A/N: Please review, but do not antagonize. Anything viewed as inappropriate, demeaning or cruel will be removed.


The Fox

Dr. Thomas Fuller wrote, 'With foxes, we must play the fox.'

Two weeks flew by faster than I thought they would and I was given the all clear to re-enter the field. Bright lights and loud sounds still bugged me a bit, but not nearly as much as they had in Des Plains. When I arrived at the office, I was met by Hotch and his wife, Haley, who had brought baby Jack in to meet the team. When we all stepped out into the lobby outside the BAU, Garcia descended upon us like a colorized shadow, a look of pure adoration on her face. JJ, Reid and Morgan soon joined us. Personally, I could never see myself having kids of my own, I was content with being the cool aunt to my many nieces and nephews. JJ and Garcia, on the other hand, absolutely gushed over Jack.

"He's so gorgeous!"

"Thank you." Haley smiled, watching as her husband rocked their son in his arms.

"If you find baldness and wrinkles attractive." Reid deadpanned. I swatted him on the shoulder and Garcia glared up at him.

"Look at his little witty bitty nose!" She said sweetly, "Don't you want one of these?"

Morgan smirked and shook his head, "I'll stick to practicing."

"You're despicable." I chuckled as Elle appeared out of nowhere and handed me a case file. I stepped away and began to thumb through the pages. Two families murdered in their homes. This wasn't good.

"How bad is it?" Morgan asked me as everyone else bade Haley and Jack goodbye and walked toward the War Room. I held out the file to him.

"See for yourself." I said as we walked together through the bullpen.

When we arrived in the War Room, Gideon had already set up a board of photos and notes regarding the two families.

"Crawford family. Murdered three days ago." He said, not bothering to turn away from the board.

"Saw it on the news," Morgan said as he sat down, "Found in the basement of their house. Bags packed for a vacation they never took. Reports said is was a murder/suicide. Father stabbed the mom and then shot himself."

The reports on the news had made it all sound so cut and dry. But the case file said that there was more to this.

"That's the conclusion Maryland State Police came to," JJ nodded, pulling up a series of photos on the TV, "The gun was found next to the father. He had gunpowder residue on his right hand."

"And now you must have some compelling reason to think that Chris Crawford didn't off his family?" Morgan asked.

"Yeah." A new family appeared on the TV, "The Millers, found a month ago. The mother, Reese Miller, her two children and her new husband. Again, they were found in their basement, and like the Crawfords, their suitcases were packed for a vacation."

"Says here both families were found five days after they were supposed to leave, but the coroner said they had been dead for only twenty-four hours." I observed, going over the medical reports.

"He keeps them for four days, then kills them on the fifth. And during that time, both families remained in the house. Location of the bodies was the basement for both families. That indicates a level of organization." Gideon said.

"With a quick, yet disorganized application of overpowering force." Morgan muttered.

"If these aren't murder/suicides, someone's doing a damn good job of making them look like it."

"Possibly this man." The mugshot of an evidently drunk man appeared on the screen, "Eric Miller. Biological father of the Miller children. Arlington P.D. issued a bulletin for Miller after the bodies were discovered. Ex-wife Reese Miller had a restraining order against him for domestic violence."

"When did she get remarried?" Morgan asked.

"A week before they were killed." JJ replied sadly.

"Violent husbands believe their wives and children are property. Reese Miller getting remarried possibly made him snap."

"Well, Virginia cops finally located Eric Miller last night responding to a drunken disturbance at a motel where he had been hiding out. When they found him, they discovered blood on his black leather jacket. It belonged to his children."

"Was any of his DNA found at the Crawford house?" Elle asked. JJ shook her head.

"Did he know the Crawfords?" I tacked on.

"If he does, he's not saying. He hasn't said a word since his arrest."

"Arlington P.D. has asked us to interview him." Hotch said.

Reid pulled out a photo of Eric Miller from his case file and gave a low whistle, "If anyone could apply overwhelming force, he's your man."

"I want you to find out." Gideon said, making all of us turn to look at him in surprise, "Talk to him."

