"Okay, crime fighters, I –" Garcia cut herself off when she spotted Jane, floundering for just a moment. "Oh. Okay. Oh, ummm –"

"I can take it, Penny," Jane reassured her with a tired smile. "I can take it."

At any other time, Jane would be insulted by how the colorful Tech Analyst turned to get a nod from Rossi before continuing – but not today. Jane was acutely aware of how monumentally fucked up she was right now. Spite and adrenaline were pretty much the only things keeping her going.

"Okay then, my super-brain endowed lovelies," Garcia cleared her throat, gesturing for everyone to sit. She clicked the clicker, starting the briefing. "Elton David McCrae Junior, the very bad horrible man who I may or may not have ruined the credit score of. Hypothetically."

Jane was so startled, a snort of laughter was shocked out of her. Garcia grinned wide and evil at her, and it … warmed something. In her chest.

"McCrae's daddy dearest, Elton Sr., was the Sheriff in Brooke County, West Virginia for nearly his entire career – I'm talking since he was twenty-eight till he died in a shootout twenty-nine years later … coincidently, also a year before the massacre."

"McCrae's father probably covered for him when he was young and kept a leash on him and his more violent tendencies," Blake supplied, lips twisting unhappily. "Following his death, the sudden lack of legal and parental pressure compounded with the loss of the only person who ever was consistently there for him … it was probably what sent him over the edge, desperate to fill the hole that his father left."

"What happened to Mrs. McCrae?" Rossi asked, running a finger over his lower lip.

"Well, Mrs. Laura McCrae nee George was married to our dear sheriff shotgun-style, and stayed married somewhat happily for six years before she up and left one day," Garcia grimaced, hitting the remote to pull up an unpleasant image of a very much dead woman – beaten and stabbed and strangled. "Shortly before the Massacre, Laura Dean was found by her shiny new and very young husband Derek murdered in their home. My money is that McCrae wasn't happy that Mommy left him."

"Before –" Jane cleared her throat, strengthening her voice. She felt the team's eyes on her. "Before Ada was – was killed, she asked McCrae what we ever did to him, for him to come after us. He said 'you tried to leave me'."

"Abandonment issues," JJ shook her head. "Stemming back to his childhood. A fear and loathing of rejection."

"Rejection like I rejected him," Jane jutted her chin, sucking in a fortifying breath. "That's why He's got Hotch. Because I rejected him, He's taking it out on him."

"This isn't your fault –" Reid tried to reassure her, but she shut him up with a glare.

They both knew it was.

"Now, our raids of his properties in New Haven, Dallas, and Palo Alto were bust," Garcia loudly and deliberately changed the subject. "Local field offices have reported nothing incriminating, and no evidence of Hotch's presence. But those were just the legal properties, the ones under his or his father's name – well, they're the same name, but you know what I mean."

"You think that you can find the less reputable properties?" Reid tilted his head.

"Well …" Garcia dipped her head to and fro, pulling a face and giving an 'eh' hand tilt. "See, I could – but even I would very much lose my job for that because that would be so very much not legal. Like, not at all. He's a genius – I say with overwhelming love to the two-plus genii in the room – and he's a career criminal who was at the forefront of Silicon Valley's rise … and he had a Sheriff for a father."

"And?" Morgan prompted pointedly.

"And I may not be able to get his records without getting an IA investigation, but Vine can," Garcia spread her hands, shrugging. "And, well, she's already on that, right?"

"Nothing to do but wait," Jane moved them along, not wanting to linger on her recklessness. "What else can you tell us about McCrae?"

"Well, our dear Dr. Blake was right that his father the Sheriff probably kept his record squeaky clean when he lived at home, and then the best he could afterwards," Garcia pulled up the records. "Nothing up until he leaves for college, and then incident report after incident report – many of which were never followed up on – with everything from lewd behavior to excessive violence. Not exactly a Gerogian peach."

"Jane's dad rushed over to the McCrae house when he came home one day and didn't find his mother there," JJ brought up, glancing over at her to make sure that mentioning her dad wasn't going to trigger a meltdown. "That tells me that Arthur knew something was up. He wouldn't've jumped straight to worry if there wasn't."

"Just because he knew something was up with his mom doesn't mean that he knew it was McCrae," Morgan pointed out. "Anyway, even if Arthur had suspected McCrae, he would've had no proof and no way to get proof – not with the Sheriff covering for his son."

