Essential Listening – Get Over It, by OkGo

0o0

The news of the sixth abduction came through as they got past the reception desk of the Wauwatosa Police Department; by the time they made it upstairs the team had gone into full profile mode. They were now so intent on the job at hand that they'd half forgotten that Strauss was there. When it came to this part of the job she was no help at all.

"What do we know?" Detective Wolinski asked, marching up to the officer waiting to brief them.

"Woman's name is Clara Thompson," he said. "Husband tried to reach her on her cell phone and when she didn't pick up he drove to the department store. Car was in the parking lot, but she's not inside."

"Is that the husband?" JJ asked.

Grace followed her gaze to the agitated man sitting at one of the officers' desks.

"Yeah."

"JJ," Morgan nodded in the husband's direction. "Take Strauss with you."

You could have bottled the look Strauss gave Morgan at what was a barefaced dismissal, but she opted not to argue, at least in front of the Milwaukee cops. JJ's warning must have sunk in.

"I had the department store uplink the security footage to your analyst at Quantico," the officer told them.

Smart move, thought Grace.

"Perfect," said Morgan.

"My desk is over here," Detective Wolinski told them.

Grace followed her fellow agents, hoping Strauss wasn't mucking up talking to the next of kin. Morgan called Garcia, the one sure-fire way to de-stress mid-case.

"Garcia, baby-girl, tell me something' I wanna hear."

Grace smirked, though she didn't hear the response. Morgan's shoulders relaxed slightly, so it must have been good.

"How 'bout somethin' I don't already know?"

There was a pause as Detective Wolinski stripped off his jacket and found another chair.

"Look, did you locate the missin' girl on the security footage?"

Detective Wolinski's screen suddenly opened a window all by itself, which generally meant that Garcia was working some remote magic. Sure enough, the feed from the security footage began to play. It was black and white and grainy, but enough to observe behaviour.

"Uh-huh," said Morgan and put Garcia on speaker, just in time for Strauss to reappear. JJ, too, joined the agents congregating around the computer.

"She doesn't seem to be on anyone's radar," Reid observed.

"On screen, at least," Grace qualified.

"Okay, who's the kid?" Morgan asked, as they watched a young lad approach their victim.

"Does Clara Thompson have a son?" Detective Wolinski asked.

"No," JJ frowned. "A two-year-old daughter."

"Looks like the kid's lost," said Reid.

"Garcia, this all you got?" Morgan asked.

"That's it," she confirmed. "And then they turn down a hallway with no security cameras and we lose 'em."

"That's an effective ruse," Grace remarked as Garcia wound back the video. "What parent wouldn't help a lost kid in a shopping centre – especially after Jamie Bulger."

"I'll get a list of missing kids," Detective Wolinski offered. "See if we can make out a resemblance to any of 'em."

"Oh damn," said Morgan, suddenly.

"What?" Reid asked, all eyes on Morgan.

"Somethin' Hotch said," he elaborated, and Grace saw Strauss's eyes narrow. He wasn't supposed to be a part of this case. "All the abductions and disposals were timed around school. He thought the UnSub might work in the system. What if this guy's actually usin' his own son to lure his victims?"

And attaining a new level of skeezy, Grace added, privately. Fuck.

0o0

"Detective Wolinski told us you're tryin' to single out trucks and vans," said Morgan, to a whole room full of worried police officers, all eager for any help they could get.

He had taken the lead on the profile, too. Grace wondered if he even knew he was doing it.

"Smart. The UnSub is dumping his victims in the business districts, so I'd agree with you, he's probably not drivin' somethin' that stands out. He may even have some type of company logo on the side of his vehicle."

"We know he abducts the women in Wauwatosa and then dumps their bodies somewhere in the third ward," Reid explained, pointing out the area on the map of the city. "Uh – most UnSubs keep their area of control – where they kill their victims – triangulated between the two points."

"Which means the UnSub probably lives in Wauwatosa or the third ward," Morgan added. "Somewhere in that area. The people who live there know the UnSub."

"There's no sexual component to his crimes," said Reid. "Which means it's more about the UnSub making a point. He's cutting their hearts out."

He glanced at Morgan as the familiar shiver of disgust travelled around the room.

