"Are you sure you want to do this?"
Hotch let out a sigh and massaged his temple, unsure of how to answer Rossi's question. "I… would really prefer not to, but I don't think we have a choice. We've been on this case for five days, and we can't get a single lead. If the unsub keeps to his schedule, we've got twenty-four hours to stop him before another four bodies show up."
Rossi looked over Hotch's shoulder and scanned the files. "I agree with you, Aaron. I'm not against having a genius. You've just… always been pretty adamant about the closed nature of the team."
Hotch grimaced and nodded his head. "I know. We operate best without interference." He shuffled the papers around, setting aside two candidates he knew wouldn't work out.
"You've been that way since Gideon left." Typical Rossi, he didn't waste any time beating around the bush. "Things happen, Aaron. You can't keep psychos from fixating on a single person."
"I know that, Dave." Hotch shook his head, not wanting to have the same old conversation while such an important decision was spread out in front of him. "I just don't want to upset the balance we have. If we bring someone else in, especially a genius, the team might withdraw, and—"
"The team will put on their big kid pants and get the job done. It's a temporary situation. We don't have to keep him or her around, we just need to use them as a resource and send them on their merry way." Rossi waved his hands and wiggled his fingers to illustrate. "Don't overthink things, Aaron. Pick a genius, make the call, and then join us in the conference room. We're hashing out some new ideas, and I know the others want to know what you decide to do."
Hotch looked down at the papers again, resisting the urge to let out a heavy sigh. He had done enough sighing; he had to get down to business. "I keep putting this one aside, but then I keep coming back to it."
Rossi extended a hand, gesturing for the file to be handed over, and Hotch readily obliged.
"Genius #2036334-4383. IQ: 187. He's got three doctorates, and none of them are topics that get censored by the program. He definitely would know all there is to know. He's consulted on… one thousand and twenty-two different cases?"
Hotch nodded, but his expression was grim. "Keep reading."
Rossi's eyes scanned the page, lips moving in silent mumbles. "Is this right?" He looked at the words again, brow furrowing in confusion, and then he lifted his head to look at Aaron. "He's never been in the field?"
Hotch shook his head, indicating the papers still in Rossi's hands. "He doesn't play well with others. He's on several different medications, and according to his chart, he still can't interact with the general population. He has no social graces, and he doesn't like being told what to do."
"So, don't get him then." Rossi tossed the file on the desk and put his hands on his hips, staring down at the still, very clearly, undecided Hotch. "What brings you back to him?"
Hotch shook his head, raising his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I don't know. I don't know, but I keep picking up the file. I don't know if it's the impressive track record, or the number of degrees…" Hotch put his elbows on his desk and rubbed both temples, sneaking a quick glance at the window to make sure none of the others could see him. "There's… there's this note… he is always pushing back against this one rule, trying to connive a way around it, and I think we could use it to get his cooperation."
Rossi rolled his hand to encourage further explanation.
"He wants to make a phone call." It sounded stupid even as Hotch said it. "He has been asking since he was admitted, almost twelve years ago, to make a phone call. He wants to talk to someone in a facility for geniuses who suffer from some form of psychosis."
"You know we can't allow that. One of the things ICAP was specifically designed to prevent is geniuses contacting each other and putting their heads together." Rossi gestured to the files on the desk. "There are plenty of good candidates here."
"I know." Hotch felt like he was repeating the same phrase over and over. "But what is so malevolent about a phone call? It's not as if we can't listen in or trace the call, and that's true on both ends if it's a genius already inside a government facility. Speaking in code would require previous contact of some sort, and that's strictly prohibited, so…" He shook his head slowly, mouth hanging open for a moment as a sort of disbelief washed over his features. "I know just as well as you do that looks can be deceptive and assumptions are dangerous, but… it seems so benign, Dave."
Rossi thought about it for a moment, and then he picked the folder back up. He scanned the words in silence, a soft hum resonating in his throat. "Just a phone call, huh?"
Hotch nodded wordlessly, and his gut was telling him to make the call right then and there. He just couldn't get his mind around the supposed danger, every single report he read seeming more immature and emotionally driven than planned. That would explain the Seroquel. If the genius had bad mood swings, it would explain a lot of his problems, and Hotch was certain the team could handle mood swings.