"Who did Arthur live with following the death of his mother?" Blake asked Garcia, but Jane cut in to answer first.

"With my Uncle Rob and my Aunt Priscilla," She provided, crossing her arms and trying to settle back. "Priscilla and my dad never really got on when my grandma was alive, but that was mostly because after Priscilla came of age she left home and never looked back. They never really knew each other, not until my dad came to live with her."

"Did he have any contact that you know of with the McCrae's, after your grandma died?" Rossi asked, shifting to face her more fully. "Holidays or visits – letters or phone calls? Anything?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know," Jane shook her head. "I knew about McCrae as a brief mention in a story or an anecdote. He was … just a story. Someone my dad knew, once upon a time."

Under the table, JJ squeezed her hand.

"Well, I may have a bit of a more complete answer than that," Penelope hesitantly spoke up, wary of interrupting. "See, Priscilla Blaine and Robert Leon lived together in Michigan, in a suburb of Detroit – lived in the same house that our Janey partially grew up in years later. Now, there are no records of air fare or bus fare to or from West Virginia and Michigan, but both boys worked as counselors at a summer camp in Ohio called Camp Sumter ages 17 to 20."

"McCrae couldn't let go," Blake clicked her pen. "Followed Arthur to Ohio and later to Brown, just so he could feel close to Lotus even after her death."

"... I think part of Dad knew," Jane stared intently at her cuticles instead of looking at the team. "He told me once the reason he broke up with Desi – with Liber – was because she 'kept the wrong company'. I never knew what he meant … but if at that point Liber was already associating with McCrae –"

"Then if Arthur knew that something was up, he would've tried to get between them," Rossi finished for her. "And if that failed, then he would've broken up with her to protect your family."

"Protect my family," Jane tried to smile, and it might have even felt real. "Yeah. Yeah, my dad was good at that."


Hotch dreams of a pool of water.

He gazes into the pond, his own reflection mirrored back at him. But his clothing isn't anything he recognizes – rather than his familiar navy, his suit is purely, pristinely white.

As he stands there, gazing at himself, his feet turn to roots and his head bows and he's held fast and the world is echoing in his head

He wakes up with a hitch of his breath.

"Good morning, Aaron," An unfamiliar familiar voice startles him, and he jolts up too quickly – sending a lance of pain through his back. "Glad you're finally with us."

Hotch is immediately awake, fully awake, and focuses on the barred door – the man beyond it.

The Unsub.

The man who abducted him.

The man who tortured Jane.

No. Anger is bad. Clarity is better. Settle, Hotch. Settle.

"I'd say the same to you, but you'd forgive me for not feeling 'good' nor 'glad'," Hotch replied flatly, not giving his captor the satisfaction of seeing him emotional. "Where am I?"

"Unimportant," The Unsub dismissed, running his fingers idly over his platinum cufflinks. "You're here, with me – instead of pawing at a woman who isn't yours. That's what's important."

"If she wasn't mine," Hotch stood slowly, hiding his pain in a show of casual and unaffected power. "Then why did she end up in my bed night after night?"

Poke the bear. Slowly, carefully. Get him mad, make him make a mistake. He was cold and calculating, the kind of predator who lays in wait. Throw him off his game, and he'd leave himself wide open.

In theory.

"She worked for you," The Unsub smiled in a disgustingly artificial way. It matched his too-expensive suit revoltingly well. "Coercion is a type of sexual assault, you know. That's illegal and morally wrong, Aaron – anyone else might think you'd be above that."

"I've never had to force a woman into my bed," Hotch volleyed back, stretching casually. "Unlike you."

"I never raped my Lotus," The Unsub bared his teeth, clutching at the bars. "Never."

"Are you saying that because you never had sex with her without her consent?" Hotch cocked an unimpressed eyebrow. "Or are you saying that because you haven't been able to get it up since you were a teenager?"

"Oh ho ho – insulting my virility," He laughed, but Hotch could see he struck a nerve. "Original, Agent Hotchner. Very original. Do you want to tell me my hairline is receding next?"

"Your hairline is receding, but that's besides the point," Hotch twitched his lips into a smirk. "No, the point is that you think locking me up in a tiny little box is going to have Jane run lovingly into your arms – but we both know that isn't true."

"Her name is Lotus," The Unsub snarled.

