AUTHOR'S NOTE: This section gets a bit dark and the rating can tend towards an R due to description of a violent crime. It's not graphic, just terribly intense(so I've been told).

Please see the first two chapters for any other warning or notes.

Once again, thank you for the kind words. They keep me going.


DECEMBER, 1983

At age twenty-two, a doctor had told Kristina Jareau that she would never be able to bear children. He had blamed it on a vicious childhood infection that had nearly killed her. With an appropriately somber face, he'd told her that he was so sorry. So very terribly sorry.

She'd just closed her eyes and said, her voice cracking with shock and pain, that it didn't matter anyway. She hadn't wanted kids anyway.

It'd been a lie, but one she figured that she could learn to live with.

At age twenty-three, she'd found out that while she could never be a mother, she could be an aunt. Her brother, older than her by just eleven months, had announced over Christmas dinner that he and his new wife were expecting their first child in the spring.

A boy, they'd found out quickly. A boy who was to be named David John, after their father, who had passed away many years earlier. Their mother had been delighted. No, ecstatic was probably the right word.

Kristina could still remember Matthew and Kate asking her if she would be David's godmother. She had agreed without hesitation because this child, this perfect little boy with unruly brown hair like his father's, well he made her feeling of emptiness just a little bit less.

She figured she could play the doting aunt, the one who was always around, always letting the kids play. Always getting to see the kids laugh.

Every now and again, though, she'd feel a pang of jealousy, an irrational one at that, when she'd watch Kate kiss one David's bloody knees after he'd taken yet another spill. He'd cry in his mother's arms and she'd soothe him, stroking his hair back and peppering his face with kisses.

It was hard not to feel a brief surge of envy. Not anger or spite towards Kate, no, never that. She adored Kate, but still, it was hard to know that she would never have the opportunity to do that with a child of her own.

Two years later, the family had grown again. This time a little girl that they had named Jennifer. Kate had decided on the name, said that after what had felt like months of arguing, going back and forth between names like Samantha and Candace, she had decided to go simple.

And besides, Jennifer was the name of a dear friend of hers from college, a girl who had been a star gymnast. And as Kate liked to remind everyone, she herself hailed from a family full of gymnasts.

To which Matthew had replied, with that damnable smirk of his, that being a cheerleader was not the same thing as being a gymnast.

He'd earned a well-deserved slap on the forearm for that.

But God, Matthew and his little girl. Well if he'd been incorrigible with David(and he had been, utterly so), he was that much worse with Jennifer. Due to Matthew's inability to ever set his daughter down for longer than ten seconds at a time (including during naptime), Kate had taken to joking that Jennifer was going to grow up to be an insomniac. And she would have daddy to blame for that.

Matthew's only reply had been, "Well then I guess JJ and I can go midnight fishing together, huh?"

And Kate had rolled her eyes because though Matthew had called his daughter it from day one, Kate had always hated that nickname. It sounded like a boy's name, she'd said. She'd been stubbornly insistent that her sweet little girl would grow up to be a ballerina or something romantic and pink like that.

Matthew had countered with, "How about a goalie?"

He'd earned another slap on the forearm for that one.

And then a third when Kate had realized that much of the family had taken to calling Jennifer "JJ". Still she'd persisted with Jenny. Confident that eventually her daughter would take her side and choose the "pretty girl's" name over the "dirty boy's" one.

Because it, like most things in the Jareau marriage, had been a playful game. If Jennifer had decided on JJ, Matthew would have become even more impossible and, if Jenny had eventually won out, well Kate would never have let him forget it.

Of course, that day would never come.

Kristina could still remember standing in the middle of her living room, the phone rested in her hand, held tightly like a club.

It had been her mother on the other side, just seconds earlier. She'd been speaking in a voice that seemed impossibly low. She'd said that something awful had happened, that Kate and Matthew had been murdered in their own bedroom. She said she'd seen their bodies. Had confirmed their identities.

What she hadn't said was what she hadn't needed to say. She hadn't said that she wasn't sure how she could go on, how she could possibly survive the loss of her oldest child.

And then she had reminded herself – and Kristina – why they both had to be strong. "The children," she'd said. "They need us right now."