"You want me to talk to him?" Reid seemed flabbergasted by Gideon's request. He had never led an interview before.

Gideon shrugged, "Yeah. You've done interviews with other agents running point. You can go solo. Barkley, I want you to come with me and Morgan to the Crawford house. I want you to observe the family dynamic in the house, determine if there are any skeletons in their closets."

"You got it, boss."


The Crawford house held many secrets within its walls. I could tell just by looking at it when we first arrived. We entered through the garage, where a sedan and a SUV sat. The sedan was rusting around the wheel wells and was in desperate need of a trip to the car wash. But the SUV looked like it was brand new; one parent was obsessed with maintaining appearances. The garage led into the kitchen where I remained, while Morgan and Gideon headed downstairs to the basement.

Here's where the hundreds of thousands of dollars invested into three degrees in psychology paid off. The first thing that caught my eye was the series of paintings and achievements tacked up on the fridge. From the look of it, both Emily and Sam Crawford were intelligent and happy kids. The paintings were bright and full of color, indicating a positive environment at home. Then I noticed a different painting. It wasn't like any of the others, rather it was dark, monochromatic and had dimensions. Emily's name was on the right corner, but it didn't look like anything else she had painted. I slipped on a pair of gloves and pulled the picture off the fridge before walking into the adjoining family room. Gideon and Morgan were already there.

"What did you find?" The former asked as he stared up at the ceiling.

"Aside from Allison Crawford's desire to maintain appearances, the Crawfords were a very loving family. I found no evidence that there was any form of mistreatment or neglect. But I did find this." I handed the painting to Gideon, "It was painted by Emily, but it's unlike any other painting that was hanging on the refrigerator door. It's dark, it has three dimensions and I believe that it's of this house."

"I agree," Gideon nodded and he began to wander about the room, "Chris Crawford's car is in disrepair, while Allison's SUV is in pristine condition. The file says that Allison drove the children to school and they attended private school. Designer magazines conspicuously placed, expensive modern furniture, plasma screen TV. But behind the curtains, water damage."

Morgan and I both looked to where Gideon had been staring earlier and saw a faint yellow-brown stain peeking out from behind the curtains.

"Allison spent money on the things her friends could see and neglected those they couldn't. The Crawfords lived beyond their means."

"So where'd the extra cash come from?" Morgan asked.

"Get Garcia to check their financial records." I nodded and pulled out my cell while Morgan stepped away. A few rings later and I was met with the cheerful voice of Penelope Garcia.

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise, getting a call from my favorite ass-kickin' Marine."

"Garcia, I'm pretty sure I'm the only Marine you know." I laughed.

"Which is why you're my favorite," She replied, "What do you need?"

"We're at the Crawford house and it looks like they were spending more money than they had. Would you mind doing some digging?"

"Digging is my specialty, I'll get back to you lickity-split." She said, before hanging up. The grin on my face remained until I found Morgan standing in front of the back door, his eyes glued to the dog door that was sealed shut.

"No dog collar was found, right?"

I shrugged, "Could be that the dog didn't have one. I only put a collar on Kruger when I walk him."

"No. He'd have to have one," He lightly tapped the dog door with his foot, "The dog door opens automatically via a chip in the dog's collar. If anything attempted to get in without one, the alarm would've been activated. Tess, when the police got here, the house was locked tight and the alarm was hot."

"So the only way in or out was with the dog collar." I concluded. He turned to face me and nodded.

"Whoever did this had to be a big guy, Tess. Chris Crawford was a black belt in judo."

I pulled out my Glock and pointed it at him, my finger as far away from the trigger as possible, and arched a brow, "So are you. But now, I've got a gun aimed at your chest. Sure, you could try and get it out of my hands, but your children are in the room. And if you fail, they die. Does it matter how big I am now, Derek?"

He scoffed softly as I holstered my handgun, but his dark eyes held an inkling of concern, "Are you okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I know you've been cleared for the field, but you took a hard blow in Illinois. I just want to make sure you're okay." He said, taking a step forward.

