replied sadly.  “A specimen she was very keen to study.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Aaron shook his head.  “Perhaps she was couching her affections inside her scientific comments.  She may have been too afraid to show her true feelings.”

Reid shivered and moved an inch or two away from the table.   

“You mustn’t say such things,” Spencer cautioned, shivering again.  Even dead, Davydov scared him. 

“Dr. Reid, I want to see your report on the incident in Serbia when you’ve finished it,” General Scott insisted. 

“I’ll send you a copy,” Reid promised.

“I know this might not be the best time to bring this up, but I think you’ll agree it’s about time we talk about increasing your safety precautions.”

Reid flinched at the words, like a wild beast threatened with chains.  Hotch watched him, curious and afraid how he would react.

"I would like to relocate you, make you more inaccessible to those who would wish you harm,” General Scott suggested. 

“Don’t mince words.  You want to imprison me.”

“No, not at all.”

“I will not live under lock and key,” Reid growled.   

“You need to be more proactive about your own safety.  Take a few self defense courses, for fuck’s safe.  A different job.  A different city.  A different….”

“My location changes on a monthly, sometimes weekly basis.  You have a hard time knowing where I am week to week.  I don’t see how you could possibly make me any more inaccessible than I already am.”

“I would put you in a desk job at Quantico.  Don’t worry.  I’d still let you play with dead things.  But you wouldn’t be allowed to venture out and drag them back to the lair yourself.   I could give you a permanent security detail with a higher profile in order to discourage any more of these blitz attacks and snatch-and-grabs.”

“No,” Reid refused.

“Dr. Reid, at least consider relocating.  The Van Ness apartment is compromised.  They killed Davydov there.   He’s all over your bedroom, in small bits and pieces.  How do you know whoever killed Davydov isn’t planning to come back and take you out when they think your defenses are down again?  Listen to me.  I really think you should consider moving at the very least.  I could recommend a number of locations outside of DC and closer to Quantico.  I have access to any number of safe houses.  You might actually be on time to work for a change if you lived closer to Quantico.”

“No,” Reid snapped. 

General Scott and Hotch exchanged a glance.  Reid turned his back to them, rubbing his forehead and closing his eyes, pretending he didn’t know they were conspiring together. 

“Maybe he’ll listen to you,” General Scott said to Hotch before making his way out of the morgue. 

Hotch waited until General Scott was gone, then he stared uncomfortably at the nearly-headless man lying on the cold metal table.  The physical resemblance to Spencer gnawed at Hotch.  If Korsakova hadn’t had such pull on Davydov, it might have been Spencer on the table, or tossed into some mass grave in some odd corner of the globe.  Reid knew it too.  What disturbed Hotch more was that he couldn’t look at Davydov’s body without recognizing the similarities between the two men—the long limbs, the pale skin, the moles, the freckles, the angular collarbone he loved to kiss, the slender hands he loved to touch and be touched by.  Aaron averted his gaze, looking anywhere else in the room.

“Why couldn’t I put a bullet in Davydov in Serbia?  It would have been so simple.  One bullet.  Over quickly.  No more pain,” Reid whispered, voice trembling. 

“Davydov was your ticket home alive,” Hotch speculated.  Reid swallowed loudly, rubbing his aching leg.

“He cried when I found Taki.  He sat down there in the mud, and he cried like a child as I pulled her out of the grave one piece at a time.”

“He made you get in the grave and retrieve the body parts?”

Spencer shuddered, cringed in upon himself, shaking his head. 

“Aaron, please don’t push.  I am not ready to talk about what happened.”

Hotch put a tentative hand on Reid’s back.   It was the first time he could ever remember Reid calling him by his first name.  He found  a tiny smile.

“I won’t push,” Hotch promised.  “But I’m here when you want to talk.”

“Even if they had to kill him, they didn’t have to hurt him.  What’s the point of hurting a man who only wants you to put him out of his misery?” Reid asked. 

“I can’t answer that.  I don’t know.”

“Why is it the only thing humans are really good at is hurting each other?”