"No, her grandmother's name was Lotus," Hotch cut him off before he could continue his tirade. "What, you see a young mother with a son your age and suddenly you want her? In what kind of sick world does that make sense? You probably only really befriended Arthur so you would have an excuse to go over to her house, go through her drawers and smell her pillows like the perverted freak you are. But Lotus caught on, didn't she? She realized what you were doing, and she didn't like it. She tried to get away – only you couldn't let that happen. So you killed her, and you've been torturing and killing her over and over again ever since."

"You must think you're so clever," McCrae gathered himself, his arrogant smirk now back. Firmly in place. "That you have all the facts when all you've got is a handful of conjectures and even more blatant guesses. You think that your perfect little family and your perfect little job makes you invincible. But I won. I've got you here right in my hands and your team won't ever be able to find you. And after I finish taking my sweet time, showing you how much better I am than you – I'll wrap my hands around your throat, and my face will be the last thing you ever see. And you will always know that I was the one who won."

And with that final shout and a controled, precise pivot – he left.

And left Hotch with a feeling of familiarity, and echo of a memory that he couldn't place –

Because the Unsub … Hotch felt like he'd seen him somewhere before.

But he – he couldn't figure out from where.


"There's something that's been bothering me," Morgan confessed to Rossi and Garcia as they went back over everything.

"Oh?" Rossi supplied sardonically. "More than the kidnapping of our boss?"

"No, not – you know what, I'm not going there," Morgan shook his head. "No, other than that."

"What is it?" Rossi asked more genuinely, backing off his temper slightly.

"This timeline," Morgan gestured widely to the board. "McCrae is methodical. He plans to the extremes, he never leaves anything to chance. He has gone from victim to victim since he was a teenager, and each time one escapes his grasp he exhausts every option before moving onto someone new."

"So?" His Baby Girl looked up at him. "He's extra invested. He actually got – I shudder to say – Jane. He's fixated – and he wants the 'perfect family' he never had. That's why you said he hasn't moved on, like he did before. Why he didn't find new victims – because of Jane's daughter."

"That's why he is still focused on Jane, yes, but it's been nearly two decades," Morgan exclaimed. "Nearly two decades since he had her and he lost her. At least a decade since he's found her again. Why now does he make a bid for her? Why now does he escalate from stalking and gifts to collaborating and abductions?"

"Unsub 101 – there was a stressor," Rossi supplied, looking thoughtful. "Something either occurred in his life, or Hotch or Jane did something to push up his timetable. He couldn't … woo Jane, anymore – he had to take more direct action."

"I doubt it has anything to do with his personal life, considering it seems as though the creep does not have one," Garcia supplied, fingers flying as she combed through his records. "No recent foreclosures, no layoffs, no deals gone bad – his business and career seem to be booming. I don't think it's on his end."

"Then it has to be on Jane or Hotch's," Morgan bit his lip. "Can either of you think of something that changed? A big date they had, a gift they gave each other, a vacation?"

"The last vacation the two of them took together that wasn't for either of Jane's jobs was Vermont, last year," Rossi offered. "They were up there for two weeks – deliberately turned off their phones. They didn't want to be interrupted."

"Yeah, I remember that – it was so weird not having the two of them around to –" Garcia cut herself off sharply, gaping open-mouthed at whatever was on her screen.

"Baby Girl, what?" Morgan craned his neck around, tried to see what had caught her attention – front and center was a bank statement in Hotch's name, a credit transaction history. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no – no, no nothing's wrong," Garcia shook her head, her eyes shining. "No, nothing's wrong at all. No, I just – just found –"

"Spit it out, Garcia," Rossi huffed, leaning over her shoulder. "What's got you worked up?"

"This:" She highlighted a line of the history, a single transaction.

It was a 3k transaction at someplace called Atlantic Stones. Rossi sucked in a breath.

"What?" Morgan looked between the two of them, unable to understand their reactions. "What's so significant about that?"

"A three thousand dollar transaction at a jewelry store," Rossi rocked back, face conflicted. "Damn."

"So he bought her a necklace or something," Morgan still didn't get it. "Maybe it was an anniversary."

"No, their anniversary's in March – and Jane doesn't wear necklaces," Garcia grinned up at him. "Sheesh, Derek, think – with your supposed profiler brain. Think."

So he thought.

"Oh," He finally got it. "Oh – oh, shit."

"Hotch was gonna propose," Garcia's smile was incredibly wide and even more excited. "He bought a ring. He was gonna ask her to marry him."

Then reality set back in.

"That was the stressor," Morgan felt his stomach drop. "Marriage was the one milestone that neither Lotus and the Sheriff nor Elizabeth and Arthur hit."

