DISCLAIMER: I do not own Criminal Minds or its characters. I wish I did, because it's an amazing show and Paget Brewster and A.J. Cook are hot, but...
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, so it's possible some of the wonderful readers of this story noticed that I missed the last of Ralst's updates. My hard drive crashed and I lost everything on it, including my notes for this story and the story itself. I was able to recover the story that had been posted so far from the site, but had to start from scratch on the chapter, which was further delayed by the need to study for finals. I apologize if the delay upset anyone, and I hope this chapter makes up for it. Thank you to all of you who have read the story, and another thank you to those who have sent me feedback, which always helps tremendously. I hope you all enjoy the chapter!
SPOILERS: None too specific. General plot points and such from across seasons two and three.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.

Psychopathology
By Kyandralin

Part Seven

Psychopathology: The scientific study of mental disorders

Date and Time: March 10, 2008 08:27

Location: BAU Bullpen, Quantico, Virginia

Spencer Reid glanced up at the sound of the door opening just as he was about to take a sip of his morning coffee, the mug pausing before it could reach his lips. He hadn't expected to see the two figures who had just entered, but a glance at his calender told him he had lost track of the date again. So, today was the day Emily Prentiss returned to the BAU. She looked good, he decided, watching her stride toward her desk with JJ at her side, showing only a bit of a limp. He remembered her mention in passing that her left leg was weaker than she'd like when he'd seen her last Tuesday, and now he saw what she meant. Something else was different about her, he decided, something other than the pronounced weight loss, the limp, and the tense, guarded wariness about her. When she turned in response to Morgan's greeting as he re-entered from the break room, he figured out what it was. She had bangs, cut straight across her forehead and covering the healing scar there. It was odd to see at first, but he knew he'd get accustomed to it and come to take the style for granted eventually. For now, though, it was strange, especially considering how normal her tailored black suit, off-center belt, and black-striped white shirt were.

"Hey Reid?"

He blinked, startled to see the woman he'd been contemplating right in front of him. The coffee mug threatened to spill over as he jumped, dumping hot coffee in his lap, but somehow JJ appeared behind him and slipped it out of his hand, grinning at him.

"Careful with that, Spence. That stuff is hot."

He laughed nervously, looking uncertainly between the two women before finally settling his gaze on Emily and giving her a shy smile.

"Hey Em. It's good to have you back."

Apparently that was the right thing to say, because she gave him that wide, goofy smile of hers and leaned aginst his desk. She looked like she was about to say something, but then Hotch and Rossi entered, looking grim.

"Everyone needs to meet in the conference room, now."

Hotch handed JJ a file, the contents of which made her expression darken. That was enough for all of them, and Reid and Morgan rose, heading toward the conference room as ordered. Spencer turned back when he noticed that Hotch and Emily weren't joining them, so he was the only one who heard their quiet conversation.

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" the Unit Chief asked, and the brunette sighed, starting to reach up to brush her hair back and stopping herself halfway, as if she had momentarily forgotten why her hair was styled the way it was and then suddenly remembered.

"Hotch, the shrinks cleared me. My own psychiatrist cleared me. Even Jen... Even JJ thinks I'm ready. And this is my job. If I can't do this, I can't do my job and I'll have to resign. Again. It was bad enough the first time."

"But last time you were doing the right thing, Prentiss. You refused to be a mole for Strauss."

That surprised him, not so much because it wasn't like Emily to sacrifice herself for others, but because no one had ever mentioned why she had resigned or the tension between her and Strauss when she'd arrived in Milwaukee.

"Are you telling me I should leave?" Emily was asking when his focus returned to the conversation, and her expression was decidedly cooler than it had been when he'd last looked. Hotch shook his head, looking tired and worried.

"No. You're an asset to this team, and it would be a real shame to lose you. I just want to be sure I'm not pushing you too hard too fast."

The dark woman nodded, sighing again.

"JJ will know if I'm pushing too hard. I hate to put that on her, but..."

Hotch was the one to nod this time, this time in understanding.

"You trust her, as you should. And I trust you. Just... Let me know if I can do anything."

Spencer retreated to the conference room as they started moving, so he was sitting down when they came in. He wasn't sure why he was hiding the fact he'd overheard them, but it seemed like the thing to do. The genius noticed the quick look that passed between Rossi and Hotch, but he had no way of reading it, and before he could think through it JJ started talking, pointing her remote toward the main screen.

"Los Angeles County has a serial killer on their hands. This is the first victim, Alexander Markhus, killed last year" she stated, loading up the first picture of a young man, probably in his mid to late twenties with distinctly Mediterranean features, visible despite the cruel puncture wounds to his eyes and the agony marring his face.

"He was castrated and his eyes were punctured, apparently pre-mortum. His killer left a note," and now the screen shifted to a somewhat wrinkled slip of paper, "stating that this was just the beginning. In the last years, several others were killed in the same fashion."

The liaison brought up a set of 4 pictures, all Mediterranean males of progressing ages, all with their eyes gouged out, all terrified, all castrated.

"The police didn't connect the murders until an elderly man was killed three days ago, and they asked for our help. We were just preparing a file when this morning we found out the UnSub struck again, this time killing a woman."

Two new pictures came up, and Reid had to restrain a gasp. The man and woman had been brutally tortured, to the point of being completely unrecognizable. JJ zoomed in the picture of the male, looking visibly sickened but determined. Spencer glanced over at Prentiss, who seemed her usual self, horrified but not abnormally so. His focus returned to the case file in front of him and the pictures on the screen, trying to comprehend the sheer amount of damage the UnSub had done.

"This is Raoul Johak, the victim from three days ago. When the police saw his body they recognized the pattern the UnSub was making and called us in."

Now JJ brought up a montage of photographs of the last victim, the woman, and Emily gasped, looking down at the picture in her hand and back up, as if to compare.

"Oh my God..."

"Prentiss, what is it?" Rossi asked, leaning forward.

"Look at the lower extremities," the brunette replied, her voice taut and choked, "look at what the UnSub did to this woman!"

They looked, shocked by the damage, and JJ nodded, meeting Emily's dark eyes.

"The coroner found explosive residue on her groin, legs, and inside her..."

The blonde trailed off, her eyes glazed over, then she shook her head, regaining her composure.

"His notes say he thinks the UnSub detonated some sort of pipe bomb inside her vagina?! While she was still alive?!" Morgan exclaimed, his face turning almost green at the thought. Reid felt at least as bad as the other man looked. That was something he didn't think he'd ever seen before.

"Yes," the liaison replied softly, glancing briefly at Emily. The young prodigy caught the look, noticing the sympathy and understanding in the profiler's dark eyes. It was like they were grounding each other, and now he understood something he had only begun to guess at when he'd seen them last week. There was a connection between them now, something deep and necessary to them both that hadn't been there before, or at least it hadn't been as strong.

"There aren't any statistics that I know of on this type of behavior," he stammered finally, forcing himself to focus on the case at hand rather than his colleagues, "Using explosives as a tool for murder has been documented, of course, but not like this."

"So what does this tell us about our UnSub?" Hotch asked, his voice bringing the team out of their shock and snapping their minds back to profiling.

"They're clearly devolving," Reid pointed out, "but at the same time their killings are getting more complicated. Usually when a person spirals like this, they become sloppier."

"It's like the UnSub is progressing toward something," Emily murmured from across the table, looking through the file again, "Every kill is getting them closer to their real fantasy. The men are progressing in age, so maybe the last man represented the person they really wanted to kill, and the woman... Another target of rage. Maybe they couldn't bring themselves to kill the image of their real target at first?"

Something clicked in Reid's head, and he hunted through his eidetic memory for the information, wondering what it was that sounded so familiar.

"If that's true than we're dealing with someone who is working out some old grudge," Morgan remarked, tossing the file on the table, "And if that's the case they won't stop killing until they get up the nerve or whatever it is to kill the person or people they really want to. The only question is how long that will take."

"And how many bodies will pile up in the meantime," JJ added softly. Reid started, realizing he had read those exact words. The only problem with having an eidetic memory and reading so much was that it was sometimes hard to remember where he had read something.

"So we have something to work with," Hotch declared, standing and gathering his file, looking at each of them, "We leave immediately."

They filed out, gathering ready-bags and anything else they needed. Before Spencer had even noticed they'd left they were at the airstrip, getting on the plane. During their flight Garcia contacted them, looking more than a little sick.

"Okay, I dug up a little more on your victims. They all had different backgrounds and work histories. There was a bartender, a fast food manager, a computer repair technician, and an ER resident. The older man was a musician, and the woman was a lawyer. The only commonality I can find between them is that they're all Greek. Full blood."

"Well that does narrow our victim list," JJ commented, her voice just a touch sarcastic, "Is there any other connection at all between them, Garcia?"

The tech analyst shook her head sadly.

"I have looked into every detail of their lives that exists on a computer. There's no indication that they knew each other at all. Different banks, gyms, hobbies... So far it looks like he just finds them randomly. I'll fax you what I've got. Maybe you super brains can find something I missed."

"Okay, thanks Garcia," Hotch replied, and Garcia's image disappeared from the screen. They talked about the information they had gotten from the tech goddess, but they couldn't put it together either and finally gave up to take a break and get some rest before landing in LA. Something continued to nag at Reid, though, but he just couldn't put his finger on it. He was distracted once again by JJ and Emily, who were sitting at the back. Emily's dark head was on the blonde's shoulder, her eyes closed as if she were asleep, but he could see her hand moving, lightly tracing the shape the liaison's fingers. JJ looked mesmerized by it, her blue eyes totally focused on the movements. He wondered about the faint blush he could see on her face even from here, but then he realized what it was. There was an intimacy implied in the touch, and a total lack of self-consciousness on Emily's part. It was possible she really was asleep and unaware of what she was doing, and the effect on the press liaison, but he doubted it. He may have been naive, but even he knew that it wasn't exactly a platonic gesture.

"Hey kid," Derek called, and he turned, embarrassed to be caught staring at the two, "You remember the last case we had in LA? The comic book artist?"

"Yeah?"

"Well..."

Morgan trailed off, then continued, his expression a touch sheepish, "You read any of those traffic reports lately? I really don't want to get stuck in traffic again and you knew how to get around last time."

Reid smiled, launching into a discussion of traffic patterns and other "relevant" information. Hotch, hearing Reid start into one of his lectures, smiled affectionately and turned to Dave, who was looking out the window at the patchwork below them.

"What are you thinking?" he asked softly, and the older man looked over at him, his expression bemused.

"Those two," and he jerked his head in the direction of the two female agents, "They're finally making progress. And you were right about Prentiss. She doesn't feel the need to hide a damn thing. It's Agent Jareau that seems to shy away from the truth."

Hotch nodded, looking out the window himself.

"JJ's been hurt a lot," he answered, keeping his voice low and choosing his words very carefully, "and she won't open herself to that kind of pain again easily."

