A/N: I'm sorry to say that it took a bout of writer's block (on my novel) to get me here…but maybe you're not so sorry? ;)

Character Note: Two dead characters are mentioned/introduced in this chapter (not counting Gideon)—one is still dead, the other one is alive again just so I can kill him off. (Aren't I lovely?)

Nine

"I was just about to grab some dinner. Come with?"

Prentiss glanced up. "I hadn't really gotten that far."

Morgan noticed what appeared to be a ream of paper spread over the conference table and stepped further into the room.

"Copious notes and a semi-private environment. Must be an independent profile."

"Please don't tell Hotch!" Emily cried as she scurried to close the conference room door. "He's upset enough already."

Derek fingered the pages. "What have you got?"

"Not a lot…" she admitted. "Except maybe that Ananke loves Thomas Benton. He's the only one she goes after repeatedly."

"Actions often lead to clues about personality traits."

Emily smiled. "Now you sound like Reid."

"Actually, I was remembering how Gideon approached a case," Derek replied. "He said that arsonists often had significant traumas in their past, while bombers were cowards."

"The kidnapping shows that Ananke feels the need to be empowered, to be in control; while torture suggests that she has a callous disregard for human life."

"That and the indiscriminate killing," Morgan agreed. "Whether she ordered it or carried out the act personally, it still speaks volumes."

"One of the things it says to me is that she doesn't think we're properly scared of her."

"Do you think she'll kill again?"

"If she's not satisfied with the way things are going."

"What about Benton? Out of all the men in Georgetown—or even the entire District—why did Ananke pick him?"

"She wanted to hurt me."

"She did," Derek pointed out. "If it was just about hurting you, then she would have picked on the Bentons and the team and left you alone. Instead, she includes you in the attacks on the team and entirely ignores Andrea Benton."

"Do you think it's about the FBI?"

"I'm not sure what to think. If it was all about the FBI, why involve the Bentons? And if it was only about the BAU, then why involve Alissa?"

The two special agents were quiet for a while, but it was Morgan who spoke again.

"Maybe it's because Tom Benton represents something Ananke wants or is missing."

Prentiss raised her eyebrow in question.

"If she was married before and lost her husband in a fire or a car accident, she might capture a replacement."

"And Thomas Benton fits the bill."

"Right," said Morgan. "She captures him, works her 'mojo' on him and suddenly, they're married and she's pregnant with their first kid."

Emily looked thoughtful for quite a while. "I can see how this all ties together, but I still don't know what to do next."

"Go to dinner," ordered Hotchner, suddenly appearing in the doorway.

"We were just about to do that." Derek stood and snatched his jacket off the back of his chair, waiting until the supervisory special agent disappeared.

"We keep looking for her base—even if we have to search the entire country," Morgan said quietly. "When we find her, we treat her with the deference she thinks she deserves, so that she never has the chance to think that she may not be in control."

Hotchner hadn't let on, but there was a new source of irritation waiting in his office.

When Jack and Haley had been threatened by the Reaper, Assistant Director Graveolens had brought in the U.S. Marshal Service to take them out of harm's way. The same deputy had returned—this time, demanding answers.

"Deputy Samuel Kassmeyer."

"I know who you are," Aaron growled, ignoring the proffered hand. "Sit!"

Sam frowned, but took a seat on the opposite side of Agent Hotchner's desk nonetheless.

"We've got a report in from the Nevada District. They seem to think you know the whereabouts of Claire Williams."

"Never heard of her."

"Mid twenties, five-six, maybe a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet?" Hotchner shook his head just as Sam said, "Shoulder-length blonde hair, gray eyes…"

Something twitched in Aaron's stomach. "'Claire Williams', you said?"

"That's right."

"Is Ms. Williams of Dutch descent?"

"Might be." The deputy shrugged. "My contact said that Williams has an English accent and she speaks fluent French."

"Sounds like a subject we're currently tracking."

Sam made a derogatory noise. "That would be why I'm here."

"What does Nevada want with…Claire?"

"Witness testimony claims that she was associated with Frank Brietkopf for several years."

Hotchner stilled, blanching. "Brietkopf?"

"Oh, come on!" Sam cajoled. "I know you worked that case! It was the last one before Supervisory Special Agent Gideon went AWOL!"

Aaron's expression became stony. "I know which case you meant. However, there was never any indication that Frank worked with anyone. Until we started tracking him, the only person that had seen him was his 'girlfriend', Jane."

The other shrugged. "We have witnesses that place Frank Brietkopf and Claire Williams together in several different locations around the country—including four shooting ranges. Until you have evidence to the contrary, we're going with our witnesses."