"Then … do we tell Jane?" Garcia asked tentatively, brow creased and joy gone.

"No, let her have this – let them have this," Rossi ordered – but he followed it up with a knowing look down at their Technical Analyst. "But why don't you find an excuse to pull JJ aside later – and maybe give Emily a call?"

Garcia's answering grin was radiant like the sun.


Jane is in Hotch's office when JJ corners her.

She'd broken into his 'secret' stash of Milanos he may or may not've known she knew about.

… Who was she kidding. Hotch totally knew she knew – stupid profilers.

JJ was quiet as she opened the door. Even quieter as she closed it, but they both knew it was just a show. Just a dance, to create some sort of illusion of – of an atmosphere that was too refined to be broken. Too quiet – so quiet that you couldn't shed tears in it.

At least, that's how Jane always imagined this type of silence.

Oddly enough, she's the one to break it first. Jane doesn't know what comes over her.

" … I lied, in there," She picked up a photo off Hotch's desk – them in Vermont, Jack red as a lobster and all three of them soaked to their bones and grinning all the while. "I said that I had a daughter."

"... but you had a baby," JJ asked – confirmed, pleaded, demanded. Jane just nodded. "But you … had a son?"

"I don't know," Jane shook her head, carefully replacing the frame. "I may have had a son. I may have had a daughter. But I never held my baby, so I never knew."

"Was –" JJ gulped. "Was it a miscairrage?"

"Stillbirth," Jane corrected. "Ran in my family – the Colemyers, I mean. I had a sister, Clove, who was stillborn. My mother refused to even name her, but my dad did – he felt it was his duty, that even if his daughter would never have a life, at least she would have a name."

"I –" JJ scrubbed at her face, voice soft in the too-quiet quiet. "I had a miscairrage. I can't talk about it … but I had one. I don't know how you did it – I … I'm so messed up, and I was barely even –"

She stopped talking.

Jane understood.

"I … gave birth just before I lost everything," Jane sighed, running a hand over her stomach – feeling the line of her scar through her shirt. "My memory, my history, my … everything. I was in labor, but they were breach. Desi … Liber cut my baby out of me, and I was so weak I couldn't even hold them. The baby was dead … Liber thought it kinder not to tell me the sex. I don't know whether or not I'm thankful for that."

"Vite seems convinced that your baby's alive," JJ's voice strengthened, just slightly. "Is there any chance of that?"

"No, there's no chance," Jane clutched the edge of the desk. "I didn't just lose my baby, Jennifer. I buried them – watched as Liber dirtied her perfect suit and put my baby into the ground. My baby's dead, JJ. Amina's just refusing to accept it."

"She wants … whatever she can hold onto, of her brother," JJ clutched at Roslyn's necklace. "I can understand that."

"Fuck knows if it's even Danny's," Jane choked out, digging the heels of her palms into her eyesockets. "He – McCrae had me for a very long time, Jayje. I still don't remember everything, and if he –"

"Hey, no – no," JJ stepped around the desk, pulling her into a tight embrace. "No, this Unsub – McCrae's impotenet. He cut you up so much as a surrogate for – for penetration. He never … he couldn't've. The baby was Danny's, Jane. It was Danny's."

The quiet was too-too quiet. You can't cry in the too-too quiet.

"Did you …" JJ pulled back slowly, fingers pushing back the overgrown curly mass of her bangs. "Did you name them? Did you name your baby? Like your dad did?"

Jane laughed then, because she did and –

"You're not gonna believe me if I tell you," Jane giggled, because it was – it was a thousand types of humor all wrapped up in one. "You're not, I swear you're not."

"Well, now you have to tell me," JJ exclaimed, grinned a wide grin; pushed aside the darkness – the silence – and found the light. "C'mon, what was it? Rachel? Mikey? No, I know – Simian!"

"What? No!" Jane laughed, smacking the blonde on the shoulder. "No, who do you think I am? No, I … I always pictured that my baby would be a daughter. A little girl. That she – that she would look like me. So I only picked a girl's name …"

"Yes …?" JJ prodded expectantly. "C'mon, don't leave me hanging."

"I named my baby …" Jane bit her lip, failing to hide a smile. "I named my baby 'Jane'."

JJ stared at her, startled.

And then she threw her head back and laughed.


Hotch was hungry.

