Title: Black Leather Jacket
By: Gabigail
Pairing: gen
Fandom: Criminal Minds
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Criminal Minds and its characters are the creation of Jeff Davis and are copy written under CBS (as far as I can tell). No infringement upon their rights is intended. The stories written under the penname Gabigail, however, do belong to me. None are written for profit and are intended for entertainment purposes only.
Summary: What does arson and torture have in common? An unsub who's so twisted the blood of his last victim hardly has time to dry.

***

Prologue:

A man, dressed head to toe in black; tight black jeans, a black shirt and a black leather jacket, enters the seedy, smoke-filled pub. The bartender glances towards the door, lowering his silver haired head in recognition and greeting before turning his attention back to the already half-baked patron, and setting the amber filled glass in front of him. Black leather jacket confidently strides towards a man who conceals himself in the shadows of an ill lit, secluded table. With a low grunt, he sits himself across from the man, who he notes, is dressed in casual business attire. Judging by his preppy ensemble that this gentleman is out of his element and the probability of his being a regular at this establishment nil. The waitress clicks towards their table and sets their drinks in front of them. Turning quickly on her high heel, they only catch the sharp whip of her red ponytail, as she saunters back to the bar. Each take a swig of his drink, then lean in towards the other so that the bars other patrons cannot hear their conversation. The casually dressed man sits himself back, gestures towards the bartender for a refill; black leather jacket declines by holding up a hand.

Once the waitress returns with his drink order and disappears, he pulls out an envelope from his jacket pocket, places it on the old wooden table, and covers it with well-groomed hands. In a smooth well-executed move, he slides it across the table towards his companion. The other man stares at it for a long moment before picking it up to verify its contents. Seemingly satisfied, he opens his black leather jacket and shoves it into the inside breast pocket. The pair exchange glances of understanding and with a slow, calculated nod the casually dressed chap slithers away into the night. Black leather jacket remains behind to finish the drink he had been nursing during his meeting, which upon downing the last gulp, he places the glass on the table in front of him, letting it click loudly against the tabletop. He glances at his well worn black leather strapped watch, checking the time, stands, drops a few bills onto the table, tips his head towards the silver haired bartender, who returns his gesture, and makes his way out.

As he drives, black leather jacket carefully gets the slip of paper for the address. He turns off the main street onto the side street of the quiet neighbourhood. Two hundred and fifty-five, two hundred and twenty-five, two hundred and twenty-two, he drives just beyond the home, and cuts the engine. Knowledgeable of his purpose, his briefcase securely in its place in the trunk, he finds comfort in the fact that within that very briefcase resides the tools of his trade. Essentially a number of long sharp well-kept knives, some string, thick rope, leather cord, duct tape, and a pistol with it's silencer attached, in the off chance that things happen to get difficult. He quickly double checks the address, presses the trunk release and steps out of the car into the crisp night air. He grabs his briefcase and closes the trunk before heading up the walk of two hundred and twenty-two. Like many of the homes on the street, inside is shrouded in darkness as the occupants are tucked safely in their beds. Well not for long, he muses, making his way around back to the sliding glass door. Very interesting, he stops himself, one would think that a fireman would know to shove a piece of thick doweling in the doors frame to keep it shut, he quickly picks the lock and the door slides open. Breathing a sigh of relief that there is no security system, the man continues to make his way through the sleeping home, easily ignoring the material things as he goes.

It is one thing to rip the head from the household on a regular job, with the intended mark away from his family. However, it's an entirely different experience with the family so near, a skill that only black leather jacket possesses. With the stealth like moves of a cat burglar, he makes his way upstairs towards the bedrooms. Not knowing the layout of the home may put him at a disadvantage, however, he silently peeks into each room. His intended victim has three children, but that simple fact does nothing to deter him, he has a job to do. Soundlessly entering the master bedroom, he stands over the bed and watches the sleeping couple nestled comfortably. He plots the ease with which he intends to drag the intended victim from his bed. Placing the briefcase on the floor, he opens it and carefully removes the needed items; leaving the pistol for last, he tucks into the waistband of his pants then gathers the duct tape, rope and a knife.

Part One:

"Upon questioning Tim York's wife Belinda, local police say that she didn't hear a thing, and while I find this rather odd at best, neither did his children." Hotchner says taking the lead. He stands in front of the whiteboard, glancing quickly from time to time at the file resting on the table in front of him. "From our preliminary assessment, it's fairly cut and dry. This un-sub is classified as your run of the mill, organised serial killer, which as you can see is bolstered by the crime scene photographs. Please also keep in mind that he leaves very little, if anything behind. Only what he wants us to find and if I were to guess, he has had many a year to perfect his craft."

"Are you sure that no one heard anything?" Elle sits back in her seat and sips her coffee. Hotchner shakes his head for emphasis. "The un-sub stopped once he murdered the head of the household. He didn't harm any of the other family members?"

"There was no physical evidence indicating that the family itself was his target." Hotchner replies in a monotone, which Gideon immediately identifies as an attempt to keep his emotions in check. A tone that accompanies his calm, cool, suited exterior.

"That's odd because a man with such skill usually doesn't have the capacity to merely stop once the deed is done. What this suggests is that he could possibly be a man of some honour? And I use the term loosely." Derek Morgan skims the next few pages. Lifting his head to readdress his team, Morgan sighs. "Get this, York isn't his first fire official." He lets the file fall onto the tabletop and looks over at Jason Gideon, who returns his gaze. "Authorities have been investigating a series of arsons in as many states. It seems that torching prime real estate is a very lucrative occupation. Perhaps our buddy is tying up a couple of loose ends. That or we're dealing with two very sick individuals." He lets his fingers drum on the arm of the chair and Gideon's eyebrows furrow in response as he scratches the back of his neck.

"Loose ends?" Reid's puzzled expression speaks volumes for the youth.

"What Morgan means is that this victim, Tim York was the lead investigator on the arson squad. It appears that they were in the process of investigating a series of arsons and thought to have been close to identifying the suspect." Elle tilts her head, a quick nod in Hotchner's direction would have allowed him to finish his earlier point; however, he is once again interrupted.

"If everyone could find a job that they were this good at." J.J. says under her breath from the open door.

"You better believe it." Gideon adds, staring at something in the file in front of him. Removing his glasses with a sigh, he steps into his mode. "Normally, one utilises such acts for release of some sort. Many have concurred that at the very root of an arsonist is the loss of a job, the lack of love in that individual's life, or a combination of both. However, from what I see here, neither would be the case. He simply applies the skills he possesses to make a living. And it just so happens that he's possibly getting his kicks on the side, so to speak."

"What of the murder aspect?" Reid pipes in, absently closing his file.

"The murders are beyond meticulous, beyond organised. He takes a great deal of pleasure in his work. It's all over his signature. And there's an interesting escalation."

"Taking into consideration that Tim York's death is the sixth in the past five months alone." J.J. supplies the facts and Gideon seems to press his lips together deep in thought. "This murder only three weeks after Henry Grant's. I'd say local authorities have a problem."

"Sixth? Really?" Elle's eyes widen in surprise. "Why exactly are they asking for our help now?"

"Because they want to know precisely what kind of monster they are dealing with." Gideon replies. "Being that he's not your average-- run of the mill murderer. He's also an arsonist, which complicates the matter. As a result, we will have to employ a far more creative approach to creating our profile." With a curt nod towards the door, the team take their cue and exit.

"At least it's an at home case." Derek whispers, turning his head to find Reid grinning happily from ear to ear.

"I find it interesting that one so good at what he does can remain so allusive. Usually, one makes the mistake of boasting. In this case, if this is his 'job' then he must 'advertise'". Reid says as they head down the few steps that lead into their work area.

"That may be true. No matter how much of a slithery snake he is." Elle adds with a disgusted look.

"He's a professional. Hence, not a word to anyone." Hotchner's comment comes from behind them and she turns to look at him.

