Essential listening – Cherry Blossom, by Paolo Nutini

0o0

JJ hovered in the doorway to the conference room, watching her team mates grieving.

They were gathered around Reid's desk, watching the younger agent stare at Gideon's letter; his final farewell. The departure of their senior agent had rattled them all, but none more so than Spencer. Gideon had been his mentor – in many ways a second father.

His colleagues had gravitated towards him as soon as they had seen the change in his behaviour. He was putting up walls again, trying to keep them from seeing how deeply hurt he was. Morgan was sat on Emily's desk, while she hovered behind their friend, uncertain.

JJ's eyes moved to the kitchen area, where Grace was making herself a drink with what looked like an unusual amount of care. It had surprised her that she, too, wasn't staying near to Spence, especially since they usually seemed so close. She knew Reid had looked after Grace in San Francisco, after the fire scene had made her lose her lunch* – and then there was that night in New Orleans**…

She watched as the woman walked back to her desk, neither too quickly nor too slowly to be of note to anyone. She was, JJ thought, being very careful to look totally normal this morning. Perhaps it was her way of coping with upheaval.

Emily gave her a grim smile as she sat down, which Grace returned, sending a momentary glance at Reid. Without that tiny, thoughtless gesture JJ would have said that Grace didn't know her friend was there at all.

It occurred to her that perhaps Grace was more aware of Spencer's current mood than she was letting on and had simply worked out, as JJ had, that sometimes he was best left to deal with things on his own. It was something their colleagues had been unable to fathom, particularly since Georgia.

When Spence needed help, he asked for it – perhaps not in so many words, or even out loud, but he would ask. He would gravitate towards the support he needed, occasionally without even knowing it. It was probably something to do with growing up largely self reliant.

Grace glanced over at the three agents again, looking as though she felt more out of place than ever.

"Gideon left everything," said Garcia, emerging from his office; everyone looked up at her except Spencer, who was still staring at Gideon's letter with that little frown on his face. Garcia shifted the box of things she was carrying. Someone had given her the task of clearing it out, but Penelope hadn't really known where to start. "Except the photographs."

"He always said those were like his family," said Reid; JJ saw the look of concern pass between Morgan and Emily.

Gideon had made it pretty obvious that he wasn't coming back.

"What shall we do with all of this?" Garcia asked. JJ noticed, with the ghost of a smile, that she had chosen to remove the plants – the only living occupants of the office – first.

"He left it for us," said Grace, and they all turned to stare at her. She was making notes in the margin of her file now, as if she hadn't said a word.

"We can't just take his stuff," said Emily.

"He left it behind because he didn't want it," said Grace. "We take what we can use and auction the rest for charity."

She gathered her things together, conscious that three of her colleagues were staring at her like she'd gone insane. Even Reid was watching her, though his expression was one of curiosity.

"Forgive me, Pearce," said Morgan, incredulous. "But that seems a little cold."

JJ frowned, thinking that she might have a point. Grace shrugged, picking up her tea and headed into the conference room via the other door. JJ took this as her cue to leave and she set off for Hotch's office, wondering just what Grace had left behind when she'd left her old team in London. Strauss was in Hotch's office, so JJ slowed down, hesitant to interrupt.

"… his years of service are appreciated," she overheard Strauss say, and realised they were talking about Gideon. "We're looking for his replacement."

"That was fast," Hotch said, echoing JJ's thoughts.

"Well, the Bureau doesn't like to leave posts empty for long," she said. "I'd like your input."

JJ raised an eyebrow; perhaps Strauss' brief foray into the field had done her some good.

"I appreciate that," said Hotch.

Deciding it was a diplomatic time to interrupt, JJ knocked on the door.

"Sir, we're gathering."

She couldn't decide whether Hotch was relieved; it was difficult to tell, with him.

"Thank you," he said, and they made their escape.

"Everything okay?" she asked and Hotch gave her the sort of exasperated grimace, shrug and eye-roll combination she had come to associate with meetings with Strauss and mountains of paperwork. She nodded. It was that kind of day.

