Given the extensive burns, it was taking the ME far longer to identify their latest victim. Profiling the copycat was harder, as a single crime made it hard to deduce any conclusive behavioral patterns. They needed a second person to attribute to him first, though nobody was willing to say it out loud.

The abduction and dump sites of the original three victims give them an idea of their first unsub's comfort zone. Profiling him was easier, whereas the copycat was more of a mystery. Why had he chosen to imitate this particular MO? Why now? And why this victim?

Despite Garcia's best digging, and hours of talking through theories, they still had more questions than answers when he got the call. Reid braced himself before answering.

"Hey," he said. "Is everything okay?"

"I saw on the news that there's a copycat. They said the branding was different this time. That it had something inscribed in a square." Bianca got straight to the point, not bothering with small talk. How had the media known about that? Without fail, it seemed, someone in the investigation would leak small details to the press for a quick profit. Every city, every case, something would make its way into newspapers and TV reports that had no business being broadcast to the general public. "Do you have a picture of it?"

The logical side of him screamed that he should lie, and keep her from getting involved. But with her, his heart always trumped his head. There was something about the way she asked that sounded certain. As though that was the one thing she had been dreading hearing. The symbol wasn't anything he recognized, and they had no other leads. What could it hurt if she saw it?

"I'm sending it to you now," he said. It took him a few seconds to get the photo to send by text, and when she finally received it, he heard an unsettling gasp from the other end of the phone. "Bianca? What is it?"

"I'm coming to Columbus as soon as I can," she said, her voice shaking.

He bolted upright in the plastic chair. "What? Why?" There was no need for that. He needed her there, he needed her safe. Not getting wrapped up in a case she had nothing to do with.

Her response made his stomach drop. "Because I've seen design that before."

Hotch wasn't exactly pleased to hear he'd sent her the photo. "It's not like we had any other leads," Reid countered. "Besides, the media already knew about it. She's not going to share it with anyone, but Hotch she recognized it. This could be what we need to find the copycat." It was best, he decided, if he neglected to mention who that copycat might be.

A few hours later, she was there, looking entirely rattled. As though she'd seen a ghost. Perhaps family was like that – there in the back of your mind to remind you of things you'd rather forget. Haunting you with memories of your own past, that which had long since been buried.

"There's something I need to explain about that symbol," she said. JJ, Kate, and Morgan were sitting around the table, going over various pieces of evidence, and Reid led her over to them.

"So you know what this is?" JJ asked. She nodded towards the picture on the wall, the burn mark on their Jane Doe's skin. "I mean, Garcia ran it through a few reverse image searches, and it didn't turn up anything. It just looks like a bunch of random shapes."

Bianca strode over to the evidence boards. Her eyes wandered to the photos tacked up, pictures of the young women. Lives cut too short too soon. Taking one of the dry erase markers, she wrote on the white board. "It's not random shapes at all. When you carve something into metal, it's easier to make straight lines than curved ones." Pointing to the picture of the burned brand, she began to draw. The largest square became a circle, the two smaller squares became something like a B with a line through the bottom. "Even now it looks confusing, but the shapes are initials." This time she started with the inner shapes, deliberately tracing each one. An R within a B within an O.

Bianca turned to them, her face grim. "ROB. Richard Obadiah Brown."

"Brown?" Morgan repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"My brother."

Kate frowned, opening her mouth to ask something. Before any further clarification could be made, Hotch and Rossi came into the station, having returned from the ME. Catching sight of them, Bianca made her way back out of the conference room to give them space to work.

"We've got an identification on our latest victim," said Rossi, once she was gone. "Name is Mia Kemper. She's a sophomore at the Columbus College of Art and Design. According to her roommates, she never came home after her shift at the campus library."

"She didn't show up on any security cameras between the library and her dorm, so we don't have anything to help us identify our second unsub," Hotch added.