“I don’t know the answer to that either.   Gideon asked me that very question once too.  I think….I think with some of us, we learn to communicate with pain when that’s all we’ve ever felt, all we were ever shown.  Pain doesn’t scare us.  We understand pain.    Pain is its own kind of comfort, because it’s familiar.   Pain stops hurting eventually.  After a while, you become accustomed to it.  Love, though?  Watch out.  Love paralyzes us.  Love scares the living hell out of us when it hits us.   We're unprepared.  We don’t know what to do, don’t know what to feel, don’t know what to say.   Pain stops hurting eventually, but when love drives a stake through your heart, you are never the same again."

Spencer gave Aaron a sideways glance.  He reached up one hand and caressed the side of Hotch’s face, wondering at his distant eyes.  Aaron shook himself back to the present, back to the hand touching his face, back to the soulful brown eyes watching him. 

“I missed you so much,” Reid whispered.  Hotch blinked back emotion.  Reid had never spoken so directly to him, ever. 

“I missed you too.  And I know good and well you don’t want to hear this, but General Scott is right,” Aaron murmured. 

Spencer’s shoulders drooped and he sighed his impatience.  Keeping his eyes off the table, off of what was left of Davydov, Reid stared at Hotch’s shoes, and fiddled with the cane in his grip.  Then he poked Hotch maliciously in the toes with the cane.

“I know he’s right,” Reid answered. 

When they had arrived at Reid’s apartment to collect his cane, there had been blood and chaos everywhere.  Reid couldn’t get past the front entrance.  He had sat on the threshold and stared around in dismay, fighting back tears.  Hotch hadn’t ventured inside too far either.  He located the cane in the hall closet.  They had locked the front door, as much good as that would do with the busted door frame.  Hotch had called Quantico for an agent to guard the door until they could return later in the day. 

“Will you consider moving to a safer location?” Hotch hoped.   

Reid nodded quietly.  “If it means you’ll sleep at night, yes.  You tossed and turned terribly.”

“As if you didn’t,” Hotch smiled.   Reid wobbled.  Hotch moved to steady him, fearing he was unstable on his feet. 

Reid’s phone purred in his pocket—it was set to vibrate instead of ring.  He let go of Hotch’s hand, pulled out the phone, and stared at the screen.

“Korsakova.  She texts.  Have we found Viktor yet?  She hasn’t been able to locate him.  She’s afraid he’s been killed by…um… what’s the word…..the Night Watch, she calls them.”

“Ask her where she is.  I’d like to bring her in for questioning,” Hotch answered. 

“Waste of time.  She didn’t kill Viktor.  Did you really shoot her in Rotterdam?” Reid asked, lifting a brow at Hotch as he tapped keys.   Aaron growled and frowned. 

“You goddamn right I shot her Rotterdam.  She seduced, no, she molested an emotionally-fragile eighteen-year-old boy under my protection.  I was mad at her.  It took me two years to track her down.”

Reid was smiling faintly at him again.  Hotch calmed himself.   

“Korsakova makes you testy.  I won’t press the issue.”

“Good,” Aaron responded.  

"I will only tell you that she is not the monster that you imagine."

"Isn't she?" Hotch snorted softly.  Reid shrugged and continued to tap more keys.

“Korsakova says hello and sends you her love.  The location program indicates she’s in Prague.  Or at the very least, her phone is in Prague,” Reid mused.  He put away his cell and stared calmly at Hotch, who was bristling like a wild dog. 

“So she kills Davydov in your apartment and then flees the country?  How did she get out without a passport?” Hotch wanted to know.

“You took her passport?”

“I considered her a flight risk,” Hotch retorted testily.

“Undoubtedly a wise precaution.  She must have suspected you would demand her passport, and therefore she carried two.”

“There is no way she got out of the country with a fake passport.  Those are absolute fool-proof with all the modern anti-forgery techniques,” Hotch protested. 