Rossi accepted both what he said and what he didn't say, and Aaron was grateful. He didn't want to betray his team, but he also knew Dave well enough to know that the man could keep secrets just a little too well.

"This case..."

The italian waited for his supervisor to catch on to the deliberate subject change, which didn't take long, then went on.

"Reid was right. To my knowledge, nothing quite like this has been documented. It's brutal, cruel... Sick. You name it. But for all that, the UnSub seems to be in control of what he's doing. It doesn't make sense. A person this obviously insane doesn't have the control necessary to build that device. The report from the ME and the bomb squad said it would have to be tailor made."

Hotch stared out the window for a few minutes, contemplating that. Rossi was right. It didn't make sense... Except it did.

"Dave, what's the most severe case of manic-depression you've seen?"

"Manic depression?" the older man echoed, "Pretty bad. Symptoms of paranoia, psychosis..."

He trailed off, realizing what Hotch was getting at.

"You think our UnSub is bipolar?"

"I'm not sure yet," the Unit Chief answered slowly, "but if this person is a sociopath, a narcissist, and manic depressive with paranoid psychotic features..."

"We're talking about someone extremely unstable here, Hotch," Rossi objected, "How does that explain the bomb?"

"Because bipolars cycle, Dave," he explained, "And when they're manic, they can do anything they believe they can, because there are no limits. They're bulletproof, invincible... And in complete control of their world. A person in the extreme edge of a manic cycle with a knowledge of explosives could pull this off and think nothing of it, maybe not even realize that they did it for real. The boundary between reality and fantasy is so blurred..."

"I admit that it's possible, but Hotch... That's an extreme. Most bipolars would never go that far. Even if they were all the way out on that extreme, someone would notice, or they'd get themselves killed in some stunt. Drug overdose, suicide, those things are relatively common for a person in that deep a spiral. Extreme promiscuity, reckless behavior, all of it. But again, that's rare."

"I know, David," Hotch interrupted, on a roll now, "But you're looking at this the wrong way. If you mix manic-depressive illness with drugs, abuse, trauma, or other disorders, it could happen. And once that person went into a mixed state or hypomania, they'd have some control but still wouldn't know the difference between what's real and what isn't. And the reason the murders are both evolving and devolving is because the fantasy is being played out, giving the UnSub more control over the methods, but not the drive."

"That's a stretch," the older agent point out, and Hotch agreed. It was, but it put the pieces together.

"A sociopathic, bipolar narcissist?" Prentiss asked when he put the idea to his agents, her brow creasing a little under her bangs, "It would fit, I suppose, but I don't even know how rare it is for things to get this bad without someone noticing."

"Well," JJ started slowly, a little hesitant to speak up but clearly encouraged by Emily's smile and Hotch's nod, "What if the person were attractive and charming, as well as psychotic? If their reality is so skewed and so completely dependent on faith and belief, wouldn't it be possible for them to convince others that they were either completely right, or that they were fine?"

The profilers considered that, realizing that was the missing link.

"I know this is highly improbably," Aaron declared, "but it's something to work with. Morgan, get a hold of Garcia and see if she can find out about bipolar patients being brought to area hospitals. JJ, get a hold of the police in LA and ask, carefully, about any disturbances they've had that have been either dropped or explained away. Prentiss, Reid, research. I want to know the statistics, any previous records of this type of illness, and anything else you can find. When we land, I want you on their computers, and coordinate with Garcia. For now, get some rest. We're going to be busy when we land."

They separated as best they could in the small space, and he was satisfied that they were going to hit the ground with a running start. They had to. They were already six bodies behind, and he didn't want the count to climb if they could stop it. He and Rossi talked out the possibilities, but it all came back to the theory they already had. JJ got off the phone with the police about 15 minutes later and said they'd have a file ready when they landed, and Morgan reported that Garcia was doing her "Oracle of all things computerized" thing. That left them with little to do but think, sleep, or talk amongst themselves. He noticed that while Prentiss talked easily enough with Morgan and even more so with Reid, she always gravitated back to JJ, who rarely took her eyes off the brunette. While the two women had always had a more tactile relationship than just about anyone on the team, now they seemed to have taken it further, to the point where one look from Prentiss' dark eyes had the same effect as the brush of a hand against an arm to make a point or the way a light press on the small of her back reassured her. He knew the language they were speaking into the silence, and he knew where it could go. While it pained him to see such a reminder of what he'd sacrificed and lost, he was glad to see the two making progress after so long. It was long overdue, as far as he was concerned. Now if they could just keep it moving and not stall...

"It all comes down to what Agent Jareau will do for Agent Prentiss," Dave remarked with a small smile, as if he'd read Aaron's thoughts, "And how much pushing she'll allow before she bolts. This is definitely far more interesting than driving for hours alone."

Hotch laughed, settling back in his seat and just waited for the plane to land, glancing over at his agents from time to time, more than once catching Emily once again tracing the shape of JJ's hand with the dedication one might give the finest art. When they finally touched down and got off the plane, they were met by two men in suits who identified themselves as field agents for the LA office and produced identification, which Hotch checked thoroughly. He didn't want to take any chances, and he was, to say the least, not fond of Los Angeles.

"We understand, sir," one of the two men remarked at his slightly apologetic glance, running a hand through his unruly brown hair, "Everyone is on edge. We're just here to give you a ride and answer whatever questions we can en route, Our senior agent is eager to solve this and put the bastard behind bars."

The unit chief nodded, gesturing for JJ, Prentiss, and Reid to go with the young man while he, Rossi, and Morgan went with older agent, this man blonde, tall, and burly, but with the face of someone who was more used to books than anything else. He watched his agents walking away, noticing with some amusement that the LA agent immediately struck up a conversation with Reid, and while not intentionally ignoring the two women, he had apparently relegated them to the back of his mind. The drive to the field office was informative, but while Agent Govar was clear and concise with the information they had, there just wasn't a lot of it. It soon became clear why the lead agent had sent Govar and his young partner, Tillman, however. They had both been at the last two crime scenes, and were the ones who would be best able to relay their observations.

"Here we are," Govar murmured once they'd arrived, actually going around to open their doors for them. Tillman came over with the other profilers, looking dazed. Hotch knew that look. It's what happened when someone ended up on the wrong side of one of Reid's lectures. He shook his head once as he approached, nodding to his partner and to the other men.

"You probably aren't going to get much in the way of new information," he commented as they started toward the elevator to get out of the basement garage, "but I should warn you that you're going into quite the war zone in there. This case has everyone up in arms, and I'm afraid there isn't a lot getting done."

"Till," Govar muttered warningly, then gave the BAU team a wry look.

"I hate to admit it," he went on after a moment, "but my partner is right. Everyone is so busy either trying to keep things under wraps, find a way to deal with the press, or jumping the gun on any possible suspects that it's complete chaos. We volunteered to come get you people just to get out of there."

Aaron glanced at Rossi, who looked almost amused, and more than a little resigned.

"Politics, then. So we're going to be stepping on some toes here, one way or another," he observed, sounding just a little too cheerful, "Well, that's fine. We're here to catch this SOB, not walk on eggshells."

Hotch nodded, looking over at his team.

"Dave is right. We don't want to offend anyone unnecessarily, but our job here is catching the UnSub. Anything else, aside from personal safety, is secondary. Understood?"

They all agreed, though he noticed JJ giving Emily a hard look at the mention of personal safety. The blonde, for her part, was taking those words to heart, though not so much for her own safety as her friend's. She wasn't about to let the brunette go out alone, and if she were honest with herself, she wouldn't want her going into the field with Morgan. While she was grateful to Derek for his part in setting up Emily's apartment and all of that, she still couldn't bring herself to trust him with her companion's safety. It was true that if it came down to a fight he was probably her best bet, aside from Hotch, who she trusted almost implicitly. Rossi was still too much an unknown quantity, and that made her uneasy with him. When the elevator doors opened, she took a moment to just stare at the chaos of what should have been an organized office of government agents before putting her press mask firmly in place and stepping forward to do her job, finding the senior agent with the ease of long practice and striding directly towards him, not waiting for Tillman or Govar to follow or make the introductions. This was her part in the scheme of things, and she was going to play it to the finish.

"Special Agent Frank Derst? I'm Agent Jennifer Jareau, with the BAU."

The bald, stocky man, who looked to be in his mid-forties, gave her a confused look, then understanding dawned on his face and he smiled slowly, reaching out to shake her hand. So he understood what she was doing and appreciated it. That could make things easier for them all.

"Agent Jareau, yes, we spoke on the phone. I'm so glad your team was able to make it."

Hotch led the others over and she introduced them in turn, waiting for each to shake hands with the other agent.

"We'd like to get started right away, so could you show us where we could set up?" she asked politely once all the introductions were finished. He smiled again, leading them to a conference room equipped with the works.

"I had a few people busting my balls when I told them to clear out of here for you folks," he commented with a hint of laughter in his voice, and more than a little relief, "but once I showed them the stuff you all had sent us so far, they shut up quick enough. Now, anything you need, you ask me, Govar, or Tillman. I'll make sure one of us is available any time. Tillman has done most of liaising with the other law enforcement branches, and Govar is very familiar with the reporters we usually prefer to work with."

JJ took that in, grateful he was making such a point of being welcoming and generous, because from the look of the office, he might be one of the few people who they could really work with and count on for support. Just in the short time they'd been there she'd noticed a couple small arguments break out, and that was not encouraging. She waited as the others filed into the office, following Emily in and pointedly pulling out a chair for the brunette. She didn't know if the others would have noticed, but her friend's limp had gotten a little more pronounced and it was clear she was stiff and tired after the long flight. Emily's dark eyes caught hers, and she saw the weariness and pain in them that she was trying so hard to hide. Silently cursing the Samis brothers, Ambassador Prentiss, and even Emily's shrink, she sat down, sorting through the papers that had been left for them and passing them out. They all began to read, realizing that much of this was just the same information they already had with very little new data added. Govar, Tillman, and Derst came in a little while later, listening to their theory and asking educated questions that made the liaison grateful that they had a good line of communication to the people who were clearly doing the most work on the case.

"What I don't understand," Govar started once they'd explained what they had so far, "is why this guy isn't just going for whoever it is that they really want to kill. Is it that they need to build up the nerve or what?"

"We think it's more likely they have a very strong relationship with their targets," Reid corrected, and the blonde noticed that, as he had in the car, Tillman's attention became entirely focused on the young prodigy, "Most likely they have a love/hate bond with these people. It could be that they're abusive parents or grandparents, or other family, close family friends, former colleagues or mentors of some sort, that sort of thing."

"Because of that relationship," Prentiss went on, picking up the thread where Reid had left off, "the UnSub can't bring himself to kill the people he's really angry at. Maybe these people are the only tie to reality he has left. Maybe they're a support system or they enable the delusions to the point where it's safer for him to keep them alive for his own sense of well-being, but he still desperately wants to kill them. We can't know until we identify the UnSub and the real targets."

