ABLOCATE ▇▇▇▇ VOLUME ONE
━━ ❛ 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 ❜

chapter no. 029!

❝ NIGHTMARES ARE THE DEVIL'S
WAY OF SAYING HELLO. ❞
▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

     ON A RARE DAY OFF, INSTEAD OF FINDING HERSELF AT PETIT CAFÉ OR A LIBRARY, CARA VALENTINE WAS SITTING IN THE GRASS AT A LOCAL TRACK FIELD. An ice pack was resting on her shoulder as the wind blew back her hair. With slitted eyes, she shielded her face from the sun's harsh rays. Even though it was cold and late February, Cara still felt like it was hot enough to where she could wear a bathing suit. Or perhaps that was the over-exaggeration she'd conjured up in her head to validate how overheated she was.

     Readjusting the position of the ice pack on her right shoulder, the blonde huffed. "I hate... both... of you," she breathed, squinting as the sun blinded her again.

     "On the bright side, you still look pretty!" Penelope heaved, hands pressed to her knees as she leaned over, out of breath. She and Spencer had dragged Cara along to train for their fit test, and it wasn't going well.

     Falling to the ground, Spencer nodded. "That's true," he agreed, arms and legs sprawling out as he lay flat on the grass.

     "Don't talk to me," Cara grumbled, shooting him a glare. "Thanks to you, I almost dislocated my shoulder."

     Not even half an hour into their amateur training session, one of them got injured. It had happened when Cara had offered Spencer a hand the first time he'd dramatically collapsed on the track field. Compared to his tall stature and bigger frame, her tiny figure easily didn't have enough strength to pull him up completely. That fact had slipped the genius' mind, though, as he'd accidentally yanked on her arm with his full weight when he grabbed her hand, pulling a muscle in her shoulder. Since then, she'd become best friends with an ice pack and threw him a glare whenever they locked eyes.

     "I apologized! It was a complete accident. I'd never intentionally hurt you; you know that!" Spencer argued, propping himself up on his elbows as he sent her an apologetic look. He really did feel bad for hurting her. It wasn't and never would be intentional, but that didn't matter. He was still mentally beating himself up for it.

     Her lips tugged upward, and she shook her head. "Mmm, I know. Still going to give you shit for it, though."

     "By the way," Penelope paused, staring at the stopwatch in her hand. "Our time was eight-forty-nine, Reid." Then it hit her. "Oh good God, that's not even close." Cara snorted. "Why does it have to be such a fast mile? Have you guys ever even had to run a mile in the field?"

     "No," Spencer wheezed.

     "Not yet," Cara corrected, nearly frowning as she could feel the ice pack losing its effect.

     Stretching her hamstrings, Penelope then pushed up her sunglasses. "I'm not even in the field. I sit at a computer on my perfect posterior, like all day."

     Spencer feebly raised his head to look at her. "Maybe we should ask Morgan for help," he suggested.

     "No." His idea was quickly shut down as the technical analyst adamantly shook her head.

     "But he has really good abs," Spencer argued.

     Cara hummed, nodding. She'd only ever seen Derek Morgan shirtless once in a picture Penelope showed her, but she couldn't deny the genius's statement.

     The sound of her hum caused Spencer to look at her and watch as she agreed. His eyes narrowed the tiniest bit.

     "Yes, he does, but it's bad enough some bureaucrat is making us take this stupid test. The last thing we need is Mr. Universe talking smack the whole time." Penelope groaned; all of her stretches weren't helping with any of the soreness she felt.

     Tearing his gaze away from Cara, Spencer sat up. "But he knows about all this stuff. He can probably, like..." he paused as he struggled to catch his breath, "teach us some tricks, help us train."

     "Yes, but he takes it way too seriously. I worked out with him once." Penelope sighed.

     Eyebrows raising, the doctor appeared impressed. "You work out? That's cool. I don't," he crossed one arm over and hooked the other underneath it, pulling.

     "Yeah, but in a non-traditional manner," Cara snorted at the blonde's comment, "and never again with him. He was all, "There you go, baby girl. Move it or lose it. This ain't your high-tech room. My grandmama can move better than that"."

     "He can be enthusiastic at times," Spencer defended.

     "That's a way of saying it," Penelope muttered. "But no. Me, you, and Cara, we can do this."

     At the sound of her name, Cara looked up again. "I already did my fit test months ago. I'm only here to participate in training and watch you two suffer," she pointed out, adjusting the ice pack.

     "That's right. How bad was it?" Spencer asked, catching her eye. Both he and Penelope dismissed her last comment.

     She shrugged. "Not bad. I liked it, but there's more to it than just the mile. There are a lot of other physical tests you're put through and have to complete."

     "One, how the hell could you ever like physical exercise? And two, Anderson told me it was just the mile." Penelope joined the pair on the grass.

     Cara tilted her head. "For the same reason you like working out in a nontraditional manner: it's fun. For me, at least. It gives me something to do."

     "Wouldn't you rather do someone instead?" Penelope raised a brow, indiscreetly darting her eyes and jerking her head to the man beside her. Thankfully, he didn't notice as he stretched for a second time.

     A deadly glare took over her facial features, and Cara flashed her the middle finger. "I am perfectly fine sticking with my occasional Pilates, books, and coffee. Thank you very much."

     "Well, you and your perfectly fine ass should consider getting laid," Penelope suggested, winking at the annoyed woman across from her. "It'll help lower your stress levels—" The sound of her phone beeping cut her off, and the analyst pulled it out. "Oh, hallelujah."

     Spencer peered up. "What? We have a case?"

     Flashing the text from Hotch to the other two, she nodded. "Yep."

     "Thank God." Spencer breathed, falling back down.

     "Race you to the bleachers!" Penelope yelled, taking off. "We don't need him! We don't need Morgan!"

     Cara snorted, pushing herself off the ground. They most definitely needed Morgan. If they weren't going to listen to her advice regarding working out, then maybe they would with him.

     "I'm just gonna have a heart attack really quick," the brown-haired doctor choked out, closing his eyes when the sun hit him.