"Your gut is really in this one, isn't it?" Rossi arched a brow, and then he closed the folder, handing it back over with a faint smirk on his lips. "Better make that call."
Hotch grabbed the paperwork and gave Rossi a smile that was smaller still, his attention turning to the task of requesting a genius immediately.
They were down to twenty-one hours, and while the first three victims were almost certainly dead, there was still a fourth that had a chance. But the clock was ticking, and every second spent on transport and paperwork was a second wasted.
It isn't as if this is a permanent change. Hotch grabbed the phone from his desk and began to dial. It's only temporary. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work. We'll send him back and try something else, but right now, the priority has to be catching the unsub.
Hotch downed another cup of coffee and looked over the timeline for what had to be the thousandth time. He leaned on the table, tired of standing but knowing if he sat, he would fall asleep. We have seventeen hours to find her alive… and that's a generous estimate.
"Hey, Hotch, I think our new toy is here."
Hotch straightened up and joined Morgan by the window, watching two men with federal badges usher a scrawny young man into the bullpen. They lead him toward the conference room, and the genius' eyes flickered from place to place without any real rhyme or reason.
I guess this is a new experience for everyone involved.
"Remember what I said, everyone." Hotch went to the door and grabbed the handle. "Be patient, don't take anything personally, and give a little grace. This is just temporary, and if it means saving Angela Hayes, we'll tolerate whatever behavior the genius has to offer."
There were various nods and acknowledgements around the table, and then Hotch pulled the door in.
"Agent Hotchner," the officer on the other side smiled. "I'm SSA Burke, and this is Genius #2036334-4383. You can drop the number when you talk to him." Burke shook hands with Hotch, and there was an amiable glimmer in his eyes, but he looked like he was on edge.
He's probably waiting for Genius to start something. But Hotch gave the subject no more thought. He moved to shake Genius' hand, but Genius' backed away almost immediately.
"I don't shake hands. You're going to let me make a phone call?"
Hotch took a moment to process the jump, but he could respect the idea of getting down to business, so he dropped his hand and replied. "Yes, in exchange for your help. We—"
"Deal." Genius brushed past him and approached the stack of files on the table, grabbing the first one he came to and opening it.
Well. It begins.
Burke gave Hotch an apologetic look, while the man behind him remained very disinterested in the whole matter, and then Burke handed over a keycard. "Just call the number on the back when you're ready to return him, and ICAP will send a van."
Hotch nodded his thanks and took both the card and the small bag of medication that came with it, turning around just in time to catch Morgan's attempt at interaction.
"Do you want us to go over the case—"
"It's faster if I just read it." Genius didn't lift his head, his finger running down every page in a matter of seconds.
Morgan's eyebrows shot up, but he shrugged it off and turned toward Burke, who hadn't yet followed his uninvolved partner out of the building. "Is he really reading that fast?"
Burke nodded once and let out a soft chuckle. "You haven't lived until you've seen this kid read War and Peace before breakfast. Trust me."
Genius muttered where he was standing, the pile of files he had already read growing steadily higher. "It's a good read…"
Hotch allowed a slight smile to pull at the corner of his mouth, but he didn't comment. Burke stuck around for another second or two, but then he startled and stepped back, as if he suddenly realized he was wearing out his welcome.
Thought honestly, Hotch would have been more than fine with him staying.
"Well, good luck." Burke tossed a wave in their direction and walked away, leaving Hotch to close the door behind him.
"This isn't right."
Hotch moved toward Genius' end of the table and observed what he was reading. "What isn't right?"
"Did you have a victim in this case you thought was unusual? No, wait, rephrase." Genius flipped through multiple files as he spoke, medium length, brown waves falling into his face. "If I asked you to name an outlier from this case, who would you name?"
"Sheila Taylor."
"Brittney Parrington."
Hotch glanced across the table and saw Emily had spoken in unison with him.
Morgan nodded slowly. "I would agree with that."
It took a second, but JJ and Rossi both nodded along.
"Correct." Genius held up both pictures before taping them to the center of the whiteboard. He erased everything around it before anyone had the chance to protest. "I can put it back the way it was later." He kept erasing and then grabbed a marker. "These are your most important victims. If we—"
"Woah, woah, woah." Morgan waved his hands slightly. "Slow down, pretty boy. How did you come to that conclusion?"