"And we say 'he,'" Hotch added, "but this could very well be a woman. While it's less common for this level of psychopathy to appear in a woman, it's still possible."

"But statistically more serial killers are male, right?" Tillman asked, and Reid nodded.

"There are relatively few female serial killers, that's true, but in our experience it's better not to rule anything out."

The young man absorbed that in silence, and the senior agent took the opportunity to speak up.

"Well, between the flight and all of this reading and discussion you people are probably exhausted, so I'll have these two drive you two over to your hotel. We'll supply vehicles with GPS devices when you're ready to get back to work."

Hotch stood, gesturing for the others to do so as well, and JJ was having a silent party in her head. She had seen the toll all this was taking on Emily, and while the brunette was holding up well it was clear to her that seeing tortured corpses was wearing on her. It was hard on JJ herself, if she were honest. She couldn't help thinking from time to time just how easy it would have been for her beautiful companion to have become one of those bodies a bare month ago, and the thought terrified her.

"JJ?"

She looked up, realizing she'd gotten completely lost in thought and hadn't left with the others. She gave the waiting brunette a tired smile, feeling Emily's hand lightly press against the small of her back, guiding her to the elevator where the others waited.

"You okay?" the profiler asked softly, her voice carrying only to JJ's ears. She smiled again, but the blonde could tell it wasn't doing it for Emily. Of course it wouldn't. The older woman knew her entirely too well to not be able to see through her.

"Really, Em. I'm okay," she tried, but the stubborn profiler was clearly having none of it, but she didn't say anything, so apparently she would wait until they got to the relative privacy of the hotel. The thought of being alone in a hotel room sent a bolt of fear through her, but when she reached the elevator and the doors closed Hotch glanced over at them, then announced that he had asked Garcia to set up the reservations, and relief coursed through her. Garcia would know better than to separate her from Emily. Govar gave her an odd look, but he just shrugged, not asking any awkward questions. The drive to the hotel was quiet, Tillman and Reid in the front seat discussing psychopathy in males and females while the two women sat in the back together, Emily surprising JJ a little by clasping her hand, giving her a look that said she just needed an anchor right now and they could talk later. At the hotel Hotch handed out the keys, giving them all strict orders to rest, though his gaze stayed on Emily the longest. A short elevator ride and walk down the hall later, they were at their room, which was next to the room Hotch was in, across from Reid's, and a few doors from Rossi's and Morgan's.

"Finally..." Emily murmured as they entered, setting both their bags, which she had insisted on carrying, down in the small closet and walking to the nearest chair, sitting down without any of her usual grace, rubbing her left thigh.

"Hurts?" the liaison asked softly, well aware of the answer. At her friend's nod, she added, "You could take some muscle relaxers. You know they help."

She didn't hold out much hope for an affirmative, however, and as she had expected, Emily refused.

"I don't like how foggy they make me," the tired brunette explained, "I'd rather deal with the pain than be at less than 100 percent on this case."

JJ sighed, kneeling down in front of her friend and looking up into her dark eyes.

"Em, if the pain is getting to you this much, wouldn't it make sense to take something for it?"

"I can't, Jennifer," Emily replied firmly, but her voice betrayed the cost she was paying for her stubbornness, "If I can't work through the pain, if I have to keep taking pain killers, how can I expect to perform the way I need to?"

The blonde knew the older agent was right, but she hated to concede that point. And they weren't just talking about physical pain. The muscle relaxers affected Emily's mind too, and while they did make it harder for her to focus on the terrible memories, they often depressed her and once they wore off the likelihood of flashbacks seemed to be higher.

"I hate this," JJ muttered angrily, then a flash of inspiration struck her, and she smiled slowly.

"Come on, get changed. I'm going to give you one of my magical massages."

The profiler actually laughed at that and rose, going over to her bag and rummaging through it. JJ expected her to go into the bathroom to change, which she started to do, but then she did something that took Jennifer thoroughly off guard. She shrugged out of her shirt, tossing it in the general direction of her bag. She continued toward the bathroom, turning at the last moment to give JJ a wink and a seductive grin that left the blonde with decidedly wobbly knees, though some of that was in response to the full image her friend presented. The liaison stumbled into the chair her friend had just vacated, thinking on what had just happened. Emily kept doing things that left her off balance, and she never knew when she would get the shy, goofy, professional, wounded, or downright sensual sides of her friend. Over the last two weeks she had seen more of the sexy, seductive Emily than she had in the entire time they'd known each other, and she had wondered more than once if confessing that she was in love with JJ had set the brunette free somehow. Jennifer wished she knew what it was, because her own responses were overwhelming her, like now, but she didn't know what to do about them.

"Stop brooding, get changed, and come to bed," Emily's voice commanded, and she started just as Reid had that morning, looking up into tired but tender, loving brown-black eyes. The words and expression sent a rush of heat through her body, but JJ firmly reminded herself that her companion was referring to the promised massage and sleep. She stood up, almost falling back into the chair as the inevitable, yet still unexpected blood rush hit her. Emily stabilized her with surprising ease considering how much pain she still had to be in, shaking her head with an amused glint in her dark gaze.

"Am I going to have to change you myself?" the brunette asked softly, and JJ stared blankly, her mind caught up as a ghost image of Emily's hands undressing her flashed across her eyes. She blinked, actually surprised it wasn't happening the image had been so vivid. She staggered to her bag and into the bathroom, aware the entire time that her companion's gaze was following her every move. She took her time getting ready for bed, needing to get a grip on herself. She didn't like being so out of control, but Emily just kept sending her mind and body into these mad spirals, and she couldn't seem to make it stop. It was just getting worse the more she tried to ignore or control it.

"Damn..." she mumbled, shaking her head in front of the mirror. Two weeks ago, before she had known Emily was in love with her, things were easier. She didn't question everything she felt or thought. She didn't wonder if maybe...

"Don't even go there," she growled at herself, washing her face roughly as if that would scrub the thoughts out of her, "She needs her friend right now, not some hormone-stricken teenager."

With that thought steadying her she returned to the main room, inwardly relieved that Emily was already laying face down on the bed, her gaze turned the other way. They had moments like this, too, when the brunette seemed to understand exactly what she needed and gave it without question. It was just the way she was, and Jennifer loved that about her, but sometimes she almost wished the older agent wouldn't be so accepting. She didn't know what the alternative would be, but it made her feel guilty for not being able to give whatever it was that Emily needed when the woman herself gave her so much, including her heart, apparently.

"You're brooding again," Emily's soft voice called, breaking her out of her thoughts again. JJ smiled gently, understanding once again just how well her friend knew her, and how much she cared for her. Pushing aside the confusion and the guilt, she decided that she was the one making things messy and complicated, and she was sick of it. Emily deserved better than that.

"You're right," she agreed, climbing onto the large bed and positioning herself so she could reach most of Emily's long body, "but then you usually are. For tonight, though, I don't want you to worry about me. You do that enough as it is. Just lay there and look beautiful. I'll do the rest."

She flushed when she realized what she'd said, but it was true, and she wouldn't let herself dispute that. Emily was downright gorgeous, and she knew better than anyone how deep that went. Thankfully the profiler didn't look up at her, but she could see her smiling shyly, as she always did when JJ complimented her. Deciding to start where the massage would do the most good, Jennifer started with the long, muscular legs stretched out in front of her, focusing on the left side first. At first the older woman tensed, an indication of just how much pain she was actually in, but before long JJ's skilled hands had loosened the muscles and the brunette was relaxing, making her job easier.

"So what was wrong at the field office?" Emily asked suddenly as the liaison worked her way down her leg, glancing over her shoulder at the other woman, "You were upset about something. What was wrong?"

JJ considered dismissing the issue, but then changed her mind, knowing that her friend asked because she honestly wanted to know, and she wouldn't appreciate JJ being dishonest or vague. So she settled on the truth, knowing it was better than the alternatives but still resenting that reality.

"I was thinking how easily you could have been one of those pictures," she explained softly, feeling the muscles under her hands tense, then ease somewhat as she went on, "and how grateful I am that you aren't. I just want you to be safe, Em. Losing you would be unthinkable."

Emily made a soft sound that could have been agreement or something else, then she sighed, turning over and holding out her arm. JJ hesitated for just a second before just letting go of the guilt, retreating into the solid warmth of her friend's embrace.

"It's scary," the brunette started after a moment of silence, "knowing how close I came, I mean. I look at those pictures and I remember what it felt like to be tortured and tormented, learning to doubt that the pain would ever stop, and wondering, like Garcia has said before, why we would be made to feel so much pain. It just doesn't seem right or fair. And I remember thinking over those six days that maybe a world without pain had never existed, that maybe that was all a hallucination and all that I had ever known was agony."

Tears jumped to the blonde's blue eyes as Emily spoke in a voice both deeply wounded and threaded with some unbreakable strength of will, realizing once again just how strong and incredible the woman who had fallen in love with her really was.

"I looked at those men and the woman, especially the woman, and thought about how for six days the only thing I believed in, aside from the pain, was you, and I started wondering if they had something like that to hold on to. And when it came down to it, the more I read about them the more I wondered how they felt as they suffered and died, who they left behind... And what they regretted. I didn't have regrets, exactly. Nothing was real enough for that. All I knew was that I wanted to see you again, to know you were safe before I died. Those people... They're all reduced to words and images on paper. All they were is that now, that and the people they left behind. And I just keep wondering... Was it enough? If I had died, or if I died tomorrow or next week or next year... Would I leave enough behind to make the pain and misery worth it? Does it ever balance out?"

Jennifer was quiet for a long time, crying silently as she listened to the strong heart beating under her ear, then finally gathered the strength to look into those dark eyes, seeing the scars in them that should never have been there, knowing her own gaze had some of the same barely-healed wounds now.

"There's a Dylan Thomas quote I read in school that always stayed with me," she murmured softly, not sure why she was saying what she was but feeling it needed to be said, "'Do not go gentle into that good night... Rage, rage against the dying of the light.' You taught me more about not giving up, about fighting for life, than I ever thought there was to learn. And the idea that I gave you some of the strength you needed to hold on... It's incredible. And all I want is to know how so I can make sure to do that again and again, so I don't have to ever lose you. "

"Just be yourself," Emily replied in a voice laden with tears, holding her more tightly, "And just... Be honest with me. This is the most we've talked about how I... About me loving you since I told you."

The liaison realized that was true, regretting it immediately. Emily had seemed so confident, but she knew her better than that. Much of her confidence was an "act as if" defense, one that usually served her well but in this case had masked her emotions entirely too well.

"I'm so sorry, Emily. I didn't realize we hadn't talked about it. We talk about everything... Just not that. And it's not because it bothers me that you're in love with me. It's probably the most amazing thing I've ever heard. I guess... I guess somehow I sort of took it for granted that you knew that."

Emily shook her head, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"You just told me everything I needed to hear, Jennifer. Now we can sleep, get up tomorrow, and face the day. And don't worry. I'll be all right. It's a process... And this just happens to be one of the harder steps. We'll get through it."