Kristina had agreed, barely able to speak, her lips numb and unmoving. Her mother had asked her if she should come over and be the one to speak to the kids. Kristina had found her voice then, said no, said that it was her job. Said that she could handle it.

She'd known almost immediately that she'd been lying through her teeth.

Finally, putting down the phone, she'd slowly made her way over to the kids. They had been seated in front of the television, both of them watching cartoons. Jennifer had had her fingers inside of a bowl of Cheerios made soggy with entirely too much milk.

"Hey, guys," Kristina had said, dropping down to a knee in front of them. "Can we turn the TV off and talk for a minute?" She could remember wondering just what in the hell she was going to say to them

Thinking that maybe something like, "hey kids, your parents were just butchered while you were playing chutes and ladders?" probably wasn't going to be the best way to go.

"Please," she'd said again, when neither Jennifer nor David had moved an inch.

Jennifer had looked up at her briefly, then gone back to playing with her bowl of cereal. It had occurred to Kristina that her tiny blonde niece had been attempting to drown the Cheerios.

Attempting to suffocate them.

Somehow, the irony was just too bitter.

Reaching forward, she'd grabbed the bowl from Jennifer and yanked it away from the child, practically throwing the ceramic container across the room. The small girl had reacted with a yelp of fear and surprise.

"What's wrong?" David had said suddenly, his eyes large and serious. He'd turned the TV off and then slid a comforting arm around his little sister, who was sniffling her tears away.

And in that moment, Kristina had known that David was exactly her brother's son.

Because where as Matthew had been well known for his goofy and playful side, he'd also been an incredibly strong man. One capable of being a rock of logic and calm.

Staring down at David, in that brief moment, Kristina could recall seeing Matthew in him. Seeing that cool calm and logic.

Even at seven.

It had struck her as being horribly unfair for a child to have need to be so serious

But then life was kind of like that, rarely fair.

At twenty-two years old, Kristina Jareau had been told that she would never be able to have children. At thirty years of age, she had become legal guardian to both her nephew and niece.

And that day, as she'd knelt down in front of them, fighting like hell not to break down, she'd made a choice to lie to them.

She'd told David and Jennifer that their parents had been killed in a car crash. She'd told them that they hadn't suffered and that they were up with God now. Up with the angels above.

It was a lie that she would continue telling for seventeen years.

A lie she would even leave town to protect. Because loose lips and all that and she had known that in a small town, people would talk.

So she had taken the kids to a town just down the road. A town where the Jareau name hadn't meant nearly as much to nearly as many. A town where they could all start over.

She'd rationalized it. Told herself that t hey were kids who didn't need to know the truth. They wouldn't understand it anyway.

And that had been true. It had taken Jennifer a very long time to understand that daddy would never be walking through the front door again, arms wide to catch her. Even David had had his moments of forgetting. His moments of calling out for his mother when he was in pain.

It'd been a strange reality for Kristina, the first time she had realized that it now fell to her to be the one to kiss the boo-boos away.

Something she'd always wanted. Something she felt guilty now having.

Something she would given back in a minute if she could have.

At first, there had been arguments between she and her mother. Her mother had wanted to take the children, said that she'd had more experience and that it made more sense for her to raise the kids. And more than once, Kristina had almost given in, almost agreed that she had no business trying to bring up Matthew and Kate's children.

But, in the end, all arguments aside, all logic be damned, it was Jareau stubbornness and pride that had won out.

That and her need to hold onto Matthew in some way. To have some part of him always near to her. Because letting go of him, letting go of the big brother who had always protected her, always adored her and always been there for her, it simply wasn't a possibility.

Growing up, she'd been too small and frail because of the same illness which had robbed her of her ability to have children. Matthew had been handsome and popular. He could have left her to own devices, left her to her own unfortunate solitude, but that had never been his way. His rule had been simple and absolute, "she's with me or you're not."

And so she had always been .

And so he would always be.

That was her rule, too.

JULY, 2007.

Reid and JJ were the last to enter, the two of them engaged in a soft-spoken, under their breath conversation as they walked into the conference room. JJ laughed at something he said, he just grinned.

