"Baby Girl, what are we looking at?" Morgan asked, grip tightening around the steering wheel as they hurtled down the highway.

"Well, Buff Goodness, it is really not good – and I mean that with a level of seriousness I usually reserve for hating PETA," Garcia grimmly shot back, her voice ringing through their comms; Jane adjusted her earpiece volume accordingly. "Looks like – well, it's bad. Really bad. With this list, I've got over thirty agents in various field offices and a number of administrators – all of which have either been spying on this team or covering up a lot of nefarious evil-ness. You thought the Replicator getting all up in our business was bad? At least John Curtis wasn't actively covering up his murders."

"Garcia, what are you saying?" Jane asks, but she knows the answer.

"... Janey-pie, I'm sorry but the reason your family's case was closed and stayed that way was because this bastard used Colemyer money to bury it," Garcia reluctantly told her. Jane felt her stomach drop. "I mean, it makes sense … the case should've been reopened a while ago."

"Hotch mentioned the same thing a while back," Morgan brought up flatly. "I haven't heard him mention it for months – I thought it was just the Replicator taking precedence … but if Hotch thought that there were turncoats in the FBI then he wouldn't've pushed it till the Replicator was dealt with."

"Probably another reason he was taken," Jane shook her head, worn out. "Fuck."

"We'll be at Meadowes' estate in a few minutes," Morgan changed the subject. "Thank you, Garcia."

He tugged out the earbud, and Jane did the same.

"... Thank you," She says after a long moment, when the silence grew too loud. "For taking me with. I know you didn't have to."

He forcefully relaxed his grip on the steering wheel.

"Don't thank me for that, because I didn't do it for you," LeFay didn't look at her, voice flat. "I did it for Hotch. If I was doing what was best for you – if I had my way – you'd go straight into WitSec with Jack and you'd only surface after this entire conspiracy bullshit was dragged out into the open and torn to pieces."

"You'd really do that, wouldn't you?" Jane cocked her head at him, reluctantly amused. "I'm not some damsel you need to lock in a tower and throw away the key for, Derek. I've lived this long, haven't I?"

"By the skin of your teeth, Jane, and that's not good enough right now," He shook his head with a frown. "Not when everything's coming to a head – and don't go thinking that this is just only reason the whole BAU hasn't locked you up is because you've got a perspective no one else has on this case. Your memory may be a minefield, but it yields results. And we need some god forsaken results already."

They stopped at an intersection. He huffed, shooting her a look.

"So don't thank me, Jane, because I only brought you along for Hotch."

" … No, that's not quite true, is it?" Jane corrects him as his eyes return to the road, the light changing. "Hotch wouldn't want to be found, not at the expense of me – the fucking self-sacrificing idiot. Hotch would want me in WitSec – you and I want Hotch back."

Morgan didn't respond.

"LeFay," She caught his eye. Half-forced a smile. "Thank you."

He shot a look over, disgruntled. With a sigh, he reached over and scrubbed a hand through her short locks – laughing roughly when she squawked in protest.


When Reid bolted upright, JJ was so startled she nearly dropped her coffee.

Nearly – thankfully not, because Will brewed her favorite to make up for the epically horrendous month she was having. But the fact was if Reid going from full-slump one second to straight up on his feet the next wasn't a known phenomenon she would have dropped her favorite mug. Which would've sucked.

"Radius!" The genius practically shouted as he sprang to life, hands gesticulating wildly. "Oh my – I can't believe I didn't think of it earlier, we were talking about timelines. Oh, we were literally just talking about this –!"

"Reid!" Rossi cut into his verbal tirade. "Reid! What is it!"

"Radius!" Spence repeated, louder and with more enthusiasm – oh, how JJ loved Spence's brain, but sometimes it was a very tumultuous and scary void to try and pick through.

"Gonna need more than that, Reid," Blake cuts in calmly. "What about the radius?"

"Jane was being stalked!" Reid capitulated, whirling to face them.

Silence for one long beat.

"What do you need to do to stalk someone?" Reid pressed, turning to JJ herself. "C'mon, Jayje – what requirements do you need to hit to stalk someone, for years?"

"You need money, flexibility, and intimate knowledge of their schedule and habits," JJ parsed out carefully – then it hit her, and she felt her eyes widen. "And you need to be by them, to follow them day to day."

"Yes!" Reid crowed. "If you're an Unsub, following someone day in and day out for two decades, what do you do? How do you get close to them?"

"I live near them," JJ filled in, suddenly energized. "I would live near them."

Reid's already flipping through the printed packet of locations that Vine had sent them. Within a minute he's marking addresses on the board map of the DC area in red marker. Another half minute later, he's stepping back.

