Criminal Minds Fanfic

by spinner

Cat and Mouse

   main cm index

1    2    3    4    5   6   7   8   9  

 1

The voice was distant, almost dreamlike, working its way through the song once, and again, softly and deeply all the while.  It was a Christmas carol, but not a happy one.  It was a sad dirge in mourning for a lost child.     

That woe is me,

Poor child for thee,

And every morn’ and day.

For thy parting,

neither say nor sing,

Bye-bye, lullay, lullay

At first Hotch was hearing it in his dreams, where he was walking across the field outside Reid’s house, watching children playing by a tree on the far corner of the back field.  He knew that Jack was among the children playing there, and he wanted to make it over to the tree where they were playing.  That was his task in the dream.   Why did his dreams always have tasks?  He watched the children as he grew near to them, and wondered why they were dressed so strangely.  Long dresses and dark pants and hats that reminded him of the Amish family he had encountered once on a drive in Lancaster, Pennsylvania.  Jack was having fun with the children, swinging around in a circle, dancing in a ring with their hands clasped together, turning faster as they moved.   The tree above them waved over them, dropping petals and young leaves that withered as they fell to the ground around the children. 

As Aaron rose up out of his sleep, the soft singing was in the same room with him.  He felt a hand on his shoulder, the touch of a kiss to his hair, and the gentle, deep voice against his cheek. 

“ ‘Bye-bye, lullay, lullay.’   I’ll be back after one.  Call me if you need anything.  Stay off your feet.”

There was a knock at the front door downstairs.  The voice and the hand and the kiss left the room.  Aaron opened his eyes and stretched carefully around his casts.  Reid wasn’t in the bed with him.  He felt alone and cold.  Where was Spencer this morning?

Hotch thought he could hear Reid downstairs, and he realized that Spencer had been the voice the hand and the kiss in the room with him.   Hotch drew himself out of bed and made it safely to the bedroom door, where he froze.  

A young woman in a sharp blue skirt and suit was pacing around in the dining room in noisy heels.   Reid collected various notebooks off the divan where he had been spread out with his thoughts last night.  He brought the notebooks back to the bag that the woman was holding.   Her face was framed by curly hair that traced her broad jaw, and she was smiling as she watched Reid zoom back and forth.  Reid was dressed sharply in a dark brown suit and tie and vest of lighter brown, but he was not wearing shoes yet.  He walked around in stocking feet, being as quiet as possible.  He was humming the same carol he had been singing upstairs. 

Aaron leaned on the doorway and watched Reid, smiling to himself distantly.  There was a large part of Hotch’s brain that still could not believe he was lucky enough to have this secretly-beautiful young man in his life.  It was like waking up to Christmas every morning, finding Reid in his bed, nestled against his side and against his heart.   

The doorway Aaron was leaning on creaked.  Without warning, the young woman’s head snapped upwards, and she nearly fell over.   

“Spencer Reid, what fuckery is this?” she blurted with a harsh, clipped British accent.   Reid emerged from the tv room, smiled happily at Hotch, and hurried up the stairs.

“I thought you were asleep.  Did we wake you?” Spencer asked, putting an arm around Aaron and helping him down the stairs.  Although Hotch would have protested that he didn’t need the help, that he was fine, he was so enjoying the feeling of Reid’s arm around his waist.  He also enjoyed the way the woman was watching them, doing her best to look annoyed when she really seemed thrilled. 

“Spencer, you duplicitous bastard.  You have the nerve to tease me about being pregnant, and you’re the one hiding your boyfriend upstairs.”

“Agent Aaron Hotchner, Ms. Parker Finley.  My SAIC, my…. um….handler.  Handler.  SAIC.  Aaron, Parker.  Parker.  Aaron.”

Finley snickered as she shook Hotch’s right hand, tenderly touching his fingers.   When Reid turned around, she gave him a playful smack on the arm.

“You’re playing house with your SAIC?   Aren’t there rules against that sort of behavior?   Is that how you got suspended, you naughty boy?  Wait until I tell Dr. Allison what you’ve been up to!”

“You know, of all the phrases used to describe two adults cohabitating together, I think that one is my least favorite.  Second least favorite,” Reid said, rubbing his arm where Parker had smacked him. 

“What’s your least favorite?” she asked.

“Shacking up.”

“So you are shaking up with your boss?” Parker teased happily.  Reid blushed pink.

“Yes.  He needs my help.  He’s got casts on two extremities.  He’s not allowed to drive.  He’s not allowed to be on his feet for more than two hours the entire day.”

“So you’re playing doctor with your boss?”

“I’m not the kind of doctor.”

“Well, apparently you ARE that kind of doctor,” Parker grinned at him. 

“Since when did my personal life fall under the purview of you handling speaking engagements?” Reid bristled playfully in reply. 

“Since three minutes ago when you opened that door and asked me how pregnant I am.  No ‘Hello, Parker’.  No ‘How are you, love’?  Just, ‘Oh, you’re pregnant.  How far along?’.    You still haven’t told me how you knew I was pregnant!”

“Pheromones,” Reid lied with an impish half smile, keeping Hotch aloft.  He turned his attention to Aaron.  “I made coffee for you.  Go sit on the couch, and I’ll bring it to you.”

“Georgetown today?” Hotch asked.  Reid nodded, heading for the kitchen and fixing him a cup of coffee. 

“The lecture is from ten to noon.  I should be back by one.”

“Why don’t you come with?” Parker asked Hotch, who was immediately shaking his head no, rubbing his scruffy chin and ruffled hair.   

“You should get some extra sleep.  You’re welcome to come, of course, but you’ll be bored to death, and you’ll make me terribly nervous,” Spencer wobbled back and forth between wanting and not wanting Hotch there.  He gave Aaron the cup of coffee and helped him towards the big comfortable couch in the tv room.

“Where’s Jack?” Hotch wondered, seeing children’s books spread about the couch.  Jack had been imitating Reid last night – while Reid had been busy with his lecture notes, Jack had been poring over Dr. Seuss books. 

“Jessica picked him up two hours ago,” Reid said as he picked up the children’s books and caressed them lovingly before putting them on the side table.

“When….”

“He’ll be back late tonight, 8 or 9.  She’s taking the boys to see movies this afternoon, and then to have pizza.”

“Oh…I…..”  Aaron rubbed his face.  He vaguely recalled Jessica saying something about these plans yesterday, but he had been so tired that the details had not sunk into his brain.   He was grateful that Spencer was good with dates and times.

“Please come,” Parker said.  “I’ll make arrangements for a late lunch after the lecture, and we’ll have a chance to chat.  I so want to interrogate you,” she persuaded. 

“I’m not….” Hotch said, rubbing his chin again. 

“I’ll help.  Have you ready in no time,” Reid said, reaching up to touch Hotch’s chin too.   Aaron longed to have those slender fingers all over his body.  Damn casts – he couldn’t wait to have them off in early January.  

“Won’t I make you nervous?”

“Intensely.  But you can critique my delivery, and give me constructive pointers later,” Reid said.  “I’d really appreciate that.”

Aaron couldn’t decide if Spencer did or did not want him to come.   Parker sure did.  She was anxious for the opportunity to grill him, just as she had said. 

“Hurry then.  We have about fifteen minutes leeway,” she urged. 

2

“You’ll be comfortable here?” Spencer asked, easing Hotch into a chair in the top of the seating area, helping him prop up his aching right foot.  “Can I get you anything?” Reid whispered, caressing Hotch’s chilly toes. 

“I’ll be fine.”

“Wait,” Parker insisted, stopping Reid, moving behind him and brushing his jacket ends aside.  She clipped a small box against his waistband in the middle, and then clipped the corresponding mic on Reid’s lapel in front.  “Speak normally, and they should be able to hear you.”

“Don’t be nervous,” Hotch added, feeling how Reid was already shaking. 

“This is great.  You don’t even have time for your usual panic attack,” Parker smiled. 

“I hope you don’t plan to heckle me during the question and answer session,” Reid murmured.  His voice echoed overhead.  Aaron promised no with a shake of his head.  Reid covered the mic with one hand, bent down, and whispered privately to Hotch.  He stood back up and took his hand off the mic.  Hotch was red and trying not to laugh.  Parker took Reid by the arm and escorted him towards the front of the room.

Several seconds after Reid and Parker had departed, two students came dragging in to the row in front of Hotch.  They dodged around his crutches and his propped-up leg.  They dropped their bags and nestled their frames tiredly into the rough chairs.

“So, you’ve heard this guy lecture before?” one said to the other.

“Yeah.  He’s got the worst voice.   His lectures are mostly facts and details.  It’s  like listening to someone read the phonebook.  Boring as death.  It’s a good two-hour nap though,” the other answered.   “Sit back here, keep a book open like you’re taking notes, and he’ll never notice unless you snore loudly.”

Hotch gave them both a dirty look and pulled out his phone.  He texted a quick message to Reid down front.  Reid pulled out his phone and read the screen, and quickly stifled a laugh.   Parker took the phone away from him, turned off the ringer, and gave it back. 

“You behave,” Parker scolded softly.  Her voice was picked up over the mic on Reid’s lapel.   Hotch waited until Parker walked away again, and then he texted Reid quickly.    Spencer jumped when his phone vibrated. 

“Maybe he’s late for the Trekkie convention across town,” one of the students joked with the other again. 

“Yeah, probably,” the other replied. 

Reid was putting notebooks in order and turning to the white board behind himself.   He pulled out the phone and read the screen.   Reid dialed with one thumb while writing on the white board with his other hand.  Hotch’s phone rang.  He put it to his ear.

“Yes?” Reid asked.

“So when are we going back up in the helicopter?  Jack keeps asking,” Hotch wondered. 

“Not until I get my license.”

“Are you going to get your license?”

“In the spring, yes.  Lieutenant Spaulding can’t wait.”

