The small diner was a quaint area to conduct her first interview with a serial killer. She would have appreciated different circumstances, like no bystanders or some sort of upper hand over him, but her choices were limited at the time. There was a calm murmur around the single-room restaurant. As they entered a waitress approached them, but Lydia paid her no attention.
You walk in first. Look like you're in charge. Don't look to me for any help. You know what you're doing. If he doesn't respect you, he won't tell us where she is. Make him respect you.
A man sat alone in a booth, facing away from the door. Gideon had told her all about this man. He doesn't feel fear. He doesn't know how. When you speak to him, neither will you.
A man in his late 50s. Average height. Grey hair.
She stood next to the table and waited for him to acknowledge her. When he didn't turn away from the window, she said, "Is this seat taken?"
He was completely smug to see her standing there beside him. It was sickening. But she acted as though she reveled in his attention.
"Please," he replied, gesturing to the cushioned seat across from him. "You should try Fat Sam's milkshakes."
She shook her head, leaning back comfortably in the booth. "Not in the mood. I'm cold and tired."
"You're also not from around here."
She shrugged in acquiescence. "Where are you from?"
Gideon silently stood beside the table, watching the man across from her intently. He gave away nothing as they spoke, but his serene composure was evidence enough. They knew he had done it. That's not why they were there.
Morgan stayed by the door, glancing outside at the cop cars surrounding the building.
The waitress approached, dropping a milkshake with the extra in a separate cup on the table in front of them.
"You really should try the shakes," he tried again, pulling the pink drink towards him.
"Is that an offer to have some of yours?"
He shook his head, sternly. "What's your name?" When she didn't respond he tried again. "Come on. Names are a hobby of mine."
"Lydia.".
"I've never met a Lydia before," he admitted. Then, he nodded towards Gideon. "What's his name?"
"Why don't you ask him?"
Gideon didn't wait for him to decide, putting his hands down on the edge of the table. "My name is Jason Gideon."
"Jason. From Greek Mythology. To heal." he said, sounding like he was reciting from a textbook. "Gideon. A hero from the old testament who led the Israelites against the Midianites. Your parents had great ambitions for you." He looked back at Lydia. "I'm Frank. Germanic. Third century. Deprived from the name of a type of spear. I wonder what aspirations my parents had for me."
"Why don't we cut the crap, Frank?" Morgan interrupted, walking over to their table. "Where is she?"
He didn't take his eyes off Lydia. "Now, that's direct."
"You'll have to excuse Morgan, he doesn't have our patience," she said, sizing him up for a moment to show him she wasn't intimidated. "If you'd prefer that I'd be more forward, though, I can work that out. You were right, I'm not from around here. I work for the FBI."
The whole room went silent, many turning to stare at the group. She pulled out her badge, sliding it across the table to Frank.
He didn't touch it, just stared for several moments. "You're not an agent," he remarked.
Bad idea. She was losing his respect. "I'm not old enough. You're too old. They're picky at the Bureau, like that."
"How do you know how old I am?" he asked curiously.
"You can learn a lot about a person by who and how he kills others. We were looking for a male in his mid- to late-fifties. Listens to Beehtoven. Wears a corduroy jacket with a fleece-lined collar." She glanced at his coat, then back at him. "He's left handed. In his right, inside jacket pocket will be a notebook," as she said this, Morgan reached across Frank and pulled a small, black notebook from the very spot Gideon had told her it would be, "and it will give the extensive detailed accounts of the torture inflicted on every one of his victims… Do you know anyone like that, Frank?"
He smirked. "That's quite the magic trick."
She had him back. He was impressed. She grabbed her ID from the table and slid it back into her pocket.
"No magic trick, Frank," Morgan growled. "Just the profile of a sadistic serial killer."
People nearby started to look around frantically. Lydia knew that Morgan and Gideon would have to get them out soon, else they might cause a panic that interrupted the investigation. But Gideon told her that no matter what happened, she had to keep her focus on Frank. So, she did.
"Ambers, this thing is brand new," Morgan said, flipping through the booklet. He followed Gideon's instructions, speaking to her like she was in charge. "There's only 2 entries in it: 'black male, 220 pounds, portly; white female, late twenties'. This doesn't prove anything."
She raised an eyebrow at Frank. "Hm. Were you scared, Frank? Why hide the work that you were so proud of?"
"Guess what," he continued, ignoring her question. "When I'm finished with my shake, you'll get what you're here for, but then… I'm going to get up… And I'm going to walk out of here… And you and your lap dogs are going to let me."
