"Garcia! Can you stop it?" Rossi felt sick about this viral invasion of Hotch's privacy.

"No. I'm sorry, Sir. But once it's out there, it's like on a million different servers and multiplying like bunnies and…no…I'm so sorry. So, so sorry…"

"Baby Girl, can you trace it?" Morgan thought if they could use the image of the Unit Chief's genitals to locate their unsub, he might be able to convince himself that it was, in the end, a good thing that Hotch's crotch was blasted across the planet.

A storm of keystrokes played beneath Garcia's words. "Working…working…and…hang on…almost there…and…and…" Her tone changed from temporizing to triumphant. "Got it! Dallas public library, Park Forest branch at 3421 Forest Lane."

Morgan and Prentiss were off like shots fired from a smoking muzzle. They knew the chances of catching Megan onsite were slim to nonexistent, but it was better than standing around, a helpless audience to Hotch's degradation.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Two hours later, the duo returned, looking as sour as Rossi's stomach felt.

"She slipped in behind a kid who didn't use up all his allotted time on the public computers and didn't bother to log himself out when he was done." Prentiss sounded disgusted. Whether with their unsub or the loophole-ridden security of the library system was unclear.

"Any chance she knew him? Anything useful from security cameras in the area?"

"Nope." Morgan plopped into a chair; every move indicative of frustrated rage. "The kid was still there working on a book report. Cheating on a book report, actually. He'd been trying to find something online he could copy and claim as his own."

J.J. shook her head. "Disappointing. Library resources are supposed to be a learning aid, not a way to avoid it. Probably took as much time to search for a way around having to do the assignment, as it would have taken to, you know, do the assignment."

"Yeah, well. Be that as it may…" Rossi scrubbed both palms across eyes that itched from the dry, recirculated PD air. "Cameras? Anything?"

"No. You can see her plain as day walking away. She must've taken public transport or parked far enough away that there'd be no chance of catching a vehicle or license plate." Morgan sighed. "She knows what she's doing."

"And we already know what she looks like, so that footage is worthless." Reid glanced up at Rossi. "She even knows when a disguise isn't necessary based on the hospital tapes."

The older agent nodded. He'd spent enough time scouring footage to have seen Megan's unremarkable appearance traversing the parking lot and halls. He'd seen her enter Hotch's room, but there were no cameras inside. Privacy considerations vetoed surveillance within individual rooms he was told by the security staff. Something he found ironic in light of the severe breach of the Unit Chief's privacy that stemmed from such a nicety.

Rossi scowled once more at the graphic image that was blanketing the planet with Hotch's humiliation before deleting it forever…at least from his phone. "She's going to get overconfident. She'll slip up because she's either that egotistical, or because she thinks her cause is so just that some kind of righteous fate will protect her. She'll slip. And then, we'll get her."

"Yeah, but in the meantime she's wreaking one hell of a lot of havoc." Prentiss sighed. "So we wait?"

"So we wait."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As a disgruntled team dispersed, Morgan sidled closer to Rossi.

The senior agent glanced up. "I think I'm gonna see if I can toss a little more scare into the legal shark-pool, Derek. Maybe if the lawyers hear it enough times, they'll believe that this unsub can bring them down in other ways besides poison and bullets. If she did this to Hotch, she might decide to stir the pot a little more by airing some of their clients' dirty laundry over the internet. Then…" He sighed. "…I think I'm gonna go back and sit with Hotch for a while."

"Uh…about that…can we talk for a minute?" Morgan's uncharacteristic demeanor of serious discomfort, as well as his lowered voice, tweaked Rossi's interest…and alarm.

Now what?! "Sure. Is here okay, or you need someplace more private than PD headquarters?"

"Let's walk."

Surprised at the suggestion, Rossi followed Morgan out to the street. The two men ambled along at a slow pace, seemingly nothing more than colleagues engaged in a companionable break.

"What's up?"

"Rossi, when that bitch had us, I had to say some things. About Hotch. I was trying to get her to identify with him, you know?"

"Mmmmm…" Dave kept walking, wondering where Morgan was headed.

"The thing is…I didn't know for sure, but I laid it out…this theory I had about Hotch. About where he came from. How he grew up."

Rossi's steps faltered to a stop. He continued to study the sidewalk, frowning.

"I, uh…I went through this whole thing about how he'd been abused as a kid. And it did kind of work. She backed off a little from hurting him, or, you know, using him. But…" Morgan paused to draw breath.

"But you want to know if what you suspect is true?" Such a softly spoken question. So much resignation and sorrow behind it.

"Not really my business, man. And I was spinning tales for all I knew, but…" Derek swallowed as Rossi looked up, making eye contact. Holding it.

"But what?"

"But right before she left, before she OD'd him, she said that he could hear everything going on around him. Could understand what we were saying. If that's true…"

Rossi's shoulders slumped in defeat. "Then Hotch heard you. And…"

"I didn't mean to hurt him or step over any lines. You know that, right? I mean, he knows that, right?"

"Derek, Hotch would understand anything you had to do or say in a hostage situation. You were trying to save all your lives. And for better or worse, it worked. She's a murderer, but she didn't kill any of you." Rossi took a steadying breath. "As for how much Hotch could hear or understand, let's not jump to conclusions. Stay focused on catching our unsub. For all we know, her saying that was just another part of whatever sick, twisted game she thinks she's playing."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Several miles away, unseen, a tear slid from beneath Hotch's closed eyelids.

Followed by another.

He wasn't just aware. He was exquisitely aware. Harshly, painfully, unjustly aware.

The knowledge that his childhood secrets were public property, and the feeling of lips followed by the click-and-flash of a photograph being taken while he was fully exposed, left him feeling worse than bare.

Picked clean.

A carcass in the desert with nothing left of value or interest.

Revealed and reviled.

The last thing he wanted to do was fight his way back.