JJ heard how automatic the "we" had been and smiled, snuggling comfortably against the taller agent.

"Yes, we will."

Emily chuckled, and the blonde sighed, letting out the stress the day had brought with it and willing herself to sleep. She closed her eyes, thinking that she'd make a plan for the following day and then rest, but the next thing she knew there was light coming through the drapes and the clock on the side of the bed read 7:47 am.

"Wha-"

Emily jerked in her arms, and she looked down, smiling despite her own startlement at the sight of the nearly black eyes looking around in sleepy surprise. Her friend just looked so adorable and innocent like that.

"It's time to get up," JJ explained, "We must have fallen asleep."

Emily nodded, but her gaze was distant, the way it got when she had an epiphany on a case. Jennifer stayed quiet, letting her think. She was a little surprised when her friend growled faintly, shaking her head.

"There's something about this case, Jennifer," she stated, her voice harsh with sleep and frustration, "I just can't place it. Reid thought so too, I could see it. There's something so familiar, and I just can't think what it is. It's like trying to remember a dream that you know is important, that you should hang on to, but you just can't..."

The blonde nodded, leaving it at that knowing full well that the brunette would eventually think of whatever it was and tell her about it. They took turns showering and dressing, though Jennifer could swear Emily's eyes roamed just a little more than usual when she stepped out of the bathroom in her jeans and v-neck shirt, still toweling her hair dry. It was distracting, and she was grateful her companion decided to drive since she kept getting flashes of the look Emily had given her last night, and the view. It didn't help the somehow the brunette's hand seemed to brush hers, or her arm, or some other part of her rather more often than she was used to. She didn't think she could have kept them on the road with how out of sorts she was feeling every time that graceful hand touched her.

"Jennifer?"

The blonde looked up, snapped out of a daze she hadn't realized she'd gone off into. She looked up into those familiar dark pools, falling into them without thought or control.

"Jennifer!"

She blinked and shook her head, wondering what the hell was going on with her lately. That kept happening, and it was driving her to distraction and more and she just couldn't think why something so simple and familiar would cause her mind and body so much chaos.

"Wha... What is it?"

Emily gave her a bemused look, gesturing to something outside the SUV. The liaison followed the gesture, startled when she realized they were right outside the field office.

"Oh..." she mumbled, ducking her head to keep from looking at her friend, "You could have told me."

She noticed the profiler grinning at her out of the corner of her eye and had to force herself not to meet that gaze, afraid she'd get lost in it again. Instead she got out of the SUV, striding into the office and trying to ignore her awareness of the taller woman who was somehow right behind her, so close she could feel the heat of her body.

"Emily, JJ!" Reid called, giving them a long look before turning back to the board he was working on. Morgan's gaze stayed on them longer, and JJ felt herself wanting to squirm. With a sigh she turned to look at what the young doctor was working on, finding a geographical profile that was just starting to be colored in. Sudden warmth behind her made her look up, finding nearly black eyes looking at the map with an unusual intensity, their owner very nearly right against her back.

"Em?" Reid asked, seeing the focus in Emily's face as well. The brunette was silent for a long moment, long enough that it caught the attention of Hotch and Rossi, who came over looking curious and interested.

"You got something, Prentiss?" Hotch asked after another few moments, and Emily nodded slowly, her expression changing as her gaze fell on one of the pictures, the older male victim.

"I know this... I knew this was familiar!"

She turned to the rest of the team in a startlingly rapid motion, her face intense with some knowledge she couldn't hold in. Her proximity to JJ made the blonde acutely aware of the tension in her friend's body, a tension that had as much to do with excitement this time as it did memory or fear. Emily did so love being able to help the team like this.

"It's a book! That's why it seemed so familiar! I've read about this in a book! It was published just a few months ago, after the murders started. I remember the dedication was strange. Something about it being a story that should never be true, but it would happen because the writer couldn't stop it. I remember thinking that was odd when I read it, but now it makes sense!"

"I remember that one now!" Reid exclaimed, his fingers snapping as he spoke, his young face almost glowing with sudden enthusiasm, "Fracture! That was the name of the book!"

"So does this book talk about our guy? And the writer? Any sense that he could be a serial killer?" Rossi asked, looking between the two profilers. Emily gave him an odd look before looking over at Reid, speaking hesitantly once their eyes met and the young doctor nodded.

"Sir... The writer is a woman, Keira Datton, and while the writing was vivid, it was also brutally honest about everyone involved, including the female protagonist. And the antagonist, the killer... That was also a woman. It described a lesbian relationship between the killer and the protagonist, which ended badly and the woman spent the rest of the book trying to escape her former lover under the protection of a mysterious Agency. She ended up falling in love with the commander of her team, but the end of the book doesn't say if they got together or not. It ends with the protagonist deciding that she needed to stop running away and find her lover. That's what I mean by brutally honest. The protagonist has her demons, but never does the author show her any more mercy than she does the killer. If anything, she's kinder to the killer, gentler, than she is to her hero."

Rossi gave the agents a long, measured stare, clearly deciding whether or not to ask why they had both read what was apparently a lesbian romance novel, then shook his head, apparently letting it go. Hotch stepped forward, taking command effortlessly.

"Reid, go with Morgan and Tillman and get that book. Read it, see how it relates. Dave, I want us out at the scenes to see if we can get any more information from them. We'll bring Govar. Prentiss, JJ, call Garcia. Find out if she can track down this Keira Datton. If she can, get out there. Take a car or the jet if you need it. Just find her, bring her in. Either she knows our UnSub or she is our UnSub. Either way we need to get her here."

JJ was already on the phone and gave Emily a quick nod as Garcia typed, holding one ear closed to block out the sound of another argument brewing outside their little haven. The whole environment here was uncomfortable, and only the presence of her team and the three local agents Govar, Tillman, and Derst kept it from becoming unbearable. Well, that and the constant nearness of Emily Prentiss, distracting as it could be.

"Got it!" Garcia exclaimed, drawing her attention back to the phone call and away from the elegant hands that were moving in sharp, graceful motions to emphasize some point to Reid.

"You found her? Please tell me she's not dead, Garcia."

The tech analyst chuckled lowly in that distinctively smug way she had when she had done something especially difficult that she knew would help their case.

"Keira Datton, age 23, born in Hawaii, raised in California, moved out to the east coast four years ago after leaving home and living more or less off the grid for about nine months. A psychology major at WVU, she got her bachelors and then stopped, apparently to write. Her book wasn't an instant best seller and it didn't immediately get the attention of critics, but it got great word of mouth and something of a following. Now it's highly read and being considered as a model text for classes in psychopathology and profiling for its in-depth analysis of the inner workings of a serial killer's mind... and a victim's."

JJ smiled affectionately at the wealth of information Garcia had compiled so rapidly, and at the way she'd apparently gotten distracted from the real question.

"And her current address, Garcia? You get that?"

"Ye of little faith," the analyst replied chidingly, "I already sent it to your PDA."

The blonde shook her head, realizing she shouldn't have underestimated her friend. She checked the address, realizing they'd have to fly out and drive from the airstrip, since the location was in the mountains of Montana. She wondered why the writer would move out there and when she'd done so, but she knew she'd out.

"Great, thanks. Fax us over everything you've got on her. We'll pick it up on the jet. Emily and I are going to go talk to her."

"Well you two have fun out in the country," the computer genius shot back, inexplicably making her blush, "Not too long a flight, huh? Maybe that's for the best."

"I'm hanging up now, Garcia," JJ shot back, hearing her friend laughing as she hung up. Before she could dismiss the whole thing a hand brushed her back. She felt herself smile and turned to look up at her taller friend, surprised as she always was at the open affection and tenderness in that dark gaze. She still hadn't gotten used to the way Emily had been looking at her lately, even though it was happening more often lately as the older agent seemed to become more comfortable with what she felt.

"Come on, we need to get out there."

Jennifer nodded, following her friend out. Hotch watched them go, his brown eyes dark with concern. He didn't like what was happening, not because he didn't approve of them, and not because he wouldn't protect them if they really did get together, but because JJ refused to see what was right in front of her face. She was too busy being scared for Emily, too busy needing to protect and care for her to pay attention to herself. As long as all her energy was devoted to healing Emily, she wouldn't take care of herself, and that was taking a tremendous toll on both women. What he was counting on was the brunette figuring that out without his needing to intervene, and if the way Prentiss had been watching her friend in the two days they'd been working this case was any indication, he hoped he wouldn't have to worry too much longer. Little did he know that at that moment, and an hour later, Emily was wondering how to broach that same subject with Jennifer, debating whether to be direct or somewhat subtle, and if she had the time to wait until this case was over or not.

"Em?" the blonde asked, coming up behind her and holding out a bottle of water, which she took with a soft smile, watching Jennifer as she sat down on the seat across from her.

"You okay?" she asked softly, waiting for her friend's inevitable response and already deciding how she would respond to it.

"I'm fine," the liaison answered, right on cue, "What about you? Are you okay?"

Emily hesitated just a second, sighing inwardly. She was tired from being reminded of her own torture every time she looked at the pictures, tired of the fear she couldn't fight off or ignore, but she was becoming more afraid of losing Jennifer to herself, and she couldn't allow that to happen. Now was as good a time to start as any. It was just the two of them, and they had about another hour at least before they got to Montana, where Datton lived now.

"That's not what I asked, Jennifer," the brunette murmured, waiting for the startled look she knew would come next and sighing inwardly when it came. When had JJ become so predictable?

"What do you mean? I'm fine, Em."

She shook her head slowly. She had committed to this now, and she would see it through.

"No you aren't," she replied wearily, letting down most of the walls she usually kept firmly up, revealing just how much the case and the job was taking from her before adding, "and neither are you. We've been living together, Jennifer. Do you really think I don't know how much time you spend watching me, waiting for any hint of fear, any sign of nightmares or flashbacks, anything that I would need you to stop or protect me from? You've been doing it ever since..."

Here she hesitated despite herself, vividly remembering the moment she'd first seen the beautiful press liaison's face when she'd been rescued, and mixed relief and terror she'd felt in that moment. As she relived it, it reminded her once again why she had to do this, and she closed her eyes, letting the emotions flow through her.

"Emily?"

She could hear the concern and the fear and sighed. She couldn't lose this woman. Not again. She had come too close before, and she'd be damned if she gave Jennifer up now. When she felt her companion get up and move to her side, she reopened her eyes and reached out, taking one of those calloused, healing hands into her own, twining their fingers together, hating the fearful expression on her friend's face but knowing she couldn't have avoided causing it one way or another.

"You don't understand, Jennifer," she started softly, "I'm grateful. I'm beyond grateful, actually. But you can't keep just looking out for me and ignoring yourself."

When JJ would have interrupted she shook her head, going on before she could be interrupted.

"You take care of me, sweetie. You watch me constantly, you cook for me when I can't do it myself, you help me clean up the condo, you even help me wash my hair when the pain is too much. You take care of me 24/7. And I'm incredibly grateful... But when do you take care of yourself? You go to therapy, sure. An hour every couple days to talk about you."