The team was already assembled around the table, all doing their own personal interpretations of 'this is a normal day'.

"Okay," JJ began, handing out the files. "We have four victims in Oregon. Two male, two female."

"I got this," Hotch interrupted.

"Uh, sure," said JJ, surprised.

The team looked up from their files, expectant. Generally if Hotch deviated from their usual pattern there was a good reason.

"I know that you've all been wondering what this was all about," he said, as the team settled. "And – uh – you know I've known Jason for many years and I can tell you, I've no idea."

JJ nodded as the others took this in. Theirs was the kind of job that could eat you alive.

"But it doesn't even matter," Hotch went on. "What matters is we're here, and we're going to continue. Portland Field Office uncovered a mass grave of three bodies, killed six months ago.

The mood in the room shifted to business-like; reassured.

"Nearby they found another body. Causes of death range from burning alive to asphyxiation. No sexual assault."

"Well, the torture's clearly sadistic," Morgan reflected.

"And the lack of sexual preference is gonna make it hard to tell id the UnSub is male or female," said Reid.

Emily frowned.

"Typically, female serial killers stick to the same MO," she remarked. "Looks like this guy's all over the place."

"Have we got a handle on ethnicity yet?" Grace asked; JJ noted that her friend was taking care not to look at the screen when the burn victim's picture was up.

"Two Caucasian, one Chinese, one Hispanic," she said, and Grace nodded.

"So he doesn't pick based on appearance," she muttered.

"Most recent victim is Jenny Whitman," said Hotch. "Asphyxiated, discovered yesterday."

"How long had she been in the ground?" Morgan asked.

Grace frowned at the grave picture.

"No more than a few days," she said, peering at the lack of decomposition.

"How long was she missing?" Spencer asked.

"She was never reported missing," Hotch told them.

JJ watched as one by one they all looked up from their files. That was unusual.

"What about the others?" Spencer asked, with a frown.

"Only one," said Hotch.

"One of four?"

"Rick Holland was reported missing nine months ago, but the search was called off," JJ explained.

"Family discovered his car at the train station, but more importantly they received emails from him saying that they needed time to figure things out," Hotch added.

"And his family bought that?" Morgan asked, astonished.

"I guess the alternative was too hard to accept," said Hotch.

"Reaching out could be a sign of remorse," Spencer theorised.

"Psychopaths don't apologise for their behaviour," said Hotch, firmly. "This guy's covering his tracks."

"Well, it's working," Morgan observed, sadly.

"So," said Emily, getting to her feet for a closer look at the crime scene photos. "Three victims he buried in one grave and only Jenny Whitman in the other…"

"You think it's a pattern?" Morgan asked.

"Uh – it's hard to tell," Emily shrugged.

"There could be more bodies," said Grace, staring at the map. "That trail covers a lot of ground."

"Well, if it is a pattern," Hotch observed, "it's one down, two to go."

0o0o0o0

The daoist philosopher Lao Tze once wrote, "He who controls others may be powerful, but he who has mastered himself is mightier still."

0o0

Grace had intended to sit across from the table, where her earlier comments about the contents of Gideon's office wouldn't get her glared at, but Spencer apparently had other ideas. She wasn't entirely sure how he managed it, but he'd got her cornered at one end of the table seat before anyone else made it on the jet.

"You're putting up walls," he hissed, as the others began to climb aboard. "Pushing us away."

"You're one to talk!" she scoffed, louder than she intended.

Emily shot them both a look; Grace blushed, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl who had been caught out by her big sister. Mercifully, Emily turned away, somehow managing to engage both Morgan and JJ in conversation. Distracting them, Grace realised, so they wouldn't interrupt.

When she glanced at Spencer, he was blushing too. He lowered his voice.

"Let's just say I know it when I see it," he told her, cheeks still tinged pink. "Sometimes you act like you're not really a part of the BAU, but you are."

They both glanced up as Hotch climbed on board.

"I just – I've – we've already lost Gideon this week, we can't lose you, too," he hissed.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said, after a moment, taking in his worried expression.