     "Nuh-uh. Move, Lazy Leslie," Cara said, kicking the side of his leg. "Wheels up."

────

    "LOVE IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL OF DREAMS AND THE WORST OF NIGHTMARES. AMAN JASSAL." Cara read over the quote on the chalkboard for a fifth time, lingering on the word "nightmare" for eight seconds too long. Her grip on her freshly packed go-bag was stiff, and her gaze unwavering. For a reason she couldn't define, the quote resonated deeply with her, and it was beginning to irritate her that she couldn't decipher what it fully meant to her.

     There'd been a spike in her nightmares for the past few weeks. It had gotten harder to stay awake throughout the night, her body taking over and pushing her into the realm of sleep.

     Every time she woke from the nightmares, she found herself shaking and hyperventilating. It wasn't until a few days ago that she'd also begun to wake up crying. And she hated it. She hated how the block between her and her emotions was now an abyss of darkness; the emotions she'd been suppressing for years crashing over her in waves, salty water clogging up her throat as she tried not to break.

     Blinking, a tear trickled down her cheek, and she tensed. Without hesitation, she wiped it away, removing all evidence that it'd ever been there. Her emotions were spiraling, and she was having trouble controlling them.

     The pad of her thumb pressed against her left wrist as she subconsciously began to rub it. Her focus hadn't strayed away from the quote. Every day, Marcello, the owner of Petit Café, would allow his first customer of the day to write a quote of their choosing on the large chalkboard sign adjacent to the entrance. Assumably, whoever had come in first thing was either experiencing some sort of distress or was in a poetic mood at six in the morning.

     The sound of footsteps approaching caused her to stand a bit taller. She knew it was Spencer, but that didn't ease the immediate spike in her heart rate. Breathe. You're fine. Everything's fine. Head-turning, she peered over her shoulder to see the brown-haired doctor headed in her direction. Two cups of coffee rested in his hands, and he wore a friendly smile. The sight of it was enough to put her at moderate ease. The anxious tapping of her foot against the floor while she rubbed her wrist ended. You're fine.

     "Are you okay?" Spencer asked, having noticed her nervous mannerisms. He handed over her usual order. They were on the way to the BAU, where they'd be leaving with the rest of the team for a new case in Milwaukee. Before they arrived, though, the pair needed another caffeine hit, considering the active and exhausting morning they'd had.

     Cara glanced away with tired eyes, gratefully taking the cup. "I'm fine. Just didn't sleep."

     Watching her carefully, he held the door open as they exited Petit Café. She sent him a slight nod of appreciation. Once the door had shut, they began walking toward the train station.

     "Why didn't you sleep?" Spencer's head was tilted as he stared at her.

     Cara shrugged, not having it in her to devise an excuse. The answer to his question had been consistent for months, but she didn't feel comfortable admitting it. Coming clean about her unhealthy relationship with sleep, the little amount she got every week, her progressing nightmares, and her paranoia wasn't something she preferred to discuss. So, she settled on the answer she always defaulted to: "Sleep doesn't come easy for me."

     Usually, Spencer would observe her behavior and try to get a read on her. And traditionally, he would either conclude that she was being truthful with him or he had absolutely no idea what she was thinking or feeling. Cara Valentine was an incredibly difficult person to profile. This had been proven time and time again since the day the team had been made aware of her existence.

     However, this was the first time since he saw her petrified in the Vancouver interrogation room that he'd been able to see right through her. Profiling her right now was the easiest it'd ever been, which unnerved him.

     "Nightmares?"

     "Mmm."

     Even though they were expected at the BAU within the next fifteen minutes, Spencer reached over and curled his fingers around Cara's arm. He brought them to a stop and peered down at her. "I, uh, I get them too," he muttered, growing mindful of how close the two were. "Nightmares aren't unusual for those in our line of work. It makes sense why you would get them either due to the job or your past with the Scorpions. However, there is a bright side to nightmares."

     She gave him a blank expression.

     "Research is increasingly showing that nightmares can help people better navigate their waking lives. Bad dreams can actually help reduce anxiety around real-life situations by acting as emotional dress rehearsals." Spencer explained, unaware that this bit of information was in no way, shape, or form, easing the pit in Cara's chest.

     "No. Nightmares are the Devil's way of saying "hello"," Cara grumbled sourly, averting her line of sight to the train station in the distance.

     Spencer's frown deepened, his concern rising. "Are you sure you're okay?"

     Cara nodded, subconsciously leaning into his touch. "Yeah... yeah." With her right hand, she rubbed her forehead, head pounding. The lack of sleep was really starting to catch up with her. Not to mention the nightmares that wouldn't stop knocking at her door.

     A frown tugged at his lips as he watched her. "Are you sure you're okay?" he repeated quietly. Her eyes wandered over his relaxed frame, which contradicted the sliver of doubt inscribed into his facial expression. "You can talk to me," he soon spoke, noticing her apprehensive silence.

     Every feature in her face softened at his words. You can talk to me. A phrase very much foreign to her. Clearing her throat, she averted her gaze for a moment. "I know I can. I just... I'll be fine."

     Spencer didn't believe her, and he moved his hand from her arm and used his index finger to tilt her chin up just the slightest. A strand of hair blew in her face, and he hesitantly tucked it behind her ear. Cara's pupils widened a fraction. Nobody had been this gentle towards her, in this manner, for a long time.

     "I-I'm sorry," he spoke nervously, noticing her sudden tense posture. "I should have asked before I did that; I don't know why I did that."

     "No, it's okay. I wasn't expecting it, but I don't mind." Cara admitted, spinning on her heel and continuing to walk. The amount of space left between them was intimidating, and she didn't like how her stomach kept churning.

     Following, Spencer pressed his lips together. "What have the nightmares been about? You don't have to tell me. Unless you want to, then I'm all ears."

     Why was he being so conversational and nervous around her today? Not to mention touchy.

     He was never nervous or touchy with her, so why now?

     "Random memories," Cara answered, letting out an audibly heavy sigh. "Bad memories."