"Okay, so the star here is where Jane lives," Reid gestures to the board. "All these points are locations on Vine's list within a thirty mile radius."

Blake stepped closer for a better look, frowning. "That's a lot of properties."

"32," Reid provides as he diales for Garcia. She picks up before the first ring.

"187, you do know I'm just down the hall, right?"

"Can't wait – I need you to run a list of properties, one of them is where McCrae has been staying," Reid plowed through, fingers tapping restlessly at the table.

"Wait – does that mean you might know where Hotch is?"

"No, not yet – but this should give us a hell of a lot more to work with," Rossi replied for him. "Reid, what are the addresses?"

Reid rattled them off, foot tapping incessantly. JJ finished her coffee and set it down, stepping closer to the board.

"Okay, crime fighters – of these 32 …" Her keyboard clicks carry through the line. "8 are warehouses unsuitable for long term living, 13 are office buildings, and 2 are restaurants."

"And the remaining nine?" Reid asks, marker poised and ready to write."

"Let's see … " Garcia mused, trailing off as she continued to plow through mounds of data.

"What about timelines?" JJ found herself asking in the ensuing silence.

"What about them?" Blake looked over.

"You might not know this, but Jane hasn't always lived in her current house – when she first moved here, she lived in an apartment. A really crap one. He would've stalked her there, too – that's where she first got the flowers in the first place."

Spence swooped in, swiftly marking Jane's old apartment. Then, for good measure, he marked Hotch's house.

"Why'd she move?" Blake asked, studying the dots between the three points.

"She was attacked by the same man who killed Hotch's wife," JJ tugged at her necklace. "George Foyet had broken into her apartment, and –"

Oh shit.

"Spence! Rossi!" She whirled around, pulling them from whatever they were saying to Rossi. "Foyet!"

"What about him?" Rossi tilted his head, bracing himself for yet another eureka moment. "He's dead."

"Jane went missing from Hotch's apartment after Foyet attacked them at Hotch's," JJ exclaimed. "She showed up days later in a hospital miles away."

"I remember that day – she was completely in shock," Rossi nodded, eyes flickering as he thought back. "Someone had stitched up the cut on her arm – crudely, but effectively – and she was wearing a white sundress. She would never wear a white dress on her own."

"And my phone number was written on her inner arm. That's how we found her – they called me," JJ added. "Hotch was in the hospital, and if McCrae saw the attack he could have easily assumed he was dead. The threat was out of the way, so it was safe to let a non-threat – me – know where she was."

"You're saying that McCrae was the one who took Jane and brought her to that hospital?" Reid blinked rapidly. "That makes sense – Jane wouldn't remember, because Foyet had drugged her. She was unresponsive, probably insensate entirely, so he let her go so he could have his 'perfect reunion' another time. He just didn't count on Hotch still being alive."

"Okay, this is all horrifying," Garcia chimed in, sounding a little sick as she reminded them she was still on the line. "What do I do with it?"

"Look for changes of address or residency for any of the locations – either coming or going – coinciding with Jane's move," Blake ordered.

"Not just that, but check for when Jane first moved to DC, when Jane returned from Vermont, and when Hotch and Jane first got together," JJ added. "Any point or any reason the Unsub would feel like he needed to be closer to Jane."

"Looks like …" Garcia mused, voice trailing in thought. "Okay of the nine you gave me four have been lived in for the last decade or so with no change – I'll put them aside for now. Of the five left, one had an unrelated move eight years ago, one passed over the deed but kept the residents, and one is being remodeled and has been for two years – yeesh, I would not want to be them, their electricians suck –"

"And the last two?" Reid repeatedly capped and uncapped the marker in his hand.

"Jackpot," Garcia declared grimmly. "Okay, look at 125 Rushman and 46A Blaine, you see 'em?"

Reid quickly located and marked them.

"Well, both were leased to the same Cayman Island account – long term rental," Garcia reported. "Three long stretches. Looks like the first coincides with the first gift till Foyet, and then the move to Rushman coincides with Jane's move as well ... Jane goes missing and the lease ends, only to be picked back up again, lease number three. Still at Rushman."

"Do you have a name?" JJ asked.

"No – well, actually, I do, but that name is 'Johan Meadowes' because these houses all ended up on the list for a reason," Garcia grumbled. "Apparently, the bastard also dabbles in real estate with shell companies. They were all paid for by the same uber encrypted account, so no luck there – not unless there were three of me and enough caffeine to stop the heart of an elephant. And six months."

"Rushman, you said?" Rossi repeated back, eyeing the map. "Reid, you're with me. If we have to tear that place apart to find Hotch, we will. If he's been living there for years, watching, then he may have left something behind."

