Spencer dropped the phone, letting it dangle from the cord and swing like a pendulum, and he ran.

He didn't know where he was going, or what he was doing, but he ran as fast as he could, his sneakers slipping on the rain-slick pavement. The streetlights didn't provide enough light to see clearly so he ran blind, his heart beating so loud in his ears that he couldn't hear if Mr. Michaels was running after him.

His heel struck the curb at a strange angle and he pitched forward, crashing into the wet asphalt, but he pushed himself up and kept running, his heart in his throat. There was a stitch pulling at his side but he couldn't afford to worry about that.

He darted down a dark alley, rain blurring his vision so badly he could barely see. It was a dead end, and for a split second his heart plummeted to the ground, but there was a dumpster pushed against the rough bricks. He scrambled through a pile of sodden cardboard boxes and tumbled into the little gap between the overfilled dumpster and the wall.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe at all. He wound his fingers through his wet hair and pulled, gasping through his teeth. He had to stay quiet but he couldn't breathe and his heartbeat sounded so loud in his own ears, and when he closed his eyes he saw him, he saw Riley, he saw Riley dead on the ground, staring up at the night sky.

He hadn't been looking for Riley. He was looking for his mother, because he needed her, he needed his mother to come home, and the rain was beginning to soak into his hoodie and he was cold and he was just thinking that maybe he needed to give up, he needed to go home and try again tomorrow, and the toe of his sneaker nudged something soft and yielding and-

Spencer buried his face in his hands and swallowed down his sobs. He couldn't make a sound, he had to stay quiet, if he made a sound he would end up like Riley, staring at the sky without seeing anything. So he pulled his knees to his chest and pulled his hood over his head and tried to keep his heart from beating out of his body.

It wasn't the first crime scene where she saw a child's small body, but it never got easier. Alex took a deep breath and let her thoughts settle. She needed to stay calm and focused, because losing her composure wouldn't make things any easier.

"Morgan, I need you and Blake to look for Spencer while we get the scene secured," Hotch said. Rain sluiced off the shoulders of his jacket but he didn't seem to notice it. "He couldn't have gotten too far, hopefully he's hiding somewhere. But we need to find him before Michaels does."

"We're on it," Derek said.

"Stay in communication. If your earpiece gets waterlogged, keep in touch with Garcia," Hotch said. "Be careful."

It wasn't a nice area of town- definitely not a place where a little boy should be allowed to walk alone at night, gridlocked streets of dark warehouses and dirty sidewalks. Why was Spencer out here at night, alone?

"Where do you think he might be?" she asked Derek.

He swung his flashlight; the beam caught the cold rain in glittering strings. "No clue," he said. "Hopefully he found a good spot to hide."

Alex bit back a frustrated sigh and fished in her pocket for a hair tie. "Spencer," she called as she lashed her hair back in a tight ponytail. "Spencer, are you out here?"

"He better be here," Derek said in a low voice. "I'm not gonna find another kid's body out here tonight."

"We did our best," Alex said quietly. "There wasn't much to go on, even with the information Spencer gave us. The parents were no help, neither was the school."

"Yeah, well, I'm just glad I don't have to talk to break the news to the Jenkins family," Derek said. He focused the beam of the flashlight. "Spencer!"

He kept moving down the street in long strides, but Alex walked slower, checking the small dark spaces that might be big enough to hide a child. If he was scared, he wouldn't be just sitting around waiting for them to show up. He would make himself small to stay safe.

She shone her flashlight down a dark alleyway; the beam revealed a dead end brick wall and an overflowing dumpster. "Spencer," she called. "Where are you?"

She followed Derek down the street, but a soft rustle caught her attention and she paused. "Spencer?" she said, shining her flashlight back down the dead end alley.

The light caught a pair of big hazel eyes in a pale little face.

Relief flooded her veins. "Morgan, down here!" she shouted as she turned down the alleyway, her flashlight beam casting long eerie shadows. "Spencer, sweetheart, it's okay. You can come out, it's safe."

Spencer crawled out from behind the dumpster on his hands and knees and pushed himself off the ground, wobbling on his thin legs. "Did you find him?" he rasped.