I stepped back, leading him back into the family room where Gideon was still standing, "Thanks for the concern, but I'm fine."

"Bound or not, Allison Crawford would have put up a fight." The old timer said, "Emily and Sam would've been sobbing."

"Chris Crawford didn't kill his family. And there's no evidence that Eric Miller was ever in the house or even knew-"

"HELP ME! HELP! PLEASE! HELP ME! NO! NO! PLEASE! PLEASE, NO! NO! OH MY GOD! AHHHHH!" Gideon screamed at the top of his lungs in front of the bay window. I clutched at my ears as a ringing echoed in them and watched as, across the street, a light turned on in response the yelling.

"Why didn't anyone hear them scream?"


We returned to the BAU shortly after Gideon's little scream fest. We had brought the painting I had taken from the Crawford's fridge with us and taped it onto the whiteboard, surrounded by photos of both families. Now, Morgan and I sat at the back of the room, clutching cups of coffee as though our lives depended on it, because at the time, it felt like it did. Elle, Reid and Hotch filled us in on what had happened with Eric Miller and we had reached the same conclusion. Miller was innocent.

"I believe the UnSub had control over the family." Gideon began, "He may have separated each family member. Tells the mother, 'if you scream, I'll kill your children'. Tells the children, 'if you cry, I'll kill mommy.' The suspect found a way of restraining them without leaving marks. Based on lividity, the M.E. estimates that the father was the last to die."

"Which means he witnessed the whole thing." Morgan murmured.

"The ultimate torture." I said darkly, "Watching as a stranger murders your entire family. The UnSub must've known that these families were going vacation; that was how he knew he would have time to spend with them."

"Look at travel agents, relatives, work colleagues, contract workers, children's tutors." Gideon ordered. Garcia buzzed in over the phone. Hotch was with her looking into the Crawfords' spending habits.

"Gideon, we've been looking at the Crawfords' financials." He said, before letting Garcia take over.

"Allison Crawford spent way more money than Chris could afford. They were in major debt. And Chris Crawford wrote a number of checks for a series of visits to a therapist."

"Most likely for marriage counseling or to air his own personal greivances." I suggested.

"Allison also had two separate phone accounts, one of them billed to a separate address in southeast Washington D.C."

"Hotch, you, me, Morgan and Elle will look into it. Reid and Barkley will help Garcia dig deeper into the Crawfords' and Millers' finances. Crosscheck for any overlap between the two families in their spending."


"Remind me to talk to HR about getting you a bigger office. I can barely breathe in here with two other people." I said as I wedged myself between Reid and Garcia, coffee cup number three in hand.

"Please. My tech cave needs an expansion." Garcia begged. I laughed and even Reid cracked a smile. On the array of screens in front of us, file upon file of finances for both families. We had spent the last forty-five minutes digging around for anything that the Millers or the Crawfords had spent a cent on.

There was a knock on the door and the three of us wheeled around to see Hotch standing in the doorway. He pointed a finger at me then motioned for me to follow him.

"What do you need?" I asked as he led me down to the interrogation rooms.

"We've taken a potential suspect into custody. He had a painting that Emily Crawford made and the cell phone that Allison Crawford paid for."

"And?"

"And he appears to be a severe manic-depressive. I'd like you to lead the questioning, given your background." He stopped in front of the first room. Gideon and Elle were inside the observation area, while Morgan sat across from a mountain of a man in the interrogation room. The large man looked unclean, he wore dirty clothes and his face was red and grubby. He rocked slightly in his chair, clearly he was uncomfortable. Hotch held the door open for me and I stepped inside.

"Introduce yourself using your title." Gideon instructed me without turning to face Hotch or myself, "Morgan will be in the room just in case and we'll be watching."

"What's his name?" I asked as I set a hand on the door into the interrogation room.

"Frank." Elle told me. I nodded once and opened the door. Morgan and Frank both turned to look at me as I shut the door behind me. I offered Frank a gentle smile.

"Hello, Frank. I'm Dr. Tess Barkley, a clinical psychologist for the Bureau. If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a few questions." I took a seat next to Morgan and kept my eyes locked on Frank. He shifted a bit in his chair, his own gaze falling to the tabletop and nodded.