"JJ and I will wait for Morgan and Jane to get back, to start interrogating Meadowes," Blake nodded in agreement. "Good luck."

"You, too," Reid shot them a grin, and they parted ways.


Pulling up to Meadow's fucking mansion, all Jane could feel was a sudden and overwhelming sense of dread. Dread so strong, she automatically grabbed Morgan by the wrist as he went to pull the key from the ignition.

"Wait."

He looks at her, studying her, and she suddenly feels embarrassed; doubts herself, because she's been on edge this whole case and her nerves are shot, what does she know? But Derek's not judgmental, he just switches his grip till their palms are pressed together – squeezing her hand tight.

"You don't have to go in, you know," Morgan offers casually. "I'm just gonna arrest this guy and bring him right back. Why don't you stay here?"

Dread is still twisting her gut.

"Sure," She lies lightly, agreeing even when something in the back of her head makes her want to scream. "He'll be more cooperative if I'm not there – might not even put up a fight if he thinks he's 'helping' and not being charged with a laundry list of crimes."

"Sounds like a plan," Morgan smiled at her, tossing the keys to her lightly. "I'll be right back."


The house on Rushman was like the Replicator all over again.

It was clearly abandoned, which was immensely frustrating, but McCrae hadn't taken the time to tear down his wallpaper – if you could call it that.

Photo after photo after photo in a mural of horror.

Walls were layered with pictures of Jane. Hair long and short, scars covered and on full display. Other than the military-perfect bedroom and a single table and chair, there was no furniture. No hints of practicality or any sign that someone had lived there. The fridge was empty – McCrae knew that his plan would come to fruition. He knew the Replicator's schedule, and he planned accordingly.

Rossi felt ill as he looked around. When the Replicator had stalked the BAU, it had felt terrifying and slimy and paranoid in so many different ways – knowing that at any time a murderer could be watching your every move. But as horrible as it was, no one was in it alone. They had each other for support – being there for each other, as a team. Taking precautions and ensuring their own safety.

Yet as vile as it was to be surveilled, none of the Replicator's actions indicated that John Curtis had ever done more than follow them around and 'replicate.' There was a kind of peeping a stalker is capable of – a violation. The kind that left scars in the worst way – they had dodged that bullet, with Curtis.

Jane hadn't.

The photos … Rossi could barely look at them.

There were pictures of Hotch, too. Pictures with grooves and holes where darts and forks and steak knives were jammed into his throat. Pictures of Jack were scribbled over so violently that the paper had torn, and Rossi had to reassure himself with the knowledge that the tyke was in protective custody.

(But Hotch wasn't.)

There was this one shot … it was of Hotch, from the back – his face turned to smile at Jane next to him, their hands interlocked. Across his back in red sharpie – harsh strokes over Hotch's white polo – was drawn a flower.

Dave opened his mouth to call out to Ried, but the ringing of his phone stopped him.

"Rossi," He answered before the second tone sounded.

"Rossi, it's JJ," She responded, sounding out of breath. "Listen, Morgan needs backup – Blake and I are headed straight there."

"Backup?" Rossi echoed, twisting to lock eyes with an alarmed Reid. "What happened?"

"Meadowes is dead. McCrae killed him."


Morgan wasn't back yet.

Jane frowned, checking her watch and then reaching over – starting the car just a click, comparing her clock face to the car's display. Just in case her watch was slow, or something.

It wasn't.

Morgan had been in there for almost an hour. No texts, no calls – nothing. No gunshots or screams or shouts anything to indicate something had gone wrong but …

Nothing to alleviate her worry, either.

With a huff, she undoes her seatbelt and unlocks the car. Securing her satchel, she steps out and closes the door behind her, locking the SUV with a low beep-beep.

The sound seemed to echo, but she ignores the chill down her back and approaches the house.

But she barely makes it two steps before there's another Quantico SUV screeching up and JJ and Blake are jumping out.

"Jane!" Blake exclaims, gun drawn. "Jane, are you alright?"

"I'm fine!" She yelps, startled as JJ grabs her arm. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Morgan called for backup – get in the car with Blake," JJ steered her towards the older woman.

"Whoa – what?" Jane reached for her gun, twisting out of JJ's grip to draw it. "Is he okay? I was in the car –"

"Jane, Morgan's fine," Blake assured her, holstering her own weapon to take hold of Jane's wrist. "You just need to come with me right now."

"Come with you where?" Jane glanced between Blake, who looked patently calm, and JJ, who wouldn't take her eyes off the house. "I can't go anywhere, I'm the one with the keys – and why did Morgan call for you guys if he's 'fine' –?"

