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Dick should have known Bruce’s return wouldn’t come with sweeping hugs and tender hands. It wasn’t like Dick expected such overt affection from Bruce at all, he hadn’t expected it in years. Since Dick’s Robin years, they’d always had a…complicated relationship, filled just as much with stilted silences as unconditional love.

And yet…in the year Bruce had been gone–presumed dead–Dick had imagined all kinds of ways he would come back, his presence as commanding–as safe– as ever. At night, when Gotham was as quiet as it could be and Damian was tucked in bed and Tim was at least in the Manor and Jason had checked in, Dick allowed himself to fantasize about his dad coming back. He pictured yelling at Bruce at the top of his lungs all the cruel things he’s bottled up and demanding why he made Dick take on everything in his absence. And other times he pictured Bruce striding in and lifting the ever growing weight on Dick’s shoulders and hiding his eldest in his arms. A fantasy of a child, similar to what Dick imagined his first nights in the Manor after his parents died.

It was much more on brand for Bruce to make his grand return with all the usual heroic and dramatic flair a 6’2 adult man dressed as a bat could.

Dick was skilled enough to realize when a fight grew to be more than he bargained for. And the night Bruce made his grand return to the present timeline, Batman and Robin were going toe to toe with Ra’s Al Ghul and sixteen of his best assassins.

It was more than they bargained for when they showed up to bust an illegal shipment of firearms, but Ra’s planned it that way, a perfect ambush to reclaim his heir.

Like hell that was happening, Dick immediately thought, stepping in front of his ten year old partner. The reaction amused Ra’s, who knew it wasn’t Bruce under the cowl, and mistakenly assumed it would be an easy fight to kidnap Dick’s baby assassin.

Damian took two breaths, gripping the cape once to steady himself, to press himself close to Dick, the safety promised in proximity enough for the former shadow to straighten his spine and face his grandfather. Dick was so proud. He was always proud of Damian, but especially in that moment.

Dick–Batman–came right to Ra’s, angry that the man thought he had any right to breathe in Damian’s direction, let alone ever get his hands on him again.

It was a sick satisfaction when Ra’s expression shifted from a smug amusement at the oldest Bat Brat playing dress up in his father’s costume to slowly being pushed back by the new Batman.

The only reason Dick let up at all was because another shadow was getting too close to Damian.

When Dick flipped away, over Ra’s blade, to cover his partner’s back, Batman, the real Batman, made his entrance, his knee pressed into Ra’s throat with the element of surprise.

“Get away from my son,” Batman hissed a gravelly tone that had any assassins in hearing range take a step back.

When the fight was over, and the shadows either unconscious or joining Ra’s in his retreat, and Dick finally met Bruce’s eyes again after so long, and all Dick could think was how brilliant Tim was.

Damian stayed at Dick’s side, close enough for Dick to know the boy wanted to take cover under Dick’s cape but didn’t want to seem weak or emotional at the sudden turn of events. Dick placed a reassuring hand on Damian’s shoulder anyway, watching as Bruce tracked the movement.

“B?” Dick finally said.

“Father?” Damian added hesitantly.

A part of Dick, the small child in him that Bruce had saved time and time again, wanted to run to him, collapse against his chest and sob in relief that Batman was back. Dick instead took a step forward and opened his mouth. To say what, he didn’t know: is it really you? It’s good to see you? Are you okay? I missed you.

But Bruce beat him to it. “You walked into a trap.”

Dick halted his step, the familiar tension in his spine reminiscent of the days before Bruce disappeared. The tension before the fight. The calm before the storm. So Dick closed his mouth, swallowing whatever words he was going to say, and nodded.

“Father!” Damian exclaimed. “Batm–Night–Rich–” he huffed with frustration, “it was an incredibly well planned ambush. There was no way to know. And we handled ourselves quite adequately–”

“Robin,” Dick squeezed his shoulder softly, “let’s head back to the Cave to have this discussion.”

“But–”

“You handled yourself most adequately, Baby Bat. Good job. Now let’s go before the police show up.” He glanced at Bruce, ignoring how Bruce’s hands twitched, almost like he wanted to reach out, “want a ride?”

“I…” Bruce’s face was almost impossible to read under the cowl, but Dick could see the hesitancy, the active tamping down of emotions, “yes.”

They all rode back to the Cave.

Dick went back to Bludhaven two weeks later.

_______________________________

6 Months Later

In some ways, it’s a perfect day for a new member to join their team. It provides a perfect distraction for Emily to play off her slightly elevated heart rate; or why Derek had to say good morning twice before she heard it. An easy excuse to be distracted. An excuse that saves her from having to come up with her own to explain away why her mind is racing with plans and contingency plans and why every time she closes her eyes she hears Sean’s– her old handler’s– voice:

‘Ian vanished from prison.’

‘Sean, am I in danger?’

‘We all are.’

Why Ian Doyle’s voice haunts her hours alone and whispers for her to watch her back.

She isn’t quite in the right headspace to meet new people, build trust, or form a new relationship, but it's a way to get her mind off the highly trained killer coming after her, at least for a little while.

Emily finishes up a report on her computer and tries to ignore the slight nervous energy in the bullpen. Hotch is in his office, as always this early in the morning when they don’t have an active case. Derek has his computer on and cursor blinking, but he isn’t really doing anything productive. Penelope is leaning on his desk, giving him an excuse not to actually work. JJ is on her phone, her texting interrupted every few seconds by her glance at the elevator. Rossi is getting coffee, but taking his sweet time so he doesn’t miss the new arrival. And Reid stands beside Emily’s desk, tossing a rubber ball up in the air and catching it, a hand-eye exercise Morgan makes Reid do instead of fidgeting.

“You really think he’s twenty-six?” Reid asks. The question is aimed at Emily but the space is small enough everyone can hear. “I mean, statistically, the percentage of field agents in the FBI twenty-six or younger is only 11% and the percentage of agents accepted into the BAU twenty-six or younger is only 1.08%.”

Emily finishes saving her report. “Briefing Hotch gave said twenty-six.”

“Jealous, boy band?” Morgan calls over.

“Don’t worry Reid, you’ll always be our prodigy,” Emily squeezes his arm in comfort.

Reid rolls his eyes.

“It’s true,” Penelope pipes up, which is what they were all waiting for anyway, “got his FBI file with my magic fingers and I can confirm Richard Grayson is twenty-six. Former Detective in Bludhaven.”

Morgan whistles.

Even JJ looks up, taking a break from the play by play from Will about how drop-off went this morning. “Bludhaven? That’s big leagues.”

“Bludhaven, New Jersey, known for its high crime rate, second only to Gotham City and followed by Star City,” Reid clarifies helpfully. It isn’t really necessary, because everybody in the room knows about Bludhaven. There are some cities even the FBI tries to steer clear of, and Bludhaven and Gotham make that list.

“Correct, boy genius,” Penelope says fondly, her tone returning to the voice she always has for gossip, “from what I found, Richard Grayson joined Bludhaven PD when he was eighteen, made detective by twenty, took a year long transfer to Gotham when he was twenty-five, and then got scooped up by the Academy shortly after.”

“But going straight from the Academy to the BAU?” Emily questions. That’s the impressive part. Agents worked their whole careers and never got placed into the BAU. They’re a highly selective, highly skilled team and very few people, even those who survived the Academy and years of service, made the cut.