Hotch knew he was hearing Reid’s voice not just through the phone but over the mic he was wearing.   Reid didn’t seem to notice though.  Spencer rumbled in soft private syllables in a scruffy tone that went straight to Aaron’s groin. 

“How long is this lecture going to take?” Hotch asked. 

“Roughly two hours.”

“What’s it on again?”

“The linguistic speech patterns of narcissistic serial killers, how their use of language indicates their need to deflect the guilt of their crimes onto the actions or words of their victims.”

“Ah, yes.  Deflect the guilt to the victim so they themselves feel less responsible for the crimes committed.”

“Exactly that, yes.”

“What do you say after you’re finished, I take you home, and we discuss the linguistic speech patterns of narcissistic serial killer hunters?”

“Sounds interesting,” Reid mused.   “Have you any experience with narcissistic serial killer hunters?”

“Like you would not believe.”

Reid purred a sexy little laugh in reply. 

“Or we could just have wild sex on the couch instead?” Hotch rumbled sensually.

The two students turned around and stared at Hotch, eyes narrowed, faces disapproving and disbelieving.

“The couch, the car, the kitchen floor, the desk in the library,” Reid hummed hungrily.  “Please don’t tease me like that.   You know your doctor said no sex until the casts come off.”

“Great, all we need is a hacksaw and a doctor on speed dial.”

“But you have a doctor on speed dial, don’t you?” Reid purred. 

“A medical doctor,” Hotch clarified.   

“I could get that degree in a year and half if you think it would come in handy,” Reid teased back. 

Parker came racing back across the stage and stood behind Reid, turning off his mic in order to whisper something to him.   She pried the phone out of his hand, turned his mic back on, and disappeared off stage again.    From the wings, she paused and put the phone to her ear.

“You cut it out, right this second.  Stop distracting him,” Parker growled crankily to Hotch over the phone before disconnecting the call.    Reid spun on stage to give Hotch a coy glance over one shoulder, and then he continued writing on the dry-erase board.  He hadn’t even noted how full the auditorium was becoming.   The light blurred out the faces of the students who were arriving. 

“Who is this guy, and what did he do with deathly-boring Dr. Spencer Reid?” the first student whispered to the other, who gave Hotch a nervous glance over her left shoulder before shrinking down in her seat. 

Hotch smiled widely and settled back for two hours of watching his boyfriend prowl back and forth around the stage below. 

3

“You underestimate yourself, as usual,” Parker sighed at Reid.

“Everything that could go wrong did go wrong, so in that regard, the lecture went as expected.  Why do I keep letting you talk me into doing these?”

“You were fine until you started thinking, and then you got nervous.  You’re being too hard on yourself, ” Finley said, shaking her head at him.  “Have another drink.   Lunch should be here soon.”

“One more and I will be too tipsy to get behind the wheel.”

“Don’t worry.  I’ll drive home,” Aaron said.

“You are so funny,” Reid mused, dodging Aaron’s hand when he sought to tickle him. 

“I will call a cab for you.   I’ve been meaning to ask.  What did you do to get stuck in those?” Parker asked, indicating Hotch’s casts.

“We were on a case in Montana a few weeks ago, and the helicopter I was in went down on the mountain in bad weather.”

“You see?  That’s what you get for being macho and adventurous.  That’s what I like about Dr. Reid.  He’s not adventurous at all.  He’s a tame kitten.    Sweet as a domestic feline.  He is never going to be stupid enough to get into a helicopter in bad weather, let alone….oh, no.  I know that look.  Did you?  Spencer!!” Parker scolded.

“Your sweet domestic kitty here commandeered a helicopter from Andrews Air Force Base, learned to fly it practically when they were taking off from the ground, and essentially saved my bacon,” Hotch revealed as Reid turned a vivid shade of pink.

“It wasn’t like that at all,” Reid lied.  “It wasn’t me alone.   There were a lot of people involved.”

“Just you wait till I tell Dr. Allison what you’ve been up to, naughty boy!” Parker laughed.  She took another sip of her soda and tipped her chin up, glancing back towards the kitchen door where the waiter had disappeared.  “If they don’t hurry with lunch, you will definitely be tipsy, drinking on an empty stomach.”

“I may be halfway there already,” Reid warned.   

“The last time I saw you tipsy was at Dr. Allison’s fiftieth birthday party.  My goodness.  That was memorable.”

“I was dancing,” Reid shrugged as explanation to Aaron.

“No, love, you weren’t dancing.  You were belly-dancing.  There is a world of difference between an ill-coordinated waltz, and you doing hip snaps and snake arms.  There’s a big difference.  You haven’t lived until you’ve heard him ululate.”

“Oh God, Parker, I had managed to block that from my mind.  Thank you so much for reminding me,” Reid groaned in pain.   “Have you decided on a name yet?”

“No.”

“Wait,” Hotch said, putting a hand on Parker’s arm.  “Go back.  He was belly-dancing?”

“He was.  He convinced several other interns, present and former, to join him in this elaborate….  Spencer, you have not yet ululated for your boyfriend?”

“No,” Reid said, laughing softly, not missing the way Hotch was smiling at him.  “No.  Not a chance in the darkest, deepest, coldest arc of Hell’s Ninth Circle.”

“Did you at least keep that slinky, coin-covered skirt?  He was marvelous,” Parker promised.   “I will never tire of making you blush like that,” she mused, tickling Reid’s chin.  

“You haven’t told her yet, have you, your mother?”

Parker’s face flashed with real anger and then tempered itself with fondness. 

“No.  I have not.  She’ll expect to see a ring on my finger, and when I tell her that’s not happening, she’ll tell me I'm being juvenile, and then she’ll get indignant about the fact Terry is white, she'll be furious that he's Catholic, and all we’ll do is have row after row about it, and I think it’s best we don’t even get into that argument, don’t you?”

“Probably.”

“My first reaction when I found out was that I wasn’t even sure I wanted to have it after all.”

“After all the trouble you went through?” Reid exclaimed.   “Two years of fertility drugs, and now you get cold feet?”

“I thought maybe I was going against what was Fate then, you know?  What if I’m not meant to be a parent?  Things happen for a reason.   What if I’m going against reason?  What if the baby has all kinds of problems because of me?”

“Listen to me.  Parker Marie Finley, you will be a wonderful parent.  Just because your father was a dick, and your mother is a self-absorbed narcissist, that doesn’t mean you will be a bad parent.”

“You always know the right thing to say.  I should have these talks with you more often,” Parker said fondly, tearing up for a moment or two. 

“Have you talked to your sister?”

“No,” Parker growled, all tenderness forgotten.

“Why not?”

“Sandy will run straight to Mum, that’s why!  And all Sandy will do is remind me how perfect and special she is, and how me and Terry will never measure up to her and her perfect Reginald and her three precious children and her job in the City and their house in Belgravia.”

“Who the hell wants to live in Belgravia?” Reid mocked.   “Bayswater is much nicer.  You have to stop letting Sandy push your buttons.  You need to push Sandy’s buttons for a change.”

“If I could find any weaknesses in her, I would have already exploited them, believe you me,” Parker sighed.  “There’s no defense against her.  She’s perfect.”

“Perhaps then her weakness is that perfection.  Think on it,” Reid urged, grinning impishly again.   Reid took Parker’s hand and held gently.  “If you can ignore your sister being a bitch, perhaps you might be able to get some advice about….you know….what to expect.  She’s been through it three times.  She has to have learned a few tips on the process she could pass on to you.”

Parker snickered. 

“What?” Reid asked.

“You giving me advice on being pregnant is a bit like asking your auto mechanic to do an OB-GYN exam, isn’t it?”

“Which is why I’m not giving you advice, but suggesting that you ask your sister,” Reid said with a wounded pout.

“The first thing I’m going to do when I get back to London is take the train to Oxford and find Dr. Allison and tell him his darling boy is shacking up, and that he’s giving me advice on pregnancy and parenting.  Do you want to know what Leslie is going to ask me?”

“No,” Reid shook his head.

“He’s going to ask me what I’ve been drinking, because he will never believe me.  You never break the rules.  You’re perfect.  You’re sweet.  You’re kind.  You and Sandy make me sick – you perfect people, you.”

“I will send you off with some parenting books,” Reid offered.  Parker smiled faintly at him, bent forward and kissed his cheek.  

“I want to be around when you become a father, Spencer, because I am going to yank your chain so fucking hard, it’s going to leave marks,” Parker teased maliciously.

All amusement left Spencer’s face.   He withdrew from Parker and gave her a cold, reptilian stare.  Parker’s smile faltered.  She looked to Aaron for help.   

“I am even less prepared to be a parent than you are,” Reid answered diplomatically, trying to bring human warmth back to his features.   

“I have an idea,” Parker said.  “Why don’t we pay for our drinks and go to your house instead for lunch?  I should like to examine you two in domum tuam before I decide if I should leave my baby on your doorstep in a basket.”

“On that note, I have to step away for a second or two,” Reid said, standing up abruptly.  “Which way to….ah, I see.  Excuse me please.”

Reid disappeared on quick feet towards the back hall marked ‘Restrooms’.  He was barely out of earshot before Parker got right to the point.

“What has happened?” she asked Hotch.  “What did I say?  We tease each other all the time.   But I know I’ve hit a soft spot when Spencer frosts over like that.  Is he okay?   Love, what did I say?”

“I’m not at liberty…” Hotch offered.

“Is his mum all right?”

“Yes, as far as I know.”

“He’s struggling with being a parent to your son?” Parker considered to herself, shaking her head.  “You mentioned someone named Jack.  Your son, I assume?  Spencer is concerned about being in a relationship with someone with children?”

“That’s part of it,” Hotch said. 

“He has such a hard time trusting himself, and he can’t imagine anyone loving someone like him, and if you throw a child into that equation, he gets even more scared, feels even more inadequate,” Parker said, shaking her head at herself. 

“I know,” Hotch nodded.

“Is it more than that?  Good God.  Did he…is he….has he become a father and he didn’t tell me?” Parker whispered. 