"The killer, or the arson, or both?"

"I'm still hedging a bet that we're dealing with one really sick psychopath. Possibly a sociopath."

"Then wouldn't it be a logical conclusion that he must be working for a developer then? Possibly the company who has recently received the contract to do the work on the site once the dust has settled." Reid pulls his chair out and plunks his small frame into it.

"How much would you pay to have occupied land to develop? Is it worth lives?" Elle rests her hands on his desk, leaning against it. Derek raises his well-groomed eyebrows and rolls his eyes.

"A fire is a quick fix. You by-pass any and all red tape when it comes to developing the property for commercial or even residential use. It's also a quick method to rid a building of its tenants or in the case of a condominium, its owners." Derek sits casually in his seat.

"I suppose, but murdering a fire fighter seems a bit extreme doesn't it?" she sits at her desk and rests her chin on the back of her hand. Derek takes a moment to think.

"Not really. If he knows who is behind the fire, he might be liable to disclose that information and the company would then be in an extremely tough spot. Don't you think?" he replies drumming his fingers on his desk. It seems that as Reid takes in their conversation, the wheels of his over active mind are turning.

"Reid, would you work with Garcia in finding out which company may have hired our un-sub?" Reid twitches his lips with a nod as he gathers a new notepad from his desk drawer. "Try and find out to what extent said company is attached to the initial bid for development and whether or not they have now been chosen." Hotchner looks down at the file in his hands.

"I'll also try and see to what extent the competition may or may not be involved."

"That sounds like a plan." Hotchner replies as Reid nearly runs to Garcia's cave of technology. Amused by the younger mans eagerness to help, Hotchner lets a smile tug at the corners of his usually tight lips before turning his attention back to Elle and Derek.

"Elle, I would like you and Derek to examine the latest crime scene. I've been informed by office O'Connor that the forensics team has completed their job, so it's ready for you." Glancing at his watch, Hotchner nearly walks into Gideon, who managed to sneak up behind him.

"Actually, Hotchner. I'll go with Elle, I want Derek to head over to Scruffy Joe's." Gideon cuts in glad that his toes are still intact.

"Scruffy Joe's? What could I possibly find out by going there?"

"An eye witness thinks that he may have seen the man in the police sketches. If at all he is our un-sub, we need to get as much background on him as possible to determine his personality, along with his background to establish his reasoning." Gideon makes a quick gesture for Elle to get her jacket and they rush off to the elevator.

"I'm flying solo I suppose." Derek says under his breath. Hotchner shrugs as he turns his attention to him with a sigh.

"I have to stay here and monitor a few logistical issues." His reply more of an explanation as he watches the elevator doors close. Derek chuckles more to himself as he grabs his leather jacket and catches the next elevator.

Happy to have the chance to observe Gideon in his element, Elle sits in the passenger seat with one of the files open across her lap skimming it's contents while he concentrates on the road, allowing her to familiarise herself with what they will be encountering. Glancing up, she makes a mental note of the streets numbers.

"Could you slow down?"

"Elle?"

"Humour me." She takes in the neighbourhood and envisions it at night, immediately noticing that not all the homes have illuminated numbers, which by extension would make it a bit more difficult for one to see them by the darkened sky. Even with the glow of lamps lights, some of the numbers would not be visible in the darkness. "I have a feeling that if he didn't know the neighbourhood, he would have to drive slowly."

"Ah, I see your point." She sees the corner of his lip curl as he slows down and then stops in front of the home still surrounded within the police caution tape, and the seal on the door intact.

"I highly doubt that he would park right in front of the home of his intended victim. Perhaps he parked up there?" she points to a leafy tree that would probably cast a shadow over the license plate. He parks the car three doors down, under the tree.

"Point of entry?" he inquires as they walk towards the home, Elle opens her file.

"The back sliding door." She leads and they walk briskly and purposefully towards the rear of the home. The glass has an odd purplish tint where the fingerprint dust had been applied by the forensic team.

"Easy enough when there is nothing to keep the door closed and no security system." Gideon shakes his head as they make their way back to the front door. Breaking the seal, he unlocks the door and pushes it open. Elle steps over the threshold and looks around at the near pristine scene. Nothing appears to have been disturbed. Everything she had learned regarding the reasoning for breaking and entering are absent from this crime scene. "Upstairs." Gideon leads and they head to the master bedroom. "Investigators said that both were asleep and the suspect was somehow able to pluck his intended victim from his bed without his wife being aware." Elle places the file on the bed and walks around the room, getting a better perspective. Gideon plants himself at the foot of the bed and closes his eyes.

The room is dark, save for the sliver of moonlight as it is filtered through the sheers. I would probably stand at the foot of the bed, contemplating the best method to execute my intent. I quietly place the bag of tricks beside me and probably remove them very deliberately from their resting place. Almost as though moving around the area as their un-sub before them, Gideon almost appears to be acting out the scene in his mind. Walking to the wife's side of the bed, I most likely used the knife to rouse him, running it along his exposed arm. Getting his attention, to keep him quiet, I cover my lips with a finger and hold the knife so that he would believe that I would kill his wife with one quick slash. Walking back to the foot of the bed, Gideon turns towards Elle.

"I'm thinking that he probably stood here and watched as the couple slept calculating his method." He tilts his head slightly, as though looking for another point of view. Elle nodding her understanding pulls out the digital camera that she usually carries with her and stands beside him. Quickly taking a few photographs of the newly stripped bed, as the forensics team had hoped that the sheets would assist them in finding evidence that would positively identify their suspect. "I suppose he then would have carefully colleted the tools needed for the job." He adds, gesturing towards the floor.

"You're probably right, these look like the markings of some sort of briefcase." She snaps another quick picture and finds herself almost staring at Gideon, who seems to close his eyes deep in thought, as he places himself back in the crime scene.

Because of my obvious advantage in the situation, my intended victim feels that it is best to comply with my demands. Once he has gotten out of bed without waking his wife, I bind his wrists so that he is unable to defend himself, and then I take him into the basement where the fun begins.

"My family?" he inquires.

"Providing that you comply, they will not be harmed." I reply, looking into his pleading eyes. He has no other choice, nor does he know if I am being truthful and will honour my side of the agreement. Not seeing an alternative, I can see him making his peace. I am slow and very meticulous in my actions, taking great pleasure in being the cause of the pain he suffers, and silently at that.

"His wife found him in the basement this morning around eight o'clock. She had taken the children to school and was just starting the laundry." He hears Elle's voice and opens his eyes. Her expression doesn't change. "How would I have been able to drag him from his bed without his wife waking?"

"If I didn't cover his mouth with something, he would no doubt have screamed to alert someone that something was going on and his wife and half the neighbourhood would have heard." Elle goes quiet. "He remains quiet, because I position myself close to his wife, using her as leverage. Threatening her life and thereby extension his family. Wanting to protect his family, he complies." She turns to Gideon with a perplexed expression.

"What is it Elle?"

"He's a fire fighter. They all were fire fighters. How does someone wield that much power, if you will, over them?"

"Do you know if local authorities have any leads as to the significance of their position?"

"As head of the arson squad, wouldn't they have the responsibility of writing, or at the very least signing off on the final reports? Perhaps the bribe wasn't enough and whomever did this was going to be exposed." Elle follows Gideon down the stairs towards the basement. Turning on the light, they are greeted with the crime scene, nothing being touched until the go ahead given by the police chief to clean the area.

"What this man has done to him is horrible." Elle hardly says above a whisper, as she remains frozen at the foot of the steps. Gideon heads straight to the sight of the murder.

"He wanted to protect his family. In this case the un-sub kept his part of the agreement." He continues to look around, searching for something that will help them. "Elle, could you get some pictures for me?"

"Sure." She takes a deep breath and begins to snap the pictures. The blood now dry, is rusty colour, appears to splatter out from the centre of the room. The pattern indicating how the un-sub took great pains in making his victim suffer. Elle still cannot understand how Tim York would not have tried to defend himself. "Were there any indication of defensive wounds?"