“I did,” Reid states.

“You’re special,” Morgan concedes.

“Maybe he’s special too,” Reid adds matter of factly.

“What else did you dig up, Mama?” Morgan asks Penelope.

Penelope grimaces apologetically, “Hotch asked me not to go full Black Ops on the new guy, something about respecting our co-workers and privacy and boundaries and not hacking into their personal devices without reason. Actually, he asked me to not hack the FBI server for Grayson’s full file, but we both knew that was unrealistic.”

They all blink at her.

“What?” She asked. “He has no tattoos, his parents’ names are John & Mary though both are deceased, he went into Gotham foster care for a bit before a placement but the specifics are redacted, and his blood type is O negative.”

“And that wasn’t invading his privacy?” Rossi teases, his coffee in his hand.

“There is only so much Hotch can ask of me,” Penelope shrugs and they all chuckle.

Emily is actually impressed that’s all Penelope knows. It must drive her crazy having to wait for more information with the rest of them. Come to think of it, that’s probably why she's waiting here with them.

They don’t get any more time to tease Penelope or speculate on Special Agent Richard Grayson, newest member of the BAU, because the elevator dings and the doors open.

Quickly, they all pretend like they weren’t waiting to get a first look at their new team member as he steps out of the elevator.

8:00am on the dot.

Emily turns in her chair and stands up, smiling to greet Richard Grayson, sizing him up at the same time. Taller than her but shorter than Morgan, probably 5’11 in his combat boots and 5’10 without. Tan skin, wavy black hair, and bright blue eyes under eyelashes that spark envy in Emily at the unjustness of men having the most beautiful eyelashes.

He walks confidently into the bullpen, but not arrogantly, not trying to intimidate or impress, just comfortable in his body. His eyes quickly catalogue the exits and windows, a habit Emily recognizes in herself as well as every other agent in the room. He wears a suit that hangs off him in a slightly ill fitted way, but no tie, and a black backpack easily slung over a shoulder.

He extends a hand as Emily walks up, an easy smile on his face.

“Richard Grayson, I assume?” Emily asks as she shakes his hand, “I’m Emily Prentiss; it’s nice to meet you.”

By the way Dick glances at the rest of the team and then smiles wider, Emily’s sure their play at nonchalance didn’t quite work. “Nice to meet you, Emily. Dick Grayson.”

“Welcome to the BAU. You can call me Rossi.” Rossi shakes Dick’s hand.

“Jennifer Jareau; JJ. It’s nice to have you.” When JJ turns away from the new kid she shoots Emily a wide eyed look that has Emily covering her mouth to hide her smile. JJ is a happily married woman, but she isn’t blind.

“Spencer Reid. Did you know that the nickname ‘Dick’ for Richard comes from an old British trend of replacing the first syllable of an already established nickname. Rob; Bob, Meg; Peg, Rick; Dick.”

They all watch Dick’s reaction to Spencer’s info-dump, ready to alter their welcoming reaction if Dick doesn’t respond at least civilly to their boy genius. They know Spencer can be a lot, but he was their a lot and there would be no place on the team for someone who doesn’t respect him.

But Dick just tilts his head to the side slightly, “huh. I didn’t know that. But I’ll have that ready to go next time someone makes a cheap joke.”

Everyone relaxes just a hair, their arms back to open and welcoming. Derek is next.

“Derek Morgan. Welcome to the team.”

“And I am Penelope Garcia,” Penelope extends a hand, “your go to girl for any of your needs.”

Morgan coughs, “she means computer needs.”

Penelope winks, “I know what I said.”

Dick smiles and shakes her hand, “it’s nice to meet you,” he casts a look over the bullpen, “all of you. I’m really excited to be here.”

Emily watches him, a small smile on her lips. He’s young, enthusiastic, and even if she knows he’s from Bludhaven, one of the toughest cities to survive in law enforcement, she worries for his adjustment to this work. It can be a lot for agents, especially young ones, to go from a variety of crimes, including murder, to some of the most twisted, sadistic murders in the country, and get in the head of said murderers. She hopes Dick will be alright.

But that’s what they’re here for: to ease the transition. To be a network he can lean on if it gets to be too much, like it had been for all of them at one point or another.

And that thought sends a small burst of guilt through her for keeping her problem from her team. For not trusting them enough to know about her past.

Hotch appearing at the top of the stairs pulls her out of her thoughts. He stays at the top of the short flight of stairs, taking in the new hire. “Grayson,” he acknowledges.

Dick smirks, like something about the blunt welcome is funny, or familiar, and nods back, “SSA Hotchner, I presume?”

“Good to have you.” Hotch gestures for Dick to follow him back to his office for the orientation they all got when they joined. The rest of the team watches them go, Penelope craning her neck just a little too hard to be nonchalant, until Hotch’s door is closed and the newbie out of sight.

“I like him,” Garcia announces.

“You don’t have to be so excited, babygirl,” Morgan grumbles and Penelope kisses his head good naturedly.

“Does he seem a little green to you guys?” JJ asked, a hint of worry in her tone.

Rossi looks at Emily, the same minor disagreement in their eyes. ‘Green’ isn’t the word they would use. On first appearance, it could look like that: the wide eyes, the nice smile, but Grayson moves with a self-assuredness agents took years to grow into. The way he took barely a second to assess each of them before shaking their hands, the way he moved with an easy grace that pointed to athleticism. No, not green exactly.

“Probably just first day jitters,” Rossi answers, “but I think he seemed like a nice young man.”

“And if the kid’s over his head with this transfer, we’ll help out,” Morgan adds. He looks to Emily for back-up.

She provides it easily. “Damn straight.”
_______________________________

Ironically, for Morgan’s worry about the new walking Ken doll being able to handle this unit, they don’t have a case that day, which made for a pretty easy first day, if Morgan says so. And as such, it’s a pretty early night.

Reid’s taken the bulk of the responsibility of the new kid’s orientation, their desks across from each other. Reid’s spent the day going through his current case consultations, walking the new kid through building profiles, analyzing case facts, and ultimately making recommendations or sending them up the chain to be reviewed for BAU assistance.

Morgan’s kept a close eye on their interactions, knowing from personal experience that Reid’s constant chatter can be a lot, especially for someone not used to him. But Grayson’s kept a pleasant attitude the entire day, seeming to soak up everything Reid says, asking questions freely and appearing to actually enjoy working through things with the resident genius.

Early afternoon Grayson takes a break, excusing himself from the conversation with Reid after checking his phone. He leaves the bullpen, pressing his phone to his ear.

Derek leaves his desk a few minutes later to go to the bathroom. He pauses before turning the corner, hearing Grayson speaking softly into the phone and not wanting to interrupt what’s obviously a private call.

“Yeah, I can imagine,” Dick’s voice says. There’s a silence as the other person says something and Dick chuckles, “don’t count yourself out, Baby Bat, you can do great on a team if you put your mind to it…yeah, okay…you’re almost home?...cuddle Titus for me, hm?...I’m just a call away…I love you.”

Dick hangs up and he comes around the corner so suddenly and so silently that Morgan jumps back, not prepared to be caught eavesdropping. Dick’s eyebrows raise slightly but he doesn’t seem altogether surprised to find Derek.

“Uh, just taking a bathroom break,” Morgan offers.