“In a manner of speaking,” Hotch nodded.  “He might be a father.  He hasn’t told anyone.”

“Oh, bless him,” Parker gasped, taking a large gulp of soda and dabbing her mouth.  “Whoever she is, she sprung this on him suddenly or what?”

“In the worst possible fashion,” Hotch nodded.  “She invited him to lunch and brought the child along without warning either of them.  She told him before the child was someone else's, but she's clearly wavering on that point now.”

“That bitch,” Parker whispered.   “How old is the child?”

“She’s ten.”

“Ten?” Parker gasped.  “Ten?” she whispered.  “Is that even bloody possible?”

“Please don’t say anything.  Do not ask questions.  He’s upset about it as it is.”

“Understood,” Finley nodded, covering her shock with calmness as Reid returned.  She popped up, gave him a small hug, and whispered to him.  “Come on.  No hard feelings.  I was taking the mick out of you, that’s all.  Like old times.  Like Oxford.”

Reid nodded, kissing Parker on the cheek.  Morgan teased him much worse on a regular basis.  He was accustomed to rough handling.   Hotch made a mental note to warn Morgan not to tease Reid about this topic either. 

“We’re leaving,” Parker decided firmly.  “I’m starved, and I’m tired of waiting.  We’ll get some Indian take-away on the way back to your place.  Parker Finley does not wait.  She is a busy, busy woman.”

Parker tossed money on the table from her purse, and helped Reid help Hotch to his feet.   

4

“How did the lecture on Saturday go?” Prentiss asked Reid as he pored over files at his desk. 

“The sound system failed mid-lecture.  I crashed the computer twice.  I brought half the wrong notebooks.  I inadvertently outed one of my students as a possible future unsub during the question and answer session by profiling his speech patterns, at his own request.  Yes!  Another stunningly-successful speaking engagement.  I’m never doing another,” Reid moaned. 

“How is Parker?” Morgan asked.   “Gorgeous as ever?”

“She and Terry are expecting.”

“Should I send her my congratulations?” Derek asked.

“I wouldn’t yet.  She threatened to leave it in a basket on my porch.”

“How does Terry feel about this?” Morgan wondered.

“Dunno,” Reid shrugged.  “She hasn’t told anyone—not her sister, not her mother.  Maybe Terry doesn’t even know yet that he’s going to be a father.”

“When it rains, it pours,” Prentiss whispered sympathetically.   Reid nodded. 

“When is Parker due?” Morgan wondered. 

“Mid-summer.”

“And she’s going to leave her baby in a basket on your porch?”

“She was kidding.  I hope.”

“Maybe you should start with a cat or a dog, and practice for a while,” Morgan murmured.  Reid laughed out.   His phone rang, and he reached over to tap the speaker button, not taking his eyes off the material in the file he was poring over.

“Dr. Reid here.”

“Hi.  Hello.” 

It was a young girl’s voice, and Reid did not have to ask which young girl it was.  His eyes shot directly to the phone.  

“Hi,” he said back, clearing his throat quietly.

“This is Katherine.   Did you get my package yet?” the little voice asked. 

“Hi, Katherine.  Package?” Reid squeaked. 

“The post office website said it was the right address.  I sent it yesterday.  You’ll have to sign for it.   It’s a DVD of my hockey game from last week.”

“Did you send it to work or home?” Reid asked.

“Work.”

“The mail is delivered here at 5 a.m.  It takes an hour to sort.  Another hour to scan.  Another hour to go through processing.  We get our mail to our desks about 9 a.m., if we’re lucky.”

“Oh.”

“It’s five till nine now,” Reid added hopefully. 

“They scan and process your mail?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” she said again, sounding worried.   “For contraband substances?” she quivered.

“Nothing alive, liquid, or perishable comes through.   A DVD should be fine.”

“But they’ll watch it?”

“Probably.”

“Dermo,” she whispered.  Prentiss and Reid both raised their brows. 

“We could talk for a few minutes—wait to make sure your package arrives,” Reid suggested.   Prentiss was smiling at him from her desk.  He gave her a nervous, hopeful smile back. 

“Okay.  What should we talk about?” Ekatarina asked.

“We could talk about botany.  How is school?”

“What do you know about hockey?”

“Even less than I know about botany, but I’m willing to learn.”

“Mama says I should make you practice your Russian.”

“Tell Mama that I haven’t forgotten how to speak Russian.  I can’t forget how.  Technically impossible.”

“Hold on a second,” she said.  There was muffled talking in the background.  Reid sat up in his chair and got closer to the phone.   “She wants to know if they record your phone calls at work.”

“Oh, without a doubt,” Reid replied, casting an eye at the ceiling, scanning around the perimeter of the bullpen.  “They film us at work too.”

“I should go,” Ekatarina quivered. 

“Wait,” Reid begged.  “I very much want to talk to you again.  Will you call back?”

“Yes.”

“Wait,” Reid said, but the line was disconnected.   “Damn,” he added softly, springing up from his desk.

“Where are you going?” Prentiss asked. 

“To find out where the mail is,” Reid blurted, dashing away.

Hotch came hobbling back down the hallway at the same time, and Reid nearly collided with him.  Reid steadied Hotch with both hands, and Spencer grinned at him nervously. 

“What’s the rush?” Aaron asked. 

“Be right back,” Reid promised, squirming away and speeding off. 

“What’s the rush?” Hotch asked Prentiss, who looked like she might be blinking back tears. 

“I’ll let Reid explain,” she avoided, clearing her throat, picking up a file off her desk.  She picked up his phone a dialed the operator.  “This is Agent Prentiss.  I need you to put a trace on the number that made the last call to this extension.  Report back to me.  Thanks,” she replied, hanging up again.  Hotch raised a brow at her, then looked at Morgan who shrugged.  Hotch went off towards his office, feeling even more out of the loop than ever.   

5

“Are  you okay?” Emily asked.  She took the thumb drive from Reid’s shaking hand.   “I thought she was sending you a DVD?”

“Yes and no,” Reid quivered.  Prentiss had not expected to find Spencer at her front door at six on a Tuesday.  But it was okay, now that he was here.  And maybe it wasn’t that unexpected after all. 

“Sit.  You look pale.  You sure you wouldn’t rather talk to Hotch?”

“Emmy, he already shot Korsakova in the leg once.  I hate to think how he’d react if he thought Yulia was putting the child up to this.  I’m sure he’d find a nefarious purpose behind it all.”

“Good point,” Prentiss decided.   

“I’ve been carrying the package around since yesterday.  I only opened it this morning.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to….um…I’m not sure,” he said, staring at his shoes.  Emily took one of his hands and squeezed it.   

“Sit.  I’ll start coffee and brush my teeth.  You turn on the computer.”

“Where is it?”

“Under Sergio,” Emily said as she pointed to the cat sleeping on the side table. 

“What’s the password?”

“He’s sitting on it,” Emily mused. 

By the time Prentiss returned, Reid and the cat were sitting on the end of her divan.  Reid had plugged in the thumb drive and was transfixed by the small face on the computer screen.

“Where to begin?” the young girl was saying. 

The background showed Ekatarina’s room at home, Emily assumed, which was a calm shade of green, and by and large covered with hockey equipment, hockey memorabilia, and more plant life than the national conservatory.   Prentiss knew that Reid was profiling the girl by her environment.  Spencer did not appear displeased with what he saw: there was a bookcase full of science and botany texts and stuffed animals (an inordinate number of stuffed frogs, he noted); a clothes hamper filled to capacity and overflowing with jerseys and school uniform pieces; and a bulletin board with a class schedule and logos from a prestigious all girls’ school in Potomac.  Their mascot must be a panther, because one large specimen was perched on the highest shelf of the bookcase, poised to jump off at a moment’s notice.  Reid’s eyes were drawn to the world map positioned above the bulletin board – it was littered with tiny flags and pins.  He was smiling to himself.  He seemed to have entirely forgotten Prentiss was in the room. 

“Ten things you need to know about Mouse Korsakova.  Number one, and most important, don’t call me ‘Cat’.  Or ‘Katya’.  Or ‘Kitty’.  Or ‘Kate’.  Or any variant of ‘Ekatarina’.   I’m ‘Mouse’.”

She picked up a pink sharpie pen and sketched a figure on a page in a small notebook, then flipped it up at the camera.  It was a pink teardrop with ears, with a long tail and a ribbon bow on the end.   There were several similar mice drawn on the envelope lying on the divan next to Reid.  He fingered the envelope unconsciously. 

“If I eventually outgrow ‘Mouse’, I want to be called ‘Katherine’.    Like Catherine the Great.  Like Katherine Hepburn.  But for now, I prefer ‘Mouse’ above anything else.   I like plants (she pointed behind herself abstractly).  I like hockey (she pointed again).   I play hockey (she lifted up a mangy glove).  Um.   What else?”

There was a meow in the room.  The girl glanced down below the camera range.  She smiled and put down the pink pen.   She picked up the animal at her feet.   Green eyes filled the camera. 

“I got a cat for my birthday this year.   I think that’s a good sign we might be staying here a while.  Hard to put a cat in a suitcase.  This is Dr. Goodfoot.”

She turned the black cat upside down, much to his displeasure, in order to show his right back foot, which was white with pink toes.

“He’s almost a year old.  I call him ‘Goody’ most of the time.  ‘Bad Kitty’ sometimes.  He likes to chew on my computer cords.  Seems to have a personal vendetta against my iPhone.   No.  Bad Kitty.”

The kitten took a swipe at her and jumped up to put its face in the camera.  Mouse swept Goody off the desktop and back into her hands.   She stroked the cat as she continued to talk.   The cat played with her long dark braid, gnawing on the end.    

“I play hockey.  I’m a goalie – very good with my hands and very fast on my feet, but even faster on skates.   Bohzje moi.  I hope you aren’t a football fan.  I will be so disappointed in you.”