"No, we do." Both agents turned to look at Reid. "Bianca recognized that symbol he used. It's her brother's initials."

"Do we really think he's the copycat? Reid, are you sure about this?" Kate asked. "It's her brother. Her family. What if she's making a mistake?"

"She's not!" he snapped. He was her family, and she knew what she was doing. "She knows Rick far better than we do. I trust her, and I know what she's been through. If you had any idea what her family was like, you wouldn't ask that!"

"Spence, you need to calm down. We're only trying to help here," JJ said. "We don't have concrete proof that Richard Brown is involved."

"She recognized the brand! Look, just because some families are happy doesn't mean all of them are. We have a viable suspect, and you're dismissing that on the grounds that this could be part of some personal vendetta!" They had never met the Browns, they had no idea what her family was like, what Rick was like. They didn't know her story the way he did.

Hotch sighed. "Reid, you need to focus. I realize you may have a personal connection to this case, but you can't let that come before procedure. Go get some air, and when you've cleared your head, come back and we'll get to work."

Reid clenched his jaw and stormed through the station's front doors. With every exhale he tried to expunge the frantic feeling in his chest. Yes, he knew Hotch was right, but it was so hard not to get caught up in it. The same way it had been in Las Vegas on the case of Riley Jenkins. Back then, he'd been wrong, and he definitely didn't want to make that mistake again. On the other hand, something felt different this time. Heavier. More plausible.

A hand touched his shoulder, and he turned to find Morgan standing beside him. "Alright, listen, Reid. Because I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but this isn't the first time you've worked a case that hits home for you. When you do, you tend to let your emotions get the better of you. It's when you're angry that you can't think straight."

"What are you implying?" It came out more defensive than he intended.

"Hey, just hear me out," Morgan said. "I'm not just talking about you either. The same thing happened to Hotch, and it happened to me when Emily was with Doyle. If we lose our objectivity, we make mistakes. Now I know that you just want to help her, but the best thing you can do right now is to stay calm. Hotch wants me to walk her through a cognitive. Do you want to sit in?"

"Yes. Thank you." He followed Morgan back into the station and to a quiet office in the back of the station. Bianca sat rigidly in the chair, staring down at the mug of tea before her. He took a seat at her side; Morgan sat in front of her, explaining why the interview was important and how it worked. While she was adamant she'd seen the carved version of the image, she couldn't quite remember where. Unlocking that memory could be the key to understanding why he marked his victims – both their copycat and their original unsub.

"Now, I need you to close your eyes," Morgan instructed. She did. "Think back to when you were a kid. Growing up in Olentangy. Remember what it smells like, what it sounds like. Then try to remember where you first saw that design."

"The kitchen. He used to draw on things all the time, and he was drawing it over and over in crayon. It was in one of his notebooks."

"When you saw it then, it was curved, right? When did you see the carved version?"

"I… It was…" She hesitated, and Reid set his hand over hers, squeezing gently. Reassuring her that she wasn't alone, that she was safe. He would keep her safe. "There was an old shed in the woods near our neighborhood. Some of the boys on our street used to hang out there, and Rick sort of made it his place. I went to get him for dinner, and he had carved it into the wood on the shed."

"Do you know why he did that?"

"To mark it as his property, I guess. But… he used to carve it into trees to, when we went on vacations. I think it was his way of saying he was there. He existed. Rick wanted to be noticed, but people never saw him the way he saw himself."

An impossible self-image that wasn't validated by the world. That desire to be noticed and craving for admiration made sense. It had to be the key. "The eyes," Reid said. "That could be why our first unsub was burning a line across their eyes. He wanted them to look at him a certain way, but they didn't. He wants to be seen."

It was his way of sending a message. The copycat however only knew that the face had been burned, thus the message was far less specific. It wasn't overkill, it was likely a misinformed attempt to pin the murder on someone else.

"I just have one last question," Morgan said. "Does the name Mia Kemper mean anything to you?"