Dick’s mouth twitches into a small smile, “sure.”

_______________________________

When six o’clock finally rolls around, everyone starts gathering their things. Penelope makes an entrance, greeting everyone after the long day apart and looping her arm through Derek’s. “Anyone up for drinks? Let’s show Dick the best bar around here.”

“I’m up for it,” Derek squeezes Penelope’s arm.

JJ checks her phone, “Henry’s staying with his grandma tonight so I’m in.”

“Ditto,” Reid says, pulling the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder.

And, peculiarly, Morgan watches Dick look to Emily, like he’s waiting for her decision to determine his plans. Morgan also turns his gaze to Emily, who has a brief, almost nonexistent, flash of irritation, before checking her phone, but then her shoulders relax and she acquiesce.

“I’d like that,” Dick says with a smile.

Penelope claps and leaves Derek’s side to take Dick’s arm, leading him to the elevator

They’re early enough in the night to get a table to fit them all, sans Hotch and Rossi, who never join the after shift drinks. Derek notices that even though Dick had seemed interested in if Emily would come out, he doesn’t sit beside her, instead opting to be between JJ and Reid.

Reid gets up to get the first round, which they all protest because Reid doesn’t even drink, but Reid spouts something about a new article on behavioral statistics to get drinks quickly at a bar and wanting to try it out so they let him.

“So Bludhaven,” Penelope says, almost vibrating with the effort it probably took her not to bombard Grayson with questions all day. “Sounds intense.”

Dick gives her the same easy smile, completely at ease with her questions, almost expecting it, “yeah, but it’s home. Every city has its share of crazies. Bludhaven just has a few more.”

“I’ll say,” Derek takes his beer from the tray Reid carefully sets on the table, “I had a buddy who tried to do a stint in Bludhaven but only lasted a year.”

“And you’ve lasted, what, eight years?” Prentiss feigns ignorance, like they all don’t know his resume.

Grayson takes a drink of his own beer, the twinkle in his eye suggesting he also knows they know his resume but he plays along, “almost. Took a break for a year to do a training program in Gotham after I made detective.”

“Is it routine to send detectives to the most dangerous city for training?” Reid questions.

“Nah, it was more a retaliatory thing from the seasoned vets for making detective so young. Probably hoped I’d get murdered or scared off the force.”

Dick says it nonchalantly, but Derek looks around to matching expressions of shock.

Dick raises his eyebrows, “what? It didn’t work.” He shrugs, “Bludhaven’s department is pretty corrupt, so it can be hard for guys to stay clean, but it’s getting better. It’s decent enough I felt okay about leaving once the FBI accepted me.”

Garcia leans in conspiratorially, “Gotham and Bludhaven both have vigilantes, right?”

“Multiple, actually,” Reid chimes in, sipping on his Shirley Temple, “Gotham is one of the only cities with more than two vigilantes. You see, usually they work in pairs, a mentor-mentee relationship: Green Arrow & Red Arrow, Flash & Kid Flash, Wonder Woman & Wonder Girl–”

“Batman & Robin,” JJ adds.

“Yes,” Reid continues, “originally. But Gotham now boasts as many as five vigilantes, if you count a rumored crime lord that works with the local vigilantes, or the vigilante of Bludhaven who has been known to also patrol Gotham.”

Derek snorts, “it’s a whole gaggle of bats.”

“Cauldron, actually.” Dick shoots a triumphant grin at having beat Reid to the punch. Reid concedes with a nod and a good natured smile, not annoyed at all for someone else knowing an obscure fact.

“Another thing that’s interesting is although they all seem to work together or at least coordinate, only Batman and Batgirl are bats; Robin, Red Robin, and Nightwing all use a bird emblem or moniker, and Red Hood wears a bat symbol but no other bat or bird imagery.”

“That’s interesting, Spence,” JJ says, “I wonder the reason for the lack of cohesion.”

“It could be a loyalty thing,” Emily adds, “Robin was the first sidekick, right? The vigilantes after could be expressing loyalty to him rather than Batman.”

“But still allowing Batman to lead?” Reid questions.

“It could be tradition, maybe the passing of legacy,” Morgan theorizes, “Robin was the first and he had to grow up, right? But Robin’s stayed in the same age bracket. So all sidekicks coming up also take a bird moniker.”

“Or in honor,” JJ adds, “maybe one of them died.”

“Statistically speaking, with the crime rates and types vigilantes intercede in, factoring in a relative child’s possible ability, odds are at least one hero has at least perished if not retired.”

“Wow,” Dick runs a hand through his hair, “you guys are really good at your job. I’ve never seen anyone profile vigilantes with almost no background information.”

They all laugh.

“Don’t worry, kid,” Derek claps Dick on the shoulder, “you’ll be just as good one day.”

Dick makes a face, “Really? ‘Kid’?”

Reid leans closer to him, “they called me kid until I turned thirty. Which was this year.”

Dick groans, “but I’m, like, an adult!”

Emily snorts, “yes, all adults proclaim they’re adults.”

Dick groans again and puts his face in his hands as they all laugh and give encouraging pats on the shoulder. Dick eventually joins in and plays along, offering to get the next round to prove he’s old enough to drink.

Beers become shots.

“You mentioned a Henry earlier,” Dick turned his face towards JJ, not slurring his words, but running them together, just a bit, in a sign of tipsiness.

Derek exchanges a look with Garcia, who is s flushed and also drunk, but they clink their glasses together, congratulating themselves on a job well done if everyone, especially the new guy, is drunk and having a nice, wholesome first team bonding.

JJ’s eyes are a bit hazy, shining with liquor and love for her child. “He’s my son,” she explains, her voice thick with a mother’s love and Dick leans in, almost pulled forward from the sheer obviousness of her emotions for her family, “He’s four and the most perfect little boy you’ve ever seen.”

“Do you have pictures?” Dick asks.

JJ immediately opens her phone and starts showing them all the most recent pictures of Henry, Will, and all three of them.

“He is perfect,” Dick’s voice is soft, “congratulations.”

Emily tilts her head, “do you have kids?”

Derek watches Dick, remembering the phone call he overhead earlier. His gut reaction is of course Dick doesn’t have kids, he’s barely more than a kid himself, but lots of young people have kids through circumstances out of their control.

A flash of…sadness? Anger? Crosses his face, but he shakes his head. “No, I have three little brothers. They’re everything,” Dick beams, and Derek is taken aback by how true a smile it is. It makes him question all the other smiles he’s gotten today. “But it’s different.”

The second part is a bit lower, a bit sadder, and Derek remembers Penelope saying his parents are dead. He wonders how old Dick was when they died, if his younger siblings remember them, and if Dick says ‘brothers’ but means ‘kids.’

JJ sighs, “I’d like to give Henry siblings, but there’s never a perfect time.”

“Definitely not. Every one of my brothers came in like a hurricane,” Dick clinks his glass with JJ’s and they both laugh.

Someone gets them all another round of shots.

Penelope, Emily, and JJ are regaling Dick with how they routinely embarrass male FBI agents who try to hit on them at this bar during girls’ nights, to the amusement of everyone, all their cheeks flushed and eyes glazed with alcohol.

“And then Em pulled out her badge and went: ‘tell me, Brad, does it look something like this?’” Penelope is practically yelling. “And JJ said: ‘or this?’ and pulled out her badge!”