"Do you know why you're here, Frank?"

He shook his head and quietly said, "No."

"Agents found a painting in your house that was painted by Emily Crawford. Did you know the Crawford family?"

"Y-yeah."

"How did you know them?"

"Alli, sh-she's my sister. But Chris, he doesn't like it when I come to the house. That's why Alli bought me a phone. So I could talk to her, cause Chris wouldn't let me see her."

Frank was opening up, but his emotions were starting to become more relevant as well. I narrowed my eyes.

"Did you forget to take your medication today, Frank?"

His face turned even redder and he shook his head, "It makes me feel wrong!"

"It's dangerous for you to stop taking your medication, Frank. What are you taking?"

"I- I don't know! Something starting with an L-"

"Lamictal." I knew exactly what he was taking. He nodded and tried to point at me, but his hand was restrained by the cuff.

"That."

"Frank, did it make you feel wrong enough to kill the Crawfords?" I asked delicately. He looked at me guiltily.

"I- uh, I did a- a bad thing." He admitted, his hands began to fidget.

"What did you do?"

"I shouldn't have gone to the house. Allison always told me not to. He did it. Chris killed them, I know he did."

"Frank, what bad thing did you do?" I pressed. He took a deep breath and finally met my eye.

"The one rule was to never go to the house. That was the only rule. Allison said that if Chris saw me, he would never let me see her again. He was gonna lock me up in the looney bin. He never liked me."

"You said you went to the house."

"She said she couldn't visit me anymore. I just wanted to see her. Seeing Allison made everything better. But they cut my phone off. That day! The day I went to see them! They cut my phone off! I never would've gone to the house if they hadn't cut my phone off!"

"Frank," I regained his attention and he calmed down a bit, "You went to the house. What did you do?"

"I- it was dark. And... and cold. I went around the side to look through the window. My breath... steamed up the glass and I wiped it clean. And I could see them, sitting down for dinner. I saw Emily and Sam. Sam was crying, I guess he was in trouble."

"Did you see Allison?"

"Yeah. She was saying grace over the table. And then she looked up and saw me. She mouthed something to me, I think it was 'get the hell out.' So I left."

"Did Chris see you?"

He shook his head, "No. He wasn't there. But a friend was at the head of the table."

"A friend?"

"Mm hmm. I saw someone."

"What did they look like?"

Frank thought for a minute and narrowed his gaze, "I- I didn't see their face, but uh, he was tiny. Really tiny."

"White or black, Frank?"

"Uh, I don't know. But... the hair. It was red." Realization suddenly fell across his face and he looked between Morgan and myself, "It- it wasn't a friend."

"Frank." I said, attempting to calm him. When it didn't work, I flagged Gideon and Hotch inside.

"It wasn't a friend at all. It was him. He's the one who killed them."

"Frank, I need you to calm down."

He began to hyperventilate, then proceeded to start pounding his head with his massive fists. Gideon, Morgan and Hotch moved in to pin Frank against the wall. I stepped away.

A few minutes went by before Frank finally settled down. We released him from our custody and I recommended a psychiatrist in southeast D.C. that he could speak to about medication. Everyone gathered in the War Room and began tossing a few ideas around.

"We know both families had a dog. And both houses had a dog door." Morgan started.

"Frank Fielding said that the person he saw was small. In order to get through the dog door, he'd have to be 5'4" tops and thin." I said.

"When you have eliminated the impossible whatever remains, however improbable must be the truth." Gideon smiled.

"Sherlock Holmes is a fictional character." Morgan deadpanned, "Whoever did this isn't."

"We can be pretty sure he's probably found himself another family by now." Hotch said, "But we won't do us any good to keep working this case without any sleep. Everyone go home and get some rest. We'll pick this up at 0900."


On my way into the office the following morning, I stopped by JJ's office to deliver her usual morning pick-me-up. She looked tired, like she had been on the phone all night. She was wrapping up a conversation with someone now.