"No," she answered, opening her eyes again. "Why?"

"That was the name of our latest victim."

There were about 16,328 murders in the United States every year, with about 21.4% taking place in the Midwest. Roughly 1,500 were committed by knife. The odds of being murdered were about 4.5 in 100,000. And despite all the statistics Spencer told her, only one thing stood out: her brother might have killed another person.

And the odds were not in his favor.

The team spent the day narrowing down the profile, using psychological traits and physical evidence. Based on the comfort zone, the materials used to burn them, and the hint of a paper trail they could find, they pieced together a short list of suspects. Bianca only caught bits of their conversation, but it astounded her the way they could zero in on an unknown subject the same way she'd been properly amazed by their profiling in New York City. By late afternoon, they believed they had found their first killer, a man named Xavier Crowe. He lived in the middle of the comfort zone, had been in Wheeling when the third victim was abducted, and been previously charged with arson.

From what she heard, Penelope had traced cell phone activity on Rick's phone to the CCAD campus, the same night Mia Kemper had gone missing. That was probable enough cause for them to question him in her murder. If he hadn't committed the crime, perhaps he'd seen the person who did. It just seemed unlikely that the latter was true.

Morgan sat down next to her. "Penny for your thoughts? You look a little lost."

She felt a little lost. A lot lost. "I don't know what to think right now. One day I'm worried my brother could be involved in a crime, the next there's evidence he might be a murderer. I don't know what to believe or what to feel. Is that normal?"

He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You believe in us, little lady. In the work that we do. We're good at it. And you believe in your husband, because if you asked for the moon, you best believe he would find a way to get it for you. He loves you. You're a part of this family, so we won't stop until we solve this."

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Anytime. Speaking of your husband, Pretty Boy's coming over here now. Which is my cue to give you two a little space to talk." The smile he flashed her was one of confidence. It was hard not to have faith in someone like Morgan, who was built of strength and steadiness. A rock for his team in the toughest of situations. He didn't sugarcoat, but his honesty was never meant to be harsh.

Spencer knelt down in front of her. The unit was preparing to go after their suspects, all of them fitted with Kevlar vests. While Morgan was solid and unwavering, and she valued his friendship, there was a particular sense of comfort only Spencer could provide. When she thought she might fall apart, it was his voice she wanted to hear, his arms she wanted to hold her together. After everything they'd been through together, nobody else understood her like he did.

"Hotch, Rossi, and JJ are going to find Crowe. I'm going with Kate and Morgan to look for your brother." He hesitated, weighing whether or not to keep going. "Uh, Garcia sent us your parents' address, but there's no guarantee he'll be there. Do you have any idea where he might be right now?"

She shook her head. "No, no I don't." It had been years since she'd seen him. In truth, she hardly knew any of her family at this point, let alone where they went during the day or what they did. Her father would be working. Her mom would probably be doing the same, or maybe running errands; but her brother was a wild card. Always had been. "I have no idea where Rick would go. Maybe the bar off of Dillmont? He worked there for a while after high school. There's a park near Alum Creek Lake. I don't know. I'm sorry." The one thing she could do to help the team find Rick, and she was unable to be of assistance. The dissociation from her relatives left her at a disadvantage.

"It's okay. We'll find him. We're going to figure this out, I promise you."

It wasn't until after the BAU had gone that she remembered the shed once more. Was it possible he still used it? Bianca couldn't bear the thought of waiting around in the station. It took only twelve minutes to call for an Uber, and twenty-three for the driver to drop her off down the block from her childhood house.

The woods were more imposing as they'd been when she was young. They never looked quite so sinister, capable of housing terrible things before. She thought about calling Spencer, but of all her brother's old stomping grounds, this was an unlikely possibility. Besides, he didn't need anything distracting him while he was out in the field. It wouldn't be any trouble for her to just go look.