This was good. Calling them her lap dogs indicated that he completely believed their act. So, she matched his pompous attitude. "You know what, Frank? That would be a magic trick."
For the first time since sitting down, she turned away from him and looked out the window at the cars and officers surrounding them. There was no way for him to get out alive. But clearly, he didn't care about that. They needed some other way to get him to tell them where the sheriff was.
"He's looked at that clock three times in as many minutes," Morgan noted. "He's waiting for something."
Frank glanced at him. "If I had your looks, do you know how much easier my life would be?"
"If you think you're going to negotiate your way out of this one, you've got a whole 'nother thing coming."
Lydia sat up. The deputies told her she had 15 minutes to talk, and then they were coming in. If Frank really was waiting for something, might as well keep him busy until it happened. "Do you want to know how we caught you?"
"Please," he nodded, but he knew. He had been the one to lead them there.
"Ambers, those men out there want to kill this guy," Morgan argued. "We're in the middle. We don't have time for explanations."
"You have the time it will take me to finish this shake," Frank told her.
The milkshake again. He was planning to finish it before leaving. She wondered if there was a way to stall or speed up the process. And what would Gideon want? He could be waiting for something awful to happen, but at the moment, they had nothing to do, but wait.
"That's all I need," she informed him. Keep talking. "We got a request from Sheriff Georgia Davis. She had two victims in the Desert Rose National Park that had been dismembered. They asked the BAU to determine if this had been the same killer who left a dismembered body in the park 10 years ago. You see, serial killers don't usually just stop killing. So, 10 years with no bodies was strange. And we like strange.
"A little research and we discovered hundreds of unsolved cases. Spanning 30 years and the whole country. All of them were people who lived on the outskirts of society, not a lot of friends. They were all left along the I-80 highway. And every dismembered torso that was recovered was missing a right rib bone." She tsked. "That's dedication. I believe Gideon's exact words were, 'the most prolific serial killer ever'."
"Wow," Frank replied, more to Gideon than her. "You truly think-"
"I know it," Gideon snapped.
"And so," Lydia continued. "We came to Nevada."
Finally, Morgan and Gideon split up, telling the patrons of the restaurant, one by one, to get up quietly and leave in an orderly fashion. Lydia watched Frank closely, making sure he wouldn't have a negative reaction to them letting innocent people out. But he just stared back, waiting for her to keep talking.
"You were saying?" he pressed.
"You dose them with ketamine and bring them to your trailer. The ceiling has a mirror, so that they can watch you mark where you're going to cut them and as you dismember them, you cauterize their arteries, so that they won't bleed to death as you torture them. It's excruciating, they're trapped in their own bodies, completely helpless. And you look them in the eyes as you do it. It's how you get your high off the kill. They look so scared and you love it, don't you?
"Although," she reasoned, "I don't think love is the right word. You are a psychopath. You can't feel anything, can you? You're incapable of remorse, compassion, and even love."
He looked away when she said that. But not at the clock. Not at Gideon or Morgan. Just off into the distance. It was the first time he'd done that. What she'd just said had hit a nerve with him. She wanted to cry with relief, knowing she was getting somewhere.
"Do you disagree?" she inquired.
"Beauty can cover a multitude of sins," Frank explained. "But underneath… we all look… exactly the same."
"You are not leaving this diner," Morgan hissed.
Frank just shrugged. "I don't want to. Not until her story is done." And then, he glued his eyes onto Lydia again, taking a sip of his milkshake.
"Thirty years ago, you picked up a girl on the side of the road. She was barely twenty. Her name was Jane. When she woke up in your trailer, she thought she'd been abducted by an alien. I spoke to her yesterday. She told me how beautiful it was. And how she looked into your eyes and felt completely relaxed. And you couldn't kill her. Because she wasn't afraid of you. People in town call her Crazy Jane, because no one believes her story, but she didn't make it up. She just couldn't understand at the time what you really were."
"I read about a woman whose body was found in her apartment- upper east side, I think."
"If this is a confession," Morgan interrupted. "Start with the woman you just took."
"She had killed herself. But her body wasn't found for more than a year. Surrounded by over a million people, and not one of them missed her. What does that say about society?"
"Don't act like you care about her," Lydia snapped. "Those that society forgets- the throwaways, the runaways, destitute, disenfranchised- they're the very people you target… But not last night. Last night you took someone of prominence. Someone that mattered to everyone. Why?"