Genius blinked. "I have to explain?" He turned to look at Hotch, something like anxiety and frustration mixed in his otherwise soft, honey-brown eyes. "Does that cut into my call time?"
Hotch shook his head. "No, not at all."
Genius turned back to look at Morgan and took a deep breath.
Hotch was legitimately scared for a moment, especially when he saw Genius' hands start to move, and he silently wondered if he had made a terrible mistake.
"You have eight victims, each showing up in a group of four. They have been tortured in ways that lead you to write 'unsub likely has military background or experience,' in the margins. I have to take your word on that, and this leads me to—"
"Why do you have to take our word for that?" Rossi asked, swiveling his chair idly to the left and right.
Genius' clenched his fists, the expression of frustration on his face almost tantrum-like in nature. Hotch immediately thought of the mood swings, but Genius did little more than get slightly red in the face and stomp his foot.
"Stop interrupting. You're making this take so long." Genius huffed, blowing his bangs out of his eyes and tapping rapidly on his right temple. "I can't learn anything beyond the basics of any division of the United States government. That's the entire point of ICAP: keeping geniuses from overthrowing the government. So, my knowledge in that area is limited, but I know yours is not, and you're all intelligent people, so it's highly unlikely you came to the wrong conclusion about this." Genius hit the whiteboard with his marker. "Focus, please."
To his credit, Rossi simply pursed his lips and nodded. He didn't seem to have any trouble letting Genius' attitude roll over him. Morgan, on the other hand, already looked like he wanted to wring the kid's neck, and it had barely been a minute.
Genius tapped the whiteboard a few more times, apparently not satisfied with the amount of attention he had. "If this individual is military, he would have to be of a relatively high level to be involved with the enhanced interrogation you see here. He's not just skilled, he's very skilled. He has an ego, so everything about his killing is going to be a shrine to himself. Knowing that, I took the victims and divided them up based on how a trained individual would take them out." He held up his hand before JJ could speak. "I said I don't know about the military; I never said I don't know how tactical combat works." He dropped the hand. "He's not killing them all at the same time, but he's dropping them all at the same time. It couldn't represent a rapid-fire gun or an explosive, because those would all cause the instantaneous death of multiple people You could look at some sort of biological weapon, but the hands-on violence and torture suggests something more focused and clearly targeted." He turned to the board and started to write and draw as he spoke. "If we look at all the victims, these two stood out not because they're the only blondes but because, if you look at their x-rays, you'll see he broke three of their ribs. He never let the broken ribs be next to each other, meaning he specifically broke them with a fairly thin object. All the other victims had flail chest, but not these two."
Morgan nodded slightly and opened his mouth, determined to talk whether Genius liked it or not. "Typically, the most important victims are the first or last."
"Yes, but he knew that. He wanted you to think it was the first or fourth, but it was actually the third." Genius started to write numbers and stats, drawing lines between the victims and the bubbles containing traits he had listed up to that point. "He tricked you into thinking four was the magic number, because it feeds his ego to outsmart federal agents. But he couldn't not acknowledge himself, so he put the three broken ribs on the third victim in each set. If you take the significance of the third victims, the ego, the military background, and the fact that all four victims were killed days apart but dropped at once, you get to a sniper."
Genius took a deep breath and turned back around to look at his audience, speaking faster with every passing second. "During a sniper attack, things move insanely fast. After the first shot, no one moves. Everyone is confused, and their first reaction is to look for the source of the sound. After the second shot, it takes the average person one and a half seconds to cognitively process they're in a potentially deadly situation. It takes, approximately, another .7 seconds for the physical reaction to kick in, by which time, the third shot has already been fired. Anything after the third victim of a sniper attack is a gamble. You can be certain you'll hit more people after the third, but you don't get to control who it is anymore." Genius turned back around to look at the board. "He didn't want to make his first or last victim important, because he knows enough about criminal investigation to know those are the victims you look at the most. So, he applied his sniping techniques to the murder, and he put the most significant kills in the middle. It's also a taunt to you." Genius jerked his head over his shoulder. "You have three victims to get the job done, and if you don't, you lose your window of opportunity, because you can't predict a random attack. This also explains the gaps between the 1992 killings and the 1996 killings. Giving you limited time to outsmart him before he disappears again gets him off."