Dying leaves crunched beneath her feet as she trudged through the trees, following a path she still knew well. The woods had been the source of countless games for the neighborhood kids. Hide and seek, campouts, make-believe quests and adventures. It didn't take long to come upon the rotting shed. It's structure was worn with weather and time, but it still stood. Just as the carved symbol was still visible on the side of the shed. Her memory had been correct.

Drawn towards it, as though pulled by a current, she drifted closer, letting her fingers brush over the damp wood. At the front of the shed was a door – no latches or locks to keep her out. It was an open invitation, so in she went. Shadows colored the floor, but enough sunlight came through the window to make the interior visible.

It wasn't much, even for a shed. Any functional materials had long since been cleared out in favor of an old chair, two tables, and a toolbox. The walls weren't empty – in one corner was a map of the city, in another was a bulletin board decorated with newspaper clippings. Closer inspection stole the oxygen from the room, and she fought to regain her breath.

All of them were about the first three victims. Their abductions, the discoveries of their bodies. Someone had highlighted particular points, all of which had to do with the damage done or the location the bodies were found in. Horrified, she backed away, only for something else to catch her eye. Photographs littering one of the tables, washed out Polaroids of various girls. None of them were people she recognized, but each was labeled with a name. The one at the very front read Mia Kemper: CCAD 10/16/15.

That handwriting. In two decades, it hadn't changed. Almost as familiar as her own, she knew its writer instantly.

The air was thick again, overwhelming her, threatening to crush her lungs with every breath. Outside. She needed to get out of the shed, call Spencer, make things right.

No sooner had she barreled through the door and into the woods did she him.

"What are you doing here?" It was more of an accusation than a question. Rick's words had the habit of turning into threats the second they were spoken. She tried to assess the situation before her – while she wasn't a profiler, her childhood had endowed her with the ability to read her family exceptionally well. It was crucial to avoiding fights, knowing when to escape for a long drive, and determining which days were going to be good.

He was clearly unhappy to see her, lip curled and eyes narrowed. No backpack with him, which meant he came on foot and not by car. Keys were always kept in his backpack, never in his pockets. In his jacket pocket, however, there was a clear outline of an object too thin to be a cellphone. The shape was vaguely familiar. A knife. He had nearly a dozen; some hunting knives and others more like switchblades. It didn't matter what sort he harbored now, only that he had one with him.

"I – I was…"

"Looking for me? Why else would you be here?" He glared at her, then glanced at the open door of the shed. "How much did you see?"

Stall. Stall him. All she needed was enough time to distract him, then she could call Spencer. "See? What do you mean?"

"I think you know exactly what I mean," Rick said, his voice rising. "The FBI is in town, after all. I bet that's why you're here. Trying to blame me for something, just like when we were kids?"

Taking responsibility wasn't a habit of his. When confronted with the consequences of his actions, he'd always vehemently denied having done anything, even when the evidence clearly pointed to him. Fights with neighbors, vandalism, broken objects and walls in their house. It was as if he thought that by not claiming those transgressions, he had not committed them.

"I'm not trying to blame you for anything." Bianca fought to keep her voice even, not wanting to betray her intentions. "I was only walking through the woods. I used to play here, too."

It almost looked like he was starting to believe her. Until the cell phone rang. She reached into her pocket to ignore the call, but it simply rang again moments later. "I'm sorry, I need to answer this."

"No you don't. Leave it." There was a new conviction when he spoke, one that was tinged with quiet fury. "It's been years, Bianca. I think it's time we had a heart to heart talk. Brother to sister. Don't you?"

What should have been an innocent suggestion was menacing when it came from him. There was a distinct aggression buried in his behavior. Any doubt about what happened to the girl in the photo was erased. The person before her was a murderer. In this situation, when danger felt imminent, what would a profiler do?

Stall. That was all she could think of. Stall him. Spencer told her once, of a time when he'd managed to distract a serial killer just by talking, for fifteen straight minutes until the prison guards arrived to let him and Hotch out of an interview room. The same principle applied here. All she had to do was keep him busy until help arrived.