"We found Riley, we're taking care of it," she said. "We haven't found Gary Michaels yet." She cupped his cheeks in her hands; his skin was ice cold and his chin was bloodied. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

He shook his head. Derek jogged towards them, the flashlight bouncing in his hand. "Oh my god, there you are," he said. "I'm glad we found you, kid, I was worried about you." He squeezed Spencer's shoulder. "Let's get you back, okay? Once we've got all the details squared away we'll take you home to your mom."

Spencer nodded. Derek kept his hand on his shoulder and steered him back down the street. Alex walked in silence at his other side. It was raining harder now, cold water dripping down the back of her neck and into her flak vest. She wondered for a moment if she could take Spencer's hand, but she didn't want to do anything that might make him any more nervous or skittish than he already was.

Red and blue police lights circled around the crime scene, turning the yellow caution tape barring the scene in sickening colors. The CSI team was already there, cameras flashing as they documented the scene. Alex's chest tightened at the sight of the white sheet spread over the body half hidden in the gutter. Riley's blond curls poked out from the edge of the cover, bright against the dark ground.

Spencer stumbled to a halt, a strangled little noise breaking from his throat. "Come on, kid, let's go talk to Hotch," Derek said. He kept walking, his hand slipping from Spencer's shoulder.

His narrow shoulders jerked sharply. "Morgan, wait," Alex said suddenly. She knew what was happening, but she couldn't catch Derek's attention further before Spencer doubled over and threw up on the pavement. She took hold of his thin arm and kept him from falling forward. "Oh, honey, it's all right."

"Is he okay?" Derek asked.

Alex bent over Spencer, rubbing his back gently as he coughed and gagged. There wasn't much in his system to bring up, but his knees wobbled and he whimpered as he caught his breath. "I know, darling, I know," she said softly. She brushed his hair back from his forehead. "Is it okay if I pick you up?"

"Uh-huh," he whispered.

Alex picked him up carefully. "I want you to put your head on my shoulder and close your eyes," she said. "That way you don't have to look. I'll carry you."

He didn't answer, but he buried his face in the crook of her neck. Alex shifted him to a more comfortable position on her hip. "Blake, everything okay?" Derek asked.

"You remember your first crime scene, don't you?" Alex said. Derek's face fell, as if he had just realized what Spencer was seeing, and he touched Spencer's back lightly. "Let's go talk to Hotch."

Hotch was deep in conversation with the local police, his face drawn and haggard in the harsh lights, but he relaxed when he saw them. "You found him," he said. "Good." He dug a set of keys out of his pocket. "Blake, you stay with him. Take one of the SUVs, get him warmed up. We'll talk things over when I get a free second. Morgan, you come with me."

"No problem," she said. She patted Spence's hip lightly. "Come on, sweetheart."

There were news vans already pulling up to the yellow tape, reporters climbing out and preparing for their late night broadcast. Alex unlocked the SUV and set Spencer down in the backseat. "Give me just a second," she said. She turned the key in the ignition and set the heater on full blast, then dug around in the trunk for a spare jacket and a bottle of water.

Spencer slumped in the backseat, the overhead lights making him look even paler and drawing out the dark circles under his eyes. His wet hair was plastered to his forehead and she could see the bloody scrape on his chin more clearly now.

Alex cracked the cap of the water bottle. "Take a little sip and rinse your mouth out," she said. "And then I want you to drink the rest of it."

Spencer obeyed without a word. Alex stood beside the car with the bottle cap in her hand, watching him. She rested her hand gently on his knee. It was February, it was late, and it was raining- why did his mother let him out of the house, and in shorts, without a real coat?

He held out the empty water bottle, as if he wasn't sure what to do with it. She took it back, replaced the cap, and set it on the floor of the car. "Let's get that hoodie off you," she said. "t's not doing you any good."

He fumbled with the hem and she helped pull it off gently. The ratty hoodie was wet and heavy from rain; he was soaked all the way down to the light tee shirt he wore underneath and his thin bare arms erupted immediately in goosebumps. Alex guided his arms through the sleeves of the too-large FBI jacket and zipped it all the way up. "We'll get you warmed up soon," she reassured him as she rolled the cuffs past his wrists. "Do you want me to sit with you?" He nodded, and Alex climbed up into the backseat of the SUV and shifted him around so he was pressed up against her side.