"None." Gideon shakes his head and opens the file in his hands reading a few notations the extent of the injuries illustrated by a diagram. "This really isn't as helpful as I thought." He turns to Elle with a deep frown as she finishes taking the photographs and they head back upstairs. "Usually there is something that indicates the intent. A signature, if you will. We already have the apparent motive; there is just a piece of the equation missing. We are no closer to having a profile that differs from what we've already established" His sigh is one of frustration. "I hope that Morgan has better luck at the pub."

Pubs always differ by the light of day. Losing what little charm a couple of drinks and the darkness gives them. With Derek's entrance, the silver haired bartender, busy setting up for another evening of individuals wanting to forget themselves in a series of pints looks up from said routine. Most of the chairs are set upside down on the tabletops; however there are two occupied tables, probably his early regulars.

"Is there anything that I can help you with?" the silver haired man asks as he places a glass in its place behind the bar. Derek nods his response and stands in front of him.

"I'm looking for some information."

"Isn't everyone?"

"I suppose." He replies as he retrieves his wallet and opens it, revealing his FBI identification.

"Well then. What kind of information are you looking for?"

"Have you seen this man?" he opens his file and places the photograph on the bar. The bartender glances at it, trying to look as though he has never seen the man in the picture. His charade is short lived however, as Derek is able to read his reaction instantly. "I gather you have. Is he one of your regulars?"

"He comes in periodically, I wouldn't say that he was a regular."

"I'm looking for a name."

"Sorry, I can't help you there. I know the names of my regulars, and since he only comes in occasionally, I don't. Perhaps Cindy knows, but she's not in until eight." He sighs. "Out of curiosity, what has he done to have the FBI looking for him?"

"We think he may have some information that will assist us in an on-going investigation." He fishes a card from his wallet. "He may unknowingly hold the key to the whereabouts of a man we are looking for." His reply is cryptic enough to cover the truth. "Here is my card. If you see him around, give me a call." The silver haired bartender nods his understanding and returns to his routines as though their conversation hasn't occurred. As he exits the pub, Derek cannot help but think of his wasted time.

Returning to Quantico, Derek finds Hotchner and J.J. in the conference room busy going over updated reports.

"Have the two of you found anything?" Derek sighs as he sits in one of the vacant seats. J.J. looks up from the file she's been fussing over and shakes her head.

"It would appear that black leather jacket is quite allusive." Hotchner comments with a snort. "We need to get the profile to the authorities as quickly as possible. That way they will have a better idea of what they are dealing with." Knowing that they have to wait for Gideon and Elle's arrival, he stands and begins pacing the length of the room, stopping only to glance out the large window. J.J. watches him for a moment.

"Our un-sub doesn't appear to be the run of the mill un-sub. Is it not time or a possibility to consider an outside of the box approach? Maybe empty the box and begin putting things back?" J.J. suggests as Elle and Gideon enter the room.

"Anything of interest?" Hotchner turns from the window in greeting.

"Nothing out of the ordinary that would assist us in developing a profile that differs from what we already have." Gideon tosses his file on the table and runs a hand through his dark cropped hair in frustration. Elle sits herself beside Derek and takes out her camera, reviewing her crime scene photos, looking for something that would differentiate this un-sub from the others.

"Is it possible that he has some sort of split personality disorder? A part of himself that is satisfied with the act of arson and the other the pleasure of torturing and murdering his victims?" Elle looks up from her camera. Gideon crosses his arms and leans against the wall.

"So what you're saying, or suggesting is that it could very well be something as simple as our un-sub being off his medication?" his reply is a tad dry and borderline sarcastic.

"Perhaps it isn't as cut and dry as a disorder controlled by medication." She inhales loudly. "What we do know is that he's incredibly organised, to the point of pathology. "

"OCD?" Hotchner fills in the possible blank.

"Which makes sense in respect to his pattern of behaviour; behaviour for which he is handsomely rewarded for possessing. Set a fire here, torture and murder a fire official there. Next question: How does one with his ability seek out employment? He must have a regular job." She keeps her eyes on Gideon hoping for some sort of key into his mind.

"Or vice versa. Where does one go to hire such an individual? I don't see him advertising. It would be through word of mouth." Hotchner leans against the lone podium in the conference room.

"Scruffy Joe's." Elle pauses. "If not there, some other lowly establishment where someone of his nature doesn't stick out." Shifting in her seat, she rests her elbows on the table.

"We've been through every bid on the mysteriously burnt to the ground properties and there has been nothing to connect them with one particular firm." Reid breaks in and leans casually against the doorframe. "Black leather jacket seems for all intents and purposes right off the radar." He scratches the back of his neck with a nervous smile.

"Well he's completed his job. Until we have another crime scene, be it a fire or a torture murder scene. We have nothing." Hotchner says as he resumes his pacing. Gideon can only sigh as he removes his glasses and shoves them in their holder in his breast pocket, and rubs at his eyes.

"Unless there is something that we're not seeing, I think that it's probably for the best that we call it a day. Monday morning will bring clarity. However, do keep in mind that we are on call if anything materialises, Hotchner or I will contact you." Gideon tilts his chin towards the door to dismiss the team. Derek and Elle take their cue and head out, with Reid on their tail.

"The man doesn't have to tell me twice." Derek hits the bottom step and makes his way to his desk to tidy a few loose papers. Looking up, he grins as Reid grabs that old warn leather messenger bag and shoves files into it. "Don't you ever just kick back and relax?" he teases as he puts whatever paperwork he can into the desk drawer and locks it. Picking up her jacket, Elle shakes her head, and her deep brunette wavy locks bounce around her shoulders.

"I hope we have a weekend to ourselves." She looks over at Reid, who continues his packing. "See you Monday."

"Yeah, you too." He replies as he pushes his chair in.

"Have a good one." Derek flashes her one of his mischievous smiles and she merely rolls her eyes in response to his obvious jest, then makes her way to the elevators. People handle the stress of the job in their own individual way. Friday nights can spell the beginning of a quiet weekend or the makings of a sea of people and activities, either way one learns to appreciate the weekend.

***

Part Two:

"I'm really sorry Sonia, I'm just not up for the whole salsa dancing thing this evening. Let me drive you home." He says, realising that a night out wasn't exactly the best of plans. As they exit the nightclub that he sometimes frequents with one of his many lady friends to unwind after a trying week, he looks up at the deep purple city night sky. Taking in the full moon in her glory, her silver hue surrounded by the orb of her own light, broken only by the odd cotton candy like cloud. As beautiful as the night sky is, he cannot shake the odd eeriness that creeps slowly down his spine like morning rain trickling down a spiral staircase. After dropping his companion off, he arrives home and pulls his sports car into the underground. Collecting his jacket and the over night bag from the trunk, he presses the lock button and makes his way towards the elevator. The doors part and he quickly walks to his flat. So good to be home, he muses placing the key in the lock and opening the door, flipping a switch that casts the room in a gentle glow.

Dropping his bag on the floor under the table, his keys in a dish kept on the decorative table, and hanging his jacket in the closet, Derek makes his way to the kitchen and the fridge for a beer. Loosening his tie and undoing the top few buttons of his burgundy shirt he sits in the comfortable chair in front of the television to check the news, making sure to keep up with current events and the scores of his favourite teams. Turning off the television and putting the can in the recycling bin under the sink, he makes his way to the bathroom for his evening routine before bed. Nearly falling into bed, he turns out the light and buckles down for a good-nights sleep, for this weekend, his first off in so many, he had planned to spend it running errands and visiting his family.

