Prologue

"David Rossi!"

The man in question turned around, the familiar voice catching him by surprise. He grinned when he saw who it was. "Mikey! Is that really you?"

"In the flesh," Michael Howard returned his friend's grin and shook his hand warmly. "I didn't realize you'd joined the bureau again."

"Yeah, been a couple of years now," David Rossi nodded and grinned at his old comrade. "We're doing the campus runs today, I didn't know you were up in California these days."

"We?" Mike indicated for them to walk towards the chairs set up for the informal networking at the university campus. Rossi saw a few curious students eyeing the pair, no doubt wondering who the two significantly older men were.

"Yeah," he turned his attention back to his friend. "My colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid, he's doing the linguistics and psychoanalysis seminar this afternoon. We're trying to recruit kids fresh out of college."

"I attended your talk just now. You always were a smooth talker," laughed Mike.

Rossi waved away his compliment. "What brings you here? You're an academic now?"

"Me? Nah," Mike snorted and grabbed a can of soda from the nearby cooler. "I've got a niece whose looking at universities around the country, I was closest so my brother roped me into bringing her out here. She might be in your colleague's seminar right about now, actually," he added thoughtfully, glancing at his watch. "She said she wanted to attend a talk this afternoon."

"Your niece? Jack has a daughter?" questioned Rossi.

"Adopted," nodded Mike. "Took her in when she was about ten, when he was with that firm in Chicago. She's twenty-eight now, I think, and a real genius."

"She's twenty-eight years old and still looking at schools?" Rossi raised his eyebrows.

Mike rolled his eyes. "That kid is smart, Dave, let me tell you. She has a handful of Masters degrees and she works as a linguist or translator or something at one of the museums in DC, don't ask me which one. Freelances with government officials whenever they want some fresh blood. She wants to do a PhD and all the schools are trying to woo her. I don't even know what she wants to do. All I know is that half the stuff she says goes over my head."

"Sounds like someone else I know," chuckled Rossi. "What's her name?"

"Sorry, Uncle Mike," a voice sounded from behind him. "I got carried – oh, am I interrupting?"

"Not at all," Mike Grayson wasn't a kid-friendly person by any means, but Rossi knew he was a softie at heart, and the smile he threw the young woman who was approaching them proved it. "C'mere, there's someone I want you to meet. Dave, this is Anthea. Kid, this is David Rossi, the –"

"I know," interrupted Anthea. Rossi took her in quickly as she came to stand in front of him. She was slightly tan, probably from too much sun, with dark eyes and auburn hair neatly clipped out of her face. She was tall, but hunched into herself slightly, her arms wrapped around a notebook that she hugged against her chest. She dressed in a pair of wide-legged trousers, a white blouse and high-heeled black boots. Rossi resisted the urge to smirk when she pulled out his newest book from inside a large black handbag that was slung over her shoulder. "I've read all your books, sir," she gave him a hesitant smile and offered her hand. "Anthea Grayson."

"Pleasure to meet you," said Rossi, accepting her hand. "Mikey tells me you're a very intelligent young woman."

"Uncle Mike likes to brag because I'm the smart one and my brother's the bad boy," despite her words, Anthea smiled brighter at his compliment. "Also, I'm the one who listens to his military stories. He never told me he knew you, though," she turned an accusatory eye to her uncle.

Mike held up his hands in surrender. "You never asked."

Anthea shook her head. "I liked your talk, Agent Rossi," she added. "You've seen some pretty crazy things."

"I have," nodded Rossi. "And you're not interested in joining the bureau?"

Anthea laughed. "Me? I just came back from a lecture on linguistics and psychoanalysis, I think I'll stick to my field."

"Oh, yeah, Dave was just –" Mike trailed off when he saw Rossi discreetly shake his head at his friend.

"I was just saying how I wanted to attend that one myself," said Rossi, noticing Anthea's confused look. "How'd you find it?"