"It may be symbolic of a heartbreak, or maybe he has a thing for hearts," Grace picked up. "Either way, the way he kills these women – it's like he'd trying to get to the core of their beings. It's possible that someone has recently done the same to him. We can't rule it out at the moment."

"It might be just that this is the sickest way the UnSub can think of to demean the women and throw them out like trash," Morgan told them, heavily. "We can't really know."

"The two most important questions to ask ourselves are – uh – what is this guy doing with these women for forty-eight hours, and why is he willing to use his own son to abduct them?" Reid proposed.

"And if he is truly usin' his own son then it's likely that he has what we call 'borderline personality disorder'," Morgan explained. "Now, borderlines, they think that all relationships revolve entirely around them."

"This has a lot to do with rage," Grace continued. "He is the centre of his own universe and can't stand it when it doesn't revolve around him."

Reid nodded.

"And when they set their minds to somethin'?" Morgan suggested. "Absolute. There is no grey area."

"And it would also manifest that would be visible to people around the UnSub," Reid agreed. "Tense bouts of anger, depression, problems with drinking. Uh – he would also be highly sensitive to rejection."

"This is likely what set him off in the first place," Grace interjected. "So look out for breakdowns in significant relationships."

"And one last thing," said Morgan, finally. "It is not easy to crack clean through breast bone. You're dealin' with a guy who works with his hands, who's used to hard labour. At the very least, he's not afraid to get dirty."

0o0o0o0

If she'd thought that making a decision and moving forward would make her feel better, she had been wrong. She'd fled Quantico before anyone could ask her why she was leaving – she didn't want to lie to her friends and shame was proving to be a powerful motivator. In the past four hours, Emily had cleaned her apartment from top to bottom, made enough Massaman curry to last a month's worth of frozen dinners and started prepping her language skills for the foreign service exam.

After about three years, the sporadic phone calls from her former colleagues had stopped coming in. She imagined that meant they'd landed wherever the case had taken them. Suppressing the urge to just take off and join them had been harder than she'd thought.

Instead, she'd been toying with the idea of either going out to enjoy her reluctantly-found freedom, or staying in and having a long, hot bath and not thinking about anything at all, when someone knocked on her door.

She groaned when she looked through the peephole. Aaron Hotchner was possibly the last person she wanted to speak to right now, after her parents (who had never really understood her desire to join the FBI in the first place) and Erin Strauss.

Emily let him in with an air of resignation. After her performance in his office this morning he had either come to ask her to stay or to yell at her for compromising her position. Either conversation would probably push her over the edge right now, and she didn't feel like breaking down in front of someone she would otherwise consider a friend.

Hotch's expression (which Garcia had been known to refer to as 'resting Hotch-face') did not bode well for her sanity.

"Can I come in?"

Emily nodded and then followed him into her apartment, briefly wondering how much of it Hotch was currently profiling. She turned the music she'd been listening to off.

"The team needs us," he said, which she'd expected. "They're working a case in Milwaukee. Gideon hasn't shown up and don't tell me 'you quit', or 'I put in for a transfer'."

That was unexpected.

"You put in for a transfer?" she asked, surprised.

"They're both still hung up in the system," he said, which she supposed meant 'yes'. "So technically we're in dereliction of duty by not being there."

"I'm sorry, I can't go," Emily told him, shaking her head. Hotch's expression was unreadable.

"Right," he said. "Sorry I barged in."

He turned to go and Emily found herself trying to stop him. It wasn't supposed to be that easy. Hotch was definitely up to something – or annoyed with her.

It was often hard to tell.

"Wait, wait," she said, uncertain that she wanted to continue. "Can I ask you a question?"

Hotch changed course and prowled into her little kitchen area. It was tremendously odd seeing him there, looking the same as he always did at work. It was as if someone had cut him out of Quantico and transposed him there.

"Why are you really here?"

"I told you," he said. Her expression must had shown some of her disbelief as he continued, "I think Strauss came to you and asked for dirt on me."

Internally, Emily's stomach twisted uncomfortably. It rankled even now, when she'd all but admitted it.

"Why would she do that?" she asked, some of her frustration seeping into her voice.

"I think if you have your eyes on top leadership at the FBI, you wanna know who might stand in your way."

He'd said it almost gently, but she couldn't tell if she was referring to her or to Strauss.

"And what could I have told her?" she asked, stepping forward, challenging him.