"Nice of you two to join us," Morgan teased. He'd already taken hell that day thanks to his mates telling anyone who would listen about how a girl had lifted his wallet. Now, it was time for some payback.

Reid blushed, but JJ, for her part, just rolled her eyes. His reaction might have made one think that there was something going on between the two, but hers seemed to quiet the buzz.

But then, that was her job.

Never letting anything get out of control unless she wanted it to.

And even then, it was only the perception of loss of control. The reality was likely far different.

They took their seats, Reid nursing a cup of steaming coffee. Morgan held up his hand, showed all five fingers. JJ shook her head and then held up her own palm and added another finger. Six. Morgan whistled.

Reid looked away, coloring a bit. It was no secret that he'd become even more of a caffeine junkie in the aftermath of his stint in drug rehab. In fact, it was almost a joke around this place. Something everyone felt comfortable and safe with.

When Reid looked up again, Morgan was grinning at him. But it was a gentle one, slightly cautious, as if to ask, "was that too much?"

Because even now, even weeks removed from rehab, they were still worried about him, some of them still walking on eggshells around him.

And so he smiled back at his friend, let him know that he was okay. That he could take the jokes, that he even rather welcomed them.

"Okay," Gideon said, interrupting the silent conversation. He stepped into the middle of the room. "I was just sent a case from a former colleague of mine who consults with the San Diego Police Department. He's asked for our immediate assistance."

He dropped down a stack of hastily copied off papers. Reid grabbed one, handed another to JJ, who couldn't stop her eyebrow from arching.

Normally it was her job to prepare a presentation for these meetings, to put their cases together in a nice neat folder, each page numbered and carefully lined up. Each part of the file something useful and helpful.

This, however, well this was vintage Jason Gideon. Disorganized, haphazard and yet utterly compelling just the same.

"Oscar Baron," Reid said suddenly, looking up. "He's a friend of yours?"

"Try mentor," Morgan corrected.

"I…I…I've read every book he's published, I even have some of his lecture tapes," Reid prattled on, eyes bright. Then he turned to the side, saw the girls looking at him, both of them unable to hide their amusement. "Uh, I mean, I'm a fan."

Morgan snorted, then said "God, Baron has to be upwards of eighty by now."

"Eighty-two and still smart as ever," Gideon defended. JJ thought she heard some pride there. And why not? Oscar Baron was a bit of a legend around Quantico. The man was apparently sharp as a katana and twice as intense. It'd been said that he had once, back during his days as a GI, been taken prisoner and that he'd talked his way free. No one knew for sure if it was true, but there wasn't anyone who dared to doubt it either.

"Okay, we're dealing with four families," Hotch said suddenly, placing several color photos down onto the table. Each showed a family portrait, the exact same configuration in each. Husband, wife, son, daughter.

"The perfect family," Morgan said, reaching for one of the pictures.

"From what we've been able to put together, the Unsub sneaks into the house at sometime after midnight. He finds a way to barricade the children into their bedrooms and then he goes into the master. He kills the husband first."

"With a hunting knife," Emily put in, lifting up one of the crimescene photos. "Pretty messy. A lot of blood. A lot of anger."

Hotch nodded, then continued, "He then rapes the wife. After he's done, he eviscerates her."

"Then he moves on to the children," Gideon murmured, glancing down at the pictures on the side of the table, the ones that no one had yet been able to pick up. Even seasoned profilers had problems with seeing children hurt.

"In each case, he's killed the boy first," Hotch told them, his words very slow and deliberate. Almost like a schoolteacher trying to lead his students down a very specific path.

"Oh, God," JJ said suddenly, as she flipped the page. Her face scrunched up in disgust and Hotch knew that she'd read ahead. And just like a schoolteacher, he rather wished she hadn't.

But she had and so now he no choice but to go where she had.

"He makes the little girl watch her brother be murdered in front of her, his throat slashed as well and then he ties her down and sexually assaults her," Hotch finished, his voice very controlled. Too controlled.

It was all he could do not to scream.

"And then he kills her in the same way that he killed her mother," Emily said, a great deal of disgust in her voice. "The exact same way."