"That's an interesting question, Lydia… Why?"
There was a commotion outside. But Gideon had promised that he would deal with any outside factors. So she stayed completely engaged with Frank.
"Gideon," Morgan warned, pulling out his gun. A man had just entered the diner with a shotgun.
This was not part of the plan. She still had 5 minutes to talk to Frank before the deputies came in.
"Sir, do not come any closer," Morgan ordered, but their newest threat was not in the right headspace. His eyes and gun were pointed at Frank.
"That man has my wife!"
Mr. Davis. Not good, not good. In her peripheral vision, she could see Gideon and Morgan blocking the aisle towards her and Frank, but if he decided to shoot from there, Lydia was in trouble.
"Please, put the gun down," Morgan continued.
Lydia could feel Gideon's eyes on her. Frank may have been closer, but she was still in the line of fire. Perhaps he wanted her to break, in order to get out of harm's way, but she wouldn't. She had to convince Frank she was powerful. She wouldn't back down yet.
"Tell me where my wife is or so help me, I will shoot you."
"Sir, I said put the gun down now!"
"Where's my wife?!"
The yelling back and forth continued. Without breaking eye contact with her, Frank leaned down, picking up something from the floor and dropping it on the table. It was a carpet bag.
He smirked at her. "You know what's an even more interesting question? What's the psychopath got in the bag, Lydia?"
She shrugged, unimpressed, but her heart was trying to leap from her chest. It was the size of a head. And knowing Frank, it probably was one. Could she keep her poise if she came face to face with the head of Sheriff Georgia Davis?
"Open it," Mr. Davis demanded.
"Put it down!" Morgan insisted.
"Open the bag!"
Lydia rolled her eyes dramatically and asked Frank to excuse her for a second. Then, she looked up at Mr. Davis for the first time. He was so scared. He needed to know if Frank had killed her. But Lydia could not drop her face for him.
"Mr. Davis, I cannot open this bag until you put the gun down."
His hand was shaking, but finally, he lifted the barrel towards the ceiling and Morgan was able to ease it away from him. With the threat finally diminished, she focused herself once more.
"May I?" She shrugged towards the bag.
Mr. Davis kept repeating 'I'll kill you' from the door and Frank just smiled at her.
With no disagreement from anyone in the room, she reached forward and unzipped the bag. She was holding her breath, preparing herself for what she'd find inside. And she'd been right about one thing.
Frank had brought them a head.
The head belonged to a black male. Nothing like the blonde, tiny sheriff. Her heart clenched at the sight of it, but the fact that it didn't belong to someone she recognized saved her from losing face in front of him.
"It's not her," Morgan told Mr. Davis, who began crying on the spot.
"Oh, thank god," he was murmuring.
"Who is this?" she asked.
"I believe the correct question would be: who was this?" Frank sneered.
"You're one crazy son of a bitch!" Mr. Davis shouted and Morgan started to usher him off the premises.
"We are all sons of bitches." Frank looked disgusted by the sight of Lydia. Something had changed when she opened that bag. He stopped enjoying her presence. He didn't like talking to her. But so long as he didn't look down on her, she could work with him.
"Who is this, Frank?" she demanded, more forcefully.
"He's irrelevant. Beyond being my ticket out of here."
"Your ticket out of here?" Morgan cried, finally getting Mr. Davis out. "Even if you think you can get out of that booth and past us, I promise you those men out there will tear you to pieces."
"I rather doubt that," he grumbled. "So… finish the story, Lydia."
"What do you want me to say?" she asked, calmly. "We set up a tip line for people to call. A nation-wide APB. We searched Golconda for an RV, later amended to truck and trailer, that was muted in color, in perfect working order, with a CB, radar detector, and police-band radio. And then, we got a call from Katherine Hale's cell phone. That is, the Katherine Hale that you, so graciously, dumped in pieces two days ago. And we tracked her phone to Sheriff Davis's house, where you had followed Crazy Jane. But Jane got away. And you, in your desperation to have her, took Sheriff Davis. Then, you came back here and turned on Katherine Hale's cell phone so that we would come to you. But something has to happen first, no? You can't tell us your deal until you're done with your damn milkshake."
"I thought you were interesting, Lydia," he said, out of the blue. "People have such deep emotions. I knew you were going to act all stoic, but I figured I could break you. Make you angry, sad, confused, afraid. I wanted to see how that mind of yours worked. But you saw that head and barely blinked. You're just like me, aren't you?"