"Emily... I just..."

"Shh."

The brunette leaned closer, using her free hand to stroke blonde strands out of her companion's face, her face gentle but intent.

"You know I'm right, Jennifer. And I know you do it because you care, because you hate to see me hurting. That's fine, but I need you to be healthy too."

"I take care of myself!" the liaison objected weakly, but Emily shook her head again, seeing in those blue eyes the same concern and fear of failure that had brought up this conversation to begin with.

"Physically, maybe. You eat, shower, even sleep sometimes. When it comes to how hard this is on you, though... If you ever start thinking about yourself, you just go back to taking care of me. I love you. You already know that. But at the rate you're going, the day isn't too far off that this all gets to be too much and you'll implode."

Jennifer very nearly gave in to the anger that was building up, but she froze inwardly when she realized how ridiculous she was being, and how selfish. She had no right to snap at Emily when she hadn't even given the idea any thought or really considered its validity. There was a very good chance that the brunette was right and she just didn't want to think about it, and that would make her a coward. One thing she could not tolerate being in her own eyes, and even less so in Emily's, was a coward.

"Let me think about it, okay?" she temporized, regaining control over her atypically short temper. Emily nodded, but the look in her eyes as she turned to the window could only be described as defeated, and the hand that had been holding Jennifer's tightened its grip once before moving away. The liaison frowned, wondering why her friend was so upset by this. It couldn't really be that much of an issue, could it? Apparently it was, as they spent the rest of the flight in silence, though Emily didn't move away when the blonde gave in to her impulse to recapture her hand. JJ held it tightly, trying to find some way to convey through the contact that she was all right and the brunette had nothing to worry about. Somehow she doubted Emily was reassured. They filed the empty space by reading what Garcia had sent them on Datton, discovering that the writer had moved to Montana after getting her degree two years ago. She must have written, or at least finished, the book up in the mountains, then. Maybe that's why she'd moved. She needed the quiet to write. She doubted it was that simple, though.

"Ladies," the captain announced over the intercom after about another hour or so, "We're about to start our descent. I know you're familiar with the drill, but please stay seated and buckled in. Thank you."

The landing was fairly smooth, as always, and when they got off the plane there was a car waiting with an agent leaning against it. The red-haired, athletic woman straightened as they approached, almost saluting, much to JJ's amusement. It was a completely different attitude than the locals would have, and it was kind of refreshing.

"Agents, welcome to Montana," the other agent started, seeing that the two BAU members were eager to go, "I've programmed a GPS system for the address your analyst provided, and because we sometimes lose the signal out here, I have written directions as well. Safe driving. If you want any backup, my partner and I can accompany you."

All this was said in a rush, and a glance at Emily revealed that the brunette was as amused as she was.

"Thank you, agent, but that won't be necessary," the profiler replied, taking the sheet with the directions out of the agent's outstretched hand and giving her one of her most pleasant smiles, "It's better not to show up with more people than necessary, but we'll keep your offer in mind."

The redhead nodded, backing away from the car, her eyes fixed on the brunette in a way that Jennifer was decidedly displeased with. She was just a little too interested, she decided, and if the woman ran her eyes over Emily the way she had just done again, she might just have to take drastic action. Who did the woman think she was, anyway? She hadn't even introduced herself properly and already she was looking at Emily like she was ready to tear her clothes off!

"Jennifer," a familiar voice called, breaking her out of her seething thoughts, "Let's go."

She turned to look into dark eyes, surprised and confused by the tenderness and amusement in them. She might have said something, but she remembered the presence of the other agent and simply nodded, going around to the passenger's side, since Emily was obviously planning on driving. Once they were on the road, the profiler glanced over at her, smiling warmly.

"You know, if you're going to be my bodyguard, we're going to need to change your wardrobe a little."

Jennifer, who had been reading over the printed directions, jerked her head up and around to stare at her companion. The brunette's focus was once again on the road, but in profile the smile Emily was trying to contain was very visible.

"What are you talking about?" the liaison asked, looking down at her comfortable black jeans, blue v-neck, and sensible black shoes, "When did I become your bodyguard? And what's wrong with my outfit?"

Emily chuckled over, letting go of the wheel with one hand and moving that limb to JJ's thigh, where it stayed. She shivered at the contact, extremely aware of the little movements she could feel through the thick fabric of her pants. JJ sighed, forcing herself to relax, noticing as she did that the longer that hand stayed there, the calmer she felt. It was almost like Emily was anchoring her, though why she needed an anchor she didn't know.

"There's nothing wrong with your outfit. You look beautiful, Jennifer," the brunette was saying, and she refocused on her friend's voice, smiling in response to the compliment but waiting for the rest, wondering if she was about to be teased or even insulted. Not that it was Emily's style to insult her. When the profiler went on, though, it did nothing to ease her confusion.

"But the fact is, if you're going to go around looking at anyone who flirts with me, or even just gives me that look, like you're getting ready to tear them into microscopic pieces, then you're going to have to butch yourself up so your victims know what to expect. The way you look now, they're not even going to have a chance to defend themselves once you start punching. Or shooting, whichever you prefer."

JJ blinked a couple times, wondering if she had somehow landed in some alternate universe, but everything stayed just the same. When Emily's eyes met hers briefly the brunette laughed, lightly squeezing her thigh. She almost didn't hear what her friend said next, too distracted by the warmth of that hand and the shivers that were traveling up and down her leg.

"You were looking at that agent like you were going to kill her, Jennifer," Emily explained with another laugh, giving her another quick smile, "And if she had touched me, I thought you just might start a fight. I've never seen you look at anyone that way, not even UnSubs."

Jennifer was about to object, then she remembered the rage that had been building up while she'd watched the pretty redhead give her friend the eye. She sputtered, trying to find some way to justify her behavior, but there wasn't anything she could say, so she resorted to laughing along with Emily, releasing the tension from her muscles as she did. They drove in silence for a while, comfortable with each other once again, the friction that had been caused in the plane almost fading to nothing. Finally the blonde sighed, lightly grasping Emily's hand and squeezing gently, getting the profiler's attention.

"I didn't like the way she was looking at you," she explained softly, putting into words something she was just coming to understand herself, "She didn't introduce herself, didn't bother with anything other than business and looking at you like a piece of meat. I've seen men look at women that way, and that's bad enough. But they're men. They're supposed to be like that. A woman should know better, and you... You deserve better than that."

She could feel dark eyes on her, but JJ kept her gaze facing forward, unable to look at her friend as she spoke.

"All she knew was that you're a BAU profiler and this gorgeous woman with a beautiful smile. She didn't even ask your name. If you had said 'Hey, let's get a motel room!' she probably would have said yes without a second, or first thought. But that's not right, Emily," the liaison went on, shaking her head and trying to make some sense of her own thoughts as she added, "I know I have no right to say this or tell you who to sleep with, but you deserve someone who understands you, someone who loves you, not a one night stand with some man, or woman, who doesn't even have the courtesy to ask your name."

JJ heard a soft sigh, then the hand on her thigh moved away. She missed the contact immediately, and her leg felt cold where Emily's hand had been. She gave in and looked over at her companion, jumping slightly when that hand reached over again, the backs of those long fingers lightly caressing her face before it once again retreated to the steering wheel.

"I don't think you have anything to worry about," the older woman replied, her voice soft and warm, "I'm not interested in one night stands. I have what matters right here."

The blonde couldn't decide whether to be embarrassed or charmed, so her brain settled on both, leaving her blushing and smiling like an idiot. Emily let it be, which she was grateful for. She didn't think she could handle any teasing on the subject when she wasn't even sure how she felt about all the connotations in her friend's comment. Somehow JJ lost herself in thought, because the next thing she knew the SUV was stopped and Emily was standing at her door, holding it open with a bemused look on her face. She gave her an embarrassed smile, scolding herself mentally for getting lost in her head again, and slid out of the big vehicle into bitingly cold mountain air, looking around curiously despite the chill that cut right through her clothes. They had pulled up to a log cabin of sorts, though that was a modest word for the structure. The building blended into its surroundings, becoming part of the woods that were backing it rather than being separate. It was clear whoever had designed it had intended for it to be that way, but it somehow managed to look almost as if the cabin had been grown rather than built.

"You know," she started as they walked up the clearly marked path to the front stoop, knowing that Emily was taking in every detail just as she was, "I can't help but think that the kind of person who would want to live in a place like this isn't going to fly into Los Angeles to kill people."

The profiler nodded, looking around again once they reached the porch before knocking on the door, her free hand hovering not far from her gun. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds before the door swung open, revealing a tall woman wearing loose black jeans, hiking boots, and long-sleeved red shirt, her smoky brown hair tied back in a short pony tail that was more functional than anything else. Her eyes, when they met JJ's blue ones, were what really grabbed the person who saw them. They were dark gray, the color similar to pewter or lead, but their color wasn't the most distinctive thing about them. It was the pain in them, and the sense that their owner had seen far more than she ever wanted to and had not come out of it unscathed.

"Keira Datton?" Emily asked, her mind racing in an attempt to decide if she was looking at a serial killer and maybe even walking into a trap. The woman nodded silently, looking between them before setting her gaze on the taller agent. She had expected some surprise, some sense that they were unexpected, but there was nothing like that. All she could see was the pain and an expression of resigned exhaustion.

"We're with the-"

"FBI, I'm sure," Keira interrupted, her tone somehow managing to keep from being rude, "The Behavioral Analysis unit, perhaps?"

The older woman glanced at JJ, who gave her a quick look in return that told her Keira's attitude and demeanor had taken her off guard as well. And there was something about her voice that had grabbed at Emily's attention. It was low, for a woman, and there were hints of an accent that might have been British, but she doubted it. She couldn't quite place it. It was just something about the way she rolled the A's and slightly slurred S's.

"We're from the BAU," Emily confirmed, trying to find some way to read the woman in front of her, "I'm Agent Emily Prentiss, and this is Agent Jennifer Jareau, or JJ. We'd like to speak with you, if you wouldn't mind. Could we come in?"

The writer stepped back, opening the door more widely for them. When Emily hesitated for just a second, Keira seemed to almost smile before turning away, walking into the house and clearly expecting them to follow. They did, though slowly, and Jennifer closed the door behind them with a certain amount of reluctance. Despite the caution and concern they were walking into a trap laid by a serial killer, was something of a relief to get warm after the short exposure to the mountain air, which had made the elbow and shoulder of her left arm throb, reminding her of the injuries her body was still recovering from. Shoving those thoughts aside, she tracked Keira to a kitchen offset from the main living area, noting as she did that the place was set up to be open and airy. There was a short hall, which she guessed led to whatever bedrooms and bathrooms the house had, but it looked like the living room was the focal point of the home. There was a desk that looked like a computer should be there but wasn't off to one side, facing the rest of the living room and the television. Overall the place gave an impression of an orderly mind that could tolerate some chaos, but not too much. It was comfortable, she decided, and she had to admit that everything she saw in this house supported JJ's earlier commented. If her home was any indication, she was not their UnSub.