     Spencer blinked, a little shocked by how easily and openly candid she was. However, he furrowed his brows; her tone of voice caught his attention. There seemed to be some sort of distaste in her words and a remorseful aura to them. "What are—"

     "Raine and Ace."

     "Uh, yeah. I just didn't want to... you wear glasses?" he stammered, his brows scrunching together as he slipped off his shoes.

     Cara nodded, pulling out two mugs. "My friend Raine knew an eye doctor that would see me off the books. I've had them since I was twenty-one," she answered offhandedly. Once the words left her mouth, she bit back a frown. It'd been a long time since she'd said her best friend's name out loud. The last time she could remember saying it was the day of the Surrey Six. The day Raine was murdered.

     "Raine? That's an interesting name." Spencer commented, making his way over to the kitchen island.

     "It's a variant of Raina and Rani, which are of Sanskrit origin with Hebrew ties. As well as Regina, which is Latin and translates to—"

     "—Queen. The name Raine can also mean she is singing."

     Spencer stared at the coffee in his hand.

     Shaking his head, he chuckled. "Onto a lighter subject, that hot chocolate was probably the best hot chocolate I've ever had. Aside from Marcello's, obviously," Spencer complimented, mentioning the owner of Petit Café that they were both familiar with.

     Snorting, Cara shook her head. "Nothing will ever beat Marcello's hot chocolate, but I'm glad you liked it. It's a recipe I learned from my friend Ace."

     "Raine and Ace? Your friends have some interesting names," he noted, tilting his head to the left.

     "Yeah, they did," she murmured, smiling lightly at the memory of her two best friends. Spencer noticed her usage of the word did and furrowed his brows.

     "Your friends?" Spencer asked, thinking back to the night of Morgan and Savannah's Christmas party. Cara nodded. "I recall you using the word did when referring to them. I never got the chance to ask what you meant by that."

     Downing the remaining coffee in her cup, Cara tossed it in a nearby trash can. "Did as in dead. They're dead."

     At that, Spencer was mute. He didn't know what exactly to say. "Oh, uh," he cleared his throat, "I'm sorry." Cara just nodded again. "Do you mind if I—"

     "It was the night of the Surrey Six," she cut him off, already knowing what he was about to ask. "It was at night. We were in my childhood home. I was upset and waiting for Owen to meet me there. Raine and Ace were with me for support. Comfort." The last word was coated in remorse. "Owen showed up with Farell and Arthur, but we thought it was only him. He and I got into an argument; I started crying and pushed Ace away when he tried to hold me back. The argument got heated. Then Farell and Arthur come out of the shadows and shot Raine and Ace. They stood on either side of me."

     Spencer swallowed harshly. "So they were murdered right in front of you," he stated matter-of-factly, frowning when she hummed in confirmation. "I'm sorry, Ara."

     Shrugging, she stuffed her hands into the pockets of the red button-down sweater she wore. "That's one of the memories. One of the bad memories I keep dreaming of," she said, growing more uncomfortable with every second that passed.

     Discussing the context of her nightmares was something she wasn't accustomed to. None of what she experienced and went through with Spencer was something she'd ever been accustomed to. None of it. And that unnerved her; the uncertainty and the fact that she'd grown to trust someone she hadn't known for long with her past, her memories, and her life was disconcerting. She didn't like it, but it felt right. It felt natural— trusting him. She couldn't help but lean on him, even if it was just a little.

     Suddenly a hand was placed on top of hers, and she flinched, looking down to see another set of fingers intertwining with her own. Stomach-churning, she inhaled deeply. "Thank you," Spencer whispered, and her face flushed when she felt him squeeze her hand. "For trusting me. Thank you for continuing to trust me."

     A weak smile tugged at her lips, and she nodded. "Thank you for continuing to be you," she muttered, flickering her eyes to meet his. "Can I ask you something?" The question left her mouth before she could stop it.

     Spencer nodded. "Always," he stated firmly, not once breaking eye contact.

     "Would you... feel comfortable holding hands until we get to the BAU?"

     A spark ignited in his chest, and Spencer felt his breath hitch in his throat. The blonde's words struck a chord in him, and his mind went blank. All he could do was weakly nod in response, confused as to why her question meant so much to him.

────

     "IT TOOK US ALMOST TWO HOURS TO GET HERE, AND THAT WAS WITH YOU DRIVING," CARA REMARKED. The forest was shockingly silent aside from the sporadic murmurs from officers. All that could primarily be heard was the sound of the leaves crunching.

     Throughout the car ride, Cara's mind couldn't help but be elsewhere despite her conversations with Morgan. She'd spent much of the time discreetly eyeing the rearview mirror, ensuring they weren't being followed. Every inch of her was jumpy and anxious. It felt like she was waiting for something, but she didn't know what that something was.

     Perhaps she was feeling this way due to the increased nightmares she'd been having.

     The way her mind was advancing in its distortions of the events and actions taking place around her was illusory. That sphere of paranoia and aggression she'd created back in Kansas City was ever-growing and suffocating her. Every moment of every day, an ever-consuming fear was looming over her head and shoulders.

     There were spikes in her paranoia and hyperawareness. There were days when she wasn't as worried, but those had become far less common. Some days, she was scared, but it wasn't enough to hinder her from interacting with others or doing her job. Others, she was barely swimming above water, drowning over and over again as the waves wouldn't let her catch her breath for more than a second at a time.

     Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. "We passed another forest preserve and a lot of space on the way."

     When Cara and Spencer arrived late at the BAU that morning, the team quickly filled them in on the case on the jet. Three partially buried bodies with animal and human bite marks were found in a shallow grave at a forest preserve just outside of Milwaukee— two male and one female. According to the preliminary M.E. report, each victim had been killed about a month apart. The most recent victim, Susan Clark, had been dead for about two weeks. She'd been reported missing six weeks ago, which meant the UnSub had held her for four. The long-term ligature marks on her wrists and ankles supported that, but it posed the all-important question: Why was the UnSub holding them for that long? What were they doing with them?