Did we get a genius or a computer?
"Now, psychologically speaking, I don't know that much. I mean, I do textbook-wise, but that's hardly relevant." Genius tapped on the pictures of the two girls. "They stand out physically—blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin, slight build. Neither of them were employed, and they both filed for divorce six weeks prior to their abductions. You can confirm this for me, but I would bet they had been living off their husband's paycheck, divorced him because of his job or something job-related, and were using their circumstance to get financial help. I think the unsub had a wife he felt leeched his money while complaining about the source of said money, a conflict which ultimately lead to her leaving him and finding her way into a lot of funds through less than admirable methods. His ego couldn't abide that, so he channeled his anger into being a hero for shunted alpha males everywhere." Genius faced the group again and started to tap on his temple. "So, to recap, start by looking for a blonde woman with blue eyes who divorced a military official in the mid-to-late eighties; find out who the husband was, and you have your unsub, more or less; may I have my phone call now?"
Hotch was barely able to follow the jump from case to request, and while his initial reaction was to ask for more information, he decided to acquiesce. He could go over the new perspective with the team while the phone call was going on, and if they didn't find anything, they would put the call on hold and rehash until they did.
"Yes, you may." It reminded him of The Music Man, and he couldn't help but feel he had condescended to the incredibly intelligent young man standing before him. "Do you know the number?"
Genius rattled it off immediately, his voice tight with excitement, the first smile Hotch had seen starting to pull at his mouth. "Tell them you need to speak with Diana Reid, Patient No. 381614."
"Diana Reid, 381—"
"614, yup, that's it." Genius was practically shaking where he stood, hovering nearby as Hotch dialed the phone number. "I know she's there. Don't let them tell you she's not. She is."
Hotch nodded slightly, opening his mouth to tell Genius to calm down but being cut off by the receptionist.
"ICAP Sanitarium, how may I direct your call?"
"This is Agent Hotchner, with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. I am allowing a genius to have one phone call with Diana Reid, Patient No. 3—"
"81614."
It took everything Hotch had in him not to snap, but he covered the disturbance up with a clearing of his throat. "Patient No. 381614. If you could connect me, I would appreciate it."
"Mmm, Diana Reid, you said?"
"Yes." Hotch nodded, giving Genius a sharp glare that told him to put at least a foot of space between them. "I know the risks associated with genius communication. This call will be monitored."
"Hold on just a second…" the receptionist mumbled. "Hold on… and… okay, you're good to go. Wait a few seconds for the line to switch over."
Hotch handed the phone to Genius with a warning look. "Don't go far, and don't whisper. Understand?"
"Yes." Genius nodded eagerly, barely able to stop himself from grabbing the phone from Hotch's hands. "Yes, I understand. Mhm."
Hotch extended the phone, and Genius latched onto it immediately.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he rushed through the words and hurried over to the closest corner, curling into a ball and pressing the phone tightly to his ear.
Hotch watched him carefully, stalling for a few moments before sitting down with the rest of the team. "Call the Technical Analysis Department, and see if they can find anything on this mystery woman." He opened his mouth to speak again, but stopped when he heard what sounded like a stifled sob.
Hotch turned his head enough that his ear was inclined toward Genius, and right about the time Genius' voice cracked, Hotch felt a knife in his gut.
"Hi, Mom."
Everyone around the table froze.
"No, wait! You don't need to adjust your antipsychotics, I promise, I'm real." Genius sounded panicked, but he soon let out a sigh of relief. "Yes, yes, it's me. It's really me. I'm here. I'm real."
Hotch met Rossi's eyes when he looked up, and he could tell Rossi was thinking about their earlier conversation. He really did want the phone call for entirely innocent reasons.
"Yeah, I can prove it. I, uh, I figured you would ask." Genius sniffed and wiped his eyes. "Do you, uh, do you remember… this one fight you had with Dad. You were arguing about," he sniffed again, "about me being a genius, and how… how you had to work so hard to hide it. It was right before I graduated high school, and he said… he said my intelligence was only going to get more difficult to deal with as I got older, and you said, "Spencer's p—"
Hotch turned his attention to the files when he heard Genius break off into a harsh sob, trying to offer some semblance of privacy. Still, it was hard to focus on the task at hand when there was a near meltdown going on in the corner, and harder still not to eavesdrop in a room with no background noise.