Lydia couldn't stop a small twitch of her eye. He thought she was a psychopath? That's why his demeanor changed all of a sudden?
She smirked. "Sorry to disappoint, but you're the only psychopath in this room."
"That's why they sent you, isn't it? No one could look me in the eyes, knowing all that I've done, and keep up a conversation, but you. That man who came in had a gun on the two of us, and even when your partners stepped out of the way, you didn't break eye contact. Don't you have to be just a little insane to be able to do that?"
"Don't talk about things you don't understand. It doesn't look good on you."
He didn't argue with her, finally leaning forward and taking the final sip from his drink. All eyes were on him as he slurped loudly and sighed, dropping the glass on the table.
"One is perfection. Two is decadent."
This was it. Final showdown. Whatever he'd been waiting for, it would happen now.
He turned away from the booth, sliding out, but Morgan had his gun out in a second.
"You take another step and I will shoot you."
"No you won't," Frank argued, but Lydia's words did keep him in place.
"What was it that Jane said to you?" she inquired. Poor Jane had survived this guy's wrath only to live pitifully for the rest of her life. "She looked into your eyes. But that wouldn't be enough for you. She must have said something. What was it?"
"I'm a sexual sadist," he sneered. "I can't feel anything. Remember?"
Morgan's phone started ringing and he started talking to Hotch in the background.
"Are you trying to argue that? Did you feel something?"
"They just found his trailer," Morgan announced to the room. "The remains of another woman and the sheriff, alive."
They did it. They caught him. They saved the sheriff. But nothing about this was right. And Gideon knew it, too.
"He doesn't care about the sheriff. To walk out of here with Jane, he'd need more than that."
More hostages? Someone more important than the town sheriff? If someone like that disappeared, they'd already know about it.
"Jane said… how beautiful my eyes were," Frank told Lydia, answering her question from earlier. "I looked at her like I've never looked at a woman before. My hands began to sweat. I dropped the knife. I tried to pick it up, but it fell again. I got butterflies in my stomach. Isn't that love?"
"She was fascinating. More interesting than me. Or than all those you've killed." More noises outside. Her 15 minutes were definitely up. "But sometimes, fear and love are easy to confuse."
"Gideon. Ambers," Morgan warned, watching people approach the door.
"What are you suggesting?" Frank inquired.
"We got George! She's alive!" Deputy Silo announced as he burst in, the rest of the officers following him. "Get on the floor!"
"Take it easy!" Morgan stepped in front of them.
"Move!"
"Don't ask dumb questions," Lydia whispered. "You know I won't answer them."
"Take it easy!"
There was so much going on, she didn't even register the entire group's cell phones beginning to ring. The high pitched buzzes echoed around the room.
And Frank smiled.
"No…" Silo sighed. "That's impossible."
He winked. "Magic time."
Spencer listened as Emily softly comforted Sheriff Davis in the backseat. Being stuck in a trailer, in a coffin, all night was reason enough to be shaken up. But Frank was completely sadistic. She had seen his work. Probably first hand. There was no forgetting that.
Hotch pulled up to the diner where they had surrounded Frank abruptly. As they helped the sheriff out of the car, Spencer put on his sunglasses and surveyed the wall of cars and armed men set up around the building. They had him trapped alright.
"George!" her husband cried, pulling her into a hug. "Thank god. Thank god."
"He killed Tommy's teacher," she sobbed. "I saw it. Annie. She was just 22."
22… He couldn't imagine Lydia dying so horrifically at her age. Spencer saw some horrible things in his everyday life, but he'd never been the center of it. Being able to compare the body they'd just found to Lydia was not a comforting thought.
Where was Lydia?
The sheriff's husband started to explain their recent findings. Looks like Frank had killed the school bus driver on a kids field trip and abducted the kids. He'd been waiting all day for them to find the body of the bus driver and the abandoned bus.
"How?" she demanded. "We had the whole town shut down. There was no way out."
"What was the one vehicle we weren't looking for?" Hotch reasoned.
"School bus," Spencer murmured.
Hotch stepped away from them towards the diner. "More importantly, where are the children?"
Spencer's eyes followed him, then stopped upon looking into the diner windows. Frank was seated in a booth next to a window. There were multiple sheriff's inside with guns pointed at his back. Gideon and Morgan stood to his side. And seated across from him, was…
"Oh my god, Lydia," he breathed.
Emily followed his line of sight, seeing her in the window and felt a wave of sympathy for him. Followed by fear.