     Cara blinked, forcing herself to focus on the case and not how every noise in the woods made the hair on her arms stand. "Ergo, there are plenty of places to dispose of dead bodies," she stated bluntly, pushing away the penetrating thoughts. "That being said, why leave all three right here?" A twig snapped somewhere in the distance, and she tensed, inching closer to Morgan.

     "Well, it's pretty isolated. That's good for him," Morgan pulled back the branch of a tree, stepping to the side and gesturing for her to go first.

      Ducking, Cara gave him a nod of appreciation. "True, but this entire place is isolated. The UnSub could have spread out the bodies, made it harder for people to make the connection, but they didn't," she stepped over a log, careful to not trip. "Assumably, they kept them together so they could come collectively relive their handiwork."

     The pair stopped once they'd approached the crime scene markers.

     "Can I ask you somethin'?" Morgan nudged her in the ribs lightly. Cara simply met his eyes, silently giving him the go-ahead. "Why do you refer to UnSubs using they/them pronouns? I've noticed that you do it in every case."

     Cara blinked. Wasn't it obvious? Maybe, maybe not. "By jumping to using specific sets of pronouns, you're unnecessarily narrowing your window of potential UnSubs and mindset. Not to mention you're clouding your perception of the case, motives, and circumstances and unknowingly tapping into gender and sexist stereotypes. It's better to allow the UnSubs to remain anonymous until the evidence indicates otherwise."

     "Huh," Morgan nodded slowly, impressed by her explanation. Cara Valentine never failed to surprise him. "I hadn't thought about that before."

     A rare but crooked smile spread across her lips. "And now you have." Another twig snapped somewhere, and she peered over her shoulder.

     The slight frown on her lips caught Morgan's attention, and his brows scrunched together. "Everything all right, Valentine?" he asked, glancing in the direction she'd turned toward. There was nothing behind them, just the woods.

     "Yes. Everything's fine. Keep talking about the case," she breathed, keeping her tone steady.

     Hesitating momentarily, Morgan glanced at her face when she turned back toward him. It was a blank slate like it usually was. Nothing was hiding beneath the surface from what he could tell. Not a shred of emotion was present in those deep blue eyes. He couldn't find any signs of concern or deception.

     It took a second, but eventually, he nodded. "There's no evidence to suggest that they killed the victims here."

     "Presumably, they do their thing someplace else, and this is solely the disposal site," Cara began, slipping her hands into the pockets of her sweater. She completely missed how he'd referred to the UnSub as they. "If that's the case, that means they've got a form of transportation they rely on. Most likely a truck or van. However, it's risky— transporting the bodies all that distance. More chances for them to get caught."

     Morgan glanced at the space around them. "And it's a lot of work, too. You can't drive to this spot. It's got to be, what, three-hundred yards from here to the road?"

     "Roughly. We could be close to where they're keeping them hostage or where they live." Cara proposed, using both hands to bring her hair into a ponytail.

     "Either that or it's something about this place. But what?" Morgan squinted at the blonde behind his sunglasses, shielding himself from the bright sun that'd just broken through the trees.

     Cara's hands slid back into her pockets, tilting her head to the side. "Well, maybe we disrupted them if it is about the location. Now they can't come back here."

     "Well, hopefully, we can get to them before they try to."

     This time Cara caught onto Morgan's usage of they/them pronouns. A smile almost appeared, but she ducked her head, averting her gaze. She couldn't tell what she felt from him doing that, but it made her feel good to know that he'd heard her when she told him why she used those pronouns. It was a small act, but it still made her feel good.

────

     THE JOURNEY TO THE FIELD OFFICE WAS FILLED WITH TALES OF PAST CASES THE BAU TEAM DEALT WITH. Every story brought along an on-slot of inquiries from Cara, which Morgan answered. This was the most he'd ever heard the woman talk. Let alone show genuine interest that she either didn't care to mask up or couldn't. Optimistically, Morgan was leaning toward the first.

     When the elevators dinged open and the two walked out, their conversation came to a close. Across from them, off to the left side of the precinct, stood in front of two glass boards, was Spencer Reid. With his right leg bent behind him and his right hand grasping onto his shoe, he was attempting to stretch out his muscles the best he could in his black dress pants.

     "You see it too, right?" Morgan muttered, brows raised as he glanced at Cara.

     She hummed, lips pressed together. Undoubtedly, the doctor had yet to recover from their time on the track field.

     As they approached closer, Morgan spoke up, "What's with you? You okay?"

     Spencer immediately let go of his foot, straightening out his posture. "Yeah, I'm great," he said, flicking his hair out of his face. "I'm just doing some stretching because it helps me keep my brain... limber." He almost cringed at the white lie.

     Eyes sweeping up and down the brown-haired man, Morgan looked at Cara. "You believe this?" he asked in disbelief.

     At first, she didn't hear his question. She was too busy staring at the evidence boards in mindless thought, trying to dismiss the familiar unease in her chest. Blinking, his words finally reached her. She tore her attention away from the boards. Luckily, neither of them had noticed how she'd spaced out. "Hmm? Oh, no," she shook her head. "Not for a second."

     A confused expression overtook Spencer's face as he tilted his head. His look was met with a simple shrug, a small smile on her lips that lasted all of three seconds. Ignoring how the sight of it made him want to smile, Spencer cleared his throat. "I've been doing some geo-profiling," he announced, gesturing to the map on the board in front of him.

     Hotch looked up from the conference table, lowering one of the many files in front of him.

     "The red markers indicate where the victims lived, except, of course, Rudy Hightower, who was homeless." Spencer gestured to the red markers on the map. "The blue markers indicate where they were last seen alive. And this is the disposal site." He traced his fingers along the map, tapping twice on the location of the forest preserve.

     Cara walked over, examining all the markers and then the disposal site. "His hunting zone."

     Hotch glanced at the woman briefly before looking back at the board. "Which means he probably lives close by."

     "Valentine suggested the same," Morgan said, arms crossing.

     Without realizing it, her foot had begun to tap against the floor. Inhaling deeply, she turned her gaze to the brown-haired man on her left, who was already staring at her. His eyes were filled with concern as he'd noticed the re-emergence of her anxious mannerisms.