For a long moment, no one said anything. Then, finally, Morgan asked, "No messages left? Nothing at all?"

"No," Gideon told him. "Not even an unknown mark left on the bodies."

"So this isn't about ownership," Reid said, thinking aloud.

"What about DNA?" Emily queried.

"None. He's used a condom in each of the attacks," Hotch replied.

"That's odd," Reid spoke up. "I mean, for someone showing the amount of fury he is, to take the time to make sure he doesn't leave any of himself behind, that seems almost…controlled."

"So…not a disorganized killer then?" JJ asked. She'd learned a lot in her time with the time, but sometimes still found herself groping for their terms.

"Depends on his agenda," Emily answered.

"Agenda? So you think these attacks were planned?" JJ pressed.

"I would think 'yes'," Emily replied. "There seems more at play here than just raw fury and compulsion. Maybe for some reason or another, the Unsub had a grudge against these people."

"Or these kind of people," Gideon countered.

"What do you mean?" JJ asked.

"All of these families, all four of them, they look almost picturesque. Like Morgan said, the perfect family. In each case, mom is a pretty blonde with blue eyes, and dad is handsome and strong looking. And in each of the families, there's a boy child and a girl child," Gideon answered.

"Maybe he's a kid whose family gave him up for adoption," Morgan suggested.

"If he goes back and finds out that the parents who gave him up created the great American family without him, that could certainly piss a guy off," Emily put in.

"All of this is possible," Hotch nodded. "But we won't know until we get there. We're wheels up in thirty, people."

And with that, the meeting was over. Immediately, everyone started to get up and move around, each mentally ticking off their checklists of what they needed to do before they made their way to the tarmac.

"JJ," Hotch called out as the group started to thin. She turned back towards him and smiled and he could tell that she was hoping that he wasn't going to broach the subject of the job offer.

"Were you able to make the call to the Director's secretary?"

"No," she admitted. "I'd just sat down when…well, everyone came in."

"You have thirty minutes," he said. "Make the call."

She nodded, wanting to say something, but being far too adult and mature to do so.

And yet, briefly and in the back of her mind, she couldn't help, but wonder if Hotch was actively trying to push her out the door.

"Can you imagine," Emily Prentiss started, glancing down at one of the family portraits. "You tuck your kids into bed, you kiss them goodnight and then you walk down the hall. You think to yourself that maybe this is what it's all about. Maybe someone reached down and kissed you on the forehead. You crawl into bed, kiss your spouse goodnight and close your eyes. You have no idea that this man is standing outside of your window, just waiting to destroy it all."

"You're taking this awful personal," Morgan noted as he dropped down into the seat opposite her. As he settled, he could feel the light vibration of the plane beneath him. It'd been smooth sailing so far, but he could still feel it. The way the jet glided effortlessly from side to side.

For a guy like Derek Morgan, who far preferred to have both feet on the ground, being up in the air was always something that was in his mind. Always there, always stirring right below the surface.

Because in the air, he had no control.

In the air, all of his tactics, all of his strength, none of it meant a damn thing. If the plane fell, being able to bench press three of Reid wasn't going to do him a bit of good.

Still, he'd at least gotten used to it.

At least learned to push it to the back of his mind.

"Personal? No. I mean not anymore than usual," Emily replied, shaking her head. "I just…I can't get these little girls faces out of my head. Everything else I can deal with. I hate to say it, but we've seen it all before, but this, Derek, this is just wrong."

"I hate to say, it" Derek responded, his voice very soft, "But I've seen this before, too. And you know what, it never gets easier."

"Oh."

"Coffee, Emily?" JJ said, suddenly appearing from above them. Emily blinked, certain that the blonde hadn't been there a mere three seconds earlier. She was holding two cups in her hand.

"Yeah, thanks," Emily answered, taking one of the cups.

JJ nodded and made her way away from them, back over to where the playing card table was. Reid was seated there, flipping through the casefiles, going over them time and time again.

"That for me?" Reid asked, without even looking up.

JJ glanced down at her coffee and laughed. "No, I think you've had enough for the day." Then, her tone lightening to one that made her next statement an obvious joke, she finished with, "Besides, your brain is already too fast."