Reid whispered a soft laugh.  Prentiss stood behind him, resting one hand on his shoulder. 

“Mama so wanted me to be a figure skater.   She started me in lessons when I was little.  We were in Sweden then.  I didn’t want to play with the girls.  All they were worried about was being cute and pretty.   Turning circles and being cute.  Gross.  Frankly I think figure skating is about as useful as cheerleading, and that’s about as useful as amoebic dysentery.  I kept sneaking over to the other half of the rink, and playing hockey with the boys instead.   They were having a lot more fun.  They needed a goalie, and I promised not to give them girl cooties.  So Mama enrolled me in hockey classes, and the rest is history.”

Mouse picked up the pen again and was sketching on the next page of the notebook.  She flipped up the page – it was small face behind a large mask.  There were large, angry eyebrows floating above the mask itself.  

“I take self-defense classes.  It makes Mama happy.  I practice with Max.  He’s my…. um….. Mama says he’s my driver.  Mama likes euphemisms.   Other girls have drivers.  Their drivers do not take them to tae kwon do and then to the shooting range after school every day until hockey lessons start.   Their drivers don’t carry a Sig Sauer P226 with a personalized inscription from his commanding officer in commemoration of his brilliant service in Afghanistan.   I like Maksim.   I’m grateful for him.  He takes very good care of me.  He lets me take the wheel of the Jag once in a while.  Well, twice.  He did promise he’d teach me to drive for real when I’m old enough though.”

She turned another page and wrote several words, flipping it up at the camera – she had written ‘bodyguard’ in English, Russian, French, and Swedish.  

“Sweden was nice.  We move about every two years, sometimes eighteen months.  I’ve been about everywhere you can think of.  Ever since that petite contre-temps in Rotterdam a few years ago, Max is always close by.   I used to think Mama was married to Max, but they’re just friends.    He used to be married a long time ago, when he was young and foolish, he says.  He’s  been with Mama since Rotterdam.  Thank goodness he was in Istanbul – yeah, that wasn’t any fun.   Mama said we’re never going back to Turkey, which is a pity, because the Hagia Sophia was awesome.  Oh, Max has got a brother in California.  If Max is with Mama, I stay with Dyadya Val.  He’s not nearly as much fun as Max.  Val got all the charm, and Max got all the funny, he says.” 

She was writing again.  Flipped up the page – ‘Valeri Volchenkov, Anaheim.  He’s a DUCKS fan!  So sad.’

Prentiss laughed out.  “I like this kid,” she mused. 

"I hate fish.   Baba Tatyana secretly tries to feed me fish when we visit her in Vladivostok.   She says it’s bad luck for the granddaughter of a fisher-woman to not like fish.   I’ve been to seventeen countries and six continents.  I speak Russian and English best, but I know a little from each place we’ve been.  I miss London.  I miss the house in Bayswater.  I miss Alex.  He’s in Annapolis now.   Mama does not like that he wants to be known as ‘Alex’ and not ‘Alexei’ anymore than she likes me wanting to be ‘Katherine’.  It was better when we were both here at home.  Mama didn’t worry as much.  I have a scar on my arm where I broke it.  It was so gross.  The bones popped right out of the skin.  You probably don’t want to see that, and I can’t get my sleeve up that far anyhow.  Some other time.  Alex sat with me and held my hand until the ambulance arrived.  I was climbing up the tree to catch him when I fell.  He felt so bad.  He’s a wonderful big brother.  I really love him.  I don’t care if we’re only half siblings.  I love him very much.”    

‘Go Navy!’ Mouse wrote then flipped the page up at the camera.   She whistled a small piece of ‘Anchors Aweigh’ before she had to stop.  Seconds later, she cleared her throat and spoke again, but she avoided looking at the camera. 

“I wish Alex was here.  He’d know the right thing to do.  Dr. Reid, we have to have lunch again soon.  I’m sorry you had to leave.”

‘Surprised you too?’ Mouse scrawled and flashed at the camera.   Goody climbed from her lap to her shoulder.  He walked to her other shoulder and leapt onto the bed behind her.  

“I know there are two reasons why Mama will lie to me:  she’s afraid I won’t understand, or she’s afraid I’ll get hurt.  I cannot guess at her reason this time—probably both?”

‘I broke into her computer’ Mouse wrote. 

“Enlightening,” she said out loud, slowly, parsed into short syllables. 

‘She is following you,’ Mouse wrote and showed the screen. 

“There are three types of men in Mama’s life: she wants to marry you, she needs to talk to you for work, or she wants you dead.   You are not the sort of man she marries.  You’re too nice.   Because you are not yet dead, I can only assume she needs you for work.  Dead people only get about six weeks.   Guys she wants to marry – about ten weeks.  She’s really very ‘fish or cut bait’ when it comes to those kinds of things.”

‘You = 15 years??’ she wrote and showed the screen, her expressive eyes wide with disbelief.   

Goody leapt around on the bed, flinging himself on top of the school bag and then up at the wall.  He was having a wonderful fight with a goalie mitt attached to the wall above the headboard.  Mouse squeaked, leapt up, and raced over.  She delicately detached Goody from the mitt to which he had been clinging, putting him back down on the bed and covering him lightly with the end of a blanket.  The kitten rolled around and popped back out, batting at the finger Mouse shook at him.   

“Bad Kitty.  Not the Ryan Miller glove!  I had to brave a Buffalo snowstorm and a zillion, freaking puck-bunnies to get Miller to sign that.”

Mouse sat down in her chair again, letting the cat roam around the bed.   She picked up the pen and flipped the page.

“I guess you know why I am sending you the envelope.  I hope you don’t think I’m being intrusive.   But we beat the Reston Raiders, and I thought you’d like to see.”

‘Vitya can’t be my otets.  He had cold eyes,’ she wrote and flashed at the screen.

She looked towards the bedroom door and leaned closer to the camera. 

“The DVD is my first shut-out this year,” she began.    She flipped another page and started writing in small print as she rambled.  “That means I kept the opposition without a point in the game.  They were good too—no bunch of push-overs.  I mean, Lahdi Harris?  She’s so awesome.  Wish I had a slapshot like her.   I could be a double-threat then.  She’s going to Princeton someday.  Her parents said so.  I don’t know if she’s going on a hockey scholarship or not, but she’s like—the best.  She’s going to be a doctor.  A vet.  Seriously.  She said so.  She’s got the best slapshot on her team, and I beat her.  I got down just in time and took that slapshot in the shoulder.  You should see the bruise Lahdi gave me!  I sent her a picture, and she texted me back that next time she’ll go for my mask instead of the top shelf.  I said ‘bring it on, and send your brother’.  She’s the best, but Jas?  He’s even better than she is.  Jas is Alex’s age.  He’s at Michigan State now.    Someday you’ll be watching Jaswinder Harris in the NHL, kicking butt all over the place.  He’s a defenseman.”

Mouse showed the notebook: ‘Mama doesn’t know what else is in the package.  How much hair to do you need for DNA test??’

Mouse put down the pink pen and picked up her braid, giving it a leisurely twist. 

“I haven’t cut my hair in years.  It’s my good luck talisman.  You better hope this does not cause a losing streak, mister,” she warned, looking sulky for a second or two.  Reid was grinning brightly.  He had recognized something in that look. 

“Mom?” he mouthed, tearing up. 

Mouse reached off camera and picked up a large pair of silver scissors.   Reid took a fearful deep breath.  Mouse put the scissors in her jacket pocket, and picked up a red knitted something.  She tipped her head over, tucked the braid into the red thing, and sat back up.  She was pulling on a hat with a stylized eagle emblem in red, white, and blue across the front.   Reid knew he had seen that emblem on vehicles all around DC.    Mouse picked up the pen and turned the page and scrawled again.  She flipped the page at the camera —  it was her phone number and an email.  Mouse smiled nervously and tucked the notebook into the backpack on the bed. 

“I hope to hear from you soon, Dr. Reid.    Mouse is signing off now.  Squeak-squeak.”

Mouse waved timidly at the camera with her right hand.  There was a scuff scar on the heel of her palm.   The video file ended with a fizzle and crackle and then a blank screen.   Prentiss’s Eifel Tower wallpaper reappeared. 

Prentiss picked up the envelope off the couch and tipped it sideways.   A DVD marked “Potomac versus Reston” fell out, along with a long dark braid of hair.

“Do we even really need to run the test?” Emily asked.  Reid was drying his eyes with the heel of one palm. 

“Yes,” he answered, laughing softly.   

“Let me get dressed.  We’ll go to Quantico, snag a techie we can trust, poke you,  and get the test run a.s.a.p.”

6

Every time Reid’s phone buzzed on the plane Wednesday, Prentiss would look up at him and wait.  The team was on an overnight flight to Corvallis, Oregon to investigate a series of murders involving college co-eds who moonlighted as escorts.  After the round table discussion, everyone had broken up to separate parts of the plane to think and review the files on their own and try to catch a little sleep.  Reid had been staring off into nothingness, fingering the tiny bandage on his left middle finger.  His phone vibrated loudly, and he took it out of his pocket, inhaling deeply and giving an excited peep of noise. 

Emily got to her feet and made her way in Reid’s direction, passing Hotch and JJ, who were talking case points.

“Playing the ponies again, Pretty Boy?” Morgan asked from the seat in front of Reid.  Derek and Spencer were sitting back to back.  Spencer laughed and waved an obscene gesture at Derek above and behind himself.  Morgan laughed and waved the same gesture back before returning his attention to his music and his own copy of the case file.

“The escort service matron – you spoke to her on the phone?” Hotch was asking Jureau. 

“She’s the one who called the police initially, believe it or not.  I think she’s got a friendly rapport with the local sheriff, and that’s a good thing, because we’re going to need her cooperation for this case,” Jureau replied.

Prentiss sat down across from Reid, and felt JJ and Hotch both staring at her.  Emily couldn’t exactly get up and move to the next seat, although that would put her out of range of their eyes. 