     For a moment, they didn't break eye contact. It wasn't until the blonde realized the staring had lasted five seconds too long that she pivoted to face the rest of the team. Spencer moved in sync, subtly inching closer.

     Cara nearly flinched when she felt someone touch her hand. Averting her gaze, she saw that Spencer had reached out and grabbed her hand. Their fingers were stretched and loosely wrapped around the other's, and she'd subconsciously stopped tapping her foot. An act that Spencer couldn't help but notice. He'd been successful in easing her anxiety.

     She'd been noticeably on edge all day, starting that morning at Petit Café. He knew it was due to the nightmares she'd been having, and so far, he'd detected that skin-on-skin contact was the only thing stopping her from repeating those anxious mannerisms. Hence why, he'd reached for her hand. This was surprising though, given how little she initiated or scarcely reciprocated any form of physical touch.

     "Okay, so something's not adding up for me here," JJ said, inserting herself into the discussion as she arrived. A cup holder full of coffee was in one hand while she held a single cup in the other. "Here you go," she murmured, passing over Morgan's coffee.

     "Thanks." Morgan nodded, helping her distribute the rest of the drinks.

     Cara and Spencer each grabbed their drinks with their free hand when their coffees reached them.

     "If we are dealing with a cannibal, why does he dispose of the bodies? Why not keep them?" JJ brought up, taking a heavy gulp.

     Morgan shrugged. "Well, it's not easy to keep a body fresh. Maybe he doesn't have the resources."

     "Maybe he doesn't require large portions of flesh to satiate his urges. Most ritual cannibalism involves the consumption of particular organs as a means to commune with the deceased." Spencer added, running his thumb along the side of Cara's hand. Her shoulders dropped an inch.

     "But none of the victims were missing any organs." JJ pointed out.

     "Which means it's probably not about the ritual but about the compulsion," Hotch replied, glancing in her direction.

     Morgan shook his head, not entirely convinced. "I don't know. They grab them, they hold them captive, and then they bury them all in the exact same spot."

     "And how do we explain the first victim, Melvin Lewis? He didn't have any human bite marks." Spencer added, brows drawing in.

     Chugging nearly her entire cup down, Cara proposed, "We should have Garcia dig into Melvin's background more. Something's missing." She felt Spencer slowly spread her fingers apart, overlapping them with his. Now, they were holding hands. And it felt nice— his touch.

     As soon as that thought crossed her mind, she immediately discarded it. Now wasn't the time for that.

     Morgan pulled out his phone, nodding in agreement. "I'll call Garcia." As he pressed down on the technical analyst's number, he couldn't help but suddenly catch how Valentine and Reid were discreetly holding hands. He almost couldn't tell, given how close they were, but when one of them shifted footing, he could see it.

     He could see it.

────

     THE PROFILE HAD BEEN GIVEN, AND IT WAS TIME TO GET BACK TO WORK. Morgan, Hotch, and Rossi stood off to the side of the large main office in the conference room they'd been given to work in. Spencer was getting coffee while reading over some files while JJ and Cara were off reviewing lists of vet offices and employees that Penelope had compiled for them. Meanwhile, Blake was with some officers that'd come in late, filling them in on the profile.

     "Chris Blythewood, twenty-one-year-old college student, and Liz Foley, forty-two-year-old stay-at-home mom. The only two people reported missing for the last month within a ten-mile radius of the hunting zone." Morgan stated, pointing to the pictures of Chris Blythewood and Liz Foley on the glass board.

     "Pretty good chance the unsub's holding at least one of them," Rossi commented, and the dark-skinned man narrowed his eyes as he considered his words. That was highly likely.

     "So..." JJ began, stepping toward the long conference table, and all attention flashed to her. Treading right behind her was Cara. "Valentine and I went through the list of vet offices, animal control employees, and nada." JJ finished, dropping into the chair next to where Morgan stood.

     "Everybody's clean," Cara announced, sitting in the free seat next to her fellow blonde.

     Once she'd finished talking, Spencer entered the room. "Guys, I've been doing some math," he said, glancing up from the file in his hand. "Based on the estimated time of death and when the victim was last seen alive, it appears as though the first victim, Melvin Lewis, was held for a couple of months. The second victim, Rudy Hightower, for one month, and the third victim, Susan Clark, for only a couple of weeks."

     "So why is he taking progressively less time with these victims?" Morgan asked, watching how Reid glanced over at the ex-convict.

     Hotch's eyebrows knitted together. "He's getting more efficient?"

     "He may have found a way to shorten the incubation period," Spencer replied, taking a gulp of coffee.

     Furrowing her brows slightly, JJ leaned forward. "And how would he do that?"

     "Rabies attacks the nervous system. It travels a few millimeters a day until it reaches the brain. But if you were to infect the area around the head of the neck, the distance would be shortened. He may be some kind of symphorophiliac." Spencer stated.

     "And instead of setting a fire or causing an accident and watching the ensuing mayhem, he just wants to watch them die," Hotch concluded, earning him a nod from the doctor.

     "A rabies death is apparently quite the spectacle. There are convulsions and spasms, then the madness sets in, along with uncontrollable salivation, which accounts for the foaming of the mouth we all associate with the disease." Spencer noted the mildly disgusted look crossing Cara's face.

     JJ grimaced. "That sounds terrible."

     "It is," Spencer confirmed a little too eagerly. "And one of the cruelest ironies of all is the extreme dehydration caused by hydrophobia. Victims have a visceral fear response to liquid of any sort. Add to that confusion and hallucinations, and you can probably imagine the horror."

     Standing a bit taller, Hotch swept his gaze to the right. "Morgan, call Garcia."

────

     "DID YOU KNOW THAT OVER FIFTY THOUSAND PEOPLE DIE OF RABIES EVERY YEAR IN THIRD-WORLD COUNTRIES? Thank God for monsieur Pasteur; otherwise, we'd all be dead." Penelope's voice reverberated from Morgan's phone in the conference room, bringing the conversation between JJ and Cara to a close. "Okay, so I looked into every known case of rabies exposure in the country over the last twenty years."