“And then Garcia pulled hers and went ‘or this?’” JJ finished the story and they all crack up, Dick’s laugh high and bright and contagious.

“What did he do?” Dick prods.

All three girls exchange proud looks. “Silently walks away with his tail between his legs,” Emily admits with a smile.

They all erupt into another round of laughter until someone checks their watch and declares it’s late. It might be Reid, which impresses Morgan, because Reid doesn’t usually stay out this late with them. Good, Morgan thinks, it’s good for Reid to make a friend around his age.

They all grumble but get to their feet with varying degrees of success. Penelope leans heavily on Derek’s arm, threatening him not to let her fall. “I wouldn’t dream of it, babygirl.”

Dick sways and Emily offers one shoulder to him and the other to JJ, who looks like she could fall asleep standing up. “Easy, new kid,” Emily chides, “looks like you’re fully initiated.”

“Oh no!” Penelope hiccups, “we’ll see how you handle the hangover. Then you’ll be initiated.”

Dick grumbles something about hazing and not even being drunk but he burps right after which negates his previous statement and they all laugh.

Will shows up shortly after and JJ gives him a big kiss before he helps her into the car, but not before Will shoots a warning look at Garcia, who raises her hands innocently. The rest of them wait for their cars to get here, except Reid who doesn’t drink and bids them all goodnight.

Behind them, the bar door opens and closes as a group of drunk men in their early twenties come out for a smoke. Dick leans over to Prentiss and Penelope, “wanna show them your badge?”

Penelope cackles and Emily disguises her laugh with a cough.

One of the guys makes a noise of excitement, spotting a heads-up penny in the road and makes a break for it. It happens so fast Morgan doesn’t really process it until it’s over, and Penelope misses it altogether, but just as the guy would have run into the path of an Uber delivery bike, Dick snatches the guy back and into safety, reflexes faster than a cat.

The guy looks down at himself, and then at the bike speeding away, and finally at Dick. “Dude!”

“Dude!” Dick responds with matching bewilderment, “I guess that penny is lucky!” They fist bump and the guy goes back to his friends.

“Nice reflexes,” Prentiss remarks, a bit more sober than a minute ago.

“Thanks,” Dick shoots them a drunk smile, “just don’t ask me to do it again.”

Derek exchanges a look over Dick’s head at Emily, who has the same perplexed look on her face. How drunk is Dick? Totally plausible for muscle memory to take over, or just dumb luck for a save like that, but now that Derek tries to think about it, how many drinks did Dick have? Sure, they got rounds of drinks, and then shots, but how many does Derek remember Dick taking?

Morgan & Penelope’s car pulls at the same time as Dick’s and the arrival distracts him enough to chalk it up to dumb luck, but with a promise to watch the new kid a little more closely. Dick waves goodnight to all of them.

_______________________________

Dick gets out of the Uber two blocks away, thanking the driver and watching until the car is out of sight before using a nearby fire escape to climb to the nearest rooftop. He stays in the shadows, practically invisible even if he feels a bit out of place doing this in civilian clothes instead of his Nightwing uniform.

But it would be too suspicious if Nightwing is spotted in Virginia at the same time Dick Grayson shows up as the newest Quantico employee. He pops his earpiece in as he moves quickly, finding Emily Prentiss as she walks home.

His comm crackles to life and a familiar voice brings a smile to his face. “Hey there, Special Agent, how was your first day?”

Barbara’s voice is warm, but he can hear a faint tapping, the sound of her typing and a pang of homesickness hits him, not quite as strong as his phone call with Dami after school, but similar. “Good. Liked it so much I might give up the whole spandex thing.”

Barbara scoffs, “sure Boy Wonder.”

Dick chuckles softly, moving quickly to keep Prentiss in his sight line.

“How’s the cover? Any hint of your team members linking Richard Grayson with Richie Wayne?” Babs stops typing while she waits for his answer.

“Not yet,” Dick answers quietly, making an easy jump between roofs, “they asked questions they already knew the answers to from my FBI file but the questions about family were all genuine. Your work is impeccable as always, O.”

Barbara makes a satisfied sound. “Even the tech goddess?”

“Even Penelope.”

“She’s who you need to look out for, N,” Barbara gives the familiar warning, the same one she gave before he came, “if she does a deep dive into your personal devices or looks harder at timelines, it won’t be hard to figure out. Hell, if she tries a little harder at your encrypted CPS file it’ll be game over.”

“Hopefully by then I’ll be able to play the bashful son of a billionaire trying to get away from my name. You gave me a head start; that’s all I can ask for.”

It’d barely taken Barbara effort to make his FBI file just hard enough to hack into to satisfy someone like Penelope Garcia but also scrubbed of any mention of Bruce Wayne, instead listing Mary & John and only mentions of his work in Gotham. That, coupled with the foresight Bruce had as soon as he took Dick in to only refer to him as ‘Richie Wayne’ in public made it simple for Barbara to make sure no web searches for Dick or Richard Grayson cross with Richie Wayne and vice versa. It allowed Dick some form of anonymity as Richard Grayson when he joined BPD. It’s safer for people not to know right off the bat about the crazy famous dad; makes it easier for people to trust him.

Plus, while Garcia is Barbara’s biggest worry, Spencer Reid is Dick’s, his intelligence and pattern recognition off the charts, the discussion at drinks about Gotham vigilantes all the proof Dick needs to be wary of Reid’s ability to put together clues on identities. Dick just needs space and time to gain Reid’s trust to put a buffer on Reid coming to the conclusion there might be a link between the Wayne’s and the vigilantes of Gotham.

It’s a pretty big reasoning leap, and the whole family (especially Bruce) has put a lot of effort to make it seem ridiculous, but if there’s one BAU member that gives Dick reason to worry, it’s Reid. He just has to seem normal enough for enough time that even Reid can’t see the ties. Easy-peesy.

“What about Prentiss?” Barbara asks, “how’s our potential source?”

“Might take some time to get her to trust me,” Dick admits, “rampant trust issues.”

Barbara snorts. Dick ignores it.

“But Morgan’s been watching her closely today, which tells me our intel is probably good she has reason to believe Doyle might come for her. I’m making sure she makes it home now.”

Dick stops moving as Prentiss makes it to her building. He loses sight as she goes inside and probably up the elevator. He stays perfectly still and invisible as he waits, his view into the windows of her dining/living room.

“And if she’s not a potential victim?” Barbara asks, “if she’s dirty?”

Dick shrugs, “I’m watching for that too. She’s obviously trained enough it’s hard to get a read on her.”

They settle into a comfortable silence, Barbara’s typing a soothing sound as Dick sits and waits. “Almost patrol time?” Dick breaks the silence.

“B and Red tonight. Hood is doing his own thing in Crime Alley but I’ve got him on a different line.”

Dick stiffens, “is Robin–”

“He’s fine, N,” Barbara cuts off gently, “he’s got a presentation tomorrow at school so B’s making him get a good night’s sleep.”

Dick relaxes, sighing in relief, “yeah, okay, that makes sense. That’s good.”

“You okay?” Barbara asks after a beat of silence.

Dick sighs, “Red didn’t answer earlier. Feels like now that he doesn’t have to see me he’s not picking up my calls.”

“Give it time. Things were fragile before B came back, and taking this assignment exacerbated that. But he understands, N.”