"Would you two like some tea?" the writer called, breaking her out of her thoughts, "I'd just put some water on to boil before you arrived."

She searched the comment for any hint that the woman considered their presence an intrusion or worse, but there was none. If anything, it almost seemed as if Keira had been expecting them.

"That would be fine, thank you," she replied, resorting to courtesy to hide her growing discomfort. It was strange, she decided, to be more uncomfortable with being treated politely than she was when the BAU's arrival was met with anger or worse. She was once again broken out of her reverie by Keira, who returned from the kitchen carrying a tray. There was silence for a few moments while the two federal agents seated themselves on a black leather couch that matched the dark tones of the rest of the furniture and made a pleasant contrast to the paler walls and the tea was served, then Keira sat down in a chair, her cup in one hand, something Emily couldn't quite see in the other.

"Ms. Datton-"

"Keira," the young woman interrupted, once again managing to keep from being rude, "If you came all the way out here, it wasn't to make nice with me, but I'd still prefer you use my first name. And unless I'm very much mistaken, you're here about this."

She tossed something on the coffee table between them, and Emily picked it up, realizing it was a manuscript. Specifically, it was the manuscript for Fracture, and she looked up into the dark gray eyes that were watching her with a look of one expecting to hear something they already knew.

"We were hoping to talk to you about that, yes," JJ confirmed, speaking up for the first time, "Your book has some striking similarities to a series of murders we're investigating, some of which took place before this was published, and others as recently as four days ago."

Keira nodded, taking a slow sip of her tea and staring down into her cup, looking like she was drawing strength from somewhere inside herself, strength she seemed to need to go on.

"You want to know if the woman in it exists," she stated, making it clear it wasn't a question, "and how I knew the details of murders that hadn't happened yet. And you're also hoping to find out if I knew because I'm your serial killer."

Neither agent spoke then. There was no need, and all three women knew it. The writer was quiet for a while, then leaned forward, reclaiming the manuscript, her hand pressing down on its soft cover as if she could reach through it into the world it described.

"You've probably profiled me already," the young woman went on finally, "and you probably have a hunch that I'm not your killer. Well, whether you believe me or not, I haven't killed anyone, though maybe this once that isn't something to be proud of."

She sighed, shaking her head slowly.

"The heroine of this book, if you want to call her that, exists. So do most of the people it describes, in some form or another. All my characters are made up of various people I've known, but a few are solely themselves. My mentor, the woman who saved me more times than I can count, stayed herself, as did her partner of some forty years. And the protagonist's guardian... She existed once."

For just a moment Keira's face was a mask of remembered agony, then she sighed again, meeting the watching gaze of the two federal agents, her eyes giving them a window into a soul that had been, and still was, tormented by fear, guilt, and regret. They both knew that look, having seen it in each other's faces, and their own, more than once in the last month or so.

"The antagonist I described in Fracture was my girlfriend, my lover, for a the better part of a year. That was over four years ago now. I left her the day she decided she was going to buy illegal drugs, which she happened to be allergic to, rather than going to therapy."

The writer must have realized she was leaving a lot out, because she leaned back and took another sip of tea, visibly collecting her thoughts.

"Her name was... Is," she corrected, sounding as if the present tense hurt to use, "Jenna Odari. She was diagnosed bipolar, with psychotic and paranoid features just to make things more interesting. Later on it was decided that she had schizoaffective disorder, which filled in a lot of holes. When I met her she was on medication, Lithium among others, but it didn't take long for her to go off them, which caused her to spiral into a depression before rising into mania. Most of the time I knew her she was manic and unstable. She was dangerously addicted to opiates, and in the course of what passed for a normal week in our life together we'd visit emergency rooms for one reason or another at least three or four times. As time went on, she became more convinced in her own superiority, more convinced that she had power over people. Eventually she came to believe she was the creator of the universe."

Keira fell silent, which Emily was grateful for. She needed a moment to absorb what she'd just been told, and all the subtext along with it. It was becoming exceedingly clear that this was torturous for the young writer to talk about, which was why she was rushing to get it all out at once. Fortunately, Jennifer had been taking notes, leaving her the job of listening to the story and hearing what wasn't said.

"It wasn't all her fault," Keira went on reflectively after a few minutes, "I enabled her delusions, even encouraged them early on, not realizing what I was doing. Jenna had warned me before she went off her meds that it would happen. She tried to get me to leave, but I wouldn't. I loved her, and I thought maybe if I loved her enough, she would start to heal. Instead she got worse, because when she lost touch with reality, I gave up on the real world too. I surrendered to her world, became a part of it, using my abilities as a storyteller to build on the fantasy, making a place for me in her world."

The writer shook her head, bowing her head to look at her hands.

"When I fought the fantasy, Jenna found ways to convince me to fall back into line. Sometimes it was sex, others it was threats and fear. And until the drugs, it worked. I watched her get drunk, inject herself with opiates she had dissolved and heated, for hours, and I stayed. But when she decided she was going to do heroin... I bolted. One of her old friends got me out, and I went back just long enough to have her institutionalized by her parents, who we were living with at the time. I moved across the country and lost touch with her, but I remembered everything, all the fantasies, all the pain... And the good times. I had promised her once that I would write a book, a story about her. So I did. I wrote Fracture."

Keira picked up the manuscript again, flipping through it absently.

"I knew one day she would become the killer she is in the book," she went on brokenly, clearly fighting back tears, "I knew one day someone would come find me, looking for a killer, looking for her. So I waited here, aware that she would eventually remember me and know that I had betrayed her, and she would kill me too. Either that or I would be found by the people who wanted to catch her. I guess it was the latter this time."

Emily noticed something odd about the statement, but it took her a moment to realize what it was, and when she figured it out she wasn't reassured. Unless she was very much mistaken, Keira might actually have preferred the former to, as she had put it, "betraying" Jenna Odari.

"Can you help us find her?" the profiler asked gently, worried that Keira either couldn't or wouldn't. As the silence stretched on, she glanced at Jennifer, seeing the same fear in those blue eyes that would be in her own had she looked in a mirror.

"I have to," Keira whispered at last, meeting Emily's dark eyes with an expression so wounded that for a moment the older woman worried she was going to have a mental break. That look was the same one she herself had worn after being rescued, and she wondered just how much suffering Jenna had caused this woman. As if hearing her thoughts, Keira's gaze suddenly turned piercing and she straightened, pulling her shirt off in a smooth motion. Though the plain white sports bra covered part of her chest, vivid scars were visible on much of her upper torso, forming some sort of symbol she couldn't identify.

"Jenna marked me," the writer stated firmly, her voice startlingly calm, "The scars have barely faded since she first did it. This is just the most visible mark she left behind."

Keira sank back into her chair, pulling her shirt back on in movements that lacked any of the energy she had just displayed, as if the demonstration had taken all she had, but when she met Emily's eyes the agent was looking into gray fire.

"I wrote her story," she murmured, looking between the two agents, "and now I have to finish it. I'll help you find her."

"How do you plan to do that?" Jennifer asked, her voice gentle but firm, "If you haven't spoken to her in years..."

For the first time since they'd arrived Keira smiled, though the expression more closely resembled grief than pleasure.

"You live in close quarters with someone, you share a room that becomes the center of your reality, you learn their habits, the way they think, their quirks, the things they like and the things they fear. I'm probably the only one alive aside from her parents who knows her that well, and if your team doesn't catch her soon, it'll just be me. I know where she's going to go, because I know who she most wants to kill. You wouldn't have come looking for me unless it was desperate."

Emily nodded and rose, Jennifer a split second behind her as if anticipating the move, which she probably had.

"Whenever you're ready, then, we'd like you to accompany us to Los Angeles. Our team is there waiting."

Keira nodded, getting to her feet and disappearing down the hall, reappearing moments later wearing a snap-collar black leather jacket and glasses, a single-strap backpack over her shoulder.

"That's all you're bringing?" Emily asked carefully, her tone conveying the real question of 'you're ready that fast?' The writer shrugged, lifting an arm in a gesture that took in the house.

"This is my home. I can't exactly pack it and take it to LA, so this will have to do. And I realize it may appear strange that I'm ready to leave when I didn't even know you were coming today, but as I told you, I've been waiting for this for a while. I'm not the type to go into this sort of thing unprepared."

The two agents had no choice but to accept that, and the three women went out to the SUV. By some unspoken consent Keira sat in the back on the passenger's side, leaning her head against the back of the seat and closing her eyes. It was like she couldn't watch as they left her home behind, Emily caught herself thinking, wondering why the departure seemed so final. Shrugging off the dark cloud that had fallen over her thoughts as best she could, she focused on driving and getting as much information out of Keira as she could, though she was careful not to push too hard. The more the young woman talked, the more she found herself reminded of Kari, the girl who had been the only survivor when her family had been killed, and the girl she'd nearly adopted. The writer was older and more mature than the teenage Kari had been, but when Keira talked about the events following her break up with Jenna, there was the same tone of loss, confusion, and fear that Kari had when she'd talked about the murder of her family.

"Keira," she started hesitantly in a break in the younger woman's narrative, "you talk about Jenna as if she were dead. You always use the past tense. Why is that?"

When the writer didn't immediately answer she glanced back, startled by the agony in the dark gray eyes as they looked into hers.

"My Jenna, the woman I fell in love with years ago, she's dead. She was killed by the disease, by the drugs, by herself... And... And by me, I suppose. I won't ever get her back. I can't think of her as my Jenna, Agent Prentiss... If I do I think I might lose my mind."

Emily frowned, looking at the writer in the rearview mirror, catching Jennifer doing the same. That wasn't the answer either of them had been expecting, and it was a little disturbing to hear something like that from a woman who had proven to be largely pragmatic and realistic. Keira sighed, shrugging and turning to look out the window.

"Someone taught me that a mind as broken as Jenna's can have different 'selves.' I'm not talking so much about personalities as projected images. The Jenna I fell in love with was warm, kind, and understanding. She loved without conditions or need. As she went off the meds that kept her self-image stable, those parts of her were consumed by others, the parts of her that needed control and power. She began to project the sickness as herself, until that became all she was. It's like a quote I read a book once."

"'You are who you pretend to be,'" Emily quoted quietly, remembering saying those same words to Morgan once, "'So be careful who you pretend to be.'"

The writer nodded, her gaze still focused on the scenery as they drove by it.

"Yeah, something like that. When she saw the sick part of herself in the mirror and it got to be all she could see, that's what she became. The woman I knew, the woman I loved, she doesn't exist unless Jenna were to find that side of herself again, but I gave up on that a long time ago. In order for her to be that woman again, she'd have to see herself that way, and she won't. That requires medication, anti-psychotics, anti-depressants, and she won't take them. So instead she's become a psychotic serial killer who lures her victims and her helpers with her intelligence and sheer sexuality, both of which she has in abundance."