"Y-you said… 'Spencer's perfect.'" Genius let another sob out, and if the rustling of his clothes was any indication, he was scratching himself obsessively. "I never forgot that. I think about it a lot."
Hotch gestured for everyone to write notes. He scrawled a few things in the margin of Sheila's picture before handing it to Emily, unable to take his attention off the phone conversation.
"Is… is Love Conquers All still your favorite? I, uh, I have it. It's one—one of the two things I own. I keep it in my pillow, and I read it every night." Genius started to nod his head almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth. "Yes, yes, it's me, Mom, it's really me. I remember those things; you know I couldn't read them in a file. Mom, I—I'm sorry I didn't call sooner."
JJ ducked her head, and Hotch got the feeling it was hardest for her to keep her eyes dry.
"Yeah, well—" Genius laughed, somewhat like a giggle and a chuckle blended together, "—of course my voice is lower, Mom. I went through puberty." He laughed again—softer, weaker, sadder. "I'm—I'm really tall. I'm taller than Dad." Sniff. "Is—Is your hair still short? Or did you grow it out again?" Sniff. "Oh, Mom, don't be silly. I like it both ways."
Rossi slowly got up from his chair and picked up his coffee cup. "I think I'll top this off."
Emily cleared her throat and quickly joined him, but JJ and Morgan stayed.
Genius swallowed hard and spoke, struggling to keep his voice remotely level. "I don't… I don't know when or… if… I'll ever talk to you again… or see you, and I want to make sure… I want you to know that I love you, and I… I need you to know that I spend… every day of my life proud to be your son." He sniffed, curling up a little tighter and trying to utilize what little privacy the corner offered. "I know you do, Mom. I know. No, no, don't—Mom, don't, please. I love being a genius. I love who I am. I wouldn't want to be anybody else. How I live isn't your fault, you didn't do this to me. You still think I'm perfect, right?" Pause. "Then don't blame yourself. You made me perfect. Take some credit." He paused again, and then he laughed softly. "I love you, too. I miss you, and I—"
Silence.
"Mom? M—Mom?" Pause. Sniff. "Stayed on too long."
Hotch glanced in the general direction of the corner, and then he pushed the file in front of him toward Morgan. "There are a few different plots of land near military depots that would facilitate a secondary location for the torture and the storing of the bodies."
Morgan nodded. "We said, based on the preservation and M.E. report, that he has to have some kind of freezer, but it could just be something thermal. Maybe something considered to be military equipment? If he had the time and dedication to keep putting ice and preservatives in with the bodies…"
"Uh, Spencer." JJ frowned slightly. "That was your name, right? You feeling better at all?"
Hotch turned to look over his shoulder, taking the offered phone from Genius' limp hand.
Genius only glared. "You don't get to use my name. You call me Genius." He mumbled something further under his breath but clearly didn't intend for it to be heard. "What do you want me to do, Agent Hotchner?"
Hotch glanced up at him, and then he looked at the work spread out in front of them. For a moment, he considered inviting Genius to join them and share the work, but there wasn't much they could do until the TAD replied.
Besides, Genius looked exhausted.
"You can go lie down. You look tired."
Genius blinked, confused. "I… I am. That's—observant."
Hotch offered a very slight smile, not wanting to come across as cold.
"I… I'll just sleep then." Genius rubbed the back of his head, ambling back to the corner and curling up on the floor. "Thanks…"
Hotch frowned slightly, but Morgan pulled the words from his mouth before he had a chance to say them.
"Kid, there's a couch in Hotch's office."
"Rossi's, too," JJ added.
Genius opened his eyes but made no attempt at getting up. "But Agent Hotchner is in here."
Hotch tried to gently correct him, remembering what the file said about his reactions to being contradicted. "Yes, but you can go in my office and sleep on the couch. I don't mind."
Genius shook his head, eyes closing gently. "I can't be alone."
JJ folded her arms and set them on the tabletop. "Is it the dark? Or the quiet? Because I have—"
"No, I mean I am not allowed to be alone. I can't be unsupervised in a government facility. Obviously." Genius curled up a little tighter, almost irritated by their continued questioning. "You could handcuff me, if the couch is made for geniuses, but that's a hassle. I'll sleep here."