"What do you want to talk about?"

"What did you see?" he asked again. That was how it always began with Rick. His expression would change, his voice took on an edge suitable for a weapon, and the atmosphere seemed to stiffen, burdened with the weight of unspoken threats.

The phone continued to ring. It had to be Spencer. He was looking for her. He would find her, she just needed to buy some more time.

"I saw the photo of Mia Kemper. The girl who was killed. Why did you hurt her?" Formalities and small talk would get her nowhere. Best to be direct.

Something in his posture changed at that, the admission that she knew what he'd done. "I wanted to," Rick said. No more concerned than if he were explaining a hobby, or the weather. "When I saw in the papers that someone else was killing around here, I knew the FBI would blame it on him. I'm safe."

His arrogance would be his downfall. It was at least a sign that he didn't know just how close the investigation was to arresting him.

"It was so easy," he continued. "I only had to copy what he did. I'd thought about before, but this guy gave me the courage to finally act." Courage wasn't defined by something so cruel. In her mind, that was a gross misuse of the word. Courage made you kinder. It gave you the strength to be selfless. Hurting somebody else was selfish. Cowardly.

"She was a person!" Bianca cried. "Her life mattered. You killed her."

Rick stepped closer, and she realized how much bigger he was. If things turned violent, maybe she could outrun him; but she couldn't overpower him. There was no one around to hear her if she shouted for help. What a mistake it had been to come looking for him.

"Nobody is going to know that," he said.

Her phone fell silent. Please hurry, Spencer. Please find me.

She wasn't answering her phone. Why wasn't she answering her phone?

They had been unable to find Rick at any of the locations she mentioned. They had found his parents, who were less than pleased to see him standing on their porch. Upon trying to explain the situation, Don Brown informed them that his son wasn't there. Where he was, the man had no idea, but if they wanted to come in and question them further they would need a warrant. Their only lead ended with a door that was quite literally slammed in their faces.

Bianca was the only other person who might be able to narrow down locations in the comfort zone, but she wasn't answering her phone. Desperate for answers, Reid tried JJ's phone instead.

"Spence, we just brought in Xavier Crowe. We've got enough evidence for a solid conviction, and proof there may have been other victims. Have you found Brown yet?"

Perfect, she was back at the precinct. "That's why I called, actually. Could you put Bianca on? We can't find her brother and she's not answering my calls."

JJ's response was one of confusion. "I thought maybe she was with you. We've been at the station for the last fifteen minutes, but she's not here." No. No, this isn't happening. "You don't think she went to look for him, do you?"

This was a case that had been bothering her for months, ever since it's appearance in the newspaper. She'd worried and fretted over the possibility that something was wrong, and now that they were here those fears were confirmed. Just not in the way she'd expected. Which left the team scrambling to find Richard Brown, and her as the one person among them who knew his habits and hiding places. She wanted to help, she was always trying to help.

"I think that's exactly what she did."

Reid relayed the update to Morgan and Kate, and together they went back over what the copycat's profile. He would need a secondary location, a place where he felt comfortable, to burn her. Access to a tool he could use to brand the victim. Somewhere private.

"Assuming she did go to find him," Kate said, "it would have to be a place they both knew about, right?"

Secluded. Familiar. Somewhere they both knew of. A sensation like ice crept through his chest. Dread. Pure dread. It was obvious, how had he not seen it? Because he was letting emotion cloud his judgment, of course. His wife was missing, her brother was a suspect in a murder, and it was impossible to think straight.

He had to try and think straight.

"I think I know where they are."

It had to be the shed. That location had some significance to Rick, it was somewhere familiar but isolated. And it wasn't far. The drive from house to woods didn't take long, but in his mind it seemed to take eternities. Every passing minute stole his hope, magnified his fears.