Hotch walked over to them, a silhouette in the dark. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"As well as could be expected," Alex said.

Hotch leaned up against the side of the car. "Spencer, can you tell me what happened?" he asked.

Spencer rubbed his eyes. "I was...I was walking, and I didn't...I didn't see him," he said. "I almost stepped on him, but I didn't know he was there, and I-"

His shoulders heaved. Alex slipped her arm around him. "Take a deep breath," she said softly.

He tried, but his breath came out in a tight wheeze. "I found him, and I tried to see if he was breathing, but...he wasn't," Spencer said. "So I went to the payphone over there." He pointed towards the curb, his hand shaking. "And I looked up, and Gary Michaels was watching me." He rubbed his eyes again. "He was, um...about fifteen feet away, under a streetlight. Just watching. In a dark green jacket, and a baseball cap, and sneakers. Black sneakers."

Alex rubbed his upper arm. "That's good, sweetheart, you're doing really good," she reassured him.

"When you ran away, do you know if he followed you?" Hotch asked. "Do you know which way he went?"

Spencer shook his head, and his eyes welled up. "Riley's dead," he whispered. "Mr. Michaels killed him, didn't he? And it's my fault."

"It's not your fault," Hotch said firmly. "You did everything right. You helped us so much." He tilted his head. "Do you hear me?" Spencer nodded, hiding his face against Alex's arm. "I'm going to send somebody over with a first aid kit to get your chin taken care of. Stay here with Alex, okay? We might need to ask you some more questions. And when we're done we'll take you home."

He nodded. Hotch patted him lightly on the knee before turning back towards the chaos.

Spencer was shivering now, his teeth beginning to chatter. Alex wasn't sure if it was just the cold, or the adrenaline draining from his little body. "Are you still cold?" she asked. "We can probably get you a blanket if you want."

He pressed himself tighter against her side. "What if he comes back?" he said. "What if he tries to take me?"

Alex hugged him against her, resting her chin on the top of his head. "Don't worry about it, darling," she said. "We'll take care of you. You're safe with us. You're safe with me."

He didn't seem convinced. He huddled himself up small, tucking his legs to his chest. Alex stroked his hair back from his forehead. He was so cold, and so upset, but she wasn't sure what exactly she could do to help. So she just hugged him to her side and hoped it would reassure him and warm him up a little bit.

Exhaustion had already long since dug its claws into him, but the scene was just beginning to settle. Hotch exhaled slowly as he watched the coroner's van drive away.

It had been a long day, a day that he had expected to be over already, but at least there was a light at the end of the tunnel. JJ was taking care of the press conference that would be aired first thing the next morning, and Rossi and Prentiss were taking the parents to the morgue. There were just a few strings left to tie up, and then they could call it a night.

The overhead light of the SUV was a steady beacon across the street. Blake sat in the backseat in silence, her head bowed. "You all right?" he asked gently.

Alex glanced up. "I've been better," she said. "He could be doing better too."

Spencer was asleep with his head on her lap and his thumb in his mouth; the borrowed jacket swallowed up his small frame and covered his free hand, but his bare legs were prickled with goosebumps. Alex was stroking his hair away from his face in an easy, rhythmic pattern. "Morgan and I will get him home," Hotch said. "I want you to check in with Garcia and go over a list of possible names with her from the hotline. And then I want you to go home and get some rest."

"No, I'm fine, I can go with you guys to take him home," Alex said.

Hotch half smiled. "Listen, I don't know if you've ever had to stay up late with a worked-up little kid, but I have, and trust me, it's exhausting," he said. "You look beat. Morgan and I will take him home and talk to his mother. I'm sure she's worried about him." Alex sighed, running her thumb along Spencer's cheek. He couldn't quite read her expression. "And besides, I need you to check in with Garcia. Prentiss and Rossi are with the family and JJ's doing the press conference. If we need to bring Spencer again for an interview tomorrow, I'll leave that to you."

"Fine," Alex said reluctantly. She bent over Spencer, sweeping his hair back from his forehead. "Spencer, wake up, darling."

He blinked sleepily and pushed himself up to a sitting position, his thumb slipping from his mouth. "Time for school?" he mumbled.