There was a ferocity behind his gentle brown eyes that she hadn't seen before. She had been pulling away that morning – in the months of darkness at home, when the remains of her life had been on show for all to see, keeping all but a few close friends at arm's length had been her primary survival strategy. Even then there had been days when she hadn't spoken to another soul if she could help it.

It would be different here, she decided. It already was different here. Grace was about to reassure him when Hotch sat down across from them. He looked from one agent to the other, taking in their guilty expressions.

"Everything alright?" he asked, after a moment.

They both said 'yes' far too quickly, which their boss clearly didn't miss; he declined to comment, however, which was something of a relief.

Embarrassed and wishing that she hadn't chosen to spend her working life with a bunch of profilers, Grace pulled out her files and got to work.

It was a relief when the seatbelt warning signs clicked off and Reid, who kept glancing at her worriedly, got up to get a drink. Although she appreciated his concern, Grace preferred to work things out on her own.

"Can we go over what Portland found?" Hotch asked, summoning them all to the table once more.

"One female and two male victims found buried together in the same grave," said JJ, handing the files around again. "All twenty-five to thirty, all been dead six months."

"It sounds like three different MOs," Emily observed.

"MOs can change over time," Grace frowned. "It's the signatures that stay the same."

"Yeah, over time," said Emily. "But overnight?"

"Uh – Gary Taylor, the Phantom Sniper was all over the map, just like this guy," said Reid, resting his file on the back of the seat. "He changed his MO as his need to control the situation changed."

"So the torture here is more about control than pain," said Grace.

"What about the fresh grave?" Hotch asked.

"Female, twenty-eight, dead roughly twenty-four hours," JJ summarised. "She was asphyxiated."

"Do we know how?" Grace asked, looking up.

"No," JJ confirmed. "The ME's still looking into it. They've ruled out manual and foreign object so far."

"So, what?" Emily asked. "He trapped her in a room and sucked all the air out of it?"

"It's a good thing this guy's dump site's been compromised," Morgan remarked.

"As soon as the UnSub knows that," Emily reflected. "He may feel pressured that we're onto him. Could push him to make a mistake."

None of them were under the illusion that they'd get this guy without more bodies. What help they'd be, given his total disregard for a regular MO, Grace wasn't sure. She was distracted by a chirping from the laptop on the table.

"Hey, you!" Garcia whispered. Grace grinned as the analyst peered up at Reid, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Uh, down here," she encouraged.

The realisation crossing his face was almost comical. Embarrassed, he turned the laptop around so Garcia could see them all – though it meant Grace had to lean closer to Spencer to be included.

"Yeah, we believe you," she hissed and he sent her a mock glare.

"Good thing you're handsome, doctor," Garcia grinned as Grace craned around the screen to see. "Attention team members, this killer guy continues to stoop to new lows by posing as his victims," she told him. "He's also manipulated two of the families into thinking that everything was okay, even after they were reported missing. One of the fake emails was from their daughter. She said she met this guy and was taking him to her favourite place in Australia for a couple of weeks – family contacted the Australian authorities after too much time had passed."

Grace shook her head. There was low and then there was rock bottom.

"Maybe it's not just a counter-measure," she mused. "Playing with their next of kin could be another form of torture."

Hotch nodded.

"This guy sure knows a lotta personal information about his victims," Morgan observed.

"How did he get access to their email accounts?" Emily asked.

"Screen name was the same, but the domain was different," Garcia explained. "Family never noticed."

"Sneaky."

"When I find more pieces of the puzzle you'll know. Garcie out!"

"This guy's creative," Hotch remarked. "Let's see the details one more time, just to make sure we haven't missed anything."

0o0o0o0

The Field Office in Portland looked the same to Grace as all the others had. They all had their idiosyncrasies, but after several months of spending a couple of days in each one, more or less nationwide, their individuality was being lost in a blur of anonymity. She thought it was possible that she'd actually started dreaming of being in one endless, anonymous Field Office. The only things that really changed were the faces.