Hotchner barely heard Kassmeyer. The comment about the shooting ranges had put him in mind of a song he'd heard while flipping through stations a few days before. Somehow, Hotch didn't think that Frank had found "Claire" standing in the corner with her five best friends—driving her Camero while she fired a sawed-off shotgun from the passenger seat was more their style.

"Agent Hotchner? Are you with me?"

"The only person capable of corroborating that testimony is in hiding, with a prisoner we dare not disturb."

"Oh, so you do know where she is!"

"No."

"But you just said—"

"I said nothing about knowing the location of the woman you call Claire Williams!" Aaron bit back. "I merely acknowledged that there was a woman that could prove your witnesses correct—especially since it appears that she and Ms. Williams are one and the same."

Sam considered this. "If she's in hiding, how do you know she has a hostage?"

"The gentleman's wife came forward."

"Your supposed hostage could be anywhere!"

"Thomas Benton is Cl—Ananke's prisoner," Hotch said sharply. "Special Agent Prentiss ran into him last month."

Kassmeyer smirked. "Not much of a 'prisoner', is he?"

"If you were doing your job, you'd be demanding to know why Agent Prentiss didn't take Benton into protective custody!"

Sam leaned forward, still smirking. "That's because this is all an elaborate cover-up by the FBI. You're keeping Williams to yourselves so that the BAU gets all the glory."

Hotchner rummaged through a drawer and stood up.

"Watch your attitude, or Ananke will see that you end up like this poor soul."

He slapped down a still of the unknown whose execution the BAU had witnessed weeks before.

"Now get OUT!"

Reid was unnerved when he discovered that the power was out. There hadn't been any thunderstorms recently and it had been mild enough the last few days that neither the heat nor the air had been warranted.

I bet all the other houses around here have lights, he thought.

But Reid never got the chance to check. The latch on the front door wouldn't budge and the knob at the back of the house wouldn't turn.

Ohhkayyy… Reid traipsed back through the house. At least I bought hurricane lamps when I moved out here from Las Vegas.

He arrived at the fireplace, stopped and took a deep breath. Somehow, all these years with the FBI hadn't relieved his fear of the dark. After a moment, Reid felt around on the mantel, grateful that Garcia had convinced him to trade his matches for a lighter. When the lamps were lit, he picked one up and went off in search of his cell phone.

Where on earth…? Reid stopped dead. His iPhone was charging on his desk. At work.

"Power's out, cell's gone…" he muttered, yanking at the front door once again. "Aaand I can't get out to borrow the neighbor's phone. Excellent."

It was then that he realized that the lamp he'd left burning on the mantel appeared to have gone out.

Reid debated for a few minutes whether the lamp was worth the trouble. It couldn't have run out of kerosene—he always kept his hurricane lamps filled. It must have been an old wick. Just as he decided to let it go and began thinking about where he had last seen a flashlight, the street lights went out.

"A squirrel must have run into the transformer again," he reassured himself.

But one glance out the window informed him that that was faulty logic—the rest of the houses in his line of sight appeared to be glowing brightly.

"Generators?"

But why would city people have generators? the timid part of his mind asked. Quantico is just like the District—the power is back on before any other city in the area!

Reid didn't want to admit it to himself, but he was getting a bit frantic.

Maybe it's about time to break out a window and call for help.

As if in answer to his thoughts, a cool breeze flowed over the arm holding the remaining lamp. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, but it was too late—the glass chimney hadn't been enough to protect the flame.

"Good evening, Spencer."

Reid nearly screamed, but had the foresight to place the lamp on a nearby table before he dropped it.

"It's my turn, isn't it?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

He still couldn't make out the speaker, but the woman had a Dutch/English accent that made her identity obvious.

"You subjected Morgan to date rape." Reid began ticking off the incidences on his fingers. "You gave Jareau a supernatural beauty crisis. You sent Garcia a first aid kit—presumably as a preliminary peace offering. You tortured and nearly killed Alexander. You made Prentiss watch the sexual torture of the parents of her childhood friend and then did unspeakable things to her."

He gulped and his voice grew quiet. "I'm next."

"And what do you think I intend to do to you, Spencer?"

"Any number of things, so long as I feel tortured by them." He tried to regain his earlier confidence. "Your constant use of my name is a reminder that you enjoy being in control and intend to stay that way at all times."

There was a pause in which Spencer nearly jumped a mile as a spider ran up his leg.

"Smart boy."

Author's Notes

1. Watching "No Way Out" puts me in mind of "Good Girls Go Bad" (Cobra Starship), so that's how Hotch came up with it. ;)