“Did your pony place?” she asked seriously.  Reid gave her his phone, covering his mouth with his hand.  He was nodding.   “Yasno.  Pozdravlyayu? (I see.  Congratulations?)” 

Reid took a deep breath and another, leaning back in his seat and staring out the window.  Congratulations were probably not in order, even as a joke.  He looked scared, shaky, amused, and nauseated.  Prentiss gave Reid back his phone and took his hand, holding it between hers.  He closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip hard.  He clung tightly to her fingers. 

“Ne volnuites, Papa. (Don’t worry, Papa),” Emily soothed. 

“How am I going to tell her?” Reid asked, shaking his head.

“In person.  Not over the phone, and absolutely not by text.  Take her to a hockey game?” Prentiss suggested. 

Morgan, who was probably listening to their every word, cleared his throat and coughed once.  Prentiss looked up.

Hotch loomed.    He had appeared so suddenly in deep stealth mode that Reid yelped in surprise. 

“Are you all right?” Hotch asked. 

“Fine, yes, okay, sure, mm mm, all right,” Reid rambled so quickly that it sounded like one long word.   Hotch remained unconvinced.    “No,” Reid admitted, looking down at his lap and curled knees. 

“I need you concentrating on this case.  Both of you,” Hotch added with a sharp look at Prentiss as well. 

“Yes, sir,” they answered as one.  Hotch continued to stare at Prentiss, and Emily took that as her cue to return to her seat by Rossi at the other end of the plane.    She gave Reid an apologetic smile before slinking away.  

Hotch paused, sliding his hand onto Reid’s shoulder and gently caressing the side of Reid’s face.

“If you need to talk, I’m here,” Hotch offered.  Reid smiled gratefully up at him and nodded.  

“Soon,” Reid promised.   

“Turbulence ahead,” Morgan said, clearing his throat.  Hotch moved side to side to return to his seat next to JJ as the plane rocked savagely.  Once Hotch was back where he had begun, Morgan unhooked his lap belt and moved around to sit next to Reid.  Without a word, he hooked himself into his seatbelt, and held tight to Reid’s shaking hand. 

“Thanks,” Reid whispered. 

“You’re welcome,” Derek replied, eyeing Reid’s bandaged middle finger.  “Back here?  It’s the safest place in the plane.  We go down, it’ll be you and me, eating what’s left of the others until the rescue team arrives.”

Reid laughed loudly, trying not to cry.   Morgan held tighter to his hand.

“I say we start with JJ.  She’s the meatiest,” Derek joked.  

“I heard that!” Jureau called out.   

7

"So who is this Ryan Miller guy?” Prentiss asked Reid.  Spencer was coiled up in the gaudy purple seat, his knees splayed cross-legged.  He was holding a book in his open lap.  He might have been worried to put his feet on the floor.  Whoever had had these seats earlier in the day (for whatever event had been held prior to the hockey game) had left the floor strewn with peanut shells. 

“Goalie for the Buffalo Sabres,” Reid replied casually, turning another page.   “Must be Mouse has a thing for goalies.  Thank you again for coming with me.”

“You’re welcome.  Did you tell Hotch where you were going?”

“I said I was Christmas shopping.”

“I don’t need to tell you, you better come home with a few bags, do I?  How long do these games last?”

“There are three, twenty-minute periods by the game clock, but each period generally takes between forty-five and fifty minutes due to televised commercial breaks and stoppages in play.  There are fifteen-minute intermissions between the first and second, and second and third periods.  They go to overtime if the score is tied.  Overtime runs five minutes with four men on the ice plus the goalies.  During the regular season, if no one scores in overtime, they go to a shoot-out, which is three players one at a time for each side going one-on-one against the goalie.  We could be here between two and a half and three and a half hours.”

“I see you have not been idle,” Prentiss mused. 

“What’s the matter with Korsakova?  Who in their right mind would let their child play this game?  I mean, the incidents of physical injury alone should be a red flag—broken bones, missing teeth, concussions, muscle pulls—not to mention the open racism and homophobia and misogyny and jingoism.   Who the hell does Don Cherry think he is?”

“Who is Don Cherry?” Prentiss asked. 

“Nevermind.  It would take too long to explain.”

“Mouse enjoys this game very much.  Don’t be a worry wart, and don’t spoil it for her.  Where is she sitting?”

“Not here yet,” Reid replied as he pointed up above himself.  Prentiss turned and cast her eyes along the seats above them, judging that there were not many seats left unfilled.   “I couldn’t find four seats together and had to get them by twos,” Reid explained.  “Have I said thank you yet?”

“Only about seven times.  You’re welcome.    Are you sure she got the tickets?” Emily worried. 

“Max signed for them two days ago.”

“Captain Maksim Volchenkov, Russian military officer with a personalized Sig Sauer P226, now assigned to Korsakova at her personal discretion.  What rank do you suppose Korsakova holds if she can simply have a captain?” 

“A captain and a lieutenant, if you count Uncle Val in California.”

“I’ve been a good girl.  A very good girl.  Can I have a captain too?”

Reid smiled at Emily, and she laughed softly.

“You can have Matts,” Reid offered.

“Who is Matts?”

“One of General Scott’s merry men.  I’ve never actually seen Matts.  I’ve only seen tracks.  But he’s six-foot-one, weighs approximately one ninety, has a slight injury to his right shoulder, and chews peppermint lifesavers constantly.  He has blond hair.  He favors grey wool socks.”

“How do you know he has a slight injury to his right shoulder?”

“He shoots with his right hand, and he used to open the barn door with his right hand, but now he opens the door with his left hand.”

“How do you know he shoots with his right?”

“Because the son of a bitch was scaring off the raccoons I’ve been feeding.  He’s been taking shots at them when they come to the yard and porch to nibble on cat food I leave out.   So the other night, I waited until I heard his silencer, and I shot back at him.  I know he’s wounded, because I wounded him,” Reid smirked. 

“How are the raccoons?”

“Safer.  I haven’t heard his gun since.”

“Which one of the merry men do you think is tailing you tonight?”

“Not sure.”

“So, does Korsakova hold an official rank?” Emily wondered.

“I don’t even want to know,” Reid mumbled, turning another page, brow furrowing.

“You’re mad at her,” Prentiss decided.

“I am furious at her.  I thought I was hiding it well though,” Reid blinked innocently.   “Being as objective as I possibly can in this situation, she had a mission to accomplish, and apparently, she accomplished it.  She probably earned a promotion out of it: freedom of movement, freedom to pick and choose her missions.  Good for her.  Glad I could be of service,” he added, his tone full of brimstone and danger.

“Just remember.  No matter how angry you want to be with Yulia for keeping this from you, you cannot be angry with Mouse.  None of this is her fault,” Prentiss reminded him. 

“I know,” Reid sighed, his fury dissolving into sympathy and concern.  He turned a page and gasped, dropping his feet to the floor, and sitting up straight.  Prentiss looked up. 

A large, impressive (actually very handsome) man in a deep red jersey with the name “Ovechkin” on it was marching up the tiny steps.  He was out of place here in the stands – he looked as big and athletic as the men who would soon be on the ice below.  His hair was shorter than his military file picture, but it was undoubtedly the same man.   

Reid casually watched the man jogging past their row.  Max Volchenkov was grim-faced and intimidating.  He was scanning the crowd with his blue eyes as he climbed.  He was alone.  He stopped, put a hand to his mouth as a cup, and shouted in Russian down below. 

“MYSHKA!” he bellowed.  Reid could easily imagine that voice carrying over a parade field filled with cadets in dress uniforms. 

Mouse popped up around the steps and did a quick sprint to catch up with Volchenkov, obeying him as fast as those imaginary cadets ever could have.  She was wearing the red knit cap over her hair.   The emblem of course was that of the Washington Capitals.  Mouse did not see Reid or Prentiss in the crowd here to watch the hockey team play.   She rushed past their row on her way to obey Volchenkov.   She was carrying a plastic bag with her, out of which poked the end of a hockey stick.  She was also carrying a botany textbook.   She was wearing a red jersey with a name on the back,  and her thin frame was swimming inside the huge over-shirt.   Reid read the name on her jersey, and his mouth fell open in horror. 

“What did you buy?” Max asked.

“Nothing,” Mouse lied, keeping the bag away from him.  She gave him the textbook.  He lifted her up and tucked her over one shoulder as he marched past fans to their seats.  Mouse giggled the whole way, nearly kicking several people in the heads as Max swung her around and put her feet down on the ground.   Max took the bag away from Mouse and stuffed it under his own seat, hiding it under his legs, moving the hockey stick around so it was beside his seat instead of between his knees. 

“Who signed this one?” Max asked, toying with the stick.   Mouse drew it out with a practiced hand, shivering with happiness as she wielded the hooked menace.

“Khabibulin,” she whispered reverently. 

“So you are collecting the Russians one at a time, eh?” Max asked, taking a grip on the closest end of the curved stick. 

“It’s so beautiful!” Mouse sighed.  “Please don’t tell Mama.  You know how she frowns on violence.”

“I see you are wearing Sasha tonight.  What has happened to your beloved Varlamov?  Were you not planning to marry him??”

“He left me.  He moved to Colorado.  I will speak no more of him,” Mouse sulked. 

“Where do you plan to hide this?”

“Under my bed with Brodeur and Luongo and Miller and the others.”

“You could pay for college with those sticks.”

“College or a new identity, whichever comes first,” Mouse smirked.  “Now that Nabokov is back, you do know we must go to the Island sometime this season, right, don’t you?”

“We’ll see, Myshka,” Max said fondly. 

“He seems to like her, at least,” Prentiss whispered to Reid. 

“Good thing,” Reid whispered back to her.   "They spend an awful lot of time together," he added with a hint of jealousy.  