And with that she dropped into the seat opposite him and placed the cup onto the table, next to the red-backed playing cards, next to the casefiles, most of which were closed, hiding the horrible details.

He shrugged off her comment with a smile. A small voice in his head told him to be offended, but he pushed it back. He'd gotten control over that voice, he'd gotten control over himself.

He was finding his way back to his old self.

Slowly, but surely.

"Spence, did I lose you?" JJ asked suddenly, her hand waving in front of his eyes. When he looked up at her, she was smiling at him, looking both mildly amused and slightly concerned. When he answered her with a shy smile of his own, her worry fell away.

"Uh, no, sorry, uh, just thinking."

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"Marilyn Dexter."

"The third wife?"

"Yeah," he nodded, but didn't elaborate.

After a few seconds, she said, "Okay…."

"Oh, sorry. I think she knew the Unsub."

"Why do you say that?" Hotch asked, turning around towards them. He'd been sitting in the seat that shared a back with the one JJ was in.

"Well, the police report says that the Unsub entered the Dexter house through an upstairs bathroom window, but if you look at the pictures of the house, you wouldn't know where that window was unless you knew. It's completely obscured by trees."

And then as if to prove his point, he pushed four photos of the Dexter house down into the table. The crimescene unit had been zealous in it's photography and almost every inch of the land around the residence had been documented. Including an upstairs window, which just as Reid had pointed out, was practically invisible to the naked eye.

"But he knew," JJ said. "Which means that he either had access to the floorplans…"

"Or was someone the Dexters trusted enough to have allowed into their house," Gideon finished. JJ startled a bit, not quite knowing where Gideon had appeared from. Last she could recall, he'd been sitting in the way back, flipping through his notebook, jotting down his thoughts.

"What about the other houses, any of the other entry points unusual?" Hotch asked Reid, who was still examining the photos.

"Not really. He entered through an upstairs room in each of the cases, using the roof to get him up and into the room."

"What about the windows?" JJ queried. "None of them were locked?"

"It's warm weather in San Diego right now," Gideon said. "The windows were probably open, letting in the air."

"Or maybe the Unsub left them unlocked himself," Morgan countered as he and Emily approached from the side. Emily put her barely sipped cup of coffee in front of Reid, who looked appreciative.

One glance over at JJ who was watching him with a slightly lifted eyebrow made him choose to decline the extra caffeine. Neither Morgan nor Emily missed the exchange between the two agents and if it had been any time but this one, any time when they weren't discussing the disturbing details of several murders, one of them would have commented on it.

But that teasing, that levity, that would have to wait for a more appropriate time.

"You think the Unsub was in the houses on the day of the murders?" Hotch asked. It was more a request for elaboration as opposed to a challenge.

"Why not?" Emily shrugged, picking up Morgan's line of thought. "It fits. The Unsub is likely obsessed with these families. For some reason or another, they either had something he wanted or they've upset him in some way. So he probably inserted himself into their lives, got close to them. On the day of the murders, he gets himself invited inside, gets a walk-around and then eventually excuses himself to use the bathroom."

"And that's when he creates his opening," Gideon nodded. Then, "She's right. It fits."

"Okay, but how does he get himself into their lives?" Hotch queried.

"Through their children," JJ said suddenly. She looked up at the others. "These families, they all have young kids. All of the boys were around the age of seven. All the girls were about five. These parents, their lives were probably nothing, but soccer, ballet, and baseball. If the Unsub has a kid of his own, one that fits somewhere in that age range, it wouldn't take a lot for him to be able to get close to the right kind of family."

"San Diego's a big city. He could move around with each kill. Enroll his kid in a new school. Pick a new family. Start the cycle again." Morgan put in.

"Okay," Hotch agreed. "If that's our theory, then let's get working on where all of these kids went to school. Let's see if we can't find a common face. And if not that, a kid who keeps coming and going."

"I'll get Garcia on it." Morgan said, reaching for his phone.

"Good," Hotch nodded. "In the meanwhile, it's a long flight to San Diego. I want everyone to try to get at least a few minutes of sleep in. This isn't going to be any easy one."

TBC.