Hello all. This one's been bouncing in my head for a while, and though I have lots of others in limbo, I'm gonna go ahead with this one. Please note that I am not hearing-impaired, so any information that is in error is 'cause I just don't know, even with the research. Hope you enjoy!

A/N: In this fic people will be speaking using American Sign Language as well as spoken English. If you see little dashes on the side of dialogue, it means it's being signed. If there's quotations and dashes, it's being signed and spoken.

Silence.

It wrapped around everything like an invisible cloak, turning the dark night into a silent movie with no subtitles.

He could see the couple walking along the side path, fingers flying, faces contorting as their conversation carried on. The girl was staring into his eyes, taking in every flick of movement that his hands conveyed.

--Come on, tell me—what's it sound like?--

--It's strange. Like when you rub your fingers in sand. Scratchy.--

--Doesn't it bug you? The cochlear, I mean? Ruins your hairline…--

The young man smiled at his girlfriend. --No. Well, taking a shower is harder, because it can't get wet, but still…--

The conversation carried on. Obviously they were in love. It won't last, now that he's "changed." Become someone else—taken another piece of his world and destroyed it, making it smaller.

He walks up, passing the happy couple. Smiles. Waves. It never occurs to the girl to run after he hits her boyfriend square in the head. Boyfriend, for all his work at hearing, doesn't even hear her scream. Seconds later, she too falls silent.

Pulling out a long, jagged knife, he sets about his work. They were going to destroy his world. His language, his culture—everything that makes him "him."

And for that, they should be silenced.

The lights were off in JJ Jareau's office early that morning. In fact, the entire BAU bullpen was swathed in complete and total darkness.

Someone forget to flip on the backup lights? the agent thought as she made her way into her office. The lights in the bullpen flickered, but never made their way to full power. Climbing the stairs, she strolled towards the door with her nameplate on it and fished around for the key. To her surprise, the door was slightly ajar.

"What the…" she began, reaching to put her hand on her sidearm. She always locked that door. Always. With all the files and records that passed over her desk for the team, she knew better than to leave the door ajar, inviting someone to pick through all that paperwork and try something that could cause backlash.

JJ reached for the light switch and flipped the tab upward. The lights never flickered.

"Good morning," a voice said suddenly, startling her. JJ pulled the pistol out of her holster and aimed it at the source.

"Federal agent," she snapped. "Show yourself." The pistol in her hand never wavered.

The figure sitting in the chair across from the door rose slowly, taking careful steps towards her. "Agent Jareau, it's best for now we don't have the lights on. Technically, I'm not supposed to be here…"

"I said, show yourself!"

The figure stepped into the little bit of light that flickered from the bullpen. The face was one JJ recognized, but only vaguely.

"I know you from somewhere…" she said, lowering the gun.

"Three years ago. Your unsub was trying to take out a few people I had to look after. I assume things have been better since?" the woman said, smiling.

"Chase," JJ said, heaving a sigh of relief. "What are you doing here?"

"There's a problem at my 'other job,'" the woman said, returning to her seat. JJ sat down at her desk and flipped on the desk lamp—it was run by a battery, and provided just enough light to see.

"What sort of 'problem'?"

The woman—Chase—pulled out a thin manila envelope. "You been hearing about those murders just outside DC?"

JJ scanned her recollections a minute. "Four bodies, laid out in plain sight, hands and tongues cut out?"

"Yep. That's them."

"What about them?"

"Those bodies? They're all people connected to the Institute campus. And there's two more." The woman slid over another envelope, white this time, containing a second series of photographs. "David Lincoln and Abby Kensington. Murdered last night, and left like this. That's six in two months, JJ. Now, I'm good—well, better than good—but this even I can't quite figure out. And I have the feeling more will be next."

JJ's eyes widened. "I'll talk to the team, first thing. They should be coming in any minute now."

"Early risers, huh?"

"You should know. I assume you've done your homework?"

"Always." Chase sat back in the chair a moment. "Until you talk with them, can I assume that officially I'm not in this building?"

JJ looked on at the figure, sitting comfortably in the shadows. "Of course," she said, tossing a smile over her shoulder as she went to set up the round table room.

If Chase is here, then there's something completely wrong, she thought. She doesn't come in for just anything…