Funny how quickly plans change when he is awakened nearly chocking on thick smoke and the blaring of the fire alarms and sirens outside. Derek manages to grab his watch, cell phone and wallet from the bedside table and his robe from the foot of the bed as he quickly shoves his feet into the slippers. Crouching as close to the floor as he can manage, he heads to the bathroom and gets a wash cloth from the cupboard, runs cold water over it, and holds it over his nose and mouth. Getting his keys from the hall table, checking the door and finding it cool, he opens it, and joins the other occupants on his floor in an organised dash to the stairwell. Helping his elderly neighbours make their way down safely, Derek keeps everyone calm and quickly checks his pockets for the cell phone. Finally reaching the bottom, he holds the door open for the others who run towards the bright lights of the police cars, fire trucks and ambulances.

Perhaps still dazed and in a state of shock, he shakes his head in disbelief, watching along with the rest of the condominiums residents, as his home continues to be ravaged by the fires hungry flames that lick their way up and through the mid-rise building. Derek hardly hears the cell in his pocket ring and finally clues in.

"Morgan." He nearly barks for the noise around him.

"Hey sweet cheeks. You alright there?"

"Garcia?"

"No, the Easter bunny!" she replies.

"I'm fine. I think everyone else is as well. A few with smoke inhalation. They are taking them by medic bus to the hospital and have them checked out." He replies looking at the scene around him.

"Good to know that you're alright." He can hear both concern and relief in her tone.

"What I don't understand is the fact that they can't seem to get it under control. It doesn't usually take this long for fire fighters to contain a blaze." He says still in a daze.

"Well don't go anywhere there, honey bunny; I'm on my way." She says and hangs up. Derek doesn't really know what he heard as he presses the end button on his phone and continues to stare up at the burning building, the fire fighters still trying to tame it's seemingly endless hunger, and the surrounding scene.

"What will we do?" he hears an older woman say repeatedly in a small voice, her husband wrapping his arms around her as a paramedic attempts to give her oxygen.

"Momma! Momma!" a child screams at the top of his little lungs, Derek quickly scoops him up and makes his way to the child's mother, placing him in her arms.

"Thank you." She attempts to smile through her tears. Like so many, she has to figure out where she's going to stay and what she's going to do in the mean time while finding a new home for her family. Derek does not envy her; happy to know that everyone is all right is enough for now.

"You can't."

"Watch me." Her voice is full of piss and vinegar and the officer doesn't even have the chance to stop her, as she passes under the barrier, dashing towards Derek.

"Garcia?" his words a soft cloud of smoke in the chilled evening air.

"Uh yeah, I told you I was coming to get you." She quips. "Could someone get him a blanket please!" her commanding tone heard over the chaos that surrounds them.

"I'm fine. Someone else needs a blanket more than I do." He protests.

"I spoke to Hotch and Gideon to let them know what's going on. Hotch said that he would try and see about getting you a place to stay."

"I have my uncle here. I'm sure I can stay with him and his family until I figure something out." He babbles as she leads him away to her car. She opens the door for him and nearly shoves him into the passenger seat. "Where are you taking me?" he inquires, suddenly aware that he's in the moving vehicle.

"The goddess' palace." She snaps her gum and turns on the radio.

"Goddess' palace?" his expression is priceless, she really wishes that she had her camera or her cell with her, as she quickly notices how things aren't making much sense to him.

"Yes, my place." She slows the car to a halt at an intersection and waits for the light. Derek shakes his head because it's too hard to think.

"This isn't right. This can't be right." He mumbles.

"Sweetie, everything will be fine. You just need to get some rest." She looks over at him and reaches out, running her blue painted finger nailed hand over his arm. Pulling into the short driveway of her apartment, she drives to the underground and parks her car in her spot. With shaky legs that feel more like rubbery bone, he lets her help him to the elevator.

"I'm sorry." He whispers.

"Hey, it's okay. You're allowed not to function." She opens the door and nearly pushes him through it.

"Which way to the couch?" his voice is groggy, almost as though reality is just starting to really hit him.

"Hun, you'll sleep in the guestroom." She puts an arm around his shoulders and steers him down the short hallway towards the bedrooms.

"Nice place you have here."

"Thanks. The bathroom is across the hall. You might want to grab a shower, you are kind of, how shall I put this? Smoky." She adjusts her glasses then puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I'll see what I can find you to wear. I should have some sweat pants and a t-shirt." Adding as she finds him a towel and opens a new toothbrush for him.

"Hey Garcia?"

"Yes sunshine?"

"Thanks."

"No worries Hun. Shower." She commands and tosses the towel at him. Catching the towel, he attempts to smile, albeit weak, an attempt nonetheless, she muses.

An odd sense of déjà vu runs through him as he allows the water to wash over his tense body. Running the soap over aching muscles, he sighs rinsing the suds and standing under the hot water for a long moment. Turning off the water, he grabs the fresh towel and glides it over himself before wrapping it around his waist.

"Garcia?"

"Here. I found these." She hands him a pair of university track pants and a t-shirt that once belonged to her older brother.

"Thanks." He looks down for a moment before meeting her eyes, and turns, heading into the guestroom.

Emerging from the room, he makes his way to the living room to find her sitting on the sofa channel surfing. Sensing him, she turns her head to look at him.

"What is it?"

"Do you think that they will have a cause?" his expression falling with the thought of never knowing what really happened.

"Its way too early for that sweet cheeks. They have to do an official investigation; anything beyond that is usually if they suspect something. Have a seat if you like." She pats the vacant spot beside her and picks up the remote to change the channel. "They may be showing some awful B movie tonight."

"Yeah?" he sits beside her and watches as some scantly clad female runs from what appears to be a mind sucking zombie or something to that effect. Figuring that every great B movie deserves food and beverages, or perhaps something stronger, Garcia gets up and heads to the kitchen. Derek smells the buttery scent of popcorn and heads in to the kitchen to help.

"So, do you do this often?"

"Do what?" her expression one of innocence.

"This? Watch really crappy movies."

"Not every Friday night. My plans happened to fall through and I was watching the news when Hotch called. I must say that you were home early. Even for you." She winks.

"I suppose that the same routine isn't all its cracked up to be. Sonia wanted to go salsa dancing again. Not that there's anything wrong with that, I just really wasn't up for it this evening. We had a pretty tough week." Garcia finds herself wrapped up in his frown, which she cannot help but think oozes pure sex, as they finish gathering their provisions and heading back to the living room.

"I'm guessing tomorrow we have to get you some clothes?" he merely grins and grabs a handful of popcorn.

"I suppose that would be a good idea. I really can't stand shopping though. All my favourite suits." Shaking his head, a look she cannot read caresses his deep, chiselled features.

"Try and forget about it and relax." Her suggestion probably drowned out by his munching on a handful of popcorn.

Slowly opening his eyes, Derek stirs. As he regains focus, he catches the end credits as they roll down the screen and he wonders if he had snored through the entire movie. Trying not to move too much, as Garcia is fast asleep beside him, her cheek pressed up against his chest, her breathing is slow and steady, and he somehow manages to gently lay her out and picks up the blanket from the armchair, carefully draping it over her. As quietly as he can manage, he picks up the empty bowel and glasses and puts them on the sink in the kitchen before padding to the bathroom to brush his teeth.

Derek awakes to the glimmer of the suns rays through the sheer curtains, brightening the room and the smell of fresh coffee, that lure him from the comfort of sleep. As his eyes slowly adjust to his surroundings, he cannot help but wonder where he is. The room is unfamiliar, as is the mattress underneath him. Glancing at the nightstand, he also notes that the digital alarm clock has red numbers, not the customary green. With a loud sigh, he allows his reality to sink in with the realisation that last night was not a dream. Peeling the covers off and swinging his legs over the side of the bed in one fluid motion, he sits for a moment before following the hallway into the kitchen.

"Good morning handsome." Garcia greets him happily, pouring him a mug of coffee.

"Handsome? I highly doubt that. Who are you and what have you done with Garcia?"

"First of all, the names Penelope." She giggles as she sets the mug in front of him.

"I knew that." He flashes a suave smile, "thanks." He adds pouring a touch of milk into the mug and stirring quickly. Their brief moment interrupted by the ringing telephone waiting impatiently.