"No, it's the middle of the night, it's not school," Alex said. Spencer's eyes closed again and he leaned his cheek on her shoulder. "Agent Hotchner and Agent Morgan are going to take you home, okay? I'm sure your mama is worried sick about you. And I'm sure you want to sleep in your own bed."

Spencer sat up, all of his drowsiness gone. "You don't have to take me home," he said. "I can do it. I can walk home."

"Not a chance," Hotch said. "It's not safe. And we're going to talk to your mother about what's been happening."

Spencer went pale. He opened his mouth like he was going to argue, but clearly he couldn't think of anything to say. Alex got out of the SUV, but she leaned against the doorframe and took Spencer's hands in both of hers. "Stay safe, and get some sleep," she said. "I'll stop by and check in on you tomorrow, okay?"

He nodded. Alex gave his small hands a last squeeze and walked away into the dark rain. Hotch straightened up. "All right, kiddo, let's get you home to your mother," he said.

The drive was silent. Morgan was quiet in the passenger seat, texting with Garcia, and Hotch focused on navigating the dark unfamiliar streets. Spencer gave them the address but after that went completely silent. He was too small to sit comfortable in the backseat of the SUV, his seatbelt sitting too high across his narrow chest. Hotch couldn't quite see him in the rearview mirror, but he got an unsettling sense of anxiety from the child, as if he didn't want to be there.

It was strange, now that he thought about it. Any other child would be sobbing for their mother, begging to go home. Spencer seemed almost like he didn't want to leave them, even though they were strangers.

He turned into the apartment complex. Even in the middle of the night he could see how rundown the buildings were, the headlights catching the peeling paint and piled up trash. He pulled into the first available spot he could find and parked.

"Which building is yours?" Hotch asked as he got out of the front seat and slammed the door. Spencer pointed to a gray building tucked away at the edge of the complex. He didn't see any lights on in the building, but he could hear muted pulsing bass and smell cigarette smoke.

"Doesn't look like anyone's home. Do you think your mom might have left to go looking for you?" Derek asked. Spencer shook his head. "Does she even know you've been gone?" His chin trembled and he shook his head again.

Hotch caught Derek's eye. He had a distinct feeling that this was going to be a difficult conversation. What kind of mother wouldn't realize their child was missing in the middle of the night?

The complex seemed vacant, but there was one man standing in the parking lot, lit under a street light, watching them. Average height. Average build. Dark green jacket. Baseball cap. Sneakers. Black sneakers.

Hotch took Spencer by the shoulder and moved him quickly behind him. "Morgan, ten o'clock," he said in a low voice.

Morgan already had his hand on the butt of his gun. "I'm on it," he said.

"Spencer, I want you to go to your apartment and shut the door," Hotch said. "I'll be there in a second. Just stay hidden until I get there."

"Is that him?" Spencer said, grabbing onto the hem of Hotch's jacket. "Is that Mr. Michaels?"

"Upstairs, now," he said sharply, and Spencer ran up the stairs, clinging to the railing. Hotch switched on his earpiece as he watched Morgan move towards the figure on the curb. He made the call for backup in sharp clipped tones, keeping an eye on Morgan as he took off running.

This was bigger than just Riley Jenkins. The unsub was targeting Spencer. He had been targeting him from the beginning, and Riley was just collateral damage in his effort to get to Spencer.

He took the stairs two at a time and knocked on the apartment door. "Spencer, it's Agent Hotchner, open the door," he called.

He paused. He couldn't see through the front window of the apartment. The glass was covered in a layer of newspaper so thick it was impossible to see.

The lock clicked and the door opened slowly. Inside the apartment it was so dark he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. "Spencer, are you okay?" he said as he stepped inside. "You can turn the lights on, it's safe."

"The lights don't work."

Hotch frowned and flipped the switch by the front door. "All the lights, or just this one?" he asked.

"All of them."

He turned on the flashlight on his phone and waved it around, looking for the breaker box. The harsh white light revealed trash heaped on the dirty carpet and he stepped carefully in an attempt to avoid it. He found the box, but the breakers were fine, all clicked into the correct place. It couldn't be a complex-wide power outage, not if they could see lights shining from the rest of the buildings.

"Spencer, how long has the power been out?" he asked, frowning.