"If they shoot, they're going to hit her," she realized.
Spencer nodded frantically. "What is she thinking?!"
Lydia wanted to drop her head into her hands. "You have the town's children."
Silo had looked like he was going to faint upon admitting that the school bus for the kids' field trip was just recovered outside of town. The kids had never made it home.
"Only the little ones," Frank teased. "You profiled me. You know I have no interest in harming children."
"We will find them," Morgan snapped. "We have helicopters, dogs-"
Frank kept his eyes on Lydia. "The desert is over 25,000 square miles. And what with the rising coyote population…"
"If it's Jane you're after, we don't have her," Morgan insisted.
"Yes, you do."
He looked out the window just in time to see a new cop car approach. And low and behold, Crazy Jane stumbled out of the backseat.
Lydia turned back to him. There was a way to win this. She didn't like it, but there was a way to get those kids back. "If you want us to make a deal for Jane, you are going to get up slowly and let Agent Morgan handcuff you. You follow our orders and walk out of the diner peacefully before we discuss your terms for getting those kids back. Are we clear?"
His lips pulled tightly around his teeth in what could hardly be called a smile. "Crystal."
As he promised, he got up, his hands in front of him for Morgan to handcuff. And he said nothing as Gideon and Morgan roughly shoved him down the aisle and to the door.
Lydia's eyes stung just knowing that his gaze wasn't fixed on her anymore, but she had to keep the act up for just a while longer. She allowed herself one deep breath before standing up and following them out.
Everyone's eyes were focused on the group as they left. Mostly on Frank, but she caught a couple of the officer's gazes as she stepped down. She could see Spencer, Hotch, and Emily standing with Jane. She couldn't tell where any of them were looking, due to the fact that they were all wearing sunglasses, but if she had to bet, she was certain Spencer was scared for her. When Gideon had taken her away from the crime scene to talk to Frank instead, she didn't even believe it. He had been training her to interrogate suspects for almost a year now, but she'd never had the opportunity before. Why now?
"Jane!" Frank shouted.
They both tried to run to each other, but were held back.
"Tell them, Lydia," Frank insisted. "Tell them I'm not interested in harming children. Have I ever once harmed a child? It does nothing for me. Give me Jane… and they'll have their children back."
"Is she part of this with you?" Silo accused.
"Look at her, Rick," the recovered sheriff said. George had just gotten back from Frank's trailer with tear streaks down her face. Lydia couldn't imagine what her night had been like. "She's not a part of anything. She's as much his victim as you are."
"With Jane in my life, I will never harm another human being," Frank tried to argue, but no one believed him.
"Take me with you, Frank," Gideon began. "Just you and me."
"And my Jane?" It wasn't a question. With all the town's kids at his disposal, it was a demand. And Jane looked thrilled to throw herself at him.
"You'll take me to where the kids are?"
"Happily. I couldn't have that on my conscience," he joked.
Lydia's stomach flipped, but she was immensely relieved. What Gideon was about to do was insanely dangerous, but if they got those kids back, she did her job. She'd talked to him, gotten him to comply. And she'd been terrified for a moment that he was going to insist she come along. With his agreement, she was done with this heartless, tiresome act.
She stepped away from the group as Frank clarified his terms, wanting to collapse somewhere private, but was overcome by dread when he called her name.
She shivered as she flipped around, putting her unimpressed face back on. "Mhm?"
"I look forward to seeing you again."
It was a sickening thought. She had no clue what he could possibly mean by it. But she couldn't worry herself about anything else at the moment.
She smirked. "You better hope you're that lucky."
She didn't make eye contact with anyone as she stormed away. Every interaction demanded something from her and after today, she had nothing left to give.
She got around the black SUV so that no one would be able to see her and promptly fell against the door, clutching her stomach. She just wanted to be able to take a breath that felt like enough. Smell something that wasn't the dry dust coating her nose.
She thought she'd give herself a second to recover, then compose herself and reemerge, but as soon as he could sneak away, Spencer went after her.
He hesitated to say anything for a moment, seeing her so shaken. He didn't want to startle her and make it worse, but he needed to speak to her.
"Hey," he breathed.
Lydia glanced around him for others, then launched herself into his chest. And it was like her lungs cleared, just taking in the feel of him. Her breaths were shaky, but they weren't so shallow anymore.
"Hi," she replied. "Sorry, I just… that was weird."