"Hello?" there is a short pause as she turns the cord between her fingers. "Yes, oh your awesome!" she adds happily. "I'll buzz you in." she presses the door button and hangs up the phone.

"Who was?" he doesn't have the chance to finish his question.

"That was our dear Reid. He heard about what happened and called to see if he could help. He's bringing you some fresh clothes so you can go shopping. I'm so going to miss out on that." She says and her smirk morphs into a toothy grin.

"Thank you for letting me stay."

"For you, anything." Her reply cut short by the knock on the door. Garcia opens the door to the young man, who looks more like an academic then an FBI agent, his customary overly warn leather messenger bag is slung over his shoulder, across his lean torso. Holding out the paper bag towards Garcia, who snatches it, he removes his jacket. His thin build hidden under the one size too large sweater, a check shirt underneath and a pair of loose khaki slacks. His longish, dark honey coloured hair is as per the norm, dishevelled, only this time by the wind, which he tucks back in place with an almost too skinny finger.

"Hey Reid." Derek calls from the kitchen.

"Hey Morgan, I brought you some fresh clothes." Slipping off his shoes, he heads into the kitchen.

"Thanks man." Derek takes the bag from Garcia and rushes off to change. Turning towards the resident tech specialist, Spencer Reid brushes the same offending strand into its place behind his ear.

"So I gather the two of you are as thick as thieves." Garcia's comment is an attempt to open the lines of communication.

"I guess you could say that." He looks down at his feet, "when I joined the BAU, Morgan and I got along fairly well." He sits at the table and they wait for Derek to emerge.

"What did you bring him?"

"What do you mean?"

"No offence, but I hardly see him wearing any of your clothes."

"Oh they aren't mine. Don't tell him, but some are Hotch's and the rest are Gideon's." he pauses and her eyes nearly bug out of her head. "Nothing I had will fit him. He moves and it's something akin to the Incredible Hulk or Mr. Hyde." Garcia cannot stop herself from laughing.

"Oh my." She says under her breath as Derek enters the kitchen.

"Not one word." Derek gives Reid a look that literally states if you say anything, you'll be swimming with the fishes or worm food. Reid raises his hand, but that doesn't stop Garcia.

"You look." She stops for a moment as though trying to think of what to say.

"Don't even." Derek shakes his head. "I know how this looks."

"No, you haven't a clue." She nearly has to bite her tongue. "Well the two of you ought to get going now." Almost pushing Derek out the door, Garcia sighs and goes back to tidy up the kitchen, wondering how she's going to survive another moment with Derek in her apartment resisting the temptation to jump his bones.

The rest of the weekend passes without further incident and the return of the grinding workweek begins with the dawning of Monday morning. Derek, having adjusted to being in a roommate situation, quickly gets ready, and makes coffee, scrambled eggs and toast.

"Morning." Penelope says happily sitting at the breakfast bar.

"Morning." Derek puts the plate in front of her and scrapes the rest of the eggs onto a plate for himself, then sits beside her.

"Pass me the technology section." She reaches across the table at the spread out newspaper. Derek sits back and watches her for a moment. "What? A girl needs to know what's going on." She takes another bite of scrambled egg. "By the way, these are good."

"Thank you. I'll be looking for a place to live this week. I hope I won't be too much of a pain."

"A pain? You? Never!" she reaches across the table and covers his hand with hers. He doesn't pull away, but he's unsure of how to react. Their professional relationship, if one can refer to it as such is one thing, this new arrangement while comfortable is something he had never imagined.

Arriving at work, most well aware of the situation, Derek and Penelope exit the lift and part. She goes off to her high-tech kingdom, while he dashes down the stairs to his desk.

"Morning Derek. How are things?" Elle is sitting at her desk, a file open in front of her. He nods.

"Things will be better once I straighten everything out." Her turn to nod a response as Reid slides his chair over.

"Hey Morgan."

"Reid."

"Did you see the other quote, unquote unsolved cases?" he directs his inquiry towards Elle, who flips to the corresponding page.

"I noticed that. I'm beginning to wonder how many more deaths of a mysterious nature will turn up. Thus far I've managed to locate an additional five mysterious deaths in which cases the victims just happen to be a member or leader of an arson squad." She looks over at Derek while he opens the file that had been placed on his desk earlier. He nods as he takes a quick gander at the photographs.

"Normally, a case of this nature wouldn't be brought to our attention, because more often than not, local authorities have the tools to handle such cases." Reid's nose twitches slightly as he somewhat swivels in his chair.

"Regardless, whomever it is has done one hell of a job in covering his tracks, thus resulting in the inevitable layering of those involved in working on the case." Elle comments, Reid's eyebrows furrow in response, as he points to something of interest to her.

"I find it interesting that the lead investigators cited arson as the cause of these fires, and yet the actual reports that support their findings are missing." Flipping through the file, Elle expects to locate the report.

"Check this out. I've noticed that in most of the cases the lead investigator is Thomas Proctor." Reid sits back in his seat as Elle opens another folder. Derek begins to open the files placed upon his desk, looking at the same information.

"Who was the fire official that filed the reports?" he asks as he skims through another file. "I don't see anything here. Arson cases must initially be investigated by fire officials, am I right?"

"Usually they are. In most cases it's easily determined." Reid purses his lips.

"I watched the fire fighters. There was no way in hell that they were going to save that building. It was intentional. Whomever it is that started that fire knew what he was doing. What we need to know is what developing company won the bid for the initial structure, who was the runner up and who gets to develop the land once the investigation is complete."

"There has to be more to this case than meets the eye. Your condominium wasn't the only building torched over the weekend. There were two more to be exact." Reid says as he fiddles with his pen, pulling at the little plastic clip on the lid as he often does with his pens before twirling them between thin fingers.

"Basically, once we turn in our little profile, this is a criminal investigation. With that I would presuppose that we will no longer have our hands in." he turns to look at the office to judge the significance of their recent case.

"Don't forget that that's only assuming that this is what it appears to be." Reid folds his arms in front of him. "An over zealous, can't perform, in desperate need of release un-sub." He even surprises himself that he doesn't stumble over the sentence, one usually reserved for Gideon. Elle turns her attention to him. "In which case, we probably will be involved to some degree." He adds looking down at his brown leather shoes, the hair neatly tucked behind his ear, falling over his eye.

"I almost forgot. Garcia put together all of the information and has given it to Hotch. She said that he might lend her to the investigation. There are some things that she can get that officials are unable to." Derek says, as Elle picks up her coffee cup, finishing the contents and dropping it into the wastepaper basket beside her desk. Reid slides his chair back to his desk.

"J.J. left you a few extra files pertaining to your condo. Right now it's really a matter of playing the waiting game." He raises a brow, his dimpled smile disappearing.

"Morning." J.J. addresses the group. "Hotchner said that he wants to see us in the round table room in about fifteen minutes or so."

"Thanks for this." Derek holds up the file, as she tilts her head, her long blond hair falls over her strong, straight shoulders.

"No problem. After speaking with Garcia, I thought that you might want to know what's in the works." Turning on her heel, she walks confidently back to her office to prepare for their latest briefing. Elle looks over at Reid who appears disturbed by the photographs tucked within the file.

"Somehow, I think this case is going to take a while." Her comment under her breath as she studies the crime scene photos.

Part Three:

With thick fingers, black leather jacket carefully removes the folded paper from his inside pocket and as he unfolds the paper, his grin slowly becoming more sinister by degree. The adrenaline level increasing within him, as he rereads the names on his list, Tim York's already crossed off in his own blood. He now hides in his Cobalt waiting for his moment to strike. The full moon appears to hover protectively over the family home, almost as though knowledgeable of his intention. Folding the list, he places it back in his breast pocket; pops the trunk, steps out of the car into the brisk night, and collects his briefcase of death. Walking up the drive, black leather jacket checks for the tell-tail sign of an alarm system and takes pleasure in his good fortune. He slips the locksmith kit from his jeans back pocket and almost as gentle as a lover's caress opens the door without protest.