Jumping out of the car, he could already hear voices arguing just beyond the treeline. One of which he recognized from memory, the other was one he could never forget. And she sounded terrified. Reid charged through the woods, Kate and Morgan close on his heels. Just barely could he make out the dark wooden structure, situated in a clearing. The same clearing where two figures stood.

"Richard Brown!" It wasn't until Morgan called out that he spotted the knife. At the look on the young man's face, Reid's heart sank. Rick reacted instinctively, driven by panic and fury, and grabbed the nearest thing he had for leverage.

Bianca.

Her eyes went wide with shock as her brother's arm held her back, and he held a weapon to her throat. Daring them to come any closer, taunting them with the power he now held over the situation.

Don't hurt her, he prayed. Reid had never been one for religion, but if somehow there was a god, it couldn't hurt to try at a time like this. Please, don't let him hurt her. That would be a heartbreak he couldn't endure. Statistics and odds swam through his head, calculating her odds of survival. Only 1.5% of murder victims were killed by siblings, the Hostage Survival Probability Model suggested that there was roughly a 42% chance she would make it out alive. A 58% chance she would not. He needed to forget the statistics, they only served to scare him more.

There was one thing probability couldn't factor in: he loved her. And he refused to let anything happen to her.

"Don't do it!" Morgan shouted. Rick's eyes swiveled around, taking in the surrounding agents and calculating his odds. The glinting blade of the knife was still pressed against Bianca's neck, her face contorted in fear. Even so she forced herself to keep her eyes open, staring straight at Reid. Pleading. For him to help her? For him to spare her brother? He wasn't sure, but he wasn't about to let anything happen to her.

"Rick, Rick listen to me," he said. "You don't want to do this. You don't want to hurt her."

"You don't know what I want!" the young man growled.

"Then tell us!" Kate said. Sizing them up still, Rick took half a step back. His sister stood stock still, not daring to move against his harsh headlock. If they didn't hurry, there was no telling what he might do. At the end of the day, Richard Brown was an unstable variable. Reid had been here before, situations where the balance of a life hung in their hands. Where that life belonged to someone he cared about. He was tired of waiting it out.

"Tell us what you want," Kate repeated. "Let her go, and we can talk about this." In the momentary distraction, Reid shifted the aim of his revolver. All those lessons at Quantico, things he'd learned from Hotch and from Morgan. He pulled the trigger.

The ensuing bang caught their attention only seconds before Rick's yell, the knife falling away into the dirt as he reached for the wound left by the bullet that grazed his arm. The team moved immediately, Morgan grabbing Rick and pinning his wrists behind his back, Kate moving in to assist with handcuffs.

Reid ran straight to Bianca, pulled her into his arms, as thought that would be enough to protect her. Tremors ran through her, as she tried to slow her frantic breathing. It was a lot to process, being held hostage by a brother. A nod from Morgan, as they led Rick to the waiting car, told him that he had permission to take the time he needed.

In the middle of the woods, he held her gently, ran his hands slowly down her back. So tight was her grip on him that he could feel her fingernails digging through his shirt, too afraid to let go.

"It's okay, it's okay," he murmured. "It's over. It's okay. You're okay." She's okay, he told himself. She flung her arms around his neck, and he buried his face in her shoulder, breathing in her perfume. There was a desperate need in his heart for physical proof that no harm had come to her.

"I thought I might never see you again," she cried, her voice still shaking.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. See?" At that, she glanced up, searching for evidence that everything would be alright. That was something he couldn't give her, but he could give her his time and his patience, could give her his arms to lean on until she felt steady again.

"I'm so sorry, Spencer. I shouldn't have gone off to find him. I was stupid."