"Ok. No, I understand. Yeah. I figured as much. Thank you." She hung up and huffed, accepting the extended coffee cup and walking with me into the bullpen. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gideon already in the War Room, though no one else had arrived yet. Not even Hotch.

"How long's he been here?" I asked, nodding in Gideon's direction.

"Not sure. But he's been staring at those photos for a while now. I just hope he can find a connection, cause I sure as hell can't." JJ and I stopped at my desk. I set my bag down and JJ took a seat on my desktop, her gaze turning from tired to amused.

"So, what happened with you and Morgan after we left?"

"He watched me fill a trashcan with vomit as the result of a grade three concussion." I smirked, taking a seat in my swivel chair.

"Gross. But only part of the story, that's pretty obvious."

"Ooh, look at you." I joked, "We'll make a profiler of you yet, JJ."

"Come on." She shoved my shoulder, "Spill."

"I don't know what you think may have happened, but nothing happened. I was stuck in bed for two days and then he insisted on driving me back to Virginia. That's all."

"What's all?" Speak of the devil. Morgan walked in with Hotch not far behind. The former took a seat a his desk, glancing between JJ and myself.

"JJ seems to be convinced something happened between us while we were still in Des Plains." I laughed.

"If consider watching Barkley blow chunks for eight hours something, then yeah." Morgan smiled.

"Morning." Reid greeted us as he strode over to his desk. A few seconds later, Elle walked in but Gideon remained in the War Room. It was time to get to work.

"JJ, what did you find?" Hotch asked as soon as everyone had gathered.

"Nothing. I've called doctors, lawyers, travel agents, tutors, contract workers. I got nothing."

"So why target these families? What about them made them so appealing to the UnSub?" I asked, eyeing Morgan.

"Well, to know why, we have to know how." Hotch said, also eyeing Morgan. He sighed and straightened up a bit.

"We know that organized killers are often skilled workers with above average intelligence, higher social status and, in most cases, male. In the workplace, he's socially confident. And with women, sexually confident. Every offense is preplanned, targeting the victim is almost as pleasurable as the actual kill. These guys, they're meticulous. It's a compulsion. Everything has to have its proper place. They do exhaustive amounts of research on their victims. They watch their every move, every last detail is observed. Everything has to be written ever so neatly in a book or possibly a journal. When the kids are comin' home from school, when daddy'll be home. Playtime. Suppertime. Bath time. Bedtime. Plan the work, work the plan. This is the way he maintains control. It's also how he personalizes his target so nothing's left to chance. And absolutely nothing is left out of place, ever. So he plans the work, and when he's good and ready, he's gonna work that plan. He takes great pride in his job. I think the workplace has to be the connection."

Gideon rushed over to us at that moment, clutching two paintings in his hands.

"Both are by Emily, painted months apart." He lifted the painting in his left hand, "This one is full of color, life. The one that Tess found at the Crawford house has lines, dimensions. No color. I believe Emily was coerced to paint this. It's a point of view. It's his point of view. This is where the killer stood and just watched the family."

A soft metallic clang, followed by the sound of something spinning on hardwood came from Elle's desk. I glanced over to see Hotch had taken off his wedding band and spun it on the desktop.

"Each of the dead husbands was missing his wedding ring. This is the UnSub's trophy. He targets a family because he's lost his own."

"And he can do whatever he wants with them because no one's gonna come looking for them. They're supposed to be on vacation." I concluded.

"Let's get forensics to check the inside of Chris Crawford's clothes." Gideon instructed, "The suspect may have worn them to... complete the fantasy."

"So why kill them?" Elle asked.

"Because no fantasy can last forever." I replied.

"Well, do we know anything that can help us identify this bastard?"

"Wait a minute." Reid straightened in his chair. He had been going through the case file and had found something.

"Chris Crawford worked for the IRS. And Reese Miller worked as a secretary at the GAO."

"That makes them both government employees." I said, standing up and nodding to him, "Let's get Garcia on it."

"The rest of us will look into Chris Crawford and Reese Miller's workplaces." Gideon set both paintings on the nearest desk and left to grab his jacket.