Once inside, he creeps upstairs keeping his eye on his prize. He stops at the top of the staircase to gain his bearings before continuing his soundless trek to the bedroom. His grin widens as the door is wide open, allowing him full view of the sleeping couple, his intended victim's arms encircle a sleeping blonde, her hair capturing the moonlight creating a halo around her almost angelic face. A challenge, he muses pausing at the foot of the bed in observation. Not a problem, he almost allows himself to chuckle. Opening the briefcase, he begins to ceremoniously remove the needed contents. Moving to stand on the wife's side of the bed, he positions himself so that if need be; a precise slash across her throat will end her life. Reaching across her, he runs the sharp point of his knife down his victim's arm. He is rewarded by the desired affect, as the other man stirs in his sleep, opening his eyes to allow them to adjust to the greyish dark room. Black leather jacket holds one finger to his lips while the other is poised to stab his wife if need be.

"There was another murder last night." J.J. exclaims, popping her head into Hotchner's office where he and Gideon have already been discussing Morgan's current situation.

"When did you get the information?" Gideon gestures for her to join their meeting.

"About ten minutes ago. I was in the middle of preparing for this afternoons press conference on the Bell kidnapping. His name was Topher Graham and he was also on York's team."

"So our un-sub doesn't have a compulsion, rather a to do list." Gideon shakes his head wondering how he missed that. "My guess is that he won't stop until everyone on that to do list has been taken care of." He adds. Hotchner stares at him from under thick brows and long lashes. "J.J. Do you have a list of the member's of Tim York's team?" she looks down for a moment in thought.

"No, but I can get that information. Maybe we can stop him from finishing his list." She turns on her heel and heads to her office to call the local fire department.

"Do you think that's really going to help? What if more than York's team is on that list? What if the uncounted variables cost more lives?" Hotchner's frown tugs at his lips. Gideon is unsure how to respond. He has known Hotch far too long to sugar coat that pill. He takes one of his deep breaths before looking his college/friend in the eye.

"Honestly Hotch. I don't know. However, what I do know is that it may give us a chance to slow him down, possibly even stop him." Gideon stands and heads back to his own office. At this point, all they can do is wait. Information on the latest murder is similar to that of York's, so Hotch sees no problem in sending Reid and Morgan; with the remainder of the day passing in a series of telephone calls and team meetings.

Staring at the paper, another name carefully crossed off his list, another's blood dried brown upon the page. Three more, his chuckle is low and almost as sinister as his evil grin as he parks his Cobalt in the driveway. Closing the trunk, he makes his way to the side entrance and slips the key in the lock.

"Tony, what took you so long?" a pretty, petite brunette demands with a small hand on her hip. He places his briefcase on the landing and makes his way up to her.

"Hope, I thought I told you I was working nights." He replies kissing her sweetly. She reaches up and runs painted fingernails through his cropped hair. "I have a couple of things to do. I'll be right up." His smile by the light of day, is nothing like that of the nightly hunter. Grabbing his case, he heads down to the laundry room. Closing the door behind, he jams a chair underneath the handle so that she cannot sneak up on him. Opening the case, he removes the sharp instruments and begins cleaning them. Taking special care that the blades never rust, he also makes sure that all trace evidence of their usage not visible to the naked eye.

With the same care that he takes with his blades, he snaps open a smaller case and removes the fountain pen nestled upon a velvety cushion within. Twisting the lower half of the pen, he removes the piston filler and runs the nib under the cool water before letting the water run through the capillaries through the gold tipped nib. Placing the piston filler back in it's place, he then submerges the nib into the cool water and slowly draws it up into the piston filler, then twists it in the opposite direction so that the water is pushed back out. He repeats this step until the water runs clear.

"Hey Hotch, I tracked down that list. Seems that the local fire department isn't too impressed that we've been called in on this." She holds out the printed list. "Apparently that's two of six fire fighters." She shakes her head and her blonde hair catches the florescent lighting, it shines like gold silk.

"That's assuming that these are the only people we need to protect." He puts the sheet on his desk. "I'll make a call to Virginia police and have them put some sort of guard on the remaining individuals. We can't have any more murders. Not under my watch." He adds as he picks up the telephone. J.J. quickly makes her way towards Elle's desk.

"Did you get anything out of him?" Elle inquires, lifting her head.

"Nothing more than I thought." J.J. grabs a chair and sits beside Elle.

"So basically we're no closer to nabbing this guy than local authorities?" J.J. rolls her eyes with a nod. "So what? We're waiting for another one to end up dead?"

"No, from what I gather, Hotch is putting a guard on each of the people on that list."

"Remember what happened the last time he felt the need."

"Need to what Elle?" Hotchner inquires from behind nearly causing her to jump out of her seat.

"To protect the potential victim from an un-sub." She recovers.

"I realise that the guard was murdered along with the un-subs intended victim; however, this time that won't happen."

"You're not thinking of being one of those guards are you?" J.J. let's her question escape her lips. Elle cringes at the thought of their having to do neighbourhood watch, recalling her last time with Gideon.

"I've spoken with detective McKinney and he is adamant that his department can handle the current situation, even refusing our assistance in the area of a profile."

"I was under the impression that we had officially been asked to assist." J.J. looks at him, a puzzled expression caressing her features.

"We had. However, McKinney was not the one who put the request."

"So we're off the case then?"

"No, we are going to shadow." He lifts his eyebrows. Elle smirks as he turns and makes his way back to his office. "They will ask us for official assistance; and when they do, we will be more than ready with our profile." He calls over his shoulder. Right, Elle nearly rolls her eyes. They are no closer to a profile then the local PD is catching him.

"Hope, don't wait up for me. It's another late night shift." He hollers as he slips his black leather jacket over the expanse of his broad shoulders.

"I made you something to take with you." She holds out a bag containing a meal.

"Thanks." He holds out his arms and she wraps hers around him and kisses him goodbye. "See you later." He adds and kisses her forehead.

"Miss me." She seems so innocent to him, so naïve, he muses.

"Always." His smile warm and genuine as he heads towards his car, opening the trunk, he places the briefcase within before speeding off.

Driving through the quiet neighbourhood, he immediately notices the heightened police presence. Coppers think they can stop me, he muses as he parks his car not too far from his next scene. Staking out the local police's stakeout team adds to the tingling sensation travelling throughout his entire body. Deciding on a different approach, black leather jacket exists his car, grabs his case and carefully makes his way around the back of the home. Once inside, he easily rounds up the family, pushing them down into the basement, taking pleasure in causing them fear, while setting about in his preparation that will literally leave a hole where the home stands. Crouching beside his victim, his chuckle is low as he digs an opening large enough to fit the nib of his pen in to fill. Pulling out his case, he plucks the pen from within and pulls off the cap, twists it open and submerges the nib into the pre-cut opening. Using the piston filler, he twists it slowly, allowing the red liquid to be fed into the hungry pen. Quickly reassembling the pen, he carefully crosses the name off the list. Easily exiting from where he entered, he lights a cigarette. Taking in the last drag as slowly as possible, he lets the cigarette fall to the ground, igniting the 'charge'. Concealing himself within the shadows of a tree for a moment, he watches his work amongst the sudden chaos; he easily makes his way to his car and drives off into the night.

***

Part Four:

Despite having a trying case nagging him, the days quickly melding into weeks, Derek finally finds a new place. He feels horrible for putting Penelope out for as long as he has and feels that breaking the news over breakfast is probably the best way to go. After putting together a quick bite, Derek sits across from her and tries not to burry his head in the plate in front of him.

"Penelope, I really appreciate you letting me stay with you over the past few weeks." He says being careful to use her name. "I'm happy to share with you, that I have a new place and will be moving in once they have finished painting."