There were a few beats of silence, and then JJ got to her feet. She left the room, Hotch and Morgan quietly comparing notes in her absence, and when she was back, she had a blanket and pillow in her arms.
"You are welcome to sleep on the floor if you want, but this should make things a little more comfortable."
Genius looked at her strangely, almost as if he were afraid of the gesture, and then he cautiously reached out to take the items. "Um… thank you, that's… uh… it's very…" He struggled with his words for a moment. "It's very ethical of you." He offered a ghost of a smile and then put the pillow on the floor, curling up like a cat and wrapping himself in the blanket.
"Goodnight, Genius."
"Goodnight, Agent Jereau."
Genius seemed to nod off immediately afterward, his body clearly needing the rest more than his behavior let on. JJ turned away and rejoined Morgan and Hotch at the table, looking at them with heartbreak in her eyes. Hotch returned the stare, glanced briefly at Morgan, and then looked down to the files.
"Let's try and get the TAD more parameters. Once Emily comes back in, she can start working on a geographical profile." It was a relatively new method, and she was the only one who had any experience in the field, but with the new information, maybe she could make it work. "Morgan, use what Genius gave us and try to narrow down some more information about this mystery woman."
Morgan nodded and grabbed a marker from the table, walking over to the whiteboard and getting to work.
"JJ, I want you to call a press conference. Plead with him to release Angela Hayes or at least call the tip line and talk to us, and make it convincing. If he thinks he has us completely stumped, he might not be able to resist gloating."
JJ nodded and got to her feet, phone in hand before she had even reached the door. "I'll tell Rossi and Emily to come back in," she said over her shoulder, and she was gone before Hotch could respond.
Hotch let out a soft sigh and looked down at his paper, his mind flickering back and forth between the case and the cocooned body in the corner.
It had worked. Genius found something they couldn't, and while he didn't possess the profiling skills necessary to give them an unsub, he was able to give them the information they needed to profile. He clearly had problems working with others, and there were parts of him driven entirely by emotions that were none too stable, but he had done good work. He had done good work in less than a half an hour.
Maybe this shouldn't be temporary. It isn't like we're adding someone to the team, we're just adding another perspective and a headful of knowledge. It's like adding a piece of equipment. Maybe we can take him along on a case… see how he interacts with the locals and try to determine whether his brain is worth the risk.
Hotch stopped himself the moment the thought crossed his mind. Before he started thinking about any future cases, he needed to handle the one in front of him. Genius was asleep, but the unsub was not, and the clock was ticking. Hotch could think about Genius when the case was closed and Angela Hayes was safe and sound.
But really, what harm could it do?
It was late when they returned to Quantico, and Hotch was quick to send everyone home. Nobody refused, each response to the order half-hearted and worn, a sick silence settling over them as they ambled around their desks and grabbed what they needed.
They had made the arrest, and there was no doubt they got the right guy, but Angela Hayes died on the way to the hospital. They hadn't saved a single victim, and that was the kind of case Hotch knew would knock them all on their backs for a while.
"Do we know what we're doing with the boy wonder tonight?"
Hotch froze at Rossi's question, eyes widening as he realized he had completely forgotten the genius sleeping in the conference room. "I didn't think about it. I… I can call the number on the keycard and wait for them to come pick him up."
Rossi shook his head and waved it off. "Don't mess with it tonight. I'll take the kid home with me. I think my security systems are enough to satisfy any government regulations they might have for geniuses."
Hotch rubbed his face briefly. "I…" I can't think at three in the morning. "If you really don't mind, I would appreciate it." He started walking toward the conference room. "He should still be in here."
Hotch opened the door and saw Genius in the same corner where they left him, though he was most definitely not sleeping. He was, however, rocking back and forth, smacking his left temple with three fingers, and chewing on the knuckles to his other hand all at the same time.
"Genius?"
Genius' head snapped up before jerking right back down, movement never ceasing. He mumbled something under his breath, his words rapid and slurred together incoherently.
Rossi stood at Hotch's right, his hands resting comfortably in his pockets. "Speak up, kiddo."