“Then she gave you the forgery, and kept the real one.  There are two possibilities,” Reid replied, turning once more back to the exam table.  He steeled himself and put one hand on Davydov’s curled right hand.  He closed his eyes and bowed his head.   Hotch gave him a moment of two.  Reid then let go, heading awkwardly towards the door, limp, step, limp, step. 

“Did you, the scientist and atheist, just pray over the corpse of the man who wanted to kill you only four days ago? A man who made you climb in and out of a muddy mass grave and reassemble the bodies of 66 people?”

“I was not speaking to God.  I was apologizing to Davydov for not being able to kill him myself.  Let's leave before he can collect his wits and answer me.”

Hotch nodded, moving slowly behind Reid. 

“What are the two possibilities in regards to Korsakova?” Hotch asked. 

“Either she did kill Davydov, or she did not,” Reid replied.

“Thank you, Dr. Obvious,” Hotch smirked.   

“If she did kill him, and she did flee the country, she would have taken both her children with her.  Alexei is nineteen.  He’s at the Naval Academy in Annapolis, the reason she moved to the DC area in the first place.  Ekatarina is ten.  She lives with Yulia in Potomac.  I will wager that if we check, both of her children will be stateside.  I do not believe that Korsakova would kill Davydov.”

“Why not?”

“Having lost her own father when she was a young girl, Yulia would never in a million years inflict that kind of pain on her own child.”

“What?  Davydov is the father of Korsakova’s daughter?”

“It's not unreasonable to presume Korsakova might have developed a certain fondness when it comes to the father of one of her children."

“If she didn’t kill Davydov, who did?”

“I do not imagine the list of people who wanted Viktor Davydov dead would be either limited or uninteresting.  However, Yulia Korsakova does not deserve to be on that list.  Maybe the first and best place to start would be with the Night Watch.”

The door to the morgue closed behind them.

Epilogue

“So you’ve heard of the Night Watch?” Hotch asked Prentiss, who gasped, set down her hot coffee, and shook her head at him.

“Shhh.  Of course I have.  You haven’t?”

“Beyond a couple of mentions from the Cold War era, no one will talk about them.”

“Yeah.  Good policy,” Prentiss agreed. 

“I’m not going to pretend I’m unhappy Viktor Davydov is dead.”

“Nor should you.”

“God knows I spent four days wanting to shoot the asshole myself.  He’s dead.  I’m not upset with whoever killed him.  I’m willing to let bygones be bygones.   But you know how Reid can be.  Tease him with the scent of a puzzle, and he’s on all fours, nose to the ground, following the trail wherever it leads.”

“If I were you, Hotch, I’d whack your puppy on his nose and tell him no.”

“Don’t think I haven’t,” Hotch murmured, “and not just his nose.”

“Then you need to distract him, before he digs too deep, and gets himself hurt again.”

“It would take something awfully big to distract him from this kind of tantalizing puzzle.”

“Target approaching,” Morgan whispered in both their ears from wherever he was hidden nearby.  Prentiss rolled her eyes at his choice of words. 

Hotch and Prentiss faced the restaurant entrance as the bell chimed.  Korsakova came in, and set eyes on the pair of them, and smirked.  She sailed past without acknowledging them verbally, and headed straight for Spencer Reid, who was sitting in the far opposite corner of the establishment.  Reid had followed the direction of Korsakova’s first glance, and he centered his gaze on Hotch and Prentiss.  He shot them a funny look and a timid wave.  He took out his phone and tapped keys.  Hotch’s cell buzzed. 

“ ‘Why don’t you join us?’,” Hotch whispered, reading the screen.  Prentiss chuckled as she waved back at Reid. 

"He's gonna be so pissed at us for spying on him, isn't he?" she cringed.  "We are never gonna hear the end of this."

Hotch did not reply or wave.  He was too busy watching the greeting between Yulia and Spencer.  It involved a peck to each cheek and one surprise smooch in the middle, right on Reid’s full lips.   Morgan’s discrete chuckle tickled Prentiss and Hotch’s earpieces.

“He wasn’t expecting that, was he?” Morgan purred.   "Did you see the look on his face?"

“She so hit that,” Prentiss murmured. 

