CHAPTER 39: Perennials (Season 8, episode 11)

Character(s): Hotch, Reid

A/N: Some spoilers for the episode's case, as well as reference to the Maeve and Replicator storylines, and references to "Somebody's Watching", as well as cases and unsubs from various other seasons.

As always, I thank everyone who is continuing to follow, favorite, or review this series. Your support really means so much to me. Thank you.

"By law of periodical repetition, everything which has happened once must happen again and again - and not capriciously, but at regular periods, and each thing in its own period, not another's and each obeying its own law." – Mark Twain

JJ: "We've got a bad one."

Morgan: "How bad?"

JJ: "Florida." – From the episode "Lucky" (season 3)

For the third time that night, Aaron Hotchner lifted his head from his papers. He warily glanced in the direction of the bullpen. He'd opened the blinds after the second look in that direction; right now, just being able to see everything made him feel…secure.

This latest case had really creeped him out. It involved bugs, reincarnation, a baby and a little boy being put in life-threatening danger at one point (Hotch could still hear the wailing of said baby, whom JJ had fortunately managed to scoop up off the floor of the delivery room and rescue), and a man who'd managed to learn the birthdates of all his victims. The unsub, Willie Kessler, wanted to recreate the thirty year old crimes of a serial killer named Russell Smith.

The whole thing was just flat out surreal. It never ceased to amaze Hotch, even all these years later, just how…inventive, for lack of a better word, these unsubs could be. He had nothing against Florida itself, really, but he'd been quite grateful to see the state's landscape disappearing from his view on the plane ride home nonetheless.

What is it about Florida, anyway? That state always seemed to attract some of their weirdest cases. There was the infamous cannibalistic killer, Floyd Ferrell, from a few years back. The man who'd covered his entire body with tattoos of his victims' names as well as their years of death. And who could forget the case with the ritualistic voodoo-inspired killings?

They'd also had quite a few cases from that state involving couples who went on killing sprees. Jacob Dawes and Sarah Jean. The Carnados. William Harris and Steven Baleman. David Turner and Toby Whitewood. Throw in the occasional single person killing spree and Hotch found himself wondering just how in the hell the residents of Florida managed to sleep at night.

That state wasn't alone, though, in terms of getting the creepy cases. Not by a long shot. Georgia had its fair share of nightmarish unsubs, and then there was also California, and Texas… For whatever reason, certain states became very familiar to the team over the years, to the point where they could practically set up residency there if they wanted to.

And yes, Hotch knew that creepiness and weird situations came with the job. Chasing serial killers wasn't exactly a laugh riot, after all. But when the cases were disturbing enough to where they affected one's appetite, or had him being extra cautious about any online activities, or double checking his doors and windows not once every night, but once every few hours…well, that was always a sign that a proper vacation was long overdue (now if only he'd actually think to take one).

The recent case wasn't the only thing making Hotch's skin crawl at the moment, though. There was another much more personal concern weighing on his mind.

For the past month or so, he hadn't been able to shake the feeling he was being watched. Every time he looked around his office, or the parking lot, or even at his home, he'd never actually found anyone lurking about. But the hairs on the back of his neck stood up anyway, and he felt a constant creeping, crawling sensation down his spine. And unfortunately, that feeling had only seemed to be growing in recent weeks.

He'd felt like this only once before, a mere four years ago. Back when Foyet was on the loose, after breaking into Hotch's home and attacking him. Hotch had spent countless hours at his office after that, even going so far as to camp out there for quite a few weeks.

He eventually stopped, though, after one too many nights where he couldn't dismiss the terrifying notion that he was not alone. There'd never been any evidence that Foyet had ever made his way into the building itself, but considering the lengths he had gone to in terms of stalking Hotch and his family, Hotch wouldn't have put it past Foyet to linger nearby somehow, some way, in the midst of that whole ordeal.

Now here Hotch was, in his office once more, and here was that same unsettling feeling lingering about again. At least he wasn't living in his office this time; rather, he was simply staying late. Partly to finish the write up on the case, but also to look over the latest information he'd received about a worryingly dangerous unsub. One it was clear he and his team would need to keep close tabs on.

The similarities were just far too obvious now. There was no way they'd be able to chalk this up to mere coincidence. First that case in Seattle, then the case with the amputated legs, now this… It seemed there was an unsub out there who was replicating all their recent crimes.