"It's okay. You were just trying to help. You weren't stupid, you were brave." Truthfully, he had been terrified as well. Because what if they hadn't arrived in time? If something happened to her, he didn't know what he would do. Losing her would be like the sun burning out, irreparably altering the color of his universe. He brushed the dirt from her hair, gave her his suit jacket to lessen the shock her body would be feeling. They drove back in silence, not needing words, nor knowing exactly what needed to be said. Nine miles, and she didn't let go of his hand once.

At the station, his team stood milling about outside, waiting. "What's going on?" Reid asked JJ, keeping his voice low.

She nodded towards Bianca. "Her parents are in there right now, with her brother. They're in the process of booking him, but since this wasn't technically part of our case, we don't have to stay."

That was probably best. But to his surprise, when he relayed this to Bianca, she insisted they go on without her. "I need to stay," she said. "There's just something I need to do. And it's something I should probably do alone." Alone was the last thing he wanted her to be right now, but he could tell by the look in her eyes she had made up her mind. If his intuition was right, his presence would likely only make things worse.

Heart heavy, he gave her one last hug, and kissed her forehead. "I love you. I'll be waiting for you to come home."

Towards the airport they went, his last look at the station the image of a dreary building against a blue sky, and his wife slowly shrinking away until the car rounded the corner, obscuring all of it from view.

The moment the black SUVs departed the parking lot, she regretted her decision. She wanted to run after them, fly back to Virginia with Spencer and his team, and leave this mess behind. That didn't feel like an option, though. Despite how little she wanted to be here, she needed closure. Bianca was too afraid to go back inside the station – the fear was hard to explain, but wasn't ready to be in close quarters with her brother and the rest of her family, should they make a scene. There was something about being out in the open that made it easier. That way, she didn't feel trapped, closed in. She could still escape.

It was quiet outside, giving no indication to the chaos taking place beyond the glass doors. The sky was clear, almost too peaceful. Compensating, perhaps, for everything the day had been. Sunshine in a storm of madness. Every time someone walked out the door of the station, she held her breath in anxious anticipation.

No books or pens in her bag, she paced anxiously, fiddling with the sleeves of Spencer's suit jacket, still hanging on her shoulders. It was almost an hour later that her parents finally appeared. Her mother's face was red, like she'd been crying. The crimson that tinged her father's skin was an entirely different sort, a shade painted on by anger. When he saw her standing there, the look he wore was unmistakably fury, enough to twist her stomach in knots and turn her blood to ice. Frozen on the sidewalk, she didn't know what else to do but wait for them to say something.

Don spoke first. "What are you still doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you," she said, the words wavering as they left her tongue.

"I don't see what there is to talk about. You got Rick arrested."

"I got him arrested?" The incredulity was impossible to mask. "He's the one who killed somebody!"

Already this conversation was off to a bad start. Her father crossed his arms, stern-faced and unmoved. "If you hadn't gone running to tell your boyfriend-"

"Husband. Spencer is my husband. If you'd bothered to come to the wedding, you would know that!" There was something about the way her dad identified Spencer that made her mad, how he tossed the word around as though accusing her. As though finding someone who cared about her, someone who made her happy, was some sort of crime.

"Bianca, stop," Ann said. "This isn't about you, this is about your brother."

Of course, when had anything in that family ever been about her? Unless something was her fault, she was practically invisible. Unseen, unwanted. In a house like theirs, whoever shouted the loudest, hit the hardest, was the one who received attention. Survival of the meanest, of the short-tempered. "You did inform the FBI about him, didn't you?" Don asked.

"It's not like I brought Rick here in handcuffs! The brand looked like something he'd drawn before. Innocent people were dying, I couldn't just ignore that. All I did was tell them what I knew, and the rest was just evidence!" These arguments were exhausting, always going in circles as her side of the story went in one ear and out the other. There was no right or wrong, only two opinions. Hers had always been the losing half.

"Evidence or not, you're supposed to take care of your family. Instead, you turned him in!"

"What about the family of Mia Kemper? Don't they deserve to have closure? To know that the person who killed their daughter won't hurt someone else?"