"That was fast." She replies, slowly looking over the newspaper she had carefully been hiding behind. She had been expecting the news, knew that it was on its way. She knew that he wouldn't remain her roommate forever, yet at the same time wishing that to be the case.

"I didn't want to impose on you more than I already have." He replies before finishing his coffee. "I should be out of your hair by the end of this week."

"Really?" she arches a brow in response. "That's in three days." She adds in an attempt to not sound too dejected, she fakes a toothy smile. Glancing at her watch she nearly jumps from her seat. "Oh my! We had better get a move on, or we'll be late." She grabs the plates and rinses them quickly in the sink.

"I'll get those when we get home." He says helping her with her jacket.

"Nothing?" Gideon inquires holding onto the doorframe, as he leans into Hotchner's office. Hotchner lifts his head from the mountain of papers.

"No." he exhales loudly. "I don't think he knows that the police are looking for him. Garcia has found that a developing company by the name of Triumph won the bid to rebuild on the site where Morgan's condominium once stood. She thought it odd at best that they had long placed a bid, and happens to be considered this time around. Perhaps there is far more to that than the police department had thought."

"Wasn't the company that had originally built on the land called Dramatic? Or Vision Developing?"

"Vision Developing."

"Well let's just say that Triumph hired black leather jacket." Hotchner nods, comprehending his direction, pulling out a sheet of paper from one of the files.

"Oliver Hanson." He says as he jots down an address and holds the page towards Gideon, who stares at it. "From where you're going with this, perhaps it would help to start with him. He may know something that will assist us in locating black leather jacket." Gideon steps forwards and snatches the slip. "Oh and take Reid with you."

"Reid?"

"He needs to clock some observation time with you. You tend to work outside the box and I think that will do him some good."

"Aaron, are you sure we should be doing this. Local authorities don't want our help."

"Someone made sure that Derek's condo was gutted. Like it or not Jason, we're involved. I don't care what they think." His tone not one Gideon's accustomed to, nor one he can easily ignore. "Besides, you always have a way of not being memorable."

"Really?" Gideon replies, arching a brow before heading towards Reid's desk to collect him. Hotchner watches from the landing as the young profiler gathers his bag and quickly matches Gideon's long stride towards the elevators.

The corporate world has never been a desirable destination for Spencer Reid; and in response to the bombardment of the sights and smells, he is unable to cease his mind from reeling. Gideon quickly takes the lead and Reid follows, stopping in the reception area. Behind the grand cherry wood, curvy desk sits a young lady. She appears to be busy typing away at record speed and it would appear to the untrained eye, talking to herself; only she wears a thin wire, which is hooked over one ear. Completing the call, she turns her attention to the men standing in front of her.

"Good day gentlemen, how may I assist you?" her inquiry pleasant.

"I'm special agent Jason Gideon, this is doctor Spencer Reid. We're here to speak with Mr. Oliver Hanson."

"Do you have an appointment?" he knew that would be her response and that it usually takes more than that to get their attention.

"No, however, it's an urgent matter." He adds, resting his arms on the high counter-like desk. She waves her hand indicating that they wait for a moment.

"Mr. Hanson, a Jason Gideon and Spencer Reid are here to see you." Leaving out the fact that they are FBI agents, intentionally Gideon is sure. "Yes sir." She writes a few things on a pad of paper and pushes it aside. Turning back towards them, she smiles slightly. "Mr. Hanson will see you." She says lifting her eyes to meet Gideon's iron gaze and unlike most people, refuses to flinch.

"Jason Gideon?"

"Oliver Hanson." He extends his hand in greeting.

"It's been a while." Gideon merely smirks as Hanson leads the federal agents into his office-- the office of a very successful commercial real estate developer.

With their preliminary question period under their belts, Gideon and Reid exit the massive downtown building and are quick to make it back to the office with the hope that the information gathered from their fishing trip will assist them in tracking down their un-sub.

"This has become a very violent developers war." Gideon states simply as he and Reid take their seats. Hotchner looks up from his notes and lets his pen fall on the table, eyebrow arched.

"I'd say that this is a little beyond that don't you think?" he replies as J.J. enters the room and immediately senses the tension it contains.

"I just got off the phone with Virginia PD. While they know how effective the profiles we share with them have been in the past, they still don't wish to meet with us." She looks down for a moment.

"That's fine. At this point, we really don't have a complete profile. Perhaps its better to say that at this time what we do have, will be of very little assistance." Gideon sighs loudly, as he rests his elbows on the arms of the chair and clasps his hands under his chin. "There is something that we're still missing. None of this makes absolute sense." He utters under his breath as Derek enters, Penelope on his heels.

"Hanson is next." He exclaims, nearly out of breath.

"Where did you get that?" Hotchner's question a reflection of the faces in the room.

"It fits. Attempt to throw us off, or perhaps finishing his list. Either way, we need to get there. After I got off the phone with Hotch, Garcia happened to find out."

"That a Walter Manson, Hanson's old business partner, quit the company and started his own. Ever since, the two have been in competition for prime real estate in well over twenty states." She fills in the gap, cutting Derek off mid thought.

"That's good work. Do you have an address?" Hotchner almost barks, knowing that time is once again the enemy.

"Of course." She replies beaming with pride, holding the piece of paper as though it were the winning lottery ticket.

"I'll call Detective McKinney and hopefully they will nab our un-sub." Hotchner rises and nearly flies out of the room, grabbing the paper from Garcia's hand.

"Wow! There goes one determined man." She states as Gideon follows suit, nearly jogging to catch up.

"So where does this leave us exactly?" Reid vocalises his thought as they gather their files and head to their desks in wait of further instructions.

"Depends how series McKinney is in catching this guy." Morgan replies as they wait for their instructions.

By the time they had received the information, the day has long since become night. Black leather jacket drives towards his next target, checking the time on the digital clock. He had promised Hope that he would be home before midnight. At least he had calculated that he would be. Cutting the engine, he sinks back in his seat watching the police cruisers as they patrol the affluent neighbourhood. Not my kind of people, he thinks to himself, popping the trunk, he grabs his case and quickly uses the moment to creep up the path towards the grand home. The soft glow of the lights within the home can be seen from the street, an indication that someone is home, he checks a side door and it opens easily enough. It is obvious to him that the family is still up as the alarm has yet to be engaged, which makes his 'job' less difficult.

However, on the other hand, not knowing where the chess pieces lay makes for a more interesting challenge. Finding a place to hide, black leather jacket waits for his moment to strike.

"Sari, its time for bed." He hears the singsong voice of a woman.

"But I'm not tired." A little voice protests, ever so slightly pulling on his heartstrings.

"It's already well past your bedtime." A male voice, black leather jacket is sure belongs to his victim adds, and he continues to listen to the happy family.

Once the home is settled, bathed in darkness as the light under the door to his hiding place is turned off; black leather jacket emerges and heads upstairs. Passing the little girls bedroom, he checks to be sure that the door is closed, and stops for a moment in relief or is it comfort that she will not hear what is to occur. Allowing the thoughts to dissipate, he crosses the threshold into the grand master bedroom. Like an actor going through his nightly ritual before entering centre stage, or an athlete mentally going over his routine, black leather jacket stands at the foot of the king-sized sleigh bed watching as the couple sleep. Trying not to think of the sleeping girl a few doors down, he sets about preparing to cross another name from his list.

Oliver Hanson is stirred from sleep by a cutting sensation running down his arm. Once roused, he runs his fingers over his arm and feels the sticky, thick wetness. His eyes quickly adjust to his surroundings, they rest upon the dark shadow of a man hovered over his wife, the glimmer of the blade reflecting the moons soft glow. The shadow holds one finger over his lips as an indication that if Oliver gives him a reason, his wife will die. Lips part, he nods and carefully untangles himself from the sheets. Once outside the room, black leather jacket forces Oliver down into the basement.