Obviously, they had a problem on their hands. A big problem. The replications of the horrific crimes themselves were bad enough, knowing that more innocent people were suffering such traumatic fates. And having to review the old cases in depth in order to properly compare them to the new ones was unnerving.

But this news meant this guy was also following the team. Or more appropriately, he was stalking them. Either he was reading up on their case files once they wrote them up upon returning home, or he was actively heading out to the same areas of the country they went to.

Frankly, Hotch didn't know which option disturbed him more. If this guy could get into the case files with ease, that meant he could hack into much more personal information of theirs just as quickly. And if he was traveling alongside them somehow, then that not only put the team at risk of an immediate attack, it put the citizens and law enforcement officials of the towns they went to at risk as well.

He'd seen the fear his team had tried to hide when he briefed them on this new development. Hotch wasn't concerned about their ability to work this case. He knew they were up to the challenge.

No, what troubled Hotch was the fact that they'd had far too many close calls with unsubs who'd targeted the team in the past already. There was Randall Garner, who'd sent all those clues to the team, knew exactly where they'd be and the sorts of fun personal items they liked. He'd discovered Gideon's special hideaway cabin, broke into Elle's home and shot her, and later nearly blew up Reid.

There was the Reaper, of course…and he'd gone so far as to target Hotch's family. He killed Haley, broke into her home as well as Hotch's apartment, and attacked Morgan, stealing his credentials in the process.

Ian Doyle was another notable foe for the team. His main target was Emily, but the others had inevitably been roped into that whole debacle. Doyle knew full well that the team wasn't going to just stand by and let Emily fight that battle alone, and he used that to his advantage. And while Emily fortunately survived her fight with him, the psychological damage inflicted upon the team took a serious toll, one Hotch sensed everyone was still dealing with on some level to this day.

Now they had this Replicator guy to deal with. Was he looking to attack the team as a whole, or did he have a specific team member in mind? If so, which one?

Am I going to have to investigate my team again? Is anyone else keeping secrets from me, or us?

He didn't want to ask those questions. But at this point, what choice did he even have? And then there was the question that loomed in his mind every time his team dealt with a situation like this, but which he refused to ask aloud: Will everyone make it out alive?

Hotch let out a heavy sigh, taking a final swig of his now lukewarm coffee before rubbing his eyes. The main downside to working late nights – his mind would inevitably go to some truly dark places. He needed to go home. Get some sleep. Catch up with Jack at breakfast, before taking him to school.

He slipped the information about the Replicator into his briefcase. It seemed there were some things about this job that just weren't meant to stay within the office. Grabbing the case and his coat, Hotch finally headed out for the night.

As he made his way to his car, he kept glancing over his shoulder, one hand brushing his holster all the while.

Spencer Reid was pacing the length of his living room.

It was early Sunday morning. Two am, to be specific.

Normally he'd be asleep at this time, thanks to the somewhat regular routine he'd been on the past few months. He always wanted to make sure he was well rested on Saturday nights, so that come each Sunday, he could get up and get moving at a reasonable hour. That way, by the time his weekly afternoon phone call with Maeve rolled around, he'd be in tip top condition to talk to her.

The positive effect this routine had on Reid's physical health hadn't escaped him – he was fairly sure the routine was part of the reason his headaches had disappeared. Only partly the reason, though. He was still willing to give a great deal of the credit to Maeve herself, with all she'd done to help him thus far.

And indeed, up to now, that plan had been working fairly well on all levels. Tonight, however, was a bit of a different story.

For one thing, his conversation with Maeve from last weekend still lingered in his mind, and he winced every time he thought about it. They hadn't actually fought, but it sure felt like they did. They'd been discussing their missed opportunity to meet up at the restaurant a few weeks back, and Reid had been apologizing profusely.

ooo

"I really thought it was him. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"Spencer. Stop apologizing. You were looking out for me, I get it."

He'd twitched a little at her tone. Sure, her exasperation could've been chalked up to her annoyance at his groveling, but he had to ask the question that was on his mind anyway.

"I really did want to meet you, Maeve." He paused, frowning. "You believe me…don't you?"

"Yes." He could hear her sigh on the other end, and he suddenly felt a strong urge to hug her. "I believe you." Another sigh, this one a mix of longing and frustration. "I'm sorry, Spencer. I don't mean to insinuate anything. I'm just…I really thought this whole thing with the stalker was over."