It was a stupid thing to be feeling, honestly, because as important as keeping his energy up was, it really wasn't the cheif concern, right now. He had water, and he had enough fat stores and muscle to burn that he would last at least another few days – hopefully long enough for him to throw the Unsub off or alert his team. No, hunger was a stupid thing for his body to be fixated on.

Even though he would kill for some of Jane's corn pudding right now.

Huh. Intriguing concept. Hotch would bet that if he managed to feed the Unsub his own scalpel, Jane would probably make it for him, if he asked. As a reward.

Man. He really was nutrient deprived, if he was contemplating justifiable homicide for a starch dish.

Pity it would probably never happen. The Unsub seems quite content to let him starve to death on his own. He probably had started carving Hotch's back and realized that there was none of that same satisfaction of cutting into Jane, because Jane was the object of his desire and Hotch … wasn't.

All of which was good, because Hotch would be hard pressed to win a physical fight right now and walk away without debilitating injury – but it was also bad, because there was no fighting starvation. No beating it. His only option was to hang on as long as he could and conserve energy when he can.

He'd retrieved Jane's carved token, rubbing his fingers over the smooth wood as he laid on the bed to do just that. On his back, of course, because if he didn't shift too much he didn't aggravate the scabs – he needed every shred of power and lacadasciality he could grasp. Ignoring his wounds wholesale was the easiest way to do that.

Even if it fucking hurt.

He studied the totem, wondering how Jane carved each line. Why, of all images, she decided to carve a sunset over the sea. Had Jane known the meaning of her given name? Not many people did – people that weren't Reid, that is. Or was it just the easiest thing for her to carve? Or … perhaps she missed the sea, after months stuck in these four walls. She probably missed a lot of things.

Mar y sol. Mar - y - sol. Marysol. Marisole.

Ryden came from old English, according to the Reid Dictionary of Everything; meaning horse rider or horsemen. Hotch wondered, sometimes, how many people these days – Americans, at least – know the meaning of their names, of their children's names. Hotchner meant cattle driver, he knew, and Aaron meant 'enlightened' or 'mountain of strength'.

He could use some strength and enlightenment, right about now.

The sea and the sun, purity, horse rider.

The sea and the sun reborn into a horse rider.

The Virgin Mary reborn into a horseman.

The Virgin Mary reborn as a cowboy.

Hotch didn't bother to repress his snort at the mental image.

Did Jane even know the meaning of the plants in her tattoos when she got them? Hotch had never asked, knowing it to be a sensitive topic for the occasionally volatile doctor – but it was a very specific message. An enduring memorial to the dead.

Ivy, lotus.

Ivy vine, black lotus.

And ivy vine for remembrance and faithfulness, a black lotus for death and rebellion …

He remembered the echo of his dream.

Why would he dream something like that? His brain and subconscious had been surprisingly helpful through all this, all things considered. It managed to point him and steer him and direct him where he needed to be … show him what he'd missed and he knew he'd missed.

But that dream ...

All white garb. Gazing down into a pool, echos bouncing in his ears. Bowed head, with his feet turning into roots –

Oh.

Hotch stood suddenly, swinging his legs around and under him with a well concealed wince. With a few strides he's back in front of the mirror, turning and twisting to see the carving better.

Turn the petals white, set the roots on the bank of a pond and … it was a narcissus flower. Named for the greek hero Narcissus who fell in love with his own reflection, and who was pursued by a nymph named Echo – a spirit doomed to never speak with her own voice, only to forever repeat the words of others.

As punishment for his vanity, Narcissus was turned into a white flower with a bowed head, gazing forever at its own reflection.

Hell, he was what narcissistic was named for – self obsession to the extreme.

And now it was carved forever into his back.

Hotch knew the language of flowers. And Hotch knew that the narcissus flower was the flower of unrequited love and selfishness. That was how the Unsub saw him. As a selfish man who loved 'his' Lotus, who could never be loved back. And he marked him as such.

But looking at his back, mind racing with the myth of Narcissus … Hotch began to form a plan.


A/N

WHOOO!

Marathon! Marathon! Marathon!

(I know that is the most evil of cliff hangers but ya girl's gotta get some real life stuff done too.)

Thank you so much for all of your wonderful reviews! They give me life and hope and motivation and I'm selfish so I'm allowed to say that.

And don't y'all go thinking that this is where it ends – or even that this arc is where it ends. I have Plans, you guys. Capital 'p' and everything.

I'll catch you all later, post what happens next – and I hope that these last few days have brightened your spirits!

– Milo Of The Key