It was impossible to reason with her father. "You couldn't – you don't – know for sure that it was Rick. You only see what you want to see. And you've never appreciated what family means. For years you were so eager to leave, as if your life was so bad."

"Don," her mother warned.

He barreled on anyways, not heeding it. "You've always wanted to get away from us. So go. Don't come back."

"What?" Bianca had tried to keep her voice even, composed, but now it shook from the effort to get that one syllable out. The hands of time turned back, and she was suddenly fourteen again, huddled against her bedroom door as a war raged on in the living room, trying not to cry. To stand there as Don Brown glared at her was to be transported back to high school again, grabbing her keys and making a run for the front door only to be stopped by her father, yelling at her for running away from her problems and from her family.

How could the eyes of a parent be so cold? Fathers were supposed to be kind, they were supposed to protect you and keep you safe. They weren't supposed to be the ones you feared, and though he'd never raised a hand against her, she was terrified of him. Altogether scared and repulsed. "I said, don't come back. You've made it clear you don't care about us. You're not a part of this family anymore. We don't want you." That tone was so cold, only rivaled by the subzero stare he gave. "Don't bother to contact us again." Without any further acknowledgement, he turned his back to her and walked away, heading into the parking lot.

Her mother looked between Don and her daughter, conflicted. Her gaze settled on Bianca, and she started to open her mouth, though what she wanted to say would always be a mystery for she closed it again without saying anything at all. In a single look a million things were said. Hundreds of possibilities stretched out between them in the silence. A few yards away, the engine of a car rumbled to life. For a second, she thought her mom might stay, might apologize, might stand up for her just this once. Hope beat a furious tempo in her heart.

But then Ann Brown flashed her one last guilty look, and joined her husband in the car.

With that car, her childhood drove away. Any last hope at reconciliation or explanation left, and she was alone once again. More alone than she'd felt in ages. Half collapsing onto the curbside, she pulled her knees into her chest and willed herself not to break apart. All she wanted to do was cry the way she had when she was little, the way all children did when faced with something painful or scary. What was more painful or scary than to be alone? As something within her snapped, she clamped her hands over her mouth, bit down on the collar of her shirt to muffle the scream she couldn't hold back any longer.

In a car miles away, her parents drove away with the firm resolve that they had only one child in their family. Inside the police station, her brother sat in a holding cell, having finally hurt someone he wasn't related to. While she wasn't surprised at the turn of events, while she'd always expected something like this to happen, never had she counted on it hurting so much.

And then, looking around the lot, she realized she had nobody to take her back home.

Author's Note:

Lots of personal drama going on in this chapter. Reid does have a history of losing his composure when things hit home for him, as I think most of the BAU does. As for Bianca, there's finally closure on things with her brother - though not the sort she'd been fearing nor expecting.

Thank you to aiinuitachi, LyokoHacker, BrockenAngel22, StoryLovingAuthor, ChibiSpyStuff, Coolkittyj, aleezaenisar, Kirstene107, InsanexPrincess, and lillakemonster98 for following/favoriting this story!

Thank you to inperfection (thank you! I hope this chapter lived up to your expectations!), dianakotori (thank you so much! It always seems that the BAU members are being called away from home at the worst moments, doesn't it?), aPaperheaRt (oh goodness, thanks! I'm so glad you're enjoying the story!), DeliciousAudrey (I'm so glad it made sense, haha! Fear not, they'll have plenty of time for that "honeymoon phase." Life, unfortunately, has just thrown in a few confusing curveballs as well), tannerose5 (those always do seem to be the hardest!), Love-Fiction-2016 (thanks!) for continuing to be so kind and for leaving such awesome reviews. I'm so grateful for the time you've spent reading this story!

I'm so grateful for each and every reader out there. If you have the time to review, it's always so much appreciated (I love hearing from you all and getting to know you!)

It may be a little while before I can update again, as things are getting rather busy with school.