"At least forty-hours. Maybe...maybe longer," he said, his voice hitching. "Did you find him? Did Agent Morgan get him?"

"He's looking for him," Hotch said. He knelt down; he could barely see Spencer in the dark. "You haven't answered me yet. Are you okay? Where's your mother? Is she still at work?"

Spencer's shoulders heaved. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know."

Hotch stood up and squeezed his shoulder. "Go get a drink of water and sit down," he said. "We'll take care of everything, all right? We'll stay here till your mom comes home and we know for sure what's happening."

Spencer nodded and stumbled past him. Hotch switched off his phone flashlight as the bathroom door closed and dialed Garcia's number. She answered halfway through the second ring.

"Hi, hello, what the hell is happening?"

"Garcia, are you still at Quantico?" he asked.

"Yes, yes, I'm here, I'm in my lair, I'm just waiting for Blake to get here," she said. "I just watched JJ's press conference. That poor little boy."

"Yeah, well, we have another little boy to worry about," he said. "I'm going to give you an address, and I need you to check the power company records and see why the electricity is turned off."

He could hear the keys clacking away from her end of the line. "All right, um...the power was disconnected due to non-payment two days ago," she said. "Yikes. Apparently the apartment is also due for eviction soon, also due to non-payment. Whose apartment is this? Is it Gary Michaels?"

He frowned. "What name is the apartment rented under?" he asked.

"Oh...not Gary Michaels. A Diana Reid."

He exhaled in a measured breath. "I need you to pull some strings and get power turned back on at this address as soon as you can," he said. "It's urgent. And send this address to JJ, tell her I want her to come here as soon as the press conference wraps up."

"Will do, I can work some magic."

"Oh, and Garcia," he said quickly before she could end the call. "I need you to pull as much information as you can find on Diana Reid."

"You've got it. Keep me updated, chief."

He crossed his arms over his chest, squeezing the sides of the phone a little too hard. There was a sharp crawling sensation at the nape of his neck that something wasn't right. Not just profiler instincts, but something else.

He tried to picture his own son, his own little boy. Jack stumbling into a playmate's dead body, Jack running from an unsub in the rain, Jack going home to an empty apartment with no lights and no heart and no parent.

He could hear Spencer throwing up from behind the closed bathroom door. Something was wrong, and he was going to figure it out before he left the child here and completed the case.

Derek walked into the apartment, his steps heavy. "Lost him," he said. "He made it to his car, but I got the make and model and a partial license, so I'll send it to Garcia." He stopped. "Jesus. It's as cold in here as it is outside. And why are the lights off?"

"The power was turned off a few days ago," Hotch said.

"Where's the kid? Is he with his mom?" Derek asked.

"There's no sign of the mother," Hotch said. "Spencer's in the bathroom. Morgan, there's something not right here."

"What are you thinking?" Derek said.

Hotch hesitated. He wasn't quite confident yet- he could feel an answer forming, but he wasn't sure if he was right.

Suddenly the lights switched back on in full force; the microwave in the kitchen chimed in protest. "Holy shit," Derek breathed.

The apartment looked like a bomb went off. Trash covered the floor; the apparent patches of carpet were visibly dirty. Thick layers of newspaper and packing tape covered the windows, blocking the apartment from the outside world. The old tube television was coated in a thick layer of dust.

Derek walked into the small kitchen and opened the fridge. "Fuck," he said.

"What?" Hotch said, glancing back. "Everything spoiled?"

"No. There's nothing in here."

Hotch frowned and followed him. He expected it to be hyperbole, but Derek was correct. There was nothing left in the fridge. No spoiled milk, no forgotten vegetables, not even takeout containers. Nothing. Empty shelves.

Derek scanned through the cabinets. Most of the dishes were in the sink, idling in a standing pool of stagnant water, and there wasn't any food left in the pantry. "No wonder Spencer was willing to take food from Gary Michaels, he has to be starving," he said. "You think the mom just doesn't feed him?"

"I don't know," Hotch said, and the answer forming in the back of his mind shifted into clearer focus. "Get in touch with Garcia and give her the car information, and keep an eye out for JJ, she's on her way."

He crossed back into the living room area. It was a small apartment, barely a step up from a studio with just one bedroom. The furniture was sparse, just cheap mass-market stuff that must have come with the place. He had a suspicion of what he might find in the bedroom, but it brought him no satisfaction to find he was right.