“Maybe.” Dick pulls out his phone and sends a quick ‘Have fun on patrol. Be safe.’ to Tim. A minute later, he gets an alert that Tim ‘liked’ the message. Dick sighs again, “hopefully.”

He keeps the line open and Barbara pops in every now and then to chat or tell him B and Tim have started patrol, but Dick’s job is over quickly. Emily Prentiss safely makes it to her apartment, arms her security system, makes sure her windows are locked and curtains drawn (not before he watches her place perfume bottles on windowsills, a sign if there ever was one that she’s paranoid of intruders). He checks the signal of the bug he placed earlier this morning to make sure her security system didn’t mess with it, then heads home.

Chapter Text

Rossi is always here early, usually before Hotch, because Hotch has to get Jack to school. Derek and/or Penelope are usually next, depending if Derek does a workout before work, then Reid if the metro is on time, then Prentiss, followed by JJ, who also has to get her kid to school.

But this morning, Prentiss is late and the new addition is two minutes early. Rossi greets Dick Grayson at the coffeemaker, surprised he’s here and looking so bright eyed and bushy tailed. He knows how the younger members of the team can get when Morgan and Garcia coax them all out, especially with a new team member to initiate.

But Dick smiles and asks how his night was. He even tells Rossi he’s read some of his books, that his brother is a huge fan, and if it would be okay to get a signed copy for him. No hint of hangover whatsoever. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how easy twenty-six year olds bounce back.

When the rest of the team sans Prentiss arrives, the sentiment seems to be shared, with Garcia the most outraged and wearing very large sunglasses against the fluorescent lights.

By the time Garcia gathers them in the conference room, she’s able to take her sunglasses off, but Prentiss still isn’t there.

Garcia hands out the case folders and while Reid spins in his chair absent-mindedly and Derek comes in with a cup of coffee, Dick immediately starts going through the file.

“Where’s Prentiss?” Morgan asks.

“I don’t know. Her car wasn’t here when I rode in,” Reid answers.

Dick glances up and then at his phone, and then at the door just as Prentiss walks in, coat still on and bag still on her shoulder.

“Hey,” she says as she walks by Morgan to an empty seat.

Morgan stares after her, “somebody have a long night?”

“Somebody wanna mind their business?” Prentiss fires back.

Rossi raises his eyebrows, surprised to hear that tone from Emily, and he doesn’t miss Dick clearing his throat and looking between Prentiss and Morgan, like he’s braced for an argument to erupt. Luckily, Hotch walks in, all business, and Rossi wonders what the new kid would have done if Morgan and Emily had escalated their squabbling to a full blown argument.

“Spin the wheel and you get sunny Los Angeles,” Garcia starts, clicking on the screen behind her.

“Remind me again why it’s called the City of Angels?” Rossi jokes to try and lighten the mood before the murder talk starts. It’s mainly just to try and put the new agent at ease before the heavy stuff, but he should have known one member wouldn’t see the rhetoric nature.

“It was originally called the town of Our Lady the Queen of Angels–” Reid stops talking as Prentiss levels a look at him, “that was a rhetorical question, wasn’t it?”

Dick lets out a quiet cough that sounds more like a laugh.

“This is a weird one,” Garcia tells them, quickly looking at Grayson, who has his eyes on the file in front of him, “three women, all abducted from different parts of the city and murdered in the last couple of weeks. Shelly Onto, bank teller, thirty-three years old, Vickie Hagerg, thirty-nine year old art teacher, and Linda Dean a twenty-eight year old hostess at a bar, all from different parts of the city,” Garcia flips through pictures of each of the victims, all eyes on her now.

“All three were dumped within twenty-four hours of being abducted in a public space,” Hotch starts off the brainstorming.

“He’s not hiding what he’s doing,” Rossi adds.

“And here’s one weird part,” Penelope changes the picture again to one of one of the women’s dead bodies, wrapped in blue tarp, her lips blue.

“They all look like floaters,” Prentiss leans forward.

Garcia nods, “all three were drowned.”

“Their bodies weren’t found anywhere near water?” Reid clarifies.

“All three were drowned somewhere else and transported to the dumpsite,” JJ says.

Morgan flips through the papers, “none of them were drowned in water. Garcia, this is weird.”

“Methanol?” The surprise is clear in Reid’s voice.

“Each woman was alive before she went into it,” Hotch informs them.

“Drowning’s a tough way to kill someone,” Rossi remarks.

Dick closes his folder, “it’s slow, which means the unsub wants his victims to suffer and he’s got the space and privacy to do it.”

Hotch nods approvingly and Rossi almost misses the way Dick leans in just a hair closer, like he’s subconsciously chasing that approval. It’s not uncommon in federal agents, individuals that have always been the best; always driven to be the best and recognized as such.

“And in case you haven’t hit your daily limit of skeevy for the day,” Garcia changes the image behind her to a close up of the bottom of the women’s feet, where a perfect square is cut out from each one. “Each victim is missing a patch of skin taken from the bottom of her right foot.”

“Methanol and skin,” Rossi muses, “what the hell is he doing with them?”

“I don’t know but it’s our job to find out and stop him. Wheels up in thirty.” Hotch stands from the table.

_______________________________

The Behavioral Analysis Unit is the only team with a private jet, so usually agents have a bit of a reaction to the luxury, and Rossi definitely expects it from a cop who’s spent his career in Bludhaven, one of the least funded departments in the country, but the kid doesn’t even blink at the jet. A good mask or he really isn’t impressed.

Once they’re in the air, everyone in their usual seats, Reid gets up to make himself a cup of tea and Dick also unbuckles his seat belt and stands, but not to get anything, Rossi quickly realizes. He starts walking the length of the plane, slow, not agitated, or nervous, but simply to walk. He nods along as Reid explains the murder weapon.

“Methanol is, compositionally speaking, the simplest of the alcohols. It’s actually ubiquitous in the environment. There are small traces of its vapor in the atmosphere but atmospheric methanol is easily oxidized by sunlight.”

Rossi and Morgan share a look, a common action when Reid starts his info dumps with information they don’t plan on remembering.

“Is it toxic?” Prentiss asks. They all stare at Reid for the answer, though Dick continues to walk.

But it’s not Reid who answers, but Dick. “Ingesting just 10% causes permanent blindness and 30% is fatal.”

Reid blinks in surprise, but nods as everyone looks at him to see if Dick is right. Dick catches the motion and briefly smirks as he paces.

Morgan gets them back on track, “these victims had between five and six ounces in their lungs.

“If they were immersed in it they would have died even if they didn’t ingest or inhale it,” Dick says as Spencer finally picks his teabag and sets the jar down.

Reid looks up at a pause of silence and smiles briefly as Dick inclines his head, gesturing for Spencer to take this one. “When absorbed through the skin it suppresses the central nervous system to an unsustainable degree,” Reid explains.

“What’s methanol used for?” JJ asks.

Reid sits down, “what isn’t it used for? Uh, solvent, antifreeze, in World War II the Germans used it for rocket fuel, it’s used for wine making, it’s most common use, however, is in the creation of other chemicals. Methanol can become plastic, plywood, paint, explosives, permanent-press textiles. It’s essentially the chemical used to separate other chemicals from each other.”

“Can it be bought? Tracked?” JJ asks.