Quiet reigned in the SUV after that, the profiler and the liaison both mentally sorting all the new information to present to the team later. Without thinking Emily reached over to rest her hand on Jennifer's thigh, only aware she'd done it when the blonde shivered faintly at her touch, though when she looked there was no sign she objected. Emily caught a glimpse of Keira's face in the mirror as she turned back to the road, realizing the brunette had caught the move. The expression on her face was odd, a mix of pain, jealousy, and gentle amusement, and it stayed stuck in her head the rest of the way back to the airstrip, where their jet was refueled and ready to go thanks to an earlier call from JJ to the captain. When the writer saw the jet she smiled, but the expression faded almost instantly, replaced by quiet sadness.

"Is something wrong?" Emily asked quietly as they boarded, but Keira shook her head, summoning a weak smile for the agent.

"Not really. Just memories. My father was a pilot, and the last time I was in a plane he was with me. That was when I moved to Montana almost two years ago. He died not long after of cancer."

"I'm so sorry," the profiler replied, and she meant it. It was becoming increasingly clear that in her relatively short life the woman had suffered a great deal of loss and pain, more than anyone should have to bear. The younger brunette fixed her with a long look, her gray eyes flitting to a spot just above her eyes before looking back into the dark depths.

"I think maybe I should say the same to you. It looks like you've had some... trouble... recently."

Emily froze, hearing the way Keira stumbled over the word 'trouble,' realizing what she really meant by it. She shifted her bangs self-consciously, pulling them back over the scar on her forehead. The writer looked past her, then away, her face turning just a little red. Emily looked behind her and noticed that Jennifer was standing there, a look that was some mix of concern, anger, and understanding on her face.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"It's all right," the profiler burst out, stepping closer to the younger woman on impulse. She had the sense that if she didn't take hold of this opening, she'd miss out on something, some chance to connect with the girl. Spurred on by the hope and fear in the gray eyes, she reached out, gently gripping the other brunette's arm.

"It's all right," she repeated in a softer voice, "Really. It's just that it's something that happened fairly recently and I'm not entirely used to the idea yet."

The rumbling of the plane's engines starting up interrupted any response Keira might have made, but once they were seated, JJ and Emily siting together facing the writer, the younger woman remarked, "Those kinds of scars, and the things that cause them... They do take time to get used to, as much as anyone can get used to... those things."

Emily was very, very grateful the woman hadn't said the word 'torture,' which she clearly had been about to. Even this extremely cautious conversation was pushing at the weak spots in her internal armor, and she absolutely could not afford to lose control right then.

"It does," Jennifer agreed quietly from her side, and the profiler felt a calloused hand take hold of her own, steadying her and giving her the strength to reinforce the barriers in her mind that kept the memories at bay. Keira looked between them, then sighed, reaching over to pick up the bag she'd set down at her side, unzipping a side pocket and pulling out a small device the size of a keychain, which Emily quickly realized was one of those miniature digital photo album keychains. Keira pressed something, making a picture appear and looking at it for a long moment before holding it out to the two federal agents. The picture was of a grinning, relaxed Keira being embraced from behind by a smiling woman with slightly curly black hair and dark, laughing eyes. There was something about the woman that reminded Emily of a cat, though, a sense that she was quite capable of hunting and killing what threatened the woman in her arms.

"That's Shamira Resman," the writer explained softly, and the older woman noticed that the way she accented the name sounded Hebrew. The name Shamira meant "guard" or "protector," and she had no doubt this was the woman Keira had mentioned earlier as her guardian.

"Who was she?" the profiler asked gently, and Keira sighed, looking down at her empty hands. When she answered Emily got the impression that this Shamira woman was the source of some pleasant, and some very painful, memories.

"After my father died, I got a some very threatening messages and there was even an attempt on my life when I went to LA for his funeral. When I talked to my mentor about it, she used her connections to get me some security, over my objections. Shamira was that security. She and I... We got very close in the eighteen months or so that I knew her. She told me she had fallen in love with me... But that same day, the 23^rd of last November, she died protecting me, true to her word. I don't know what you think Jenna's body count is, but Shamira was her first kill, though not her first victim. Even I don't know who the first was."

The dark agent sorted through that, her eyes widening as she absorbed the implication.

"How many people has Jenna Odari killed?" Jennifer asked, sounding a little breathless. Emily, worried by her tone, looked over, seeing a look in those blue eyes that surprised her. There was fear in that gaze, and what looked oddly like longing, which was completely out of place considering the question she'd just asked. Emily realized the longing had to do with the emotion in Keira's voice when she described her bodyguard, but knowing that didn't really help the confusion.

"I don't know how many your people are looking at," Keira replied steadily, her voice taking on that strangely calm quality it had at very peculiar times, "but that I know of, 7, though all but two of them were indirect. Planned and encouraged by her, but she didn't get her hands dirty until later."

"Later?" Emily asked, slightly distracted by her concern for her friend but otherwise completely focused on what the younger woman had to say. Gray eyes met hers, the expression in them an odd mix of anger and sadness.

"The first three were doctors she felt had done wrong to her. She got whoever she was fucking or buying drugs from at the time to do it for her in return for promises. The other two were those previously mentioned men, who she persuaded to kill themselves. Shamira, though," and here the writer hesitated for the first time in this recital, pain flaring behind her dark eyes as she choked out, "Shamira she killed herself. Stabbed her with a knife that I had left behind when I ran away four years ago. We were just in LA to meet with my editor to finalize the book…"

At their odd looks she muttered, "I've been collecting knives and swords for years. It's something of a hobby of mine."

"That means in the last year or two Jenna Odari has killed at least 13 people," Jennifer whispered, glancing at Emily with horrified eyes before looking back at the watching writer. Keira was quiet for a moment, then sighed, gently taking the picture keychain out of Emily's hand and looking down at the picture it still displayed.

"That would make sense. Jenna has a sort of obsession with the number 3, though it was 4 for a while. She's either going to kill her parents next, making it fifteen, or she's going to kill someone else, either before or after. Either way, her parents are going to end up dead."

While not the most shocking thing Keira had said since they met her, it did take both agents somewhat by surprise. What was most disturbing was how calm the young woman was about the statement she had just made, as if she had merely commented on the weather. She must have seen the look they both gave her, because she chuckled wryly and held up a hand in a gesture of resignation.

"Since the first person she killed, I've known who her real targets were," Keira explained patiently, her comfort level with the subject not reassuring the two agents at all, "and even before that, really. I've known for years that if she ever crossed that line, they would become her victims. She loves them desperately, and she depended on them to support her financially, and keep a roof over her head, since she was always incapable of holding a job. The reality is that she needed them, and that's why they're still alive. But if, as you say, she's killed 13 people, she's already preparing to murder them too."

"How can you be so-" Jennifer started in an indignant tone, but a sharp look from Keira cut her off, the gray eyes suddenly burning with rage.

"'So' what, Agent Jareau?" the brunette growled, her voice cold and seething with barely contained emotion, "Don't think for a moment that I'm not sickened by all of this. I know far better than you do what goes on in that woman's head. I lived in her world, and nearly died there. Whatever she'd done, whatever it is that brought your team to LA, it's nothing compared to what she'll do to those two people. Whatever the worst you've seen is, she'll cross that line and show you a glimpse of what awaits in the deepest circles of hell. She is insane, Agent, and there is nothing she won't do. You, Agent Prentiss, your team, me, we're nothing to her, nothing but minor obstacles or useful pawns. In her mind there is no one above her, no one equal to her, and so she has the right to do whatever she wants to them."

The liaison turned to Emily, who had a hand on her gun, the other shifting to gently grasp her friend's arm. She was fully prepared to pull the blonde behind her if Keira made a single threatening move, but once again the writer seemed to become exhausted just talking about her former lover, and she wilted back against her seat, her eyes glazing over somewhat.

"You can relax, Agent Prentiss," she muttered quietly, her gaze flitting to the gun before focusing on Emily's face, "I may not be entirely stable when it comes to Jenna, but I'm not about to attack you or Agent Jareau. I said I would help find her, and I will. I'm sorry I lost my temper."

The profiler stayed quiet until JJ relaxed under her hand and the blue eyes gentled in understanding Emily herself was already feeling.

"I wasn't going to show you these," she started once the writer and the press liaison had come to an unspoken agreement that a truce had been called, "but maybe you should see them. You might be the only person who can tell us why, and how much further it could go."

She took the case file JJ somehow had handy, giving her companion a warm, grateful smile as she did. Keira hesitated just slightly before taking the file from the other brunette, but then her body straightened and her expression became determined. She paged through the reports first, her eyebrow rising as she read, then she sorted through the pictures as the agents looked on, gauging her reaction. Yet again it wasn't what they expected. Instead of the shock and terrified horror every member of the BAU had felt, the young writer just closed her eyes for a moment and sighed, looking back up at them with a haunted, yet resigned, expression.

"I had hoped she had just been ranting when she talked about some of these things," the writer commented in a voice threaded with pain and despair, "but apparently she meant every word. And I didn't stop her then... They let her go."

"Let her go?" Emily asked, grasping again at the oddities in the younger woman's statement "Who let her go? Go from where?"

The brunette blinked, then shook her head, her expression almost sheepish as she looked up from the pictures.

"Sorry. I get lost in thought sometimes," she explained with an embarrassed chuckle, then sobered, her face losing any trace of humor, "I told you that when I left I had her hospitalized. I also recommended to her parents that for their safety, hers, and everyone else's, she be put into a permanent facility for treatment. They did put her into a residential facility once the lockdown on her in the first hospital had been lifted, which only happened because she was being moved. I had hoped the issue was settled, but then I found out how lax the place was. I lost touch with her and her parents, so I didn't know she had gotten out until she..."

Keira trailed off and looked away, but Emily noticed that her hand had a white-knuckled grip on Shamira's picture. A quick look at JJ told her the blonde had seen the gesture too, and neither of them had the heart to say the words when the young writer probably heard them echoing in her mind, over and over. Once the younger woman had relaxed somewhat, Emily asked gently, "Are you going to be all right?"

Dark gray eyes fixed on hers, so full of turmoil, regret, guilt, and pain that she couldn't stop herself from shifting to the seats and pulling Keira to her in a warm embrace. The writer stiffened under her touch, then abruptly melted against the profiler, crying helplessly into her shoulder in what might very well be the first time in a very long time, if Emily judged her correctly. She had been wondering while Keira told her story just how long it had been since she'd had anyone to really talk to, a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on. Isolated as she had been up in her mountains, she doubted the opportunity came often. She doubted even more that the writer would take it easily.

"It's all right," she whispered soothingly, once again reminded of Kari and holding the young teenager, "Let it go, Keira. It's okay."