Special Agent Bill Calvert was a large, cheerful man who looked like he might have been a Navy Seal before joining the Bureau. He radiated wholesome authority and could easily have been a poster boy for the positive image of the Oregon division of FBI.

He was waiting for them in the conference room, which had obviously been reserved for their visit.

"You must be the BAU," he said, as they approached. "I'm Special Agent Bill Calvert."

"Hi, Jennifer Jareau," said JJ, shaking his hand. "This is Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotcher. These are agents Morgan, Prentiss, Pearce and Doctor Reid."

She pointed them out as they variously nodded, smiled or shook hands.

"I appreciate your help on this case," said Calvert.

"Ah, you're from Boston, huh?" Morgan asked.

"The accent's kinda hard to miss in Oregon, right?" Calvert smiled at him.

"We'd like to have a look around Jenny Whitman's apartment," said Hotch, all business.

"I'd take you myself, but I'm waitin' to meet her family, so I'll have another agent drive you," he nodded.

"Thank you," said Hotch. "Pearce, I want you to take another look at Wildwood Trail, see if anything jumps out at you."

Well now, thought Grace. There was a loaded statement.

She raised an eyebrow.

"See what you can – uh – see," he continued, making the request for her to use her talents as official as it could be in company.

"Sir."

"I'll stay behind to work victimology," said Emily.

"Great," said Hotch, shepherding the others out of the door. "I could use some extra hands. Call you if we find anything."

"Mmm-hmm," said JJ.

Grace waved over her shoulder as she followed the boys across the office. Hotch met her eyes when she stepped into the lift, leaving her in no doubt that he knew what he was asking. She didn't miss the sideways look Spencer was giving her, either.

She stepped out into the main lobby when deception had become a normal part of her working life.

0o0o0o0

The drive to Jenny Whitman's apartment was unusually quiet, and not only because they had a local agent driving them. What goes on the team, stays on the team, as they said, and today all of them had things on their minds. The departure of a friend and colleague could do that. Even Hotch was unusually terse, with his mind fully on the case.

Spencer watched him out of the corner of his eye. Unless he had misunderstood, Hotch had all but ordered Grace to… He frowned, searching for an adequate description for a phenomenon that Grace had been careful to ensure that he observed only the once – and that he had been careful not to enquire about further.

He would have to ask her for the proper term, if he could ever figure out how to phrase the question.

Whatever it was called, Hotch clearly knew about it, which puzzled him, given how adamant Grace had been about not telling Hotch in her sleep. It made him wonder – if Hotch already know about the ghosts – what else she could be keeping from them all.

They pulled up outside the apartment block and piled out of the car.

"Whitman's place is on the third floor," he said, as Morgan called the elevator. It wasn't a large space and Hotch gave it a dubious once over.

"Can you get in there?" he asked.

"I'll meet you guys up there," said Hotch, heading for the stairs.

Suit yourself, Spencer thought.

Four flights of stairs was a long walk.

He had been thinking about the wonders of modern technology like elevators and automation (not including computers, which he didn't entirely approve of), when the elevator ground to a halt.

The machinery made a horrible grinding noise that suggested it hadn't been oiled or maintained recently and wished to register a complaint.

Spencer looked at the ceiling dubiously, hoping that this was just a glitch.

Morgan bounced up and down, making the whole car shake. It squeaked.

"Don't do that," said Spencer, but Morgan ignored him and did it again.

"Why isn't it moving?" he asked.

"I don't know."

To Spencer's growing annoyance, Morgan started punching the buttons on the panel. Why couldn't people just leave a thing alone?

"Don't – stop it," he complained; Morgan looked at him. "Don't –"

"What? What's the problem?"

We're hanging in space, four floors above the ground, being held up by nothing more than a steel cable that has just stopped working, and you're making me nervous, he thought.

Aloud, he said, "Don't do that!" more urgently this time.

"Why not?"

"'Cause there are six elevator related deaths per year, not to mention ten thousand injuries that require hospitalisation," he said, gesticulating at Morgan. "Chill out."