“California’s got some of the strictest environmental laws in the country,” Hotch says, “I’m sure it’s regulated.”

“But methanol is also used in making biofuels, which quite a few people have been doing at home. I’d imagine the sale is fairly common place,” Rossi finally gets to add something helpful.

“But he needs enough to submerge a body,” Hotch says back.

Morgan puts down the file on the table he’s leaning against, “all the victims were nude, but there’s no evidence of sexual assault on any of them.”

Prentiss gives an agreeing gesture to Morgan, “and the skin was removed from the bottom of the foot. Unless we’re talking about a foot fetish you can’t get further away from sexual areas.”

Hotch looks up from studying the image of the victim’s foot, “what he’s doing is very specific, very focused.”

“What about the skin patches?” Rossi asks. “Is it a trophy of some sort?”

“I have no idea.” And Reid actually looks at Dick, who is still slowly pacing as they all talk, hands in his pockets.

Dick looks up at him and also shrugs, “skin withers and dies pretty quickly, which might be the thing that’s forcing the unsub back on the hunt.”

Reid takes a sip of his tea.

“Considering the wide divergence of abduction and dumpsites this guy could be anywhere,” Morgan states, “LA is over 500 square miles.”

“Uh, 498.3,” Reid says, like he can’t contain it, only looking a little sheepish when Morgan blows out a laugh and looks away.

“The fact that no one has seen him either abduct or dispose says he knows the city and its patterns well,” JJ concludes.

“When we land, Rossi, Dick, and I will head to the ME’s, and the rest of you set up headquarters with the locals.” Hotch instructs.
_______________________________

There’s no time for Rossi to ask Hotch whether assigning Dick with them is a way to ease him into his first case, keep an eye on him to make sure he can handle it, or throw him into the deep end to see his reaction to a dead and mutilated body, but Dick doesn’t blink an eye at the assignment.

Rossi watches Dick’s face as the ME leads them into the lab where the dead body lies on the table, her body covered with a medical sheet. Dick’s expression doesn’t change, like the sight of the dead is as routine as seeing the living, which sends a twist of sadness through Rossi.

Sure, that’s how he and Hotch act, but they’re older, they have reason to be desensitized. From what Hotch says, Reid took years to feign nonchalance, and JJ still feels queasy, and Dick is only twenty-six. Rossi wonders what he could’ve seen in his short life to warrant the utter comfort with a dead body.

Rossi sees Hotch taking stock of the reaction too. Interesting, he muses, maybe bringing Dick is about evaluating his reactions in the field.

The ME takes off his gloves, “there was absolutely no water in their system,” he explains, “100% methanol. Completely seeped in their skin. I’d say they spent most of their time submerged though not completely.”

“So maybe the soaking serves a purpose other than drowning,” Rossi says.

“Could be,” the ME answers with the vagueness of a medical professional that has no stake in the matter.

“What about the wounds? The missing pieces of skin?” Rossi tries for a more specific answer. “Were the edges clean, like the unsub knew what he was doing?”

The ME finishes washing his hands, “actually, on the first two victims, the edges were jagged, as if the instrument was shaking while cutting, but on the latest victim, it’s much cleaner.”

“His confidence and skill level are increasing,” Hotch states.

The ME lifts the sheet to show them the bottom of the victim’s right foot.

“I don’t imagine you need any medical training for something like that?” Rossi gestures at the missing patch of skin.

“No,” Dick is the one who answers, “just something sharp enough.”

Well that’s not concerning at all. He must see Rossi, and the ME’s surprise, because Dick shrugs, “lots of knife crimes in Blud.”

“Doctor, was there any methanol in the wound?” Hotch asks.

“Only trace amounts.”

Hotch nods, “so the skin was removed after the body was taken out of the chemical.”

Dick leaves Hotch’s side, moving to the victim’s side instead of continuing to stare at the wound on her foot. “Postmortem, so it’s not about torture or pain.”

There’s a hint of disbelief in his tone, like he can’t believe someone would do something this sick and have no interest in causing pain. Rossi makes a note to ask just what cases he’s been on the past five years.

“One other thing,” the ME says, “I noticed in the toxicology report that Miss Dean had a good amount of chloroform in her blood. Turns out the other victims did as well.”

Hotch snaps his head sharply to her nose, “if he were using chloroform, wouldn’t she have burning around her nose and mouth?”

“Not if it was aerosolized,” Dick offers, “then there’d just be some burning in her nostrils from breathing it in.” A brief, small smirk passes on his face, like a passing memory, but it’s gone just as fast as it came.

“Exactly right,” the ME agrees.

“That’s pretty extensive preplanning,” Rossi says.

“Let’s get back to headquarters and see if Reid found anything,” Hotch thanks the ME and then is out of the room quickly.

Rossi follows, glancing back in time to see Dick squeeze the victim’s lifeless hand, just once, like saying goodbye or good luck and Rossi wonders if the kid is as unaffected by death as he originally thought.

_______________________________

The next morning Rossi goes down to the lobby for some coffee and a stale bagel before they all report to the police station. Hotch told them to meet by the front door at 7:45am, which means there will be a flurry of sleep deprived agents in the lobby at 7:40.

To his surprise, when Rossi makes it to the breakfast bar at 7:15, Dick is already in the lounge, a steaming cup and half eaten plate in front of him. He has his phone pressed to his ear, talking fast enough that Rossi can’t read his lips and low enough to not carry across the room.

When Dick spots him he hangs up and waves good morning. Rossi walks over, his own cup of coffee in his hand. Or, well, Rossi has coffee. “Hot chocolate?” Rossi asks.

Dick makes a sheepish shrug, “sometimes sugar is better than caffeine.”

Rossi chuckles, reminded that sometimes Reid prefers orange juice instead of coffee. “You’re up early,” Rossi says.

“I’m used to doing all nighters in Blud. The full night’s sleep was nice.” And then Dick’s phone rings again and he excuses himself.
_______________________________

At the local police department, Reid informs them there's no way to track methanol purchases and goes on to explain the geographical profile, which pretty much tells them the unsub is all over the place.

Dick hangs back a few steps, leaning slightly on the wall and checking his phone, a small frown on his lips.

“Everything alright?” Rossi asks.

Dick slips his phone in his pocket. “Yeah, just family stuff. My brother isn’t thrilled with me taking this job so now he’s being a moody teenager over text,” Dick rolls his eyes but Rossi can see the slight tension in his shoulders. He obviously cares about his family’s approval, or lack thereof.

Prentiss walks in with JJ and Dick and Rossi both turn their attention back to the case, “Linda Dean’s family said she took the red line home from work at night but the subway in LA stops running at 1am. She clocked out at five past 1:00.”

“All of the victims breathed in an aerosolized chloroform and to do that he needs an enclosed space,” Hotch says.

“So we’re looking for a vehicle,” JJ summarizes, “one that could be anywhere at 1:00 in the morning and not attract attention.”

“It could be a police car,” Dick offers and they all give him a brief raised eyebrow, remembering what he said about Bludaven’s corrupt police force.

“Or a taxi,” Hotch adds. “Either way we can narrow down our profile.”

“On it,” Morgan takes out his phone to call Garcia, putting it on speaker.

It rings once before Garcia’s voice fills the space. “Live from Quantico, VA, it is the divine Miss Penelope. Los Angeles, you’re our first and favorite caller. Talk to me.”