"That one of my agent might have murdered a suspect in cold blood," he said, which surprised her. She'd had her suspicions about her predecessor, but the team could be very insular at times; they never spoke ill of the people they'd lost. "Or another had a serious drug problem that I didn't report."

She almost blurted out then and there that she wouldn't have told anyone about Reid (though she had come close when it had begun to impinge on their cases) but Hotch's next words stopped her.

"And if Strauss had any evidence, my career would be over. I think she put you on our team and expected something in return and – to your credit," he said, "you quit rather than whisper in her ear."

Emily looked away for a moment. Although it was a relief to know that he didn't believe she'd betrayed them, it still didn't change anything.

"I told you," she said, sadly. "I hate politics."

"Come to Milwaukee," said Hotch. She was already shaking her head when he went on, "I'll make you a deal. If your ready bag isn't here, packed, I won't bug you any more. If it is I want you on that plane with me. One more case."

Emily huffed. He had her and she knew it. It was the one thing she hadn't been able to tidy or unpack yet, and subconsciously she had been putting it off in case there was a call. Hotch was a smart man. He always seemed to know when to gamble.

"I already turned in my badge and my gun."

It was a last-ditch attempt and they both knew it.

There was the hint of a smile about his mouth, when he said, "That's just hardware."

0o0o0o0

They weren't getting anywhere and all of them knew it. There was only so much they could do being so short-handed, and the fear was growing that it simply wouldn't be enough. Spencer had pushed his worries about Gideon to the back of his mind, but he could still feel it there, slowing maturing into a real fear. What if something had happened? What if he needed them?

"What would you do with five women's hearts?" he murmured to Grace, who was doing her glaring-at-the-map-in-case-it-volunteered-anything-new routine.

She blinked and looked up at him; the slight pause before she answered made wonder what she was choosing not to say.

"You mean, is there an occult angle?" she asked, carefully.

"You're the expert," he shrugged, fiddling with his watch.

"I thought you were the expert at everything," she remarked, with a sardonic smile.

Grace looked as if she knew he was looking for an excuse for conversation, trying to distract himself from the pressures of the case and Gideon's absence. She could probably feel his frustration, he decided. He could feel hers.

"I hate the waiting," she said, simply. Spencer privately agreed. He gave her a small nod and she continued, "In terms of ritual use you have the standard paraphilias and all the people who want the power of someone's soul – though they're just as likely to take a head than a heart. People can make a ritual out of anything," she said. "But if it was a part of this I'd expect it to be written all over the bodies. Perhaps literally."

"The accoutrements of the arcane," he mused.

Grace made a noise which sounded like agreement.

"Dribbling candles at the very least," she nodded; he couldn't prevent the corners of his mouth from twitching upward.

Grace had a way of seeing the potential humour in almost any situation. She called it 'gallows humour'. Spencer wasn't sure what to call it, only that it was part of why talking to her always made him feel more centred – like things were more manageable somehow. It was as if laughter took power from the darker things in the world. It was something Garcia seemed to understand, too.

"I wish we knew what he was doing with the hearts," she mused, tapping the edge of the picture of the second victim's body. "I mean, if he's keeping them as trophies he'll be a lot less obviously nuts than if he's – I don't know – pounding stakes through them and hanging them on his wall, or something."

Spencer raised his eyebrows.

"Precedent?" he asked.

"Crown vs. Elton, 1998, Croydon," she said, without thinking.

There was a moment – almost a beautiful moment – where the realisation she had spoken aloud crossed Grace's face. It was replaced almost immediately by the carefully blank look she used when she was up to something. It really shouldn't have surprised him. He made a mental note to look up the case when he got the chance, in case this was more of the same kind of occult that Grace didn't like to talk about and still occasionally gave him nightmares.

Apparently embarrassed, Grace migrated back to the main table and started flicking though the case file. He got the distinct impression that she was trying not to look like she was avoiding his gaze.

Spencer decided to give her some space, given that pressing her only made her clam up. Slowly, he was learning how to unpick his friend's mind, and it still surprised him when he found a new avenue that he hadn't anticipated.

Most days, he found himself wondering just what it was that her old unit in London had specialised in.

He joined Morgan and Detective Wolinski by the map, where they were discussing the latest measures put in place to catch the man the papers were already referring to as the 'Lonely Heart Killer'.