Prentiss opened her purse and pulled out a compact, nestling the mirror between herself and Reid on the armrest between their seats after moving their respective drinks.    She had a mixed cocktail with an olive on a small sword spear, and Reid had a large sweet coffee.  It took a moment to aim the mirror appropriately, but when faces came into focus, Max was looking directly at them.  Mouse gave an excited squeak and pulled out her phone, tapping keys with familiar bubbling energy. 

Reid’s phone beeped.  He pulled it out and read the message.

hi =D

Reid was smiling as he texted back.

hi : )

Mouse’s reply took seconds.

thnx for tix! mama never lets me go see the caps on school nites!

“You sit here,” Prentiss said, closing the compact, patting Reid on the arm.   Emily slithered down the row between the disgruntled hockey fans getting ready for the game to start, and then she ran up the steps. 

Mere seconds later, Mouse was climbing over the tops of seats, bouncing down from the rows above.   Complaints followed her the entire way.  She grabbed Reid’s head with both hands and steadied herself, sitting down, all knees and legs and smiles, in the seat next to him.   Spencer plucked the cap off her short hair, and smiled meekly in reply as he toyed with her locks, straightening them for her.  Their hair was almost the same length, although Reid’s was lighter around the edges and tips.  The resemblance between them was even more pronounced.  Mouse settled into her chair and straightened her jersey.  Reid read the back of it again, made a sour face, and whispered his disapproval to her. 

“It’s not a dirty word!” Mouse insisted loudly.  “It’s pronounced ‘syoomin’.  He’s one of my favorite players!”         

Reid opened his book again and flipped to the index, then searched for a page.  Mouse pointed to the page when he opened it.

“See.  There he is.   Alexander Semin.  Ah, poor Sasha.  He does not photograph well,” Mouse said as she shook her head.  Her voice carried up the rows.   “That pic makes him look like he’d shank a stranger, doesn’t he?    I bet they tell the players to look as mean as possible for these headshots.  They don’t call Sasha ‘Captain Hook’ for nothing though.  He takes a lot of stick infractions, but he can stick-handle in a phone booth, and players who can score forty goal in a season don’t come along every day, you know?  Look around – you’ll see lots of his jerseys in the stands.   He must be doing something right.”    

8

Prentiss sat down next to Max, who was holding a botany textbook and wearing a wistful smile as he watched Reid and Mouse together. 

“He is very pretty, your husband,” Volchenkov said as Emily took the seat. 

“Whoa.  What?” Prentiss sputtered, wishing she had brought her cocktail with her, even if it was in a dinky plastic cup. 

“Your husband,” Max pointed at Reid.  “He is very pretty.”

“Yes, he is very pretty, but he is not my husband,” Emily explained.  Down below, Mouse was reaching for Prentiss’s abandoned cup.   Reid snatched it away from her, and gave her his coffee instead.  He finished the cocktail in one gulp.  He did relent and let her have the olive though. 

“I knew Myshka’s father had to be the pretty one, because that girl is going to break hearts everywhere when she is grown.  Look at them together.  It warms all your insides up, doesn’t it?  I may get misty.  You will of course assume I have something in my eye.”

“Of course.”

“He is your lover then?  Your boy-toy?” Max tested knowingly.   "I watch the way he talks to you.  It speaks of some familiarity together, beyond work.  Besides, if you are not a fan of this game, then why else would you come to this if not for the promise of love or sex?”

“Okay.  Yes.   Lover, now and again,” Prentiss replied. 

“Hm, happy to know.   No harm in it.  Sex is very healthy for the body.  And you look like a very healthy woman,” Max smiled, blue eyes twinkling. 

“Agent Emily Prentiss,” she said, extending a hand to him.

“Captain Maksim Volchenkov,” he replied, shaking her hand but quickly turning his attention back to Reid and Mouse again.  “Myshka is supposed to be studying at the arboretum tonight for a test she must take tomorrow.   There is a nook in the evergreens by the small frog pond that she likes very much.   We go there often.  She enjoys scaring the frogs.  Exactly how old is that boy?”

“Twenty-nine, almost thirty.”

“Twenty-nine?” Max whistled, shaking his head.    “How old was he when the mistress had him?  Eighteen?  She probably couldn’t decide if she wanted to bed him or breast-feed him.”

Prentiss snickered softly.   There was no point in telling Volchenkov what Hotch and Prentiss had figured out about the events leading up to Mouse Korsakova’s unconventional conception.  That was Reid’s private business.  It was best to let Max believe his mistress had gone about getting pregnant the old-fashioned way.

“I know my mistress and her weaknesses only too well.   She beds soft and sweet boys like him, but she marries the evil, hard ones like Davydov.    Thank goodness she at least never married Vitya.  Why, Lord, oh why can she not bed the Davydovs and marry these nice boys instead?” he asked, casting his eyes to the metal catwalks and rafters above. 

“Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that too.”

“You can tell me, who is this dark haired man Dr. Reid keeps so much company with?  This Khotchner?  The mistress talks about him, and she glows.  I do not like that one bit.   That glow means she’s got marriage in mind when she sees him.”

“Korsakova would never marry Hotch.  He shot her once in the knee.”

“So he was the sloppy assassin from Rotterdam?  Ah.  Now it is all making sense.  She finds him attractive because she knows he is dangerous, and he doesn’t like her.    She finds it sexy – being disliked.  No, the bullet between them would not prohibit marriage.   I would guess she might consider it no more than rough foreplay.   The Khotchner must only be concerned that the mistress might return his love tap in kind.   Why has the mistress has not made her intentions known to the Khotchner?”

“Reid and Hotch are partners.”

“Partners?  In crime?  In business?”

“In bed.”

“So that is what it is then?  Korsakova cannot marry the pretty Dr. Reid or the evil-sexy Khotchner because they are not liking the girls.  That explains a lot.  But you are a girl, yes?  They like you.  They trust you.  They let you in on their dirty secret.  You are sleeping with both of them.   Biseksualnyi?  Good for you!!  I love modern women.  So refreshing.  None of those silly coy games.  One grows tired of games.  Take what you want, and do not be shy.  No apologies.”

“You do not mince words, do you, Captain?” Emily laughed.   

“Please.  No, no, no.  Here, I am Max and you are…Amelia?”

“Emily.”

“Aa-mah-lee.”

“Emily.”

“Eeeeh-mah-lee.”

“Call me Prentiss,” she sighed. 

“Okay, then.  Prentiss, tell me all about this boy.  I want to know if I like him for my Myshka.   What is he good at?”

“Lots of things.”

“What does he do for a living with the FBI?  He minds the library?”

“He profiles and hunts serial killers.”

“That does not sound particularly safe or wise.”

“Sometimes it isn’t.”

“You want me to believe that that skinny boy hunts killers?”

“Yes, he does.”

“You have taken Max by surprise with this, Agent Prentiss.  Has he ever killed a man?”

“Twice.”

“Really?  Did he beat them viciously with his little bag?” Max questioned, his tone deep and rich with mischief.   Reid was digging through his messenger clutch.  He pulled out a group of photographs to give to Mouse.  The girl squealed with happiness and curled tight to Reid’s shoulder as he flipped through the photographs and explained them one at a time. 

“He shot them,” Prentiss defended.  

“Really?  From what the mistress said, he does not handle a gun well.”

“He handles one well enough,” Prentiss defended again. 

“Is the pretty doctor truly Myshka’s father?” Max worried, his nose wrinkling. 

“He is.  We got the results back from the DNA test.  Reid is Mouse’s father.”

“Thank you for that,” Max said, taking Prentiss’s hand and kissing her quickly on both cheeks.  “Thank you, thank you, lovely Agent Prentiss.  I can bury the ghost of Viktor Davydov, once and for all.”

“Was it your idea to send Reid Mouse’s hair?” Prentiss asked, thinking that the haircut was very flattering on the girl.   Had they loped off her braid, mailed it to Reid, and headed for a salon to do the deed properly?  Concealed the deception behind a professional haircut that would not have raised Korsakova’s concern?

“I could not bear for Myshka to go on thinking that that bastard Davydov was her father.  She met him once in Stockholm when she was four.  He took one look at her and said she was the ugliest frog he had ever laid eyes on.   She could never be his daughter, not in a million years, owing to how ugly she was.   Myshka started crying.  I was very tempted to shoot him right in the face, right in the restaurant.   He was saying these things to hurt the mistress.  He made her cry too.  Not there, but later in private,  I heard her in her room.   It made me so happy to blow that man’s brains out.  My single regret is that I could do it only once.”

Prentiss kept her face neutral at Max’s admission.  She sensed he had wanted to get that off his chest for several weeks. 

“Forgive me.  That was cruel to say.  I apologize,” Max added.   “I do not want to give you the impression that I enjoy killing.  I don’t.  But Davydov?  He was an evil man with a black heart and a loveless soul, and he hurt my Myshka terribly with what he said, and, you must understand, I feared for her whenever Davydov was near.  I worried it was only a matter of time before he might decide that he did want her in his life after all, and by doing so, he would have Korsakova under his thumb as well as my Myshka.   This, I could not allow.  He had to be eliminated.”

“We thought it was the Night Watch that killed Davydov,” Prentiss whispered.   

“Darling, I am the Night Watch,” Volchenkov purred deeply.  

“Well, okay, then,” Prentiss gulped. 

“Where were we?  Stockholm.  Yes. Myshka was upset and filled with self-loathing because the man she believed was her father told her she was a frog.  She has developed love/hate relationship with amphibians because of him.”

Prentiss glanced at Reid and Mouse, and she supposed, as she tilted her head to the side, that the wide mouth and big eyes could tend to lead some people to see a frog in those faces.  She looked at Reid and saw only her dear friend and colleague, the kind and gentle man she had come to know very well over the last few years.  In Mouse, Prentiss saw the culmination of Reid’s worst fears and yet perhaps also the potential for his greatest joys.  Max was continuing with his tale, so she listened to him again. 