"It still might be over," Reid had offered hopefully. "My assumption about that man at the restaurant was wrong, after all."

He could almost picture her shaking her head. "I hope you're right."

Reid gripped the handle of his bag. Hearing her sounding so despondent only added to his helpless feeling. "I hope so, too." He hesitated a minute before continuing. "If he is gone, maybe…maybe we could reschedule, then?"

"I'd like that." The benefits of hearing one's body language. Now he could picture her face brightening a little, and with that image and those words, Reid felt a rush of relief. "I'll keep you updated."

There was a pause. "It's not that I thought you didn't want to meet me," she continued. "I know you did. But I would understand if this became too much for you to handle. If this scared you away."

"Maeve, I chase criminals for a living. And I believe I've told you about some of the things I've been through as well." Not all of them, of course, but she'd heard a few stories. "My offer to help still stands."

He just knew the smile on her face was a wistful one, but he'd made her smile all the same. That was a good sign, right?

"I know," Maeve said softly, gently. "Just talking to you helps me feel better. Most guys wouldn't be this patient or understanding."

Not quite the full answer he was hoping for, but a sweet sentiment regardless. "I think it's safe to say I'm not most guys, Maeve," he joked, and he felt a slight flutter upon hearing her laugh.

"No. No, you are not." On her end, Maeve twisted her fingers in the bottom of her shirt before continuing. "That's what I like about you."

Reid merely blushed, and mumbled out a "thanks" in response, before leaning back against one side of the phone booth. He only had about ten minutes left to talk to her, but he was going to make them count.

ooo

They had indeed talked a bit further after that, discussing their plans for the coming week while squeezing in their goodbyes. Reid had hesitated to guarantee he'd be around to talk to her the following Sunday, but fortunately, the case in Florida hadn't taken too long, and he eagerly looked forward to his coming Sunday conversation.

Now if only he could actually try sleeping. Reid folded his arms, frustrated. That seemed impossible right now, however, for his brain seemed determined not to shut itself off tonight. It didn't help that his conversation with Maeve wasn't the only thing lingering in his mind. Oddly enough, the name of another woman kept pestering him, too.

Lila Archer. The television actress he'd been assigned to keep an eye on years ago.

Reid's thoughts about Lila weren't romantic in nature, though. He'd long since moved on from that. Instead, it was strictly professional this time around. Ever since Reid had found out about Maeve's stalker, he'd been relying on all his knowledge and study of stalking cases and victims, continuing to do more research in his spare time. In the process, he'd found himself recalling the case he and his teammates had worked involving Lila Archer six years ago.

She'd been the victim of a stalker, too. Lila had received threatening letters, creepy phone calls, had very personal information about her publicly revealed in the process. Fortunately, her case had ended well for her – the stalker had been caught and sent away to get help, and she was able to resume her regular life. Lately, Reid had been comparing notes between Lila and Maeve, and their respective situations, in the hopes of seeing to it the situation with Maeve could end on an equally good note.

And the more comparisons Reid made, the more disturbed and determined he became. The similarities were downright eerie.

Lila's stalker was a woman. Female stalkers were very uncommon – around the ten percent range, Reid knew. But they certainly existed, and Lila unfortunately encountered one, up close and personal.

Maeve has never met her stalker. She assumed the person after her was a man, though, and Reid couldn't exactly disagree. The statistics did loan themselves to that sort of logical assumption, as did some of her stalker's behavior.

Lila's stalker pleaded with her, sent notes acknowledging her affection. Maeve's stalker is taunting her. They want to intimidate her and make her afraid to leave home.

Reid had listened with dismay as Maeve told him about her varied disguises she kept on hand for whenever she had to go out. Females could certainly be confrontational and demanding, but her stalker's actions seemed like classic alpha male behavior.

Still, he kept the thought of a female stalker in the back of his mind anyway, just in case some evidence came along to tip the scales.

Lila's stalker was someone close, a longtime friend who'd become jealous and possessive of her. Maeve had mentioned a few people at her job that seemed to react negatively to her successes, and who seemed to hold a bit of envy towards her, but she couldn't say for certain one of them was responsible.

She's so sweet and kind and thoughtful, though. How could anyone possibly hate her?