"I've tripled patrols in the area and I've got every available unit re-canvassing," said Detective Wolinski wearily. Morgan hadn't missed the tone.

"It's tough knowin' they're out there and we're still a step behind," he empathised.

"You know, it used to be a runnin' joke that if you told people you were from Milwaukee, all they wanted to talk about was Happy Days reruns," Detective Wolinski lamented as they sat down. "The Dahmer happened and they ask you about it as if it's the same thing. As if it's entertainment." He shook his head bitterly. "But I was in that apartment."

"Gideon, one of our bosses, says that there are things that attach to you that you can never wash off," Spencer said, hoping that it would help Detective Wolinski as much as it had him.

He glanced up at Grace, who was standing just behind his chair. She wasn't watching Detective Wolinski, but Chief Strauss. Spencer followed her gaze; their section chief was staring at him as if his words had struck a chord. She looked away abruptly.

"Alright," said JJ, breaking the mood. "Is it possible we're looking at this the wrong way?" she postulated.

"What do you mean?" asked Strauss.

"Well, we're trying to zero in on the UnSub," JJ explained. "Now – you guys tell me – but if he really is using his son, wouldn't the trauma manifest more clearly on the boy?"

"You are not wrong," Grace remarked, as everyone did the equivalent of sitting up and thinking this new perspective through.

"Can your analyst get a list of all the children in the area that we're targeting?" Strauss asked.

"Garcia can get you whatever you want," said Morgan.

Spencer watched as Strauss dialled Garcia's number.

"Talk dirty to me," Penelope Garcia said, through the speaker.

Spencer froze and looked at the table, suddenly very glad that Grace was behind him and he couldn't currently see her face. Morgan's expression was bad enough (coupled with his gruff sounds of dismay). His friend's legs, which were just inside his peripheral view, appeared to be shaking very slightly. Spencer compressed his lips, aware that he was in danger of losing it completely, which wouldn't help Garcia, or be a terribly good idea in front of their section chief right now.

"This is Section Chief Erin Strauss," said Strauss, and Grace carefully lowered herself into a chair between Morgan and Spencer. He decided, based on her over-bright eyes, that she, too, was imagining what must be an impressive deer-in-headlights look on Garcia's face right now.

"Ma'am," said Garcia, tightly. "I think it goes without saying that I was expecting somebody else."

JJ pressed her fingers to her mouth as Morgan rubbed the back of his head, despairing of his colourful friend. Beside him, Grace made a faint snorting sound.

"I need a list of every grade school in the third ward and Wauwatosa," said Strauss.

Spencer risked a glance at JJ, who also appeared to be having a hard time keeping it together. Across the table, Detective Wolinski was hiding a small smile, watching the team's expressions with an air of amusement; he looked a little more relaxed than before. Garcia had that effect on people.

"Yes ma'am," said Garcia, unusually obedient and mightily embarrassed. "The third ward has one public grade school, but there appears to be four private schools that draw from that area."

"And Wauwatosa?"

"That would be nine, ma'am."

"And how many students?"

"Thirty-two thousand."

Spencer frowned. Even accounting for 52% of them being female, that still left nearly sixteen thousand children to filter through. He glanced around the table. Even including Strauss there were only six people at this table – and school performance wasn't something Garcia could access.

"Can you also get me a list of every guidance counsellor that deals directly with the student body in that area?" Strauss continued.

"Certainly, ma'am, said Garcia, still in that bright, slightly frightened voice. "And again, I'd like to ap-"

Strauss cut her off, clearly feeling that time was a-wasting.

"You need to present these counsellors with the profile of a troubled kid."

The chief got up and left the table; they stared after her for a moment.

"Oh man," said Morgan, as Grace collapsed on the desk, her shoulders shaking with laughter. Even Detective Wolinski smiled.

"I better call Penelope and calm her down," said JJ, chuckling.

"Make it quick though, yeah?" said Morgan.

Spencer prodded the shaking mass of hair that was his fellow agent.

"Is she coming back?"

"Not yet," said Morgan, as JJ left the room.

"Then I'm not coming out."

"Is she always like that? Your technical analyst?" Detective Wolinski asked.

"Oh yeah," Morgan chuckled.

Grace emerged from her hair and wiped tears of genuine mirth from her face. Just the sight of it made Spencer feel more solid.