"If you utter one word, you will have sealed their fate." His voice is gruff in Oliver's ear, sending a shiver down his spine. He can only manage a gesture as an indication of his comprehension. "Sit." The man he suddenly recognises commands and again Oliver complies, sitting on the cold cement floor. Black leather jacket isn't sure why this job seems different from the rest. Perhaps because it will be his last and he will have time enough to relax and enjoy time with his wife, he is quick in putting those thoughts out of his head, returning to the man sitting on the floor in front of him, fear etched not only on his face, but resonating from his body as well.

Binding Oliver's ankles and wrists so that he cannot escape, black leather jacket opens his briefcase and Oliver's eyes nearly bug out of his skull.

"You paid me to torch those buildings so that your company could build on the newly available land. Getting rid of you covers my ass." He places a piece of leather between his victim's teeth, a method used to muffle his screams of pain and agony from being heard by the sleeping family upstairs. Returning his attention to Oliver, he begins by testing the waters. The response from Oliver to him is positive as he moans and groans in protest to the injuries being inflicted upon his body. Running the knife along the lean body only satisfies black leather jacket for a short while. Growing bored of the light torture routine, black leather jacket digs for his favourite knife, and pulls out the case in which his fountain pen resides. Forgetting about being kind, the last thing Oliver will remember is the glimmer of the knife, he passes out; while with the precision of a surgeon, black leather jacket jabs the knife into the right external carotid artery. The blood gushes out. With the same ease, he quickly submerges the pen nib, just enough to extract the final bit of life that slowly flows through the now slumped, limp body as the heart rate begins the process of ceasing.

Turning away from his masterpiece, black leather jacket reassembles the now filled fountain pen. Reaching inside his breast pocket for the list, his grin widens ever so slightly as the chuckle in his throat escapes and he crosses the last name off his list. Folding up the list, he collects his tools of death and makes his way up the narrow staircase. Standing at the door, listening for signs of life and satisfied that he will escape, he opens the door and creeps through the unfamiliar home. Standing in the kitchen, a few feet from the door, just a few feet in the clear, black leather jacket suddenly hears the commotion outside the home, can see the bright red/white/blue flashing lights outside. Cursing under his breath, he dashes for the inside garage door in hopes that he can escape the clutches of the law.

Certain that their un-sub is inside the home, Hotchner and Morgan sprint up the drive and Morgan kicks the door in, the loud thud accompanied by the sound of wood as it splits. With guns drawn, they make their way through the home with the local police department on their heels. As Gideon, Elle, and Reid bring up the rear, he stops.

"Gideon, are you okay?" Reid inquires, pointing his gun towards the floor. Giving Reid the 'I'm fine' expression, they continue.

"We need an ambulance." They can hear Hotchner holler from the basement. An officer's voice can be heard on the two-way communication and the paramedics enter the scene.

"Where is he?" Elle cannot help but ask as they holster their guns. "He shouldn't be able to get away this quickly." She adds and pushes past Reid towards the door that has been left open a crack. Carefully tapping it, so that it opens on it's own, she fumbles for a light switch. Illuminating the triple garage, she lets her eyes wander over the space. A black Escalade sits undisturbed; in fact, everything about the space is untouched. Except, of course, for the side door, which like the garage door; has been left open enough to indicate that someone was unable to or didn't care to close it. Continuing her hunch, Elle follows suit, expecting to apprehend their un-sub, only to find an array of chaos. Being drawn from their homes by the bright flashing red/white/blue lights, civilians join the police, fire fighters and paramedics already assembled in front of the home on the usually quiet street.

With a sickening knot tightening in his stomach, Gideon and Reid continue upstairs with the hopes that the rest of the family are safe. He recalls seeing the family photographs on Oliver's desk in his office. Approaching the closed door, Gideon places his gun back in his holster and gestures for Reid to continue with the rest of the team. Not knowing if their un-sub is hiding behind the door, he prepares himself before opening the door. The pale moonlight casts a soft glow in the large bedroom. Allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he quickly checks behind the door, and throws open the closet doors to be sure that no one is hiding amongst the clothing. Breathing a sigh of relief that he hasn't frightened the sleeping child, he approaches the bed and carefully brings the comforter up towards her delicate chin.

Closing the door behind him, he meets his team in the hallway with Mrs. Hanson, a fluffy terrycloth robe tied around her slender waist, her hair a bit dishevelled, but happy to know that her daughter is safe. Gideon frowns as he realises that she hasn't been told about her husband.

"Mrs. Hanson, would you come with us please?" Gideon gestures for Elle to follow them downstairs.

"Hannah." She hardly finds her voice, as she is assisted downstairs with rubbery legs, clutching the solid banister for support.

"You may want to sit down." He adds and she appears to sink into the soft cushions of the white overstuffed sofa. Reid dashes off towards the kitchen and they can hear the running of water, which he returns with a glass and she receives it with shaky hands.

"Where is Oliver?" her question small as the tears well up in her nearly crystal blue eyes.

"They took him to the hospital. Agent Aaron Hotchner will take you to meet him. We don't know the extent of his injuries."

"What about Sari?"

"Don't worry Hannah, Elle and I will stay with her. If she wakes, we'll explain that you will be back soon." His smile warm and inviting, which Hannah surmises comes from a very good heart. Her whole body quivers as she nods her understanding. Not concerned that she is in her pyjamas, Hannah follows Hotchner and Reid out towards the chaos and they take her to the hospital.

"We can't have all these people here if Sari awakes. Morgan, will you take three forensic team members up to the bedroom. I think its best that we work as quietly as we can manage." Morgan turns on his heel and grabs the team and they head upstairs. "I'm going to see what they've found in the basement." He dashes off down the narrow, wooden staircase into what can only be described as the pits of hell, and wonders if it's even possible for Oliver to have any life left in him for them to revive. Shaking his head, he plants himself in the middle of the forensic team and criminal photographer and soaks up his surroundings.

"Our guys have combed the neighbourhood and have turned up nothing." An office says as he enters the basement. Gideon turns to face him.

"You'll get him. Mark my words, we will get him."

Epilogue

"Detective McKinney is requesting our assistance with a profile." J.J. enters Hotchner's office. He waves her in and she has a seat in one of the vacant chairs in front of him.

"We have what they need. I'll send Gideon and Reid to present and then I suppose they will go from there." He replies, signing the bottom of a document.

"Oliver Hanson is going to be okay I hope." She rises.

"He'll live. I can hardly imagine what it must be like to go through the ordeal he has."

"The human body is fairly resilient, isn't it?" she pauses for a moment. "It's the human mind that I worry about." His gaze penetrating as her words betray something personal. His smile is warm and she returns it with one of her own before heading back to her office.

Gideon and Reid finish presenting the profile of Tony Simpson, more commonly known to them as black leather jacket, and enter Quantico half expecting to hear the call for further assistance. Gideon stops to speak with Hotchner as Reid heads towards the makeshift break room, finding Morgan pouring water over the coffee crystals. Following suit, Reid gets his mug, and covers the crystals with the hot liquid and gestures for the sugar.

"Not every case goes the way we want it to." Morgan sighs, handing Reid the sugar for his coffee.

"I know. It's just that I feel like we could or should have done more."

"More? Trust me, if there had been any more we could have done, we would have. Gideon will not let this rest; he has this tendency to allow things to burn a hole into his memory. If anything resembling this case crops up anywhere, he will be the first one on that plane." Morgan replies as they make their way back to their desks in wait of their newest assignment.

"You haven't heard how Oliver Hanson is have you?" Elle inquires, as she puts her paper coffee cup on her desk.

"He will make it." Morgan's eyes reveal a gentle softness she cannot recall ever being privy to before.

"Good to hear. Sari is a sweet little girl, I'd hate to see her grow up without a father." She lets her smile widen as they all turn their attention to J.J., who arrives bearing the usual gift of a new case.

"Conference room in five." Her expression one of horror and they find out why upon opening the files handed to them.

The End

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