The bedroom was worse than the living room and the kitchen. The cold air smelled like a thousand stale cigarettes and unwashed laundry. The bed was unmade, the bare mattress speckled with stains and the thin sheets left in a heap. Books and papers were stacked on the floor and across the dresser and nightstand. The lamp was left broken on the floor, dangling by the cord. And he didn't miss the discarded wine boxes half-hidden in the corner, or the cups stacked around the room with mold lingering in the dark dregs at the bottom.

"Hey," a voice said softly behind him. He jumped and turned around to see JJ standing behind him. "Morgan filled me in. Everything okay?"

"No," Hotch said. "No, it's not." He took a step back so JJ could see the chaos. "What do you see?"

JJ surveyed the room for a moment. "A lot of unintentional disorganization," she said. "But not all of it- the way the books and papers are stacked, those seem like they have some kind of order to them, even if it doesn't seem to make sense." She bit her lip. "Definitely a problem with alcohol. Self-medication, maybe." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "And definitely not a safe environment for a child. Do you know where the mom is?"

"No idea," Hotch said. "All he's said is that she's at work." He glanced down at her. "Did Morgan tell you about the power? The electricity hasn't been on in at least two days. Which means no heat. And there's no food in the apartment."

"Jesus," JJ sighed. "Do we need to call child services?"

"I think it's bigger than that," Hotch said.

He brushed past her out of the bedroom and knocked lightly on the bathroom door. "Hey, Spencer, can you come out, please?" he said. "We need to talk to you."

He gave it a minute, and eventually Spencer pulled the door open. He was ghostly pale, the bandage on his chin a sharp contrast. He was still wearing the FBI jacket and it swallowed him up, hanging almost to his bare knees and covering his hands. His hair was still damp and tangled, and his sneakers were filthy.

"Hi, kiddo," Hotch said, keeping his voice gentle. "How are you feeling?" Spencer shrugged and pushed the sleeves over hs hands. "This is my friend JJ, she's on the team with me and Derek." JJ smiled at him, but he didn't react. "Can you come talk with us?"

Spencer nodded. Hotch guided him to the living room and nudged him to sit down on the couch. JJ sat down next to him, and he knelt down on the floor. Derek stayed by the door, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched them.

Spencer sat quietly, his hands tucked under his thighs, his big hazel eyes dull and blank. It was almost as if he'd gone through so much panic and turmoil that everything had seeped out of his little body and left him an empty shell.

"Spencer," Hotch said softly. "Where's your mommy?"

At first he wasn't sure if the child heard him, because he didn't seem to react, but his eyes welled up with tears. But he didn't say anything.

"Is she at work?" JJ asked. "Will she be home soon?"

He shook his head.

"Spencer, how long has your mother been gone?" Hotch asked.

A tear rolled down Spencer's cheek. "My stomach hurts," he said.

He placed his hands on Spencer's knees. "How long has your mother been gone?" he said.

Spencer shifted like he was trying to pull away, but he wasn't fighting hard enough. "My stomach really hurts," he said.

"How long, Spencer?" Hotch said.

"Hotch, you really don't think-" Derek started to say.

"Two months," Spencer blurted out.

Hotch's heart dropped. "Your mother has been gone for two months?" he repeated.

Spencer's shoulders heaved. "She, she left," he said. "Fifty-one days ago. She left me." His mouth trembled. "My mom left me."

It was almost as if he was acknowledging it for the first time. Maybe he was.

"So she's not at work," Hotch said. "She's missing."

Spencer's face crumpled. "It's my fault," he whispered. "I made her mad. I made her mad, and she got upset, and she left. She left me."

"No, that's not it," Morgan said immediately. Spencer pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and choked on a sob, as if he was trying to force himself to keep from crying. Morgan sat down on his other side and rested his broad hand against his narrow back. "Hey, hey, pretty boy, it's not your fault. Not at all. You gotta stop blaming yourself for things you didn't do."

Spencer dropped his gaze to the floor, his shoulders twitching and jerking. A tear dropped off his chin and plopped onto his thin knee. JJ quietly took his hand, linking his fingers through hers.