Lila was nice, too, remember? She was still targeted. Grimacing at the thought, Reid continued pacing and thinking.

Lila was a celebrity, in the proper definition of the word. She was on TV, in magazines, in photos. Maeve wasn't that kind of a celebrity, but she was certainly well-respected at where she'd worked. Which hadn't surprised Reid at all, of course. He could tell how brilliant she was just through the conversations they had, or the letters he'd read from her. When she helped him out on that case with the man amputating legs, he'd been deeply impressed by her vast array of scientific knowledge.

It was only natural someone would gravitate to a woman of her notable intellect, either in a bad way, like with a stalker, or in a good way, such as with him. The way she'd aided him on that case was only further confirmation of what Reid had been suspecting for a while. He was falling in love with her.

Love. Reid's eyes widened further as the word bounced around his brain. Lila's stalker was in love with her.

Maeve's situation didn't sound like obsessive love, though. It sounded like destruction. Reid folded his arms tighter against his chest. That made her problem even more concerning. It was a sign she'd become the unfortunate target of a particularly violent type of stalker.

So that was that. The scales seemed relatively balanced regarding Lila and Maeve's respective situations. Reid sighed as he stopped his pacing, going to stand at the window as he clasped his hands behind his back.

The techniques used to catch these stalkers are still essentially the same, though, aren't they? If he could come up with a specific plan of attack based off the tactics he'd used with Lila's case, and got a chance to run it by Maeve the next time they talked, perhaps she'd finally be on board with his offer to help.

Maybe that's what the issue is. She's just waiting to be sure I have a definitive plan in place. If that was the issue, he could understand that. He did have a penchant for running headlong into risky situations, he could admit that, and he didn't want to put Maeve through that kind of stress any more than necessary. She'd already fretted over him enough when he talked to her about some of the cases he and his teammates had dealt with.

If she did decide to support his plan, though, then come Monday, Reid planned to talk to his team at long last and fill them in. Finally, he could get moving on banishing this terrifying person from her life for good.

And if she didn't okay it? Reid was increasingly feeling sorely tempted to talk to his team anyway. He was just as frustrated over their broken date as she had been, and he longed for another chance to make it up to her. He could actually see her, actually hold her hand, tell her how he truly felt about her…

Perhaps even kiss her. That thought sent Reid's heart racing, something which had been happening with alarming frequency lately when it came to thinking of her. He hadn't even met her in person yet, but not a day went by where he wasn't imagining all the things he wanted to do with her once they did meet. He'd take her out for nice dinners. They'd visit museums. Cozy up on his couch on rainy weekends and watch old films, or spend evenings discussing books at a café.

He'd even gone so far as to seriously consider the idea of someday living with her. Reid had never really entertained the thought of living with somebody else in the past. It was one of those things that he might see happening someday down the line, but which he wasn't in any rush for, having preferred his alone time and his privacy instead. To say nothing of the fact that when he was struggling with and eventually kicking his drug habit or suffering his headaches, he didn't exactly feel he'd make the best company for another person, and wouldn't want to burden somebody else with his problems.

But now he was healthy, stable, and settled, all thanks to Maeve. Apparently that next step in his life was closer than he realized. His vision of their life together was always the same, too. He'd wake up to her making coffee in the kitchen, she'd wake up to him bringing her breakfast in bed. And he'd come home after rough cases or stressful days of paperwork, and turn to her to help take all that tension away, while he listened to her go on about her latest projects and studies she was working on. It was perfect.

And maybe, someday down the line, they'd go even further and discuss marriage. Perhaps…children. The fact that those thoughts excited Reid rather than scared him seemed to him a good sign, about her, about him, and their relationship in general.

As always, however, Reid's mind was getting quite far ahead of itself. He shook his head, snapping himself out of his daydreams and fantasies. Right now, he needed to get some sleep. He was already running behind on his schedule as it was.

Reid headed to bed then, shoving aside all thoughts of stalkers and missed dates and creepy cases. He fell asleep shortly thereafter, allowing his mind to fill with images of Maeve smiling, or laughing that soft, gentle laugh, as he held her in his arms.

"Were it offered to my choice, I should have no objection to a repetition of the same life from its beginning, only asking the advantages authors have in a second edition to correct some faults in the first." – Benjamin Franklin

Reviews/critiques/etc. appreciated, as always.