"She makes our worst days easier to bear," she said, attempting to look more like a professional FBI agent.

"I wish we had one of her," said Detective Wolinski, ruefully; he and Morgan migrated back to the map.

Spencer leaned over to Grace, who was still shaking her head at the conference phone.

"I thought you were going to burst," he said quietly, and she grinned.

"There was a minute there when I thought I might crack a rib," she admitted, winking at him.

She pulled out her phone to text Garcia and Spencer suddenly became aware of how near he still was to her. He blushed and pulled away, wondering why it felt so normal to be close enough to her to feel the warmth of her skin.

"What are you," he cleared his thought, suddenly uncomfortable. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Telling Garcia never to change," she said, affably, before her expression altered. She turned to look at the map over her shoulder. "Hey Morgan? You know I appreciate your highly sculpted behind as much as Garcia does, but could you move it just a smidgeon to the left?"

Detective Wolinski snorted and Morgan chuckled, raising an eyebrow.

"I didn't know you felt that way, Pearce," he grinned, flirting effortlessly.

Spencer rolled his eyes.

"What're you thinking?" he asked, frowning at the map.

"Well, the UnSub is timing things based on schools, right?" she said. "So we should focus on the schools closest to his comfort zone."

"You think he'd – uh – dump 'em so close to home?" Detective Wolinski asked.

"He doesn't give a damn about these women," said Grace, all trace of amusement gone. "He doesn't take forensic countermeasures… he's probably just hoiking them out the back of his van somewhere along the most convenient routes from A to B."

"And we know one of those points is the school," said Morgan, nodding. He flicked open his phone as JJ came back in. "Hey momma – naw – Garcia – Gar- Penelope! Calm down and work your magic for me babygirl."

There was a brief pause where Spencer imagined their friend taking a deep breath and settling back behind the keyboard.

"Okay, I need you to limit the search to schools between these co-ordinates."

0o0o0o0

Grace stared glumly at the Styrofoam cup of hot boiled water in front of her. It seemed that the Milwaukee Police Department had never heard of a beverage other than coffee, and the lack of caffeine was making her feel crabby and stupid.

They'd split into teams to canvass the school counsellors and Grace had somehow ended up partnered with Strauss. She suspected that this was because Morgan thought she was the least likely to say something stupid and get them in trouble (except for JJ, who had been chief-sitting all morning).

Grace chose to put this down to superior acting skills rather than a lack of inter-team profiling. They were yet to see her at her worst, after all.

It felt like they were juggling the babysitting of a demanding toddler and while Strauss hadn't actually said anything stupid to the counsellors, Grace was extremely tired of being polite.

"You don't like me very much, do you Agent Pearce?" said Strauss. Grace hadn't even realised she was there. They were the first team back and were expecting the others any minute.

Grace assessed her for a moment.

"Not especially, ma'am," she said, truthfully.

The chief raised her eyebrows. She might have expected mild hostility, but not open admission.

"You don't have any ambition outside the BAU?" she asked, rather pointedly.

Grace ignored the bait.

"No ma'am. I learned about ambition the hard way."

"That's very forthright of you," Strauss remarked, though it seemed to Grace that her heart wasn't entirely in it.

Grace smiled.

"My old governor always said I had a mouth on me," she remarked. "But to be fair, ma'am, you asked."

"I'm just trying to protect the Bureau," she said, sternly.

"I know," said Grace, lightly. "And I know you have what you think are our best interests in mind." Chief Struass gave her the exasperated parent look and Grace continued, "The problem is, ma'am, this is the first time you've actually worked with any of us, so you don't really know what our best interests are."

"You are dangerously close to earning yourself a censure," Strauss warned her.

"You won't censure me," Grace informed her. "Just like you won't censure Garcia for the way she talks to us, or Reid for his slip on the jet."

"Oh, and why is that?"

The woman's expression was almost comical – it looked like something had just tried to climb inside her nose. Grace wondered whether anyone had ever stood up to her before.

"Because you're beginning to understand how we function, and how hard it is to keep coming back to this every day. And you feel guilty."

"Enlighten me, Agent Pearce," she said, sourly.