Dick grins at the long greeting, obviously not used to the poetic waxings of the BAUs technology specialist.

“Okay, woman, you do know you’re crazy, right?” Morgan teases.

“Mm-hm. But like you always say, don’t hate the playa, hate the game. Isn’t that right, Mr. Grayson? I know you’re enjoying my artistic banter.”

Dick’s grin grows wider and he leans forward for the speaker to pick him up, “definitely, playa.”

Penelope laughs, “oh, I like this one.”

Morgan smirks, “focus, momma, I need you to check and see which cab companies serve the Hollywood area where Linda Dean was abducted.”

Furious typing. “Won’t even break a sweat.” A second later. “There are seven.”

“Can you narrow that down and find out who was near Vaughn’s Bar and Grill in the last 72 hours?” Morgan asks.

More typing, “okay, I checked all seven of the companies and none of the drivers reported picking anyone up between eleven and two o’clock the night Linda went missing.”

“Do cabs have GPS?” Hotch asks.

“Cabs are tracked more than Lady G’s twitter,” comes Penelope’s reply.

Reid furrows his eyebrows, “what does that mean?”

“I’ll explain it to him later, Penelope,” Dick squeezes Reid’s shoulder gently, “I’ve got a brother that’s ironically unironically into Lady G.”

“That makes no sense,” Reid says.

“Teach him to worship the other extraordinary Lady G,” Garcia says as her farewell.

Reid is still confused but Dick doesn’t have time to explain Lady Gaga right now and Morgan soldiers through. “So there were no taxis in the area.”

“Could be unregistered cars that look like taxis,” Prentiss offers.

Dick starts slowly circling the table, hands once again in his pockets.

“No one pays attention when they get in a cab,” Rossi points out. “If he’s unregistered he’s not going to hang by taxi stands and wait to pick up fares in the traditional way.”

“This guy could be anywhere,” Morgan finishes what they’re all thinking.

They all sit, or stand in Hotch’s case and pace in Dick’s case, in silence, all mulling over the information they have, until Reid suddenly starts flicking through the photos.

They all wait in silent anticipation as Reid hurries through the motion.

“When I was in school we used to use methanol to separate chemicals from each other. Whatever we did we’d clip a sample of the source material to label and keep next to the output.” Reid leans forward. “Square samples 2x2 inches.”

Dick makes a soft groan, “more evil scientists.”

_______________________________

Shortly after the BAU gives their profile to the locals and mounts a press conference to warn and ask for help from the public, Morgan and Prentiss are called away to talk to a woman calling in a tip about a confrontation with a taxi driver two days ago while Rossi, Hotch, and Dick are called to another body found in the mountains.

The body doesn’t give any new information, but Rossi sees Dick bend down once again, his hand covered with a glove, to squeeze the victim’s hand once, very gently, before standing up and pretending like he was just examining the body.

Morgan and Prentiss call them soon after. Reid is also connected to the call from his location at the police station.

“Hotch,” Emily starts, “our unsub was listening to a recording of his own voice when the witness met him.”

“So he’s antisocial and delusional,” Hotch remarks.

It’s a warm day and the three agents wait in the shade near the police vans while they talk on the phone.

“We also have a theory for why the unsub is choosing these victims,” Morgan goes on, “could it be smell, Reid?”

“What?” Reid is obviously taken aback, as are they all.

“Could smell be what’s attracting him to his victims?” Emily repeats Morgan’s question.

Dick’s head snaps up, his eyes wide. “Distillation extraction!” He says it at the same time as Reid.

Morgan laughs, “which one of you nerds want to explain?”

Dick ducks his head with a sheepish smile as Reid takes the lead, “methanol can be used to create scents or aromas. If you soak something in it for hours it draws out the essential oils. Dick, have you heard of hyperosmia?”

“You’ve got me beat, Reid,” Dick concedes good naturedly.

“It’s an oversensitivity to smell,” Reid continues, “they pick up scents that typical people can’t.”

“So it’s unlikely he’s going after women wearing perfume, since it’s already artificial,” JJ hypothesizes.

“Something about their natural scent compels him,” Hotch agrees.

“Smell’s a powerful trigger for memory,” Morgan adds, “he might be trying to bring back the memory of somebody he lost.”

At that moment, a local detective walks up to their little huddle. “Anissa Farms, twenty-one years old, just reported missing. She left for a job interview but never made it.”

_______________________________

As Garcia calls them back, the team straps on their bullet proof vests and FBI jackets, loading their guns and holstering them as Penelope gives them an address.

“I have exactly one address at which every piece of equipment you listed was delivered to,” she says.

As they head out, Rossi turns to Dick, “you’re being a good sport. Sometimes the locals are hesitant to suit up before Garcia gets us an address.”

Dick gives him a wicked smile, “I always trust the tech goddess.”

_______________________________

“Hold on!” Rossi yells back as Hotch races the FBI van down the road in pursuit of the unsub fleeing in his cab. Dick holds the shoulders of the driver and passenger seat with a white knuckle grip as they speed down the roads.

They suddenly slow, braking hard as they have to wait for a truck to get out of their way. Then they creep forward, trying to find where the cab went.

“There!” Dick exclaims, pointing down a dark alley where the shape of a car becomes clear with some squinting. It’s almost pitch black, the car practically melting into the shadows, and Rossi isn’t sure how Dick saw it, but he’s grateful.

They chase the car down the alley, so close they can almost hit him with the front bumper but he stays a frustrating car length away.

A semi starts pulling out of a driveway as the cab pushes even faster, jerking around the semi and barely making it without colliding.

Rossi hears Dick suck in a breath, a strangled sound of distress, just before the cab crashes into a piece of metal hanging off a construction truck.

The impact takes the top off the cab, crushing anyone inside.

When Rossi and Hotch return to the car to confirm the unsub is dead, Dick’s knuckles are still white gripping the seats.

_______________________________

On the way home, Reid reads a book, Morgan puts his headphones in, Prentiss types away at her phone, and JJ and Hotch sleep. Dick sits in one of the plush leather seats, looking out the window. Rossi sits across from him, angling his head when he sees the young man is wearing Superman socks. He’s sitting with his legs up on the chair with no shoes on, elbows resting on his knees. It’s a pose that Rossi thinks can’t be comfortable, but Dick’s been sitting like this the entire flight so it must be. It takes flexibility that Rossi never had, much less now.

Rossi realizes the only part of him moving is his pointer finger tapping against his opposite forearm. Dick notices Rossi staring and raises his eyebrows, “it’s a Lady Gaga song,” he says. When Rossi looks confused, Dick elaborates, “the rhythm. It’s a Lady Gaga song.”

“Oh.”

They both look out the window for a few minutes, watching the night sky past as they fly overhead. “It was a tough case,” Rossi remarks, keeping his tone friendly and conversational, “especially for a first outing with the BAU.”

Dick smirks, still looking out the window. “I’ve dealt with killers before, Agent Rossi. Even serial ones.”

“Even ones that drown their victims in methanol to make perfume from their skin?”

Disgust flashes across Dick’s face, which oddly calms Rossi, seeing the natural reaction. “No,” Dick admits, “but I’ve seen worse.”

Rossi leans forward, “worse?”

“Blud and Gotham spawn their own breed of sadists.”