He was surprised by her sudden reaction, but pulled himself back to his senses and wrapped his arms around her back, one of his hands gently stroking her hair. "It's okay. Are you… Is everything alright?"
"So much better now," she mumbled into his chest. "We're gonna do something fun together when we get back to DC, okay?"
"Of course."
She leaned back to look at him, not dropping her arms from his waist. "Someone's going to check on us if we stay here any longer."
He nodded and slowly let his hands slip to his sides. "I, uh… I was so scared when I saw you in the window. No one said anything about you talking to Frank one on one and the deputies had guns trained on you. It was a lot."
"It was a lot for me too," she admitted. "He's terrifying. He was convinced I was a psychopath-"
"What? Lydia, you're not a psychopath!"
"It feels like it sometimes," she grumbled. "He had a head, just sitting in a bag and I didn't even flinch, Spence! I was just trying to do what Gideon told me, but that's not human, is it?"
He sighed. "This job can desensitize us to things like that. But it doesn't make you less human. I mean, now that you're away from him, you understand how horrific he is."
"I don't think there's a word to describe the things he's done. And if there is, I don't want to know it," she added. "I just wanna go home."
"Soon," he promised. Then, he stepped away. "I'm gonna head back now. Take as long as you need."
She nodded watching him go, before taking out her phone. In the time she'd been with Frank, her sister had called her seven times. It was unusual for Beck to be so persistent. There were a few texts, as well:
Beck: Call me.
Beck: Lydia.
Beck: As soon as you get this, please call.
Beck: NOW LYDIA!
What the hell…?
Lydia clicked on her sister's contact and put the phone up to her ear.
Beck answered after a single ring. "Oh my god. Where have you been? I've been trying to call-"
Automatically, something stood out to Lydia. Beck didn't sound mad at her. At all. In fact, she sounded like she wanted to cry.
"I've been working," she explained. "Is everything alright?"
"You need to come home, Lydia. Mom- Sonia's had a stroke."
Oh god. She might actually puke from stress at this point. "What happened?!" she cried, already searching for Hotch. "Did you get her to a hospital?"
"Yes, yes. They did a CT scan. They say her chances of surviving are high and will be even better once they dissolve the blood clot. But, oh god, Lydia it was so scary. She started having a seizure and I didn't know what to do-"
"It's okay… She's in the hospital now. You did everything you could."
"You have to come home, Lydia. Tonight."
"I'll catch a flight as soon as possible-"
"I have Katie and Adam with me. Please, get here now. I need you. She's going to be in the hospital for at least the night and I don't know what to do with them. They don't understand what's going on. Katie started crying when the EMTs got there and she's been stressed ever since. And Adam is bouncing off the walls of the waiting room like a maniac."
Lydia couldn't even imagine how freaked out Beck was. Katie and Adam were twins that Sonia had been fostering since Lydia left for college. They were seven now.
Finally, she caught a glimpse of Hotch and made a break for him. "Beck, I'm going to be there as soon as I possibly can. I promise you. But I have to go now and figure this out, okay? Just stay there, text me any updates, and I'll call once I have a flight."
"Okay. Please hurry. I love you."
"Love you," Lydia agreed before hanging up and reaching Hotch. He was talking to the sheriff, still wrapped in her shock blanket. They both looked startled to see her running at them, but she didn't let them say anything. "Hotch! My foster mom just had a stroke. I need to go home. Is there-"
He was automatically understanding, trying to problem solve with her. "That's fine. Go. Sheriff, can one of your deputies take her to the nearest airport?"
George nodded immediately. "Stay right here," she ordered. "I'll discretely explain to them what's going on."
Lydia thanked her as she left. It took a strong woman to help others after what she'd been through.
"Do you need anything?" Hotch asked her.
She shook her head. "According to my sister, she's okay so far. But she still has the blood clot. Hotch, it's going to take her a few weeks to recover, at least. Someone has to be in the house, looking out for her and the other kids she's fostering. I can try to get back to DC soon, but-"
"Take all the time you need," he insisted. The sheriff came back with an officer in tow. "Call me once you get to the airport. When we get back to DC, you can send me a list of things you want shipped to California and I'll grab them from your apartment, okay?"
Lydia had never felt so compelled to hug Hotch before, but she figured now was as good a time as any. "Thank you," she whispered.
Then, she followed the deputy to his car and took off, forgetting to explain herself to anyone on the team. Or, more importantly, forgetting to explain herself to the one person on the team who deserved to hear it from her.
Spencer.