Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction, I am simply enjoying the playground that someone else has created and only own the following words. I promise to clean up after myself and return all characters (and the plane) to their previous condition.

Author's Note: I'm sorry it has been SO LONG since my last update! I've actually had this bit written to quite some time, but long story short I wasn't able to connect my laptop to the internet and had no other way of getting the info from here to the PC that IS connected to the internet at the house I'm sitting for. I snuck back into my parents house to cook and upload this! I have a lot more written and am just putting the finishing touches on the next chapter, so I'll update that ASAP. As always I would LOVE some reviews- let me know what you're thinking! Nothing is too little. Thanks a ton everyone! Hope you enjoy- here's for you:

George Feign stood not uncomfortably, but less assured than the walk that led her there would have led one to assume, behind the door, which itself was standing slightly ajar.

"Come in."

Pushing the door open George glided quickly across the floor stopping just short of Agent Hotchner's desk, her arm extended.

Aaron Hotchner stared for a split second longer than he would have liked before composing himself. Who the hell was this person in his office? He had enough to do that morning without trying to redirect tourists or students or whatever she was back to their tour, which weren't supposed to be anywhere near his office to begin with. The team had just flown in the night before to regroup and meet with the expert they had been forced to call in after hitting yet another dead end, and tracking him down had been a nightmare in itself, and once they had found him-

"George Feign."

Aaron quickly recovered, rose from his chair, and met the brightly manicured hand in a firm, robotic shake. He had a sneaking suspicion he understand what was happening, but was desperately wishing he was mistaken.

"You are George Feign, student of Dr. Geoffrey Prestwick?" Agent Hotchner questioned, trying desperately to hold at bay the incredulous tone that was creeping in.

George's face softened slightly in a gentle smile, she was used to people expecting 'George' to be a man, or at the very least, a butch lesbian.

"Sir," her confidence restored by Hotchner's lack there of, "I'm just as curious as to why I'm here as you are surprised to find 'George' a girl."

Her blunt honesty seemed to snap the older man back into his right mind. Clearly this was the person he had sent for, if not the one he had expected.

"Ms. Feign, correct me if I'm wrong," it was a statement, not a request, "but when Dr. Prestwick retired you became the next known leading expert in Varro's work and philosophy?"

"Well if by 'retired' you mean 'committed suicide', then yes, you're entirely correct." It was sarcastic, but only slightly so; and seemingly somewhat deserved.

Agent Hotchner was not used to being spoken to like this, and his nerves were already wearing thin.

"Perhaps I should just get straight to the point and see if you're capable of helping us." His words were harsh for someone he had just met, but not entirely out of character.

"These," he said flipping open a Bureau stamped, but otherwise ordinary manila envelope, and sliding several large photographs across the desk to where George stood, "were found with the bodies of two recent murder victims in coastal New England. It has been suggested that this bears resemblance to Varro's writing. Other than that we don't know much, we were hoping Dr. Prestwick might have been able to help..." he trailed off, the unspoken question left handing in the air.

Her eyes not lifting from the glossy images she gently fingered, "It would be helpful if I could see the previous verses." Lifting her eyes she wondered why they were keeping the other notes from her; did they not think she could handle a photograph of a bloody rhyme?

Agent Hotchner looked at the young scholar standing across from him, his face becoming even sterner than it had been a moment ago. He met her expectant gaze, "These," his fingers firmly taping the photographs between the two, "are the only victims."

"You mean, you haven't found them yet?" Her comment was stripped of all sarcasm, her bright blue eyes honestly questioning the information that had just been fed to her.

A brief knock on the solid wood door broke the silence that had enveloped the room after George's discovery.

An attractive blonde pushed open the oak door, her nose buried in a manila folder similar to the one on Agent Hotchner's desk.

"Hotch, we've got another one," she sighed. "Same MO, and-" she stopped suddenly, surprised by the presence of an extra body in Hotch's office.

"Oh, I, I'm sorry," her face involuntarily reading mild shock, confusion and a healthy dose of intrigue. "I- whenever you're done," she stuttered, holding up the folder as she attempted to back out of the office and towards the bullpen where she was sure the other members of the team would love the gossip.

"No, JJ, let's see it." Agent Hotchner held up his hand first in a rather crossing-guard like manner, and then in a "this way, please" style.

"Agent Jennifer Jerau, our communication's liaison; George Feign." George noticed that Agent Hotchner always spoke in a very calm manner, and even when the obvious emphasis was placed on her name his voice still had a very reassuring quality.

"JJ, please," smiled the blonde as she made room for the file on the already crowded desk. She clearly knew that a George Feign would be coming, but...

Turning her attention mainly back to Hotch, but careful not to exclude the elephant in the room standing next to her, "Like I said, everything the same as before," her head slightly animated as she spoke, "and another lovely note," the sarcasm practically dripping from her lips as she slapped a photo on the desk.

George leaned over the desk, her slender hand carefully repositioning the photograph of the latest piece of evidence. "Six."

JJ's face twisted, "I'm sorry?" she smiled, equally perplexed by this strange woman next to her, the most recent "clue", and this woman's reaction to the clue.

Aaron Hotchner briefly closed his eyes; he knew exactly what she had meant.

"How many, total?"

Once again the clear blue eyes met squarely with the dark chocolate ones, "Ten".