     Morgan raised a brow. "Did you find anything?"

     "Cool your jets, hot chocolate. I will let you know if I've got something." The other end of the call went silent, and everyone sat up. Cara lowered her coffee, locking her eyes with JJ. Silently asking her if the analyst would continue, the latter of the pair shrugged. "So I've got something." Morgan rolled his eyes at the woman's dramatics, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Fifteen years ago, in a town called Two Rivers, Wisconsin, a nine-year-old, Hunter Cunningham, was admitted to the hospital with severe flu-like symptoms. Symptoms get worse; he develops hydrophobia. Turns out that three weeks prior, he was bitten by a bat when he was out camping with his family."

     A bat? Cara's forehead creased.

     "Two Rivers is less than a two-hour drive from here, and it's even closer to the disposal site," Spencer spoke up, tapping his pen against the papers in front of him.

     "A bat?" Cara and JJ asked in unison, simultaneously processing that particular bit of information.

     JJ shared an identical perplexed expression with Cara. "That's odd."

     Spencer shook his head, flicking strands of hair out of his face. "Actually, bats make up twelve percent of Wisconsin's mammalian population, and they're responsible for most infections in the U. S."

     "Baby girl," Morgan called, brushing off that fun fact, "what's so special about this Hunter Cunningham kid?"

     Keys could be heard clicking before Penelope replied, "Here's what's special. A week after he was admitted to the hospital, he checked out of the hospital. But I can't find a death certificate. It's like he disappeared."

     Morgan grabbed a french fry from the shared basket of fries in-between the four agents. "What about his family?"     

     "Uh, his father Patrick died six years ago of a massive heart attack. And mom, Wanda, works as a bartender at the Tropicana hotel in Vegas."

     "Any siblings?" JJ asked, taking a sip of her lemonade.

     A few more keys were clicked before they received an answer. "Yes, affirmative. One older brother, David Wade Cunningham, twenty-eight-year-old resident of Hawaii."

     "And what's his deal?" Cara leaned her head in her hand, gratefully taking a fry from Morgan.

     "His deal is..." Penelope trailed off before everyone could hear something ding. "Ay, chihuahua! He works at Nassee Pest Control, which specializes in dangerous animal removal, and you don't even have to ask me; home and work address sent— bam!"

────

     CARA STOOD OUTSIDE OF LIZ FOLEY'S HOSPITAL ROOM, WATCHING THROUGH THE SLIP IN THE CURTAIN AS HER FAMILY GATHERED. Her two daughters were there, whispering to her and murmuring "I love you" through their tears. Mr. Foley had a hand on each of their shoulders, blinking back tears of his own.

     The sight before her was devastating, and every muscle and fiber of her tightened as she remained emotionless. She couldn't react to this. Not in front of all these people. Not here. So, she held her breath and averted her prolonged stare. Her heart was racing, and she blinked for the first time in four minutes and twenty-nine seconds.

     The case was now over, and the UnSub was in custody. The Milwaukee police and the team had managed to save one of the victims and bring Liz Foley into the hospital for treatment for her rabies. Overall, it was a successful win.

     So, why was the conclusion of this case hitting her so hard? Nothing about it connected to her, nor could she empathize with the victims when she didn't know how horrific their experiences truly were. Regardless, her emotions continued to spiral, and she was having trouble taking control of them— more trouble than she had the other day.

     Taking a deep breath, she faced the nearest wall and looked up at the ceiling with glistening eyes. Pull yourself together, Cara. As she tried to hold herself together, her phone started to buzz in the back pocket of her jeans. Leaning forward slightly, she pulled it. "What?" she answered, grateful that her voice didn't crack.

     "Good early evening to you too, Helga Pataki," Penelope retorted playfully.

     The name meant nothing to her, so Cara assumed it was another one of Penelope's many references. "Another pop culture reference I don't get," she replied, backing away from Liz's room. The phone call had come just at the right time.

     "You will one day," the analyst sighed dramatically. "I just wanted to let you know that skeletal remains of another body were found at the disposal sight, but we're still waiting on a DNA confirmation to see whether it's Hunter Cunningham. The body is of a nine-year-old boy, also."

     Cara blinked. "Why'd you call? You could have easily texted me that."

     Silence answered her for a moment, and she furrowed her brows. As she opened her mouth to ask if Penelope was still there, the colorful blonde finally spoke. "Okay, so I know I shouldn't be saying anything or questioning you and Wonder Boy's relationship. You would argue that it's none of my business, but I heard from my chocolate God-amongst-men hottie that he saw Spencer hold your hand during the case." Penelope rushed out excitedly, unable to disguise the giddiness she felt.

     Oh, for fucks sake. "I'm getting déjà-vu to our discussion from December," Cara breathed, running a hand through her curled hair. Of course, Morgan had noticed. "Just as I asked then, I'll ask now. Is there a question in there somewhere?"

     "Well, other than the obvious of is it true, what's happening? Is there love in the air? Did Valentine's day finally arrive for the two of you? Oh! Maybe there's still hope!"

     Cara could vividly picture the suggestive yet excited smile she tended to proudly wear every time something minuscule happened between the blonde and the doctor. Penelope and Morgan were grasping at straws, and Cara refused to give in to what they believed they saw between her and Spencer.

     Nothing could happen and would never happen. It couldn't. Especially not with the Founding Fathers still out there. Not with the constant threat of danger. Being a team member already put everyone at risk, but to add a relationship that pushed the bounds of platonic to the mix? She'd be putting the one person she trusted more than anyone else in the line of direct fire. That wasn't happening.

     "Yes, it's true, and no, love is not in the air. I'm hanging up now." Cara stated, pulling the phone away from her ear and ending the call. The second it dropped, she got a text from Penelope.

     We're sooooo talking about this when you get home. ASAP.

     Rolling her eyes, she slipped her phone back into her pocket. With a turn of her heels, she swiveled around in search of Spencer and Morgan's faces amongst the hospital staff and patients. It took six seconds, but she spotted them on the opposite side of the floor.