Hotch took a deep breath, trying to put his thoughts together. Spencer choked on a sob and squeezed JJ's hand tight. "You're not staying here tonight," Hotch said. "You can't stay here alone, and especially not if Michaels is still looking for you. It's not safe." He looked at JJ. "Do you think you could take him for the night?"

"Yeah, absolutely," JJ said immediately. "I'll call Will so he's prepared."

Derek rubbed Spencer's back. "JJ's a good mom, she's got a little boy just a few years younger than you," he said. "You'll be in good hands, okay?"

"Is that okay with you?" Hotch asked. Spencer nodded, silent and numb, his right hand pressing against his mouth as if he wanted to suck his thumb but wasn't sure about it. "We'll bring you back with us to Quantico in the morning and then we'll figure out where to go from there. And we'll start looking for your mom."

Spencer nodded again, but his eyes welled up again, tears rolling down his thin little face. "Go get your stuff, the most important stuff you need, while JJ calls Will," Hotch said, dropping his voice a little softer. "Do you have questions? Anything else you want to talk about or tell us?"

"What about school tomorrow?" he asked.

"You'll get a day off from school," Hotch said. "Don't worry about it, okay?"

Spencer nodded and swiped at his cheeks, trying to stop himself from crying, and he pulled away from them to start packing his belongings in silence.

JJ glanced back at Spencer in the rearview mirror. He'd fallen asleep the second she started the car, his chin tipped to his chest and his hands limp. He was a little too big for Henry's car seat, but she had a sneaking suspicion that he needed a booster.

It had been a long day, the sort of day when she wanted to take an hour long shower and drink a glass of wine and wake up Henry just so that she could reassure herself that he was alive and safe and happy. Cases with children were always hard, but they were even harder when the case ended like this. There was always a chance that a kidnapped child would turn up dead, but she never wanted to think about it.

She glanced back at the child in her backseat again. Will had taken it in stride when he'd told her that she was bringing a little boy home with her, but still, she was wondering what the hell she was supposed to do with him. They needed to find his family, they needed to put him in witness protection, they probably needed to report the situation to child services.

But there wasn't time for that. It was two in the morning, and they could figure out the big questions once the sun was up. Right now Spencer needed a hot shower, and something to eat, and some sleep. She didn't want to think about how long it had been since he'd gotten any of those things.

She pulled into the garage and parked. He didn't wake up even in the bright white lights, or when she opened the car door. "Spencer," she called softly. "Wake up, sweetie." He sat up sluggishly as she unlatched his seatbelt. "Let's go inside, okay?"

He slid down to the ground and she picked up his things. All of his possessions fit in one suitcase that Derek had found under the bed. And it was mostly books, and clothes that were highly inappropriate for the cold midwinter weather.

She took Spencer by the hand and walked him into the house, closing the garage door behind her. Will was sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee, but he got up quickly when he heard her steps. "Hey, Jayje," he said. He closed the distance between them quickly and pulled her into a tight hug. JJ hugged him back as tight as she could, burying her face in his chest. For a moment she let herself sink into him, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne. Will kissed the top of her head and she wanted to hide in his arms until things felt normal and safe again, but she didn't have time for that quite yet.

She took a step back, her hands lingering on his strong arms for a moment. "Will, this is Spencer," she said. "Spencer, this is my husband, Will."

Will knelt down to Spencer's eye level. "Hi, buddy," he said softly. "I hear you're gonna stay with us for the night. I've got a place set up for you to sleep, but how about you go take a hot shower? You'll feel better when you're clean and warmed up." Spencer nodded hesitantly. "Come on, I'll show you where the bathroom is. Jayje, there's coffee for you on the counter, it's decaf."

"Oh, thank you," she sighed. "Is Henry asleep?"

"Went to bed right at eight, good as gold," Will said. "Take a second, catch your breath. I'll be right back."

She pulled down a mug from the cabinet as Will walked out with Spencer. The coffee was still piping hot; she added cream and sugar but she didn't drink it. She left it on the counter and headed to Henry's room instead.

Her son was fast asleep in his little bed, sprawled out on his back with his arms over his head. JJ tucked him back in, fixing the blankets and tucking his favorite stuffed animal against his side. She kissed his soft cheek and trailed her fingers through his soft blond hair. Seeing Henry safe made her feel calmer, as if a weight had slipped from her shoulders.