"Not about Hotch," said Grace. "There's stuff going on there that I don't understand, but you put pressure on Emily and now she's quit. You know she's good at her job and you didn't intend for her to leave the Bureau. Now you're regretting trying to get her to…" Grace trailed off, considering. "I don't know, snitch on Hotch, probably. She wouldn't, because she's a good agent and she knows that Aaron Hotchner is one of the best unit chiefs we're ever going to get." She smiled again. "And the fact that you didn't interrupt me means that you know it as well as I do."

Strauss looked away.

"If Agent Prentiss has made a formal accusation –"

"She didn't need to," Grace interrupted. "We may have an unspoken agreement not to profile our colleagues, but we can't actually turn it off. I saw her phone and I saw her expression."

"There was a pause in which Grace wondered whether the Canadian government would hire an ex-British cop/ FBI agent.

Or somewhere in the old commonwealth, she thought. Somewhere warm.

"And what do you suggest I do?" Strauss asked.

There was challenge in her eyes, but Grace didn't especially care. Someone needed to say it and she was under no illusion that she was the most expendable member of the team.

"Back off," she answered, calmly. "Let us do the job we're bloody good at, where our skills and experience can make the most difference."

Chief Strauss shook her head slightly, possibly surprised that Grace had had the gall to speak her mind.

"And do the job that your skills and experience have made you bloody good at," she continued. "Which is making sure that we can do ours."

The look of challenge wavered slightly and became one of appraisal.

"Is there any particular reason I'm being treated to your – uh – advice, Agent Pearce?" the woman asked, after a moment.

Grace smiled slightly. This was possible progress.

"You didn't throw up at the crime scene. You picked the autopsy pictures up when you didn't want to and you're beginning to listen to us." Grace picked up her cup of disappointment. "You genuinely care about these women –" she smirked "– and you had to leave the room after Garcia's call so no one could see you laughing."

"I could fire you."

Grace shrugged.

"So fire me," she said. "I won't be that much of a loss. Hotch and Emily will be. Now, if you'll excuse me ma'am, we have a troubled schoolboy to find."

She walked away, hoping that her gamble would pay off. She'd just begun to feel settled in Washington, and she didn't particularly want to leave her new friends, but you didn't always get what you wanted.

JJ and Reid were already at the table, a distressing number of files in front of them.

"Are you okay?" JJ asked, as Grace shut the door rather briskly behind her.

"Ask me when we've got him," she said, and put her hot water down next to Reid.

"Alright, the boy doesn't look like he can be any older than seven," said Morgan, bringing a fresh stack of files to the desk. "Let's work youngest to oldest, start with the worst behaviour, get the names of the parents, send them over to Garcia. She can cross-check for criminal records."

Grace smiled at him. He didn't even know he was doing it, unconsciously filling the gap in the management structure of the team. He's make a good unit chief one day.

"This guy's dumpin' bodies between 7.30 and 8.00," he continued. "That gives us a little over twelve hours to make somethin' hit. Let's get it done."

"Look who's here!" Reid exclaimed; they followed his gaze to find Prentiss and Hotch walk through the other door.

"Hey," said Emily. "Where do we start? Oh –"

Grace couldn't help it; she gave her friend a one-armed hug.

"We could do with the cavalry riding in about now," she said, with a grin. "Did you bring them, too?"

Emily grinned back. Behind her, an astonished Derek Morgan shook hands with Hotch, looking distinctly relieved.

"How fast can you get us up to speed?" Emily asked.

"How fast can you sit down?" JJ said, beaming.

They divided up the files, feeling happier and more energised. There was a moment of stark tension as Strauss came into the room; Grace glanced between her and Hotch, who had a strange defiance about him right now. She shook her head – she had said her piece; it was up to providence now.

She scanned through the first' boy's information, ignoring the battle of wills going on above her head. It was a sad stack of facts and figures that added up to a father that drank and a mother that cared more about cashing the kid's welfare cheques than clothing and feeding them. Sighing, she closed the file and moved onto the next one.

Still, no one was speaking.

Emily broke the silence, her own defiance kicking in.

"We're only here to help."

Grace picked up a third file. Adoptive parents; possible abuse in previous care. She frowned and pulled a post-it out of her bag – at least they could use the opportunity to flag a few things up with child services.

"We'll deal with this later," said Strauss, as Grace's next file hit the table.

She looked at her pocket watch and 'hmmed' to herself.

"School's out, guys," she reminded them, pulling them all back into the search.