"I said you left me!" Genius screamed the phrase but still didn't look up, rocking slightly faster and changing the taps to scratches. "You left me. You can't do that. You can't do that. I'm not supposed to be alone."
"You were sleeping," Hotch said carefully, approaching the corner with one hand outstretched. "We didn't want to wake you."
"I'm not supposed to be alone!" Genius looked up at him and glared, but there were tears in his eyes, and he seemed more upset than angry. "What part of that don't you understand? You got me in trouble. You got me in big trouble. Big—" He put his head down and scratched harder, little droplets of blood forming on his cheek. "I'm in so much trouble. I'm in so much trouble. They're gonna take my music and my book. I love my music and my book. I didn't—I didn't do anything wrong. I wasn't bad. I was just sleeping. I was just sleeping."
"Genius." Hotch carefully lowered himself to the floor, reaching out and taking the scratching hand in his. "I want you to stop panicking and listen to me for a moment."
Genius kept scratching despite Hotch's attempt at interference, and he started to chew on his knuckles again, but he didn't speak. He scratched and chewed and rocked.
Hotch gently pulled the hand away from Genius' face, not wanting the marks to get any worse, and he spoke as softly as he could. "You are not in trouble, Genius."
Genius started nodding right away. "I am. I am. I am, I am, I am. I'm in so—"
"No, you are not." Hotch reached for the other hand and started to pull on that as well. "You are not in trouble. I will not let you be in trouble. If someone tries to tell you that you are in trouble, you tell them they have to talk to me."
Genius pulled on his chewing hand, not wanting to give it up.
"Genius, I don't know if this is part of your Tourette's or if—"
"It isn't. I don't even have Tourette's. I hate it when they say I do. They're wrong. They're stupid." Genius bit down on his hand a little harder. "Tourette's is involuntary, and it wouldn't make me chew on myself. Dermatillomania, maybe, but that's involuntary, too. I can stop ticcing whenever I want. I just don't, because it makes me feel better." He panted in between his words, growing more distraught with every passing second. "It's just anxiety. Why do they have to put me on so many medications? I don't like them. I don't want that many pills. I don't want them to put me on any more. I didn't do anything wrong. I don't need to be medicated again."
"Genius, I need you to take your hand out of your mouth." Hotch pulled on the limb again, being as tender as he could. "If you need—"
"Don't need."
"If you want to," Hotch continued calmly, speaking as though the interruption hadn't happened, "you can tap on the walls or the floor. You can even chew on my hand, if you want, but you've already started cutting through the skin on yours. Okay?"
Genius nodded sporadically, dropping his hand to the floor and smacking it faster than Hotch had ever seen a hand move. "I can do that. I'll do that."
Hotch opened his mouth but found he had nothing to say, his brain failing to provide the next course of action. He heard Rossi move behind him, and he closed his mouth. He would let the more experienced agent talk for a little.
"Hey, kid. You're gonna come home with me tonight. I'll set you up in my guest room, and we'll come back here to Quantico in the morning." Rossi took one of the hands Hotch was holding and started to pull Genius to his feet.
"You can just call. Send me back." Genius got to his feet anyway, but the tapping and smacking and drumming on every surface within reach didn't stop. "Unless you want my help again?"
Hotch and Rossi exchanged a glance.
"We… haven't decided yet." Rossi spoke carefully, turning his eyes back to Genius. "We'll see what's waiting when we come in tomorrow. Tonight, we're going to go home and sleep."
Genius' leg started to shake, the lack of rocking apparently bothering him. "Okay. I can do that. I—I can do that. Now?"
Rossi nodded his head. "Yup. Right now, kiddo."
"Okay." Genius made a beeline for the door, leaving them behind in favor of completing his task as quickly as possible.
"Looks like I better run." Rossi started after Genius, throwing a brief wave over his shoulder. "Goodnight, Aaron."
"Night, Dave."
Hotch stood there for a moment, heaving a sigh and letting his shoulders slouch just a bit. I need a drink… and about fifty hours of sleep…
Unfortunately, he could only make one of those things a reality. Still, he would take what he could get.
I'll call ICAP in the morning.
Author's Note: So, I started writing this before I started watching White Collar, and I swear the name Agent Burke is a coincidence, but it was too beautiful a coincidence for me to change.