She went back to the kitchen and sat down with coffee, sipping it slowly until Will returned. "Everything okay?" she asked.

"JJ, that kid is skin and bones," he said. "Once I got that FBI jacket off him it was like he shrunk to half the size I thought he was. What's going on with him?"

JJ sighed and sketched it out for him in as quick a summary as she could manage. "Hotch says we'll figure everything out tomorrow, but there was no way he could stay in that hellhole overnight, especially not alone," she said.

"So what do you think is gonna happen to him?" Will asked. "You think you'll be able to find the mother?"

"Maybe," she said. "But she's been gone for two months. There's no telling where she might be, or why she didn't come back. And even if we find her...she might not be a suitable parent to take care of him and keep custody." She drummed her fingertips against the hot ceramic of her coffee mug. "And he needs to go into witsec until we've found the unsub. Gary Michaels killed Riley Jenkins in less than twenty-four hours, and it's pretty clear that he wasn't even his main target, he was just...collateral damage. If he gets his hands on Spencer, it won't be good."

Will hummed thoughtfully. "What do you think is gonna happen to him?" he asked.

"Not a clue," she said.

Will glanced past her. "Speak of the devil," he said. "Hey, buddy, how're you doing?"

JJ turned around. Spencer hovered in the hallway in a pair of his own pajama pants and a tee shirt borrowed from Will, his wet hair making damp splotches on his shoulders. "I'm okay," he said.

"Are you hungry?" Will asked. "You're probably starving, I'd guess. Anything you want to eat in particular?" Spencer hesitated, then shook his head. "I'll find something for you to eat, then. Go on and sit."

Spencer obeyed, pulling himself clumsily to sit next to JJ. He sat silently, his shoulders slumped and his hands resting awkwardly on the table. Will was right, he was too thin- the delicate bones in his wrists jutting through the skin and his collarbone sticking out sharply from the collar of his shirt. He did look a little better now that he was clean, but his face was gaunt and the skin under his eyes purple with exhausted bruising.

William set down a plate of chicken nuggets and a small bowl of applesauce sprinkled with cinnamon in front of him. "I know it's not fancy, but that's what our boy likes when he's had a rough day," he said. "You let me know if you want anything else, okay?"

Spencer picked up a nugget and took a cautious little bite off the edge, and then suddenly he was shoveling food in his mouth like he hadn't had a good meal in weeks. A lump rose in JJ's throat as she realized that maybe he hadn't. She'd taken her own look around the apartment while Spencer packed his things, she'd seen the empty refrigerator herself.

"Slow down a little, sweetie," she said, patting his back lightly. "You're going to choke if you don't take it easy." He slowed down a little, but he still finished it off in record time. "Do you want some more?"

"No, thank you," he said, setting his spoon down cautiously on the plate.

"Let's get you to bed then," JJ said. "Come on."

There was a sleeper couch in Henry's playroom; Will had already gotten it set up and piled with pillows and blankets. Spencer hesitated for a moment, as if he wasn't sure if he should lie down, but she patted one of the pillows and he laid down obediently.

"Get some sleep," she said as she pulled the blankets over him. "I'll wake you up when it's time. Tomorrow we'll go to Quantico first thing in the morning, okay?"

"Will Agent Hotch be there?" he asked. "And Derek, and Alex?"

"Yes, sweetheart, they'll be there," she reassured him. "Now go to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight," he said. "Thank you."

She turned off the lights, but she left the door cracked open, letting light from the hallway spill into the room. Somehow she just knew that he shouldn't be left alone in the dark.

Author's Notes:

ugggggggggghhhhhhh my HEART

this poor baby angel. at least now the team can help him. and you know Alex is going to be SO upset. She loves that tiny boy already, even if she doesn't realize it. And he's already warmed up to her too. he just needs a mom so badly. and JJ isn't the right mom for him. she just isn't. but at least he's warm and clean and fed finally!

but soon

MAMA ALEX MAMA ALEX MAMA ALEX

also don't think about Spencer sleeping on Alex's lap in a jacket that's too big for him and his thumb in his mouth. he's so cute. literally the cutest.