“So on and so forth.  Davydov was being a prick to the child, and was making a name for himself as a murderous criminal to boot.   He killed Ilya Yashin and his entire family.  I liked Yashin.  He was a good man, in spite of his odorous methods for supporting his family.   Davydov sends Myshka stuffed frogs for her birthday every year.   My hatred for him smelled like bad take-out in the back of the fridge.  Even the mistress could tell how I loathed him.  Killing this bad man would be a service, would it not?”

“I can’t disagree with that.   Go on.”

“The mistress marries again to soothe her feelings of female inadequacy.   But there is another divorce.  Another mission.  Another move.  We come to Washington because her boy Alexei wants to be a sailor like his grandfather was.  The mistress is beaming proud of him, and stays close to watch over him.  Soon and most recently, trouble with Davydov again.   The evil man rears his very ugly head once more to cause trouble and heartache for my mistress.  He stabs right at her heart when he kidnaps the pretty Dr. Reid.    She is understandably protective of the boy.  Perhaps she feels guilty about what she was ordered to do to him?  I do not know.  It was before my time.”

“Perhaps,” Prentiss agreed.

“She fears Davydov wishes to add sexual depravity to his list of accomplishments. The mistress spends nights talking to contacts around the world and pacing and crying and telling me she should have sedated Dr. Reid before bed in Wyoming.  Her plan had been to sedate him and transport him away in the morning.  He tricked her before bed with a tumbler of eggnog.  That innocent face, she said, she thought she could read him so well.  She was astonished that he deceived her.   She should have knocked him out and packed him off to Siberia and kept him when she had the chance.   She would have made him very happy, and he would have forgiven her eventually for the abduction.  I tell her that many a wonderful marriage began with a well-intended abduction.   My own grandfather, for example, abducted a Ukrainian noblewoman for his bride.  The mistress does not find this the least bit humorous.”

“Yes?” Prentiss asked when Max paused for a deep breath. 

“Because she does not wish to marry the pretty doctor.   Yes, I tell the mistress.  If I had been her, I would have kept the nice boy instead of pining for the dangerous criminal.   She tells me to mind my own business, and I do as I am told.  Perhaps I also plan to do a little more than I am told.    She has promised Davydov that she was reward him for returning Dr. Reid, and I don’t like that she has made this promise.  With what shall she reward the evil man?  With herself?  With my Myshka?  I cannot take the risk, because I do not know what reward she has in mind, what reward Davydov might have demanded.  You do understand?  Davydov had Dr. Reid for three days.  He had surely learned how smart the doctor was.   Davydov was not stupid.  He had guessed who Mouse’s true father was—I have no doubts.  Perhaps Davydov hoped Myshka would have similar attributes to Dr. Reid?  How valuable would a malleable young mind be to the devious criminal she thinks is her father?  I could not take the risk.”

“I understand,” Prentiss soothed. 

“When Korsakova contacts your Agent Khotchner to tell him she has located Dr. Reid in Serbia, I make my plans.”

“Hotch.”

“Khotch.”

“Hotch.”

“Do you wish to give me language lessons, or do you want to listen?  We do not have much time,” Max growled.  Prentiss smiled warmly at him and apologized. 

“Sorry.  Go on.”

“I ask for a weekend free.  I find the dangerous criminal in Quebec, where he departed from the flight that was bringing back Dr. Reid from Serbia.  I corner the dangerous criminal—it was not hard.    All I did was follow the smell of grave stink.  I beat him.  I tie him up.  I put him in my car trunk.   I bring him back to Washington.  I drive fast along the back roads.  I can hear him groan and cry as we take the bumps.  I am perhaps a little happy that he is in pain.  I take him to Dr. Reid’s apartment.  I finish my weekend task—revenge for my Myshka.  I hope this little tale to you will remain confidential between us?”

“Not my jurisdiction,” Prentiss offered.     

“I was very unhappy that Davydov bled in the trunk from the beating I gave him in Quebec.  It is not easy, getting blood out of the Jag.  But if I do not, the mistress will be suspicious.  She likes to stow stuff there.    I will remember next time to put down a tarpaulin.  God willing, there will be no next time.”

“God willing,” Prentiss agreed. 

“I come home, all happy and giddy, and the mistress assumes I was whoring around Quebec.  I do not mind the assumption.   I like whoring around Quebec.  Maybe next weekend off, I will do so.   Anyway.  Korsakova has arranged lunch with Dr. Reid, and when I see him for myself, I get my hopes up again.  Myshka sees him, and she is one smitten-kitten.  She cannot stop talking about him.  She Googled him so much, her hands hurt.”

“Get to the part about the haircut,” Prentiss pressured as the lights started to go dim and the crowd began applauding and shouting with anticipation and glee.  The bowl of the arena went dark, and it was like the depths of Hell filled with excited, howling demons.   Red spotlights came on, and they only increased the hellish complexion of the place.   

“Myshka was looking up these DNA tests on her laptop when we were driving to school.    She sits in the front seat with me because she likes the illusion I am her papa and not her driver.   I asked her about these tests, she explained them to me, and I said send Dr. Reid your hair.  If he works for the FBI, then he’ll have an idea what must be done.”

“She is a smart girl.”

“Smarter than she lets on.    You have to keep your eyes on her at all times.  You don’t know how many cities I’ve chased her through.  We play these cat and mouse games often.  She says she is keeping me on my toes.  I threaten to chop off her long pointy toes if she doesn’t stop toying with me, scaring Max that way.”

“What happened in Istanbul?” Prentiss asked, picturing Reid’s long slender feet and thinking then that Mouse must have the same type of feet.  Volchenkov shuddered and crossed himself.

“The mistress was ambushed, pinned down in a back alley with me and Myshka and four guns between us.  We had to fight our way out.  It was a bloodbath.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Several goats, unfortunately, did not survive the skirmish.”

“Is it wise to take a child on missions?”

“It was not a mission.  It was a vacation.  Not everyone goes to Istanbul for fun though, and Korsakova has no shortage of enemies.  If you’re good at your job, that happens.  In my line of work, we have a saying.  Assassination is the greatest form of flattery.”

“Who knew linguistics was such a dangerous field?” Emily quipped.   Max laughed in reply.  It was a pleasant sound.  “That’s why Mouse takes lessons after-school?” Prentiss questioned. 

“She’s always taking lessons.  Hockey.  Tae kwon do.  Shooting range.  She is a very quick learner, no matter the task you put before her,” he said proudly.

“I don’t doubt it,” Prentiss smiled, thinking ruefully that Mouse’s school records which Garcia had accessed must have been a complete fabrication, an exercise in detailed lies of omission and concealment.   Korsakova learned her lesson about being showy with intelligence.  It certainly hadn’t been a good thing for Reid.  So she had counseled her daughter to be judiciously deceptive when it came to her intellectual skills.

“Eeehmalee, I feel I can trust you.   There is something about you that I like.   Are we kindred spirits maybe?  I want you to be happy in knowing that Myshka is safe with me.   No matter what happens, no matter where we are, I will always protect her.  She is dear to me as my own daughter would have been, God keep her precious soul.” 

He crossed himself again, and pulled a small necklace from his shirt in order to kiss the trinket and hide it again.   

“My own Ekatarina would have been her age by now,” Max said sadly. 

“I’m sorry,” Prentiss soothed, patting him on the arm.  “I trust you with Mouse.”

“If Korsakova should ever fall prey to misfortune, my orders are to take the girl and disappear, and I will do that.  Please tell Dr. Reid that, will you?  Tell him he must not worry.  She is safe in these good hands.  If we disappear without notice, he must not look for us.”

“I will tell him.”

“You must make him understand.”

“I will.”

“But you must reassure Max that his little Myshka would be safe with you and Dr. Reid.  If the tables were turned, and if Max should find himself the victim of an unpleasant misfortune, would she be safe with him?   I cannot help but feel it is not a coincidence that the mistress has opened this avenue for the both of them.”

“What do you mean?” Prentiss asked, her scalp tingling with fear, and not just because the bass speakers above them were shaking themselves loose from the metal catwalks as they vibrated with sound.   

“I have got the worst feeing about Seattle,” Volchenkov confided.

“Is Korsakova moving there?”

“Yes.  Myshka doesn’t know yet.  We are moving in late January.  The mistress has taken the offered position at the university there because she had been assigned  a target that she must acquire before the end of the next year.”

“How is Mouse going to take the move?”

“The child will understand.  She will take the move in stride.  At least they play hockey in Seattle.   I will tempt her with weekend games in Vancouver so she may watch the Luongo.”

“Have you warned her about the move?”

“No.  The mistress will tell her right before we leave.  You must not tell Dr. Reid either.  Give them a few weeks of joy before the sorrow sets in like winter chill.”

“You’re right,” Prentiss agreed, her face falling with sadness.  “I do not want to be the one to break this to either of them.”

“Let that displeasure fall on the mistress.  She will handle it with grace.  She has had years and years of practice.  Now, though, and we will whisper as not to incur the wrath of rabid fans,  you must please tell Max all about this dragon-slayer, the serial killer hunter, your pretty Dr. Reid.  I beg you nicely.”

“Where to begin?” Prentiss sighed. 

“He is like a firebird under a dark cloak?” Max hoped. 

The players skated out onto the ice amid a dance of bright-hot pot lights swinging around the ice, and a crescendo of wild screams and applause.   Mouse’s scream was the loudest shriek of them all.   Reid cackled and tugged her back down into her seat.    She grabbed him around the waist and pulled him to his feet.   Reid screamed and applauded with Mouse as each player of the starting lineup was introduced.    

“First off, he is not usually that loud,” Emily began. 

9

“Jesus, Reid.  Did you buy the whole toy store?” Hotch asked, hobbling quietly into the tv room.  He was walking on one crutch and holding Jack by the hand.  The front door was wide open, and a winter chill was setting in.   Outside, Aunt Jessica was pulling out of the driveway and back onto the country road beyond.