He knew he'd made a mistake when Morgan grinned at him.

"Those sound like pretty good odds to me," he said, and Spencer groaned inwardly. Any time stuck in an elevator with Morgan in a teasing mood was going to really drag out. As usual, though, Morgan knew how to push all his buttons. "What're – what're you scared, Reid?" he asked.

Spencer glared at him, aware that this was going to devolve fairly quickly into an argument.

"I'm not scared!"

"You're scared – you are!" he exclaimed, delighted.

"I don't want to be in an elevator with you to be honest –"

"You're scared," Morgan repeated gleefully, punching buttons on the panel. "How about if I push that? Or that?"

Reid was about to knock his hand away when the car dropped. He grabbed at the walls of the elevator, terrified. It felt like an electric shock had passed through his entire body.

"Woah," said Morgan, bracing himself, equally afraid. "Woah, okay."

Spencer's mind raced. They couldn't have travelled more than a few feet, or they'd both have been flung about like ragdolls – which meant that there was still a lot of air between them and the bottom of the shaft. They had to get out of there.

"Um – hit the – hit the –" he reached for the emergency alarm control, but Morgan was closer.

Neither of them wanted to move too much in case if dislodged something and – Spencer tried not to think about it, but his mind was already relaying images of mangled bodies in the basements of apartment blocks.

The alarm didn't seem to be working right.

"Push it –" Spencer snapped. "It's not a –"

"Push – pull, push – pull," Morgan retorted, sounding just as anxious. "I'm doin' it, nothin's happening!"

Spencer pressed himself closer to the wall of the elevator.

"Try – try – pry the – pry the door open – just –" he stammered, urgently.

Morgan seemed to think this was as good an idea as any. He moved across the car and did what he could.

"Yeah –" said Spencer, as his friend tried to break them out.

If they got out of this alive, Spencer decided he would kill him. Hiding the body wouldn't be a problem, after all.

"It's stuck, man," Morgan grunted, gritting his teeth.

He stepped back and the movement triggered something, dropping them another couple of feet. Spencer tried really hard not to breathe too much as Morgan informed the universe that he would not be dying this morning.

"No, no, no, no, not today – no, not today!"

Spencer flattened himself against the wall, hoping it might help.

"Hotch!" he cried, his voice several registers higher than normal. He closed his eyes. He didn't want to die here, not like this.

"Hotch!" Morgan yelled and started pushing buttons again.

Spencer didn't even bother to yell at him this time. With shaking hands he felt inside his pocket for his phone – but who could he call? Garcia could maybe send a repair man or the fire brigade, but his automatic thought was for his mom. He stopped. He couldn't scare her like that. His fingers brushed the keys as Morgan worked the malfunctioning alarm.

"Come on, come on," the other agent growled. "I got a hot date this weekend – I am not gonna miss it!"

How can you possibly be thinking about sex at a time like this? Spencer demanded inside his own head. He tried to say something out loud, but he was too frightened. The car gave another lurch – he closed his eyes again.

This is it, he thought. I'm going to die falling four storeys to the ground in a malfunctioning elevator car with a loud, irritating ex-cop from Chicago, who is also my best friend.

And HE has a date this weekend.

Mercifully, the elevator doors juddered open. Morgan flung himself out onto the landing, right in front of Hotch.

"Hallelujah," said Morgan.

"Was that the alarm?" Hotch asked, staring at them.

Spencer nearly laughed. He edged towards the door, in case the elevator had any more surprises in store.

"Are you guys okay?" Hotch asked, looking them over.

"I'll get back to you on that," Spencer breathed, gratefully making it onto solid ground.

Hotch took off down the corridor and Morgan followed, still breathing hard. Spencer walked slowly after them, vowing never to get in an elevator again and horribly aware that when it came to it he hadn't been thinking about his mom at all, but about the taste of strawberries and the scent of bergamot.

0o0

* See Moments of Grace, Season Two, Act Two, Ashes and Dust.

**See Moments of Grace, Season Two, Act One, Jones.