     Making her way over and slipping in-between people, Cara finally reached Morgan and Spencer.

     Noticing her presence, Morgan paused mid-sentence. "Pretty Girl," he greeted as the woman approached them.

     "They found another body at the disposal site," Cara stated, coming to a stop.

     Spencer's ears perked. "Hunter Cunningham?"

     The pair locked eyes, and Cara couldn't help but catch how the front of his hair was disheveled and the laceration above his right eyebrow from when he tackled David Cunningham earlier, the UnSub. "We're still waiting for DNA confirmation, but they're the skeleton of a nine-year-old boy, so odds are it's him," she replied, tearing her stare away from the doctor.

     Morgan pressed his lips together, nodding. Suddenly, a thought came to mind, and he straightened his posture. "Valentine," he began, rubbing his chin as he tried not to smirk, "that's Reid's sweater you're wearing, right?"

    All attention averted to the red button-down sweater the blonde was wearing. Three of the buttons were fastened, and the sleeves covered her hands. It was very obviously not hers. Especially considering how it flowed around her and how the fabric loosely hugged her shoulders.

     The question turned Spencer's ears red, and he awkwardly averted his eyes to his converse. Meanwhile, Cara simply shrugged. "It is," she confirmed, not at all phased by the suggestive smirk on Morgan's face. He and Penelope were beginning to enjoy this too much. "You idiots ready to get out of here?"

     The smirk left Morgan's lips, and he feigned offense, a hand placed on his chest. "Idiots?!" he gasped.

     Cara hummed, "Mhm-hmm."

     Spencer didn't catch the interaction between the two, his attention diverting to the ceiling. "Yes, please," he replied to her question. "I can't stand hospitals. It's something about the lighting." When his gaze fell, it landed on Rossi, who was standing on the other side of the room talking to a small group of people. "Who's Rossi talking to?"

     Peering over her shoulder, Cara grimaced at the grief-ridden expressions covering the family's faces. They'd emerged from her hospital room just as tearful and choked up. "The Foley family," she answered softly, "she slipped into a coma. It won't be long now."

     Morgan took note of her tone of voice and the slight frown he could see. Something about this case was itching at her, he could tell. However, he knew she'd never reveal what that something was.

────

     THE DAY OF THE FIT TEST HAD FINALLY ARRIVED, MUCH TO PENELOPE AND SPENCER'S DISMAY. On the way to the track field in Penelope's car, the pair had complained about it while Cara sat in the back, holding back her laughter. This was going to be great.

     "Do you think they'll really terminate us if we can't run fast enough?" Spencer grunted, stretching over his left leg, hand barely reaching the top of his converse.

     At the sound of his voice, Cara glanced up from re-tying her sneakers. Her stare landed on the genius and fixated on how the sweatband on his head was beginning to fall.

     Penelope slowly lifted herself out of her half-pigeon yoga pose. "Eh, probably something worse. They'll probably make us take another fit test." There was an edge of bitterness to her words as she switched legs, continuing with her warm-up.

     Bringing his other leg up, Spencer hunched over and reached for both of his feet. "I think I'd rather be terminated," he huffed, almost jumping in surprise when he felt a set of cold hands touch his face.

     "Your sweatband from the nineties is slipping," Cara informed him, running her fingers through his hair and fixing it. His cheeks flamed red. Redoing the placement of the band, she nodded in satisfaction. "Better."

     A small smile started to rise as he felt her hand run through his hair one last time. "Thanks," he said, nearly breathless when she flashed him a quick but sincere smile.

     "I just hope the P.T. instructor isn't a jerk. Those jock guys are always such jerks." Penelope vented, having missed the moment the two had just shared.

     "Yeah," Spencer agreed, sitting up straight, "total jerks." From the corner of her eye, Cara could see someone in all black walking toward them. "That's probably him right now."

     Penelope gasped, turning back to the genius. "Oh, look! He's totally walking like a jerk."

     A smirk almost spread across Cara's lips, but she promptly stopped it. Oh, their reactions were totally worth telling Morgan about their daunting fit test.

     "Yeah, total jerk walk," Spencer nodded at the person, voice low. Then, he noticed how the blonde on his right was on the verge of laughing. He looked back at the P.T. instructor and narrowed his eyes. Wait... "Wait a minute. Wait, I think that's Morgan."

     Immediately, Penelope stopped stretching and turned to her left, eyes wide underneath her pink sunglasses. "Oh, my God. It is."

     Strolling up to the trio with a smug smirk, Morgan kept his hands in his pockets.

     "Why are you here?" Penelope squinted up at him, confused.

     "Ah, looks like I'm your new P.T. instructor," Morgan grinned. "Watkins got sick, so today's your lucky day. I'm your guy."

     This is going to be so much fun, was the first thought to run through Cara's mind. Both of the agents next to her had been dreading this, and Penelope had already commented on how relieved she was that Morgan wasn't the one administering the test. Yet, here they were.

     Spencer and Penelope shared exasperated and dreadful stares. This couldn't be happening. There was no way they were passing now.

     "Awesome. That's awesome," the technical analyst muttered, flicking some grass off her capris.

     Morgan laughed, pushing back the hood of his sweatshirt. "Guys, guys, come on, seriously," he rolled back his shoulders. "You should've just said something. This whole fit test thing is just a formality. I coulda got the whole thing waived."

     A dumbfounded expression crossed their faces, and Cara watched in amusement. Spencer tossed his hands in the air, and Penelope just shrugged at him, unaware that the test wasn't necessary.

     "But since you didn't," Morgan paused, grin widening, "you ready to do this?"

     Not moving an inch, the blonde leaned back on her hands. Meanwhile, Penelope forced herself to get up, hating every second that passed by. "Yup, let's do this! Woo!"

     "Woo!" Spencer followed after her, jogging to the track.

     Eyebrows drawing in, the dark-skinned man titled his head. "Hey hey, happy-go-luckys, where you going?"

     Penelope blinked, pointing behind her. "To run the mile."

     This time, Cara couldn't help but snicker. She'd said that the fit test was more than just running, but they didn't listen. They refused to believe her.