Spencer sprang up and threw an expanse of wrapping paper over the multitude of tiny boxes on the low coffee table.  Jack squealed with delight and raced forward.  Reid swooped down and picked him up, carrying him out of the room. 

“LEGOS!” Jack screamed with excitement, pointing back behind him into the room.

“How was the movie?” Reid asked, holding tight to Jack and not letting him down. 

“He and his cousins were singing like chipmunks all the way home.  If he starts again, I will kill you in your sleep,” Hotch warned darkly.   “Reid?” he questioned, pointing at the lumps on the table.

“It was a set,” Spencer shrugged. 

“You got the whole set?” 

“Maybe,” Reid smiled.  He peeled off Jack’s hat and gloves and hung them by the front door, hoping to get him out of his coat.  He closed the door with one foot, sliding the lock and the chain and the deadbolt home with fast fingers.  The boy cooperated, leaving Reid holding his coat and racing back for the tv room.  Hotch stood in the tv room doorway, frowning down at his son.

“No,” Hotch said firmly. 

“Awwww,” Jack whined, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Pick one,” Reid relented, creeping up and tugging off Hotch’s knitted hat, helping him out of his coat.  Jack cheered and dashed for the table. 

“You’re spoiling him,” Aaron worried.

“You two are going to be with his grandparents for Christmas.  I’m going to be in Las Vegas with Mom.   I don’t think there’s any harm in letting him open a present or two early.”

“I told him he had to wait until the 26^th to open your presents, when we are back here at home with you.”

Reid gave a sweet half smile at those words, and leaned in to nuzzle Aaron’s cheek. 

“They’re helicopters!” Jack cheered again, whipping the wrapping paper skyward and eyeing the boxes hungrily.  “Cool!”

“Sadist,” Hotch teased Reid.  Spencer smiled nervously.    “Pick one,” Hotch told Jack, being stern and kind at once. 

“Oh.  That one,” Jack said, pointing to the large, already-wrapped box that was on the floor beside the table. 

“That’s for your dad,” Reid said. 

“Can I open it?” Jack tested.

“No,” Reid smiled. 

The little Hotchner snatched a box of Legos off the coffee table, and ran back to Reid, hugging him around the legs. 

“Thank you,” he beamed, kissing Reid’s knee and running for the stairs.  He charged up the staircase and ran to the first guest room, where his bed was already laid out for him.   He dropped the box on his bed, shimmied out of his shoes, and ran for the bathroom.   

Reid went over to hang up Hotch’s coat, and Aaron hobbled after him, crutch, foot, crutch, foot, crutch, foot. 

“So,” Aaron whispered.  “How was the hockey game?”

Reid inhaled, dropping the coat on the floor. 

“Did you follow me?” Spencer whirled around. 

“No,” Hotch laughed, angling down to pick up his coat and attempting to straighten back up without help.  Reid took the coat and put it on one of the open hooks.   “Rossi followed you, mumbling something about how a friend once told him to let Fate lead you by the hand, or she will drag you by the ankle, whatever the hell that meant,” Aaron admitted.

“Remind me to poison his coffee on Monday morning,” Reid sulked.   Hotch leaned his crutch against the wall with the coats. 

“How long will it take you to learn that there are very few secrets among co-workers when they are all professional profilers?”

“So my clandestine life as an international criminal?”

“Might not be so secret,” Hotch teased before his face fell serious.  He moved closer to Spencer, whispering again.  “How long were you going to wait before telling me that Ekatarina is your daughter?”

“I see you do know everything,” Reid breathed. 

“Not everything.  But I would have had to have been blind and stupid not to notice you dragged along six books about hockey and botany to Oregon.  Not to mention your finger,” Hotch added, kissing the tip of Reid’s digits.  “Are you okay about this?”

“This?”

“Her?”

“It’s going to take some time to acclimate myself to the idea,” Reid admitted.  “No.  I am not okay by the fact I have been a father for ten years and no one thought I might have wanted and needed to know.   There are many things I would have done very differently if I had known.”

“Like taking stupid risks with your life?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“If you need to talk, I’m here.  I’ve got experience at this.  I can be helpful.  And you may have noticed that being a father has not made me stop taking risks.  Necessary risks.”

“I imagined you would be much more angry than this,” Reid murmured suspiciously.  Hotch shrugged one shoulder. 

“I see how good you’re becoming with Jack, and I think maybe it’s not such a bad idea, you being a father.   It might make you grow up a little.  It might make you more confident about yourself.  That advice you gave to Parker Finley applies to you too, you know?  Having bad parents does not mean you are going to be a bad parent.  Quite the opposite could happen.  You might be a very good parent.”

“I will try my best not to disappoint Mouse.”

“Prentiss showed me the file that was on the thumb drive while we were in Corvallis,” Hotch admitted.   “She is quite the trickster, your Mouse.”

“I hate the way you wrap Prentiss around your finger, get her to confess all my secrets to you,” Reid scowled.    “How do you do that?”

“Much the same way I wrap you around my finger,” Hotch purred. 

“With the promise of dirty, hot sex?” Reid wondered in a little boy voice.  Hotch’s eyes focused on Spencer’s mouth hungrily. 

“I’d like to think it has more to do with my ability to command and be obeyed.”

“Yeah, you would like to think that, wouldn’t you?” Reid grinned wickedly.  

“There are people in this world who will do whatever I say, many of whom I have never tempted with the promise of sex,” Hotch reminded him.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Hotch.  JJ would be draped over your desk in a heartbeat if you said the right words,” Reid whispered with a boyish smirk.

“I meant Garcia.  Morgan.  Dave too.”

“Oh God.  You and Dave.  Now that’s a disturbing mental image,” Spencer rasped. 

Hotch backed Reid against the cold door, and Reid shivered. 

“When I get these casts off, I’m not letting you out of bed for a week,” Hotch whispered in Spencer’s ear.  “I’m going to leave my mark on every inch of your body.”

“Promises, promises,” Reid mused before looking serious again.  “Hotch, you are taking this too well.  I was worried I’d have to chain you down and then break the news to you, because you would grab your gun and race off after Korsakova if you weren’t restrained.   Plug her full of lead.  I wasn’t so sure if I would stop you from hunting her down, actually.”

“How do you feel about that tonight?” Hotch asked.

“Tonight, I am taking the high road.  Ask me again tomorrow, and the answer could be very different,” Reid confided.   “Do you always wear your gun to the movie theatre?”

“That’s not my gun,” Hotch rumbled, kissing Reid’s neck.  “What’s she like?”

“Korsakova?  Duplicitous as double-stick tape.”

“I meant Ekatarina?”

“She is about what you’d expect of the progeny of a professional spy wrangler and a tormented genius.”

“You spent three hours with her, and that’s all you’ve got to say?” Hotch rolled his eyes.   “What’s your impression of the girl?  Is Korsakova putting her up to this?”

"Tonight, Korsakova does not know about the hair, the DNA test, or the hockey game.  The odds of that staying true forever are nil to nothing, you realize.  She will eventually find out that we both know the truth.  But she is not putting Mouse up to this.  Volchenkov might be.  But not Korsakova."

"You're defending her again," Hotch scolded. 

“What do you want me to say?”

“Is the girl like you?”

“Mouse is like my mom.  Oh fuckery.  Mom,”  Spencer’s face went pale with concern.

“You haven’t told her yet, have you?”

“I should tell her in person,” Reid decided, wincing. 

“ ‘Merry Christmas.  You’re a grandmother’?   You sure you want to do that in person?”

Reid’s brows curled up at his nose as he nodded.  “Yeah, from a safe distance.”

“You know, baby, these casts don’t preclude sex entirely.   They might limit the usual courses of action, but like your great-grandfather-gunslinger probably said, there is more than one way to skin a cat.”

“Your doctor said…”

“My doctor is a sadist and a closet homophobe.  You noticed his choice of words, didn’t you?  ‘When the casts are removed, you can return to normal sexual activity.’  Normal?  Normal?  Fuck him and the horse he rode in on.  I don’t think that was a coincidence.  Do you?  Does he think abstinence will make me straight?”

“Abstinence will make your bones straight, and that’s what he’s concerned about,” Reid murmured.   “I saw nothing sinister about his choice of words.  Do you want to walk with a limp for the rest of your life because you simply had to have a quick bit of nookie?”

Hotch inhaled lustfully.  “Say it again,” he pleaded hungrily. 

“Do you want to…”

“The other part.”

“Quick bit of nookie?”

“Just say…”

“Nookie?” Reid smirked.  Hotch growled, biting Spencer’s neck, rubbing between his thighs, making him moan in reply.

“You in my bed, making that sound all night, would be well worth a permanent limp,” Hotch decided.  

“What’s nookie?” Jack asked behind them.  If Hotch hadn’t had Reid pinned to the ice-cold door, Spencer would have leapt skyward.  As it was, he got a deep bruise in the small of his back from the doorknob. 

“Bedtime,” Aaron rasped, letting go of Reid and turning slowly around to face the tiny interloper. 

“Okay,” Jack complained, his smile falling to a frown.  “But what’s nookie?” he asked again.  Hotch pointed up the stairs.  Jack turned and stomped up them one at a time.  Hotch followed Jack.  Aaron looked over one shoulder and gave Reid a ‘come hither, boy’ look that made Spencer blush hot pink. 

“I have presents to wrap,” Reid decided, shaking his head no at Hotch.   

“Fine.  I’ll be down to help you.  Soon,” Hotch promised. 

“Can I stay up and watch tv?” Jack asked from the top of the stairs.

“No, you may not,” Hotch said.  “It’s ten thirty, Jack Hotchner.  It is past time for you to be in bed, asleep.  Santa is watching, remember?”

“Good night, Jack,” Spencer called up to him, waving before he disappeared into the tv room.

more to come

I pictured Vinette Anderson as Parker Finley, in case you're curious. 

Hope the hockey talk doesn't bore you.