When Emily looked up Jennifer was watching her with an expression so tender and warm that she blushed faintly, her mind calling up the image of being on the other side of this tableau while JJ had held Kari after her nightmare in the hospital. As soon as the liaison saw that Emily was watching, she smiled and reached over to lightly squeeze the dark agent's knee in a gesture at once understanding, encouraging, and reassuring. Emily couldn't count the number of times Jennifer had held her like this, and it pained her to realize that the woman in her arms hadn't had that at some of the worst times in her life. She knew, without any doubt, that she had made it through the torture and the aftermath because Jennifer had been there. So how did this young woman survive?

"I'm sorry," she heard the writer whisper after some indefinable period, but the young woman didn't pull back. From how slack her body had become, and how raw and raspy her voice was, the drain on her reserves, both physical and emotional, had been enormous. Emily smiled, feeling in Keira's body the same lassitude that had often come over her after such releases of pent up fear and guilt.

"Don't be, Keira," the profiler answered gently, hugging her a little more tightly, "It's all right. Just rest now. You're safe here. We've got you. Just rest."

Keira seemed to struggle against her obvious exhaustion for a few minutes, but in the end her weariness won out and she slept. Both agents noticed the softness about the writer as she relaxed against Emily, and the brunette found herself reminded of a young child. The thought startled her, and she looked up at Jennifer, who was watching them both with sad, sympathetic blue eyes.

"She's so young, Jennifer," Emily whispered, not wanting to disturb the woman in her arms but willing to bet she was largely dead to the world, "She's just a kid. She never got to be a normal college kid, going out drinking and partying, getting in trouble. Instead she had to spend every day knowing there was a killer out there and unable to do anything about it. She couldn't betray Jenna, and that alone tells us how much influence the woman has on the people around her."

JJ nodded slowly, but Emily could guess that she was wondering why Keira hadn't come forward with information on Jenna Odari when she'd first started killing. Emily wasn't entirely sure, but she thought maybe the writer had. How else would she have gotten a bodyguard? Someone had known about Jenna, and they were the ones who hadn't notified the proper authorities. No wonder Keira had been so guarded initially. She'd already been failed by law enforcement before this, so why wouldn't it happen again? She could see her friend coming to at least some of the same conclusions by the sudden flare of anger in her blue eyes and the way one of those calloused but elegant hands reached out to brush brown hair of Keira's face.

"Maybe she'll get a chance at a life once this is over," the blonde whispered, but when she met Emily's eyes, it was like looking into a reflection of her own emotions.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Emily asked, her voice filled with the aching misery she had started becoming aware of the closer they got to LA, "You don't think she'll have that chance any more than I do."

Jennifer looked away, and when she looked back her eyes were glimmering suspiciously, confirming Emily's fears.

"We can protect her," the blonde whispered weakly, "The team will look after her. She'll be all right. She'll make it."

The profiler shook her dark head, looking down at the woman-child she was holding before looking back up at the woman she'd fallen in love with, knowing from JJ's expression that all her fear, sadness, and misery showed clearly on her face.

"Then why do I have this feeling that the minute we walk her into that field office we're signing her death warrant?"

Jennifer had no response for that, and Emily hated to see the helplessness in the blue eyes. The blonde must have seen something in her own brown eyes, because the next thing Emily knew the liaison was kneeling in front of her, one of her hands slowly clasping Emily's in unspoken support and sympathy. There was nothing either of them could say to change that horrible feeling of foreboding, so they didn't try. They just sat there together, supporting each other as best they could and watching over the broken writer while they had the chance.

Date and Time: March 11, 2008, 13:34 (Pacific Time)

Location: Skylight Books, Los Angeles, California

"Reid, come on, you haven't finished with that book yet?" Derek asked his companion, absently flipping through a copy of the book Reid was reading with much more interest. Tillman had already left, called out to one of the crime scenes to help Hotch, Rossi, and Govar with something. He wished he could have joined the LA agent, but someone had to stay with Reid.

"I've read it twice, actually," Spencer replied distractedly, "It's interesting. I'm not sure I've read a novel quite like this before. It reads like a profile in places, and at times it's hard to tell who the heroine is supposed to be. It's not the killer, but it's not really the main character either. If anything, it's telling the story of the people around those two. The woman who wrote this clearly had intimate knowledge of psychology and of the shadows in her own mind."

"So is she the killer or what?" Morgan asked, impatient with the young genius and eager to get moving, aware that every minute they spent here was one minute the UnSub had on them. Reid gave him a sideways look, and if he wasn't very much mistaken the expression on the younger man's face resembled the one he'd worn after Emily had been taken, a look that shut him up faster than anything his colleague could have said. He looked away, his eye falling on a brunette that was browsing the shelves nearby. She was pretty, he noticed, in an unconventional sort of way. She was about average height for a woman, and her face was angular in places, soft in others, and her nose should have been just a little too long for beauty but it wasn't. When she glanced in his direction he was struck by the warmth and knowledge her brown eyes conveyed.

"You looking at Fracture, huh?" she asked, nodding slightly toward the book he held.

"Uh, yeah..." he replied, surprised to find himself stammering a little, unsure how he'd gotten thrown so completely off his game, "My boss heard about it, told us to check it out."

That all-knowing gaze brushed over the apparently oblivious Reid before coming back to him, a hint of a smile playing on the woman's lips. She reached up, brushing a bit of fine brown hair out of her eyes, the red highlights catching the light as she shifted. He caught a glimpse of a messy bun and darker shades, then her voice and the movement of her large eyes caught his attention.

"I knew Keira once," the brunette remarked, and for just a second there was something unnerving about the woman, something that made him want to move back, but it was gone so fast he was sure he had imagined it.

"Did you?" he asked curiously, "Some of my colleagues are going out to meet her now. What's she like?"

Again there was something indefinable about the stranger, something that made him twitch, but again it was gone so fast he couldn't put a finger on what it could be. She smiled, but the expression carried a world of hurt behind it, and he found himself angry at whoever had caused that pain.

"She seemed sweet at first, charming even," she explained, sounding almost nostalgic until her tone altered, becoming harsher and at the same time more wounded, "but I found out how psycho she really was later. Almost too late, actually. If you're looking for her because you're looking for the person who's been killing all those people in the news, you won't have to look far. Once you find her, you'll find your killer. She wrote down exactly what she was going to do. She was manipulative, always telling stories and getting a thrill out of watching people jump through her hoops."

There was something odd about the stranger, Morgan knew, but he found he couldn't quite think what it could possibly be. She was charismatic, and sheer force of personality rolled off her in waves. And yet... She seemed so fragile. When she talked about Datton she had paled a little, looked nervous, almost as if she expected the writer to appear from thin air and hurt her. Somehow that idea really bothered him.

"I'm sorry Miss," Derek apologized suddenly, holding out his hand, "But I never caught your name."

The woman smiled almost shyly, gripping his hand firmly, but not too firmly. "Jo. And what about you?"

"Derek Morgan," he answered, smiling warmly as he regained his bearings, shaking off whatever had been slowing down his thinking before, "And you're right. I'm investigating the recent murders here in LA with my colleagues in the FBI. Any information you could offer would be very welcome."

Jo smiled again, stepping slightly closer, managing to linger just at the outer edge of his personal space.

"Well, Agent," here she paused, tilting her head to one side, "I assume that's right? Agent?"

He liked her all the better for that slight show of vulnerability, and his smile widened.

"Yeah, that's right."

Her lips curved into one of the most attractive and subtly flirtatious smiles he'd ever seen, and she edged closer again, still not quite invading his space, but getting close.

"Okay, Agent Morgan. I might be able to find some of Keira's old stuff. She was my roommate for a while, but she left in a hurry after I kicked her out. I never fell for her psychobabble, or all that stuff she used to tell me about her not taking her meds because she was allergic to them, or any of that, but I tried to help her. It just got to be too much after a while. She was bipolar, and she had it bad. Her whole family did. But anyway... How should I contact you to let you know if I hear or find anything?"

He grinned, proud that he'd gotten the woman to open up about the writer, and hurriedly fished out one of his cards, his cell number written on the back. He didn't want to lose his chance.

"You think of anything, or you feel you might be in danger, you call that number," he explained as he handed the card over. Jo nodded, tucking it away carefully before stepping back and starting to turn away, pausing long enough to give him another of those incredible smiles before strolling away. He couldn't help but notice that the brunette's blue jeans were just tight enough to be flattering but not enough to be obvious, and her multihued dark blue tank top hugged her body without being over the top. That was a woman who was very aware of herself, aware and honest. He liked that.

"Derek."

The dark agent was startled at the sound of his name, and he turned, finding Reid watching him with an uncharacteristically unreadable expression on his face.

"What, kid? You done yet?"

"Yeah, I'm done," Reid replied, his voice as indecipherable as his expression, "I paid for the book already, so we can go."

He nodded, heading out of the bookstore at a fast pace, but unable to keep himself from looking around, hoping to catch sight of Jo again. Sadly she seemed to have left, and he sighed, getting into the black SUV and buckling into the driver's seat, waiting for Reid to get settled before backing out of the parking spot and heading out onto the road.

"So who was that woman you were talking with?" the younger agent asked after they'd been driving for about ten minutes, and Morgan glanced over at him before focusing on the road and the unpredictable Los Angeles traffic.

"Her name was Jo," he replied, somehow annoyed at Reid for calling the attractive brunette 'that woman,' like some common street girl, "And she may have just broken our case. She knew Keira Datton, and everything she told me about her fits the profile of our UnSub. We should call Prentiss and JJ and make sure they're okay. They might be walking into a trap. Jo implied that the woman was very deceptive."

"Mmm."

The noncommittal response was also extremely atypical of Reid, so much so that Morgan dared to take his eyes of the road again for just a second to make sure the man sitting next to him was in fact Dr. Spencer Reid, and not someone else entirely.

"What's your problem, Reid?" Derek demanded, wincing inwardly when he realized how harsh the question had sounded, but he didn't like how Reid was acting toward him. The prodigy had been talking just fine with the team earlier, so why was he acting so weird now?

"I don't have a problem. Let's just get back to the field office."

Morgan was prepared to argue the point but the other agent stuck his nose back in Fracture, effectively cutting him off.

"Come on, Reid, don't you have that thing memorized by now?" he asked in an aggrieved tone, but Spencer didn't even look up.

"I have an eidetic memory, Derek. Of course I've memorized it. I'm looking for the nuances, the author's quirks, the things she doesn't say, that sort of thing. It's a complicated process when there's a lot going on at once."

"Why even bother?" he grumbled irritably, "We already know she's the killer. How else could she have known all the details of murders that hadn't been publicized, or even committed yet?! Our concern now should be for Emily and JJ."

Just as he said that, Reid's phone went off. Morgan feared the worst, vividly remembering Jo's carefully contained fear as she'd talked about Keira. His team had been through enough already, they didn't need some psycho writer looking to make a name for herself killing two of them.

"Hello? Oh, hey JJ. What's up?"

Derek let out a sigh of relief, taking some reassurance in the fact that Reid's body language was calm and not alarmed in any