"We need to stop meeting like this, you two." Garcia waggled her eyebrows at the computer screens as she typed away, "People will talk. But then, talk is cheap."

"Not when you're talking to a therapist." Reid pointed out, leaning in to get a closer look at the array of screens.

"The Crawfords made twelve weekly payments to the Applewood Family Medical Center."

"What about the Millers?" I asked.

A few keystrokes later, we ended up with squat.

"No."

"How about pharmaceuticals?" Reid inquired, "Nobody gets therapy these days without a healthy dose of medication."

I chuckled a bit, "What are you implying, Reid?"

"That everyone is medicated."

"Did you just make a joke?" Garcia asked, a wide grin on her face.

"No. I meant statistics. They show that-"

"Reid, next time, just say yes. Now, medication normally requires reimbursement from the HMO and since Reese Miller works for the government like us, we share the same healthcare provider."

I scrunched my brows together, "Are you hacking into the government's HMO database?"

"Yep."

"Is that legal?"

"Nope. We'll all go to prison and Reid will become somebody's bitch."

Reid looked at her with a mixture of fear and intrigue, "Really?"

"Oh. Right there. Good call, Reid. Mrs. Reese Miller, diazepam." Garcia said.

"That's for anxiety. Who prescribed the meds?" I asked her. She typed away for a minute or two until she found the answer.

"Dr. R. Howard at the Applewood Family Center. Let's find out what he looks like." She pulled up a photo not of a man, but of a middle-aged woman.

"Dr. Howard isn't a he."

I pulled out my cell and dialed Hotch's number. It rang a few times before he picked up.

"Hotchner."

"Hotch, it's Tess. We've found a Dr. Rachel Howard at the Applewood Family Medical Center. The Crawfords went to therapy there and Reese Miller received a prescription for diazepam from Dr. Howard. Garcia is sending you the address."

"We'll head over there now. Good work."


The team, with the exception of Hotch, didn't return until several hours later, with a small red-headed man bound in handcuffs and ankle chains in tow. Morgan was clutching a bloody gauze pad over his arm so I ignored the UnSub's attempt to flirt and went straight over to him.

"Oh, do tell." I grinned.

"For your information," He smirked and walked over to his desk and took a seat, "That son of a bitch nicked me while I was saving a baby."

"So heroic." I gushed sarcastically, pulling a first aid kit out of the top drawer of my desk, "I'm sure that story'll get you plenty of ladies next time you go to O'Keefe's."

"Maybe I'm trying to impress only one person in particular." His smirk softened, his eyes became serious. I shook my head and my grin fell away.

"Sorry, Morgan. But it's against my personal code to date co-workers." I pulled the gauze off of Morgan's arm and let out a small sigh of relief. The gash wasn't that deep and it had already stopped bleeding.

"Don't pull that with me, Tess. You and I both know there's something between us." He said quietly, his eyes locked on me as I went to work stitching him up.

"Is that why you refused to let the EMTs sew you up at the scene?" I asked, ignoring his powerful stare.

He winced a bit as I worked on his arm and shook his head, "I'd rather have it done by someone I trust."

"And I'd rather have it done by a professional, but here we are." I deadpanned, finishing up the final stitch. I wrapped a bit of gauze around the wound and stepped away. Or tried to; he grabbed my hand before I could get out of reach.

"Derek-"

"You can't run from this, Tess."

"I'm not trying to run." I said lowly, loud enough that only he could hear, "But you should be."

I broke free of his grip and walked back over to my desk. Hotch finally walked in holding a small decorative box in his hands. Everyone else followed closely behind.

"We got him. Karl Arnold confessed to the murders of both families." JJ said.

"They weren't the only ones." Hotch said, his normally steady voice, cracking ever so slightly as he spoke, "I found this in Karl's office."

He opened the box and tipped it over onto Elle's desk. Eight wedding rings clambered onto the hardwood, echoing eerily off the empty walls of the BAU.

'I guess humans like to watch a little destruction. Sand castles, houses of cards, that's where they begin. Their great skill is their capacity to escalate.'

- Markus Zusak