"Mari!" JJ cut her off sharply, pivoting to lock eyes with her. Jane was startled into silence – JJ never called her that. "Mari, do you trust me?"

"Yes," Jane answered on reflex.

"Then I need you to trust me – I need you to give me the keys and get in the car with Blake," JJ ordered, firm and unyielding. "Will you do that for me? Please."

Numbly, she nodded. Passed JJ the keys.

She shouldn't've doubted her gut.


The drive back to Quantico is silent, because Blake won't answer her questions and Jane is too preoccupied turning over every possibility in her head to pry too much anyway.

She feels nauseous.

When they pull up to Quantico, Reid and Rossi are waiting for them. They too look grim, and don't immediately volunteer any information. Spinner just steps closer and tucks his arm around her waist, leading her back to the bullpen.

In a flash, they're in Rossi's office, and the blinds are shut.

"JJ told me to trust her," Jane breaks the silence, once it becomes clear that no one else will. "I'm willing to do that, but not blindly. Give me one good reason I shouldn't be charging back into that house and getting answers myself."

"Jane –" Rossi tries, but she's not having it.

"No," She shakes her head once, sharply. "No. Try again. Why did Morgan call for backup."

"Because McCrae was in that house," Reid answered. "And he murdered Meadowes before Morgan got there."

Jane doesn't know what expression is on her face, but it collectively makes the whole office wince.

"We didn't tell you because we didn't know how you'd react," Reid plunged on, hands shoved deep into his pockets. "We wanted you out of there so you wouldn't have to make that choice – and so that we didn't give McCrae the satisfaction of seeing you face to face."

"McCrae has been killing our leads left and right," Rossi continued firmly. "We need to do this right, Jane, and that means that you are going to have to do whatever we say."

"I always –" Jane protested, a little offended they didn't trust her to listen.

"No, no you don't," Rossi cut her off. "I don't mean just follow our lead, Jane. I mean that you are going to have to stop asking questions, stop doing what you think is right, and just listen."

She opened her mouth again.

"Do you want Hotch back?" Blake stepped in.

"Yes," Jane hissed, bewildered. "Of course I do."

"So if you want Hotch back, you're going to have to do what we say and when we say it," Blake pressed. "I know that we usually let you do your own thing, Jane, but not this time. You don't have the clarity to think through rationally, and we can't afford to get this wrong – not with Hotch on the line."

Jane looked at them. Really looked.

They were asking for the ultimate sign of trust. They were asking her to step aside and let them take the reigns. They were asking her to trust them with her … everything. To trust them with Hotch and Jack and –

She said she trusted JJ. She meant it, but –

… Hotch would say to trust them.

Hotch would also mow down anyone who got in between him and his family.

Dammit.

"Okay," Jane gritted her jaw, resisting the urge to bury her face in her hands. "Okay. But we get Hotch back. No matter what, we get him back."

No one makes her any promises. She knows better than to hope for that.


"Ah, Ms. Jareau," Elton McCrae Jr. greeted her warmly as she entered the study, stepping over the sprawled body of Meadowes with her gun drawn. He's relaxed, as if she was an old friend. As if he didn't have Morgan's handcuffs slapped to his wrists and muzzle to his forehead. As if Johan Meadowes' blood wasn't splattered across his face.

He looked just like his photos – but worse, somehow. JJ felt like she could almost see his black soul.

She hated him. Really, truly hated him.

"Don't talk to her, you bastard," Morgan snapped protectively. "Jayje, where is she?"

JJ didn't have to ask who he was talking about.

"Blake's with her, driving back," JJ kept her aim steady as she stepped forward. She looked straight at the Unsub. "Why did you kill Meadowes?"

"I was notified when his files were breached," McCrae answered nonchalantly. "Cleaning up loose ends – you know how it is."

"He was dead when I got here, only just barely," Derek gritted his teeth, rage flaring in his gaze. "Dirtbag here likes to kill witnesses and accomplices, it seems like."

"Honestly, 'accomplice' seems like a generous title for that decrepit sack of bones," McCrae chimed in unhelpfully. "I used him like I used dear Des. They outlived their usefulness, is all – and I disposed of them. It can't be helped."

"Where is Hotch?" JJ demanded, channeling all of her own fury into a deadly level voice. "What have you done to him?"

"Oh, don't worry – he's still alive," McCrae shrugged dismissively. "Not for much longer, I imagine. I'm sure his death will be painful and slow – I've heard starvation typically is."

He stood from where he had been slumped next to the radiator, straightening his impeccable suit with a regal – though restrained – sweep of his hands.

"Now, let's talk business," McCrae smiled at her charmingly. "Where might my dear Lotus be?"