“Baby doll, she hit that with both hands,” Morgan agreed.  “Touches his hair, touches his arm, touches his waist.  Manages a very subtle butt pat too before she takes her seat.  Hotch?  Are you going to let her get away with that?”

Hotch’s foul-mouthed answer was dulled by the chime of the restaurant door opening again.  A tall, thin young girl with straight, dark hair dashed at full speed past Prentiss and Hotch.  She was dressed in a blue, green, and black plaid school uniform.  She was carrying a heavy book bag, and grinning from ear to ear.  She raced in Korsakova’s wake, dropped her book bag below the table, and shook a brown paper bag happily as she danced around next to Korsakova’s chair.

“Mama!  Mama!  I got the last copy!  Maxwell’s Illustrated Botany!  Yes!  Yes!  Yes!”

The girl stopped suddenly, giving a loud gasp as if in pain.   That was probably because her mother was tugging on the very end of her daughter’s long braided hair.   A forward swath of bangs fell into the girl’s thin face.  She pushed it back over one ear with long, thin fingers, and smiled shyly at Reid.  Dr. Reid looked about ready to pass out even though he was already sitting down.   The girl extended a hand to Reid, who offered one back.  He was trembling visibly.    

“I take it that’s Ekatarina Elisabeta Korsakova,” Prentiss said. 

Hotch had yet to breathe since the girl had come running in.   He too looked as if he had seen a ghost.  The girl blushed and pushed her bangs back over her ear again as Korsakova was making introductions.  Hotch clenched his jaw so hard his teeth grinded together audibly. 

“She told him that was Viktor Davydov’s daughter?” Hotch breathed.   

Prentiss answered, “Hotch?  Hotch?  Where are you going?”

Aaron stood from his chair, rasping with boiling anger, unbuckling his side arm.  Hotch’s phone rang in unison with Prentiss’s cell.  Reid’s cell was going off as well.  Emily answered the call, stood from her chair, tossed down a few bucks for the unfinished coffee.

“Hello?  JJ?  Hotch?” she said, following Aaron through the restaurant, past the other patrons who were staring at them.  “It’s a bad one?  Understood.  We’re on our way.  Hotch?  Hotch!?”

Prentiss caught up to Hotch, put a hand on his shoulder right as Aaron was reaching inside his jacket towards his hip.  His face was burning with unmitigated fury, and he was staring intensely at Korsakova.   He saw nothing but Korsakova as tunnel-vision closed around him.

“Duty calls.  That was JJ.  We have to go,” Prentiss announced.  She stowed her phone, put one hand on Reid’s shuddering shoulder, and kept one hand on Hotch’s arm.  Aaron shook off Emily’s grip, and snapped his sidearm back into place. 

“Agent Khotchner, how nice to see you,” Korsakova said softly. 

"We have to go," Prentiss murmured. 

"Another time then,” Korsakova said sadly.  She stood carefully as Hotch glowered at her.  Reid fumbled with his cane, finding his way to his feet with Prentiss’s help.   “Please be safe,” Korsakova wished to them all though her eyes were locked with Dr. Reid's eyes.  He blinked at her, color returning to his face finally.   Her face was void of the usual playful humor, showing only sadness and concern and years of regret and self-doubt.      

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Reid,” the young girl said.  Reid nodded silently, forcing himself to look at Ekatarina.  When he did, he found himself unable to take his eyes off of her.  Fear flooded over him, but he forced himself to smile.  The girl echoed his nervous gesture.  Looking closely at the girl and into her fawn-like brown eyes, Prentiss then understood why Hotch had momentarily lost his mind.   She was sure he would not have shot Korsakova in the knee this time, but straight through the heart. 

Morgan was standing outside the restaurant window, both hands pressed to the glass, face in between his fingers.   He joined the protective circle around Reid as Prentiss and Hotch guided him back towards the black SUV waiting at the end of the block.  

Inside the restaurant, Korsakova patted her daughter’s back, put on a cheerful smile, and second-guessed herself not for the first time that day. 

more to come

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