     "No-no-no. Didn't you hear?" Morgan asked, sharing a glance with Cara. "The fit test is more than just the mile." Spencer's face fell. "Get your little butts back over here."

────

     THIS WAS THE WORST DAY OF PENELOPE GARCIA'S LIFE. Okay, that was a little dramatic, but so was she. Despite that, this felt like the worst day of her life. Doing any physical activity unrelated to sex sucked. She was totally going to have to call Sam later.

     "Come on, let's go all the way down," Morgan instructed loudly. "All the way up."

     Penelope's arms were shaking as she struggled to lower herself for a push-up. She was red in the face and on the verge of giving up as the man in front of her kept talking. Never in her life had she wanted to punch him so badly before.

     To the right, Spencer took in deep breaths and let them out slowly as he was on his third push-up. His torso was dipping and nearly touching the ground. He'd only ever done push-ups once before, and it sucked. This time wasn't any different.

     Lastly, to his right, Cara was on her twenty-fifth push-up. Upper body strength wasn't a problem; she liked the physical activity. Matthew Campbell and the Jarrod Brothers had ensured that she stayed in peak shape while with the Red Scorpions. Women's bodies and sex sells, so she had to keep up appearances.

     "How are you..." Spencer choked out, "not even...  breaking... a sweat?"

     Pausing, Cara glanced to the left, eyes settling on the sweatband sliding down the genius' face again. "It's easy," she answered plainly, leaning all her weight onto her right arm. With her other hand, she reached over and ran her fingers through his hair. "That stupid sweatband is falling again," she told him, swiftly redoing the band's placement. "Better."

     A small smile appeared, and he opened his mouth to thank her when Morgan called, "Reid! I don't see a single push-up being made. Let's go!"

     From there, the next hour consisted of shouting, groans, and cries for the test to be over and threats of harm being tossed out by Penelope. All of which only slowed down the process and dragged out the agonizing fit test.

     "Come on, Reid. My grandmama can do way better than that. Let's go!" Morgan shouted as Spencer tripped over one of the many aerobic training platforms. This was the third to last exercise, and it wasn't going well. "Dude, you gotta try to jump over them."

     "I am trying!" Spencer protested, tripping over another one.

     A hand flew to Cara's mouth to stifle her snickers at the yelp of pain that followed. She stood next to Morgan, watching as their friends struggled to survive this.

     "Garcia, this isn't your high-tech room! You gotta jump over them!" Morgan shouted exasperatedly, running a hand over his face.

     Penelope was walking around the platforms, refusing to jump over them as instructed. "It's not, and I'm not doing what Reid just did."

     It took a while, but the end finally arrived. The second the last obstacle course was over, Penelope and Spencer collapsed onto the grass. Equally out of breath, they wiped the sweat on their foreheads off. Penelope's legs felt like jelly, and she thought she might throw up.

     "Hey hey hey, woah. What're we doing? What's all this huffin' and puffin'?" Morgan asked, gesturing to the two's current physical states. Cara stood off to the side. "Come on. We still got a two-mile run to go. Let's go!"

     Glaring up at him, the technical analyst gasped. "Two miles?!"

     Spencer rolled his head back. "It's supposed to be one mile!"

     "No, no, no, not on my watch. This whole fit test is altogether different. Now, suck it up." Morgan laughed as Penelope lay flat on the ground, and Spencer struggled to get himself seated. Giving up, he propped up his elbow and just leaned against his arm. "All right, all right. Enough is enough. I guess I gotta let the cat out of the bag. I kinda already had your fit test waived."

     "What?" Spencer croaked, his vision fading to black as his sweatband fell.

     Penelope found it in her to slowly sit up at the man's words. Her jaw slackened as she processed what he'd just told them.

     "Baby girl, think about it: you're not even in the field. And Pretty Ricky, you already got enough case hours to qualify. This was just a good time for me," Morgan chuckled, satisfied with the stunt he'd pulled. "And Valentine, you took the fit test months ago. Not to mention passed with flying colors. Why are you here?!"

     Cara swallowed a mouthful of water. "Have you met Thing One and Thing Two? I was not brought here on my own accord." Morgan snorted, nodding as he knew what she meant.

     "I'm gonna kill him," Penelope grunted, still panting.

     "If I can manage to lift my arms, I'll hold him down," Spencer added, finding the strength to sit up.

     Without warning, Morgan grabbed Cara's arm and dragged her in front of him. Her water bottle dropped to the ground, and she tried to shrug him off.

     "Get off—"

     "You're my shield of defense."

     "Excuse me?"

     Penelope and Spencer charged at the two, and Cara broke away from Morgan, sprinting. There was no way in hell he was using her for protection. It was every person for themselves, and she chose to watch from afar. Not get involved. However, her running came to a short stop, and she yelped as her feet left the ground. Instinctually, she'd fight back or defend herself, but her body had relaxed from the soft and warm touch before she had time to spring into action. Every inch of her already knew who it was.

     Keeping his arms wrapped securely around her waist, Spencer spun them in two circles before placing her back down. Both of them were drowning in a fit of laughs, bright smiles lining their faces.

     "You asshole," Cara laughed, turning to face him. All the thoughts surrounding her nightmares were temporarily gone.

     Spencer's arms were loosely enclosed around her torso, and they were swaying side-to-side. "You knew about Morgan waiving the fit test, didn't you?" he breathed, raising a brow.

     A smirk appeared on her lips. "You're a profiler, right?" she asked, mimicking his raised brow. He nodded in confirmation, a little puzzled. "Then you tell me. Did I know Morgan waived the fit test?"

     A particular silence settled between the pair but was promptly ruined when two sets of arms wrapped over them. "Group hug!" Penelope cheered, giggling when she heard Cara groan. "Oh, suck it up, Princess Peach." Spencer almost chuckled.

     "Get your hands off me. I'll kill you."

     "I'd like to see you try, Pretty Girl."

     "Listen here, Coco to my Iced-T— I'll box your ass into space."

     "Was that a threat? Do I need to report you?"

     "That was a promise, and feel free."