"Well, the links between psychoanalysis and linguistics with regards to criminology are vague at best in a nineteenth century context, but the further analysis that Dr. Reid had with regards to medical practices was really fascinating. And he even gave us an example of how it's useful with regards to field work. Did you know they're making social psychology compulsory for agents who want to go into the field?" she threw the question at her uncle and continued speaking without waiting for an answer. Mike rolled his eyes. "I did a double major in English and philosophy with a minor in politics, and some of the things he said were new even to me."

Mike was shaking his head by the time Anthea had stopped to breathe, but Rossi was smiling. "And Dr. Reid? How'd you find him?" he pushed.

"He's a genius," said Anthea matter-of-factly. "I just wished he had asked us if we had any questions in the end. I had a whole page," she indicated her notebook.

"You'll find him to be slightly awkward when caught off guard and forced to interact with people," said Rossi. Anthea looked even more confused, and he indicated over her shoulder. Anthea turned around and squeaked when she saw the man she had been talking about approaching. "You can ask him your questions now, if you want," added Rossi. "He loves talking about this stuff. Hey, Spencer!"

"Hey, sorry if I kept you waiting," Spencer jogged the last few feet between them and came to stand right next to Anthea, who seemed to freeze, wide-eyed. "I – oh, hello."

"This is my friend, Mike Grayson, we served together in Vietnam," Rossi introduced. "Mike, Dr. Spencer Reid, my colleague. This is Mike's niece, Anthea," he indicated the woman standing next to him. "She was just telling us about your talk."

"Oh, you attended the talk?" Spencer turned to face her curiously. "What did you think?" Rossi rolled his eyes at the abrupt conversation start. Trust Dr. Reid to skip the social niceties.

Her awkwardness seemed to melt away when he asked her about something she was clearly familiar with. She smiled hesitantly. "I was really interested by what you said about nineteenth century medicinal practices and psychoanalysis."

Spencer's eyes lit up. "Yeah, I didn't have time or I would have gone into twentieth century as well, it's amazing how many famous people are overlooked because they're known for things that people can never link with linguistics and psychoanalysis."

"Do you mean Freud?" asked Anthea curiously, her previous nerves suddenly forgotten. "I did a paper on him but I never thought about linguistics as a form of psychoanalysis in those times."

"It's really easy to be misguided by that notion," explained Spencer. "In fact, Freud was very interested in Charcot's work and his study of female hysteria, but psychoanalysis always takes it one step further, generalizes the concept and talks about how hysteria as a concept can be studied and ultimately cured by the use of words. They called it the "talking cure" at one point because it was literally by getting a patient to talk that you could find the inherent problem and fix it. The idea was that a patient would know their own body better than anyone else, so of course they'd be able to tell the doctors exactly what was wrong. This didn't take into account the unreliability of certain patients, unfortunately, which is why it was always discredited."

"So what we'd call therapy now, they were practicing it a hundred years ago and discrediting it because of the superior effect of drugs versus words," finished Anthea.

"And if you link that with linguistics and criminology, you can find patterns in speech, tells, all sorts of things that help you profile an unsub, sometimes without even having to see him," nodded Spencer.

"I know we've done it before on any number of cases," chimed in Rossi. He noted the way both of the younger people jumped and turned to face him, as if they had forgotten he was even there. He felt Mike shake his head from next to him.

"Oh, right, of course, you're with the FBI as well," said Anthea. Rossi noticed her right index finger began to tap against the outside of her notebook, almost rhythmically.

"Our resident boy genius," he said, tearing his eyes away from her hands and clapping Spencer on the back, noting the way his cheeks turned pink. He chuckled. "Well, gang, it's been fun, but we have a plane to catch."

"I'll be up visiting you soon now that I know where you are," warned Mike, catching his hand in a firm shake and squeezing his shoulder.

"I look forward to it," smiled Rossi. He turned to Anthea and offered her his hand. "It was nice to meet you, Anthea. Say hi to your dad for me."

"I will," smiled Anthea. She shook his hand and turned to Spencer, and Rossi saw her dark eyes light up with understanding when he didn't offer her his hand, but merely smiled. Her returning smile was bright. "It was really nice to meet you, Dr. Reid."

"You too, Anthea," smiled Reid. He nodded to Mike and followed Rossi towards the parking lot.