Rossi’s brief minute of calm is quickly replaced with his prior concern at that comment. “Just because it’s not the worst you’ve ever seen doesn’t mean you’re not affected.”

Dick breathes out a soft laugh, “it’s not the crime, Agent Rossi, I promise. I’m fine, really. I’ve seen worse, I promise, I just don’t like when a case ends with more death.”

Rossi sits back, “that makes sense. But if there must be death, at least it’s the bad guy’s.”

Dick finally looks at him, and Rossi’s shocked to find no sadness, or grief, or anger, or tears in his eyes, any of the emotions Rossi would expect from a newbie. There’s nothing but cool understanding in his gaze, his face completely relaxed. “I’ve seen officers shoot unarmed men with that logic. I know the BAU isn’t as rough as Blud, but there has to be a code. If I don’t work just as hard to save the life of the villains, or if I just step aside and let them die, I step outside the job I signed up for.”

“You didn’t step aside and let this unsub die, Dick. He drove his car into a piece of metal.”

Dick shrugs, “it’s just not how I hoped it would end. The system’s broken, but it doesn’t get better if we’re okay with people dying.”

“You’re a good kid,” Rossi announces, and Dick raises his eyebrows in surprise. “I was worried someone with your background would either be too green, a cop who got lucky on the tests and not cut out for the darkness of our job, or too jaded and cynical for what we do, but you’re not.”

“Thanks?”

Rossi stands up, and though he raises his hand to gently clap Dick on the shoulder, he sees the immediate tension, the slight bracing that would be invisible to anyone who isn’t a profiler, so he changes courses and puts his hand in his pocket. “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Strong morals, sense of justice, and an optimism that’ll lead you to a long career.”

“Thanks, Rossi.”

Rossi hears it as he walks by the younger man and he smiles to himself, more settled that the new kid will work just fine.

Chapter Text

When Morgan gets to work Dick and Reid are already in the office.

“Morning,” Dick calls over.

“Morning, newbie.”

Dick rolls his eyes and returns to listening as Reid explains the plot of some Russian movie.

The elevator dings and Emily rushes out, checking her watch and Derek also checks his. Weird, he thinks. Prentiss is five minutes late. Come to think of it, she’s been running behind the entire week.

“Good morning,” Reid beams at her.

Derek watches as the greeting seems to jerk her out of her thoughts and she blinks twice rapidly before responding. Morgan doesn’t bring it up, but he can almost see the nervous energy around her even as she gets settled at her desk. She sets her phone down with a mutter of something in a language Morgan doesn’t know, but he sees Dick look up.

He stands up and walks over to her desk, taking Prentiss’s attention off her phone.

“Agent Prentiss, I was wondering if you could give me some notes on this last consultation–”

“It’s Emily, newbie,” she corrects with a harried smile and takes the folder from his hands. While she reads it over, Dick sits on the edge of her desk and picks up a bobble, throwing it in the air and catching it. He doesn’t drop it once. “Looks good. You’re catching on quick, Grayson.”

Dick blinks, “that’s it? I–”

“Hey newbie,” Derek calls over, “can you run this to Garcia for me?” Morgan holds out a folder.

Dick looks between Morgan and Prentiss and then relaxes. “Sure.” Dick takes the folder and he’s gone a minute later.

Morgan takes a sip of his coffee and grins at Prentiss, “you think he has a crush?”

Emily rolls her eyes, “I am way too old for him, Morgan.”

“Not particularly,” Reid pipes up, “assuming you’re thirty-five or a few years younger, 56% of heterosexual relationships have a five to nine year age gap.”

Derek laughs.

“Spence, that's not helping,” Emily rubs her temples. “The new kid does not have a crush.”

“I don’t know, Prentiss, it doesn’t sound like you’re too upset having his attention,” Morgan teases and dodges the pen Prentiss throws at his head, “hey, I’m just saying! You’d make a cute couple.”

“You are both conventionally attractive, even taking out your personality traits which statistically increase a person’s perceived attractiveness.”

“You are really not helping, Spence.”

It’s only the evil glint in Spencer’s eye that tells Morgan he’s been messing with Prentiss just as much as Morgan himself. It throws Morgan into another laughing fit.
_______________________________

Dick stops at his desk that afternoon, “hey Morgan?”

“Yes, newbie?”

Dick ignores the nickname. “What’s the block in our schedule today? Hotch told me to bring gym clothes but I didn’t think we needed firearms training for at least another month.”

Ah, no, not firearms, today is Morgan’s favorite training session. Instead of answering, Morgan just shoots the new kid a smile, “you’ll see. You brought gym clothes, right?”

“Yeah,” Dick answers hesitantly, “are we running?”

“Nope.”

And that’s all he’ll say. Dick seems to sense this and goes back to his own desk. JJ shakes her head at Morgan, but doesn’t clue in the new kid.

At least every month, Hotch lets Morgan run sparring sessions, to make sure the team is prepared to handle an unsub without a weapon. Because of their small size and odds of coming face to face with a bad guy, Hotch thought it was a good idea. Couple that with being a team with Reid and Garcia and Hotch makes sure to set aside time every month. Plus, it’s almost mandated when they get a new member.

Derek likes to make sure the team can watch one another’s backs. Derek can’t always guarantee he’ll be able to swoop in and help his team but he can make sure they’re prepared to protect each other. Now that Dick’s been here a week and been on a case with them, Derek needs to double check that the cop from an infamously corrupt department will look out for the rest of the team. Or even has the skill level to. Lots of agents' first experience with hand to hand is at the academy and even that falls in priority to firearms training.

Hotch did let Morgan see Dick’s scores from the Academy this morning and Morgan was impressed. Instructors gave him flying colors on hand to hand, which is promising.

When four o’clock rolls around, the whole team shuts down their computers to grab their gym bags. “Okay, team, meet me down at the gym in fifteen,” Morgan announces.

_______________________________

Morgan is the first one ready. He makes sure the mats are on the floor and even sanitizes them so Reid can focus on fighting. Reid is also the next person ready, a sweatband around his head and dressed in a t-shirt and basketball shorts.

“I hate these sessions,” he grumbles.

“Aw, don’t worry, you’re getting better, pretty boy,” Derek claps him on the shoulder hard enough to send him stumbling forward.

Hotch and Rossi are next, still dressed in their suits just without their jackets. Hotch, as team leader, only participates in maybe one match every session and Rossi only a couple, enough to prove he can throw a punch, but Morgan doesn’t push him much harder. Rossi’s accuracy rate with a weapon is deadly enough without risking injury to the older man.

Dick comes in a few seconds later, loose sweatpants around his hips and a tight dry-fit, long-sleeved shirt on. Interesting, Derek notes, he wouldn’t have pegged Dick as body conscious, his general athleticism at odds with it, but Derek rolls with it.

Penelope, JJ, and Prentiss come in last, all in workout leggings and either sports bras or a t-shirt. Penelope casts puppy dog eyes at Morgan, “how about we blow this popsicle stand, chocolate thunder?”

“Sorry, babygirl, you’re not getting out of this one.”

Penelope sighs, dragging her feet the rest of the way to the mats. Dick watches the display amused. “So I assume this is some kind of conditioning?”

“Hand to hand,” Morgan answers, “this team is small and highly specialized. Thus, all team members have to stay up to par on any skills we could need on assignment. We come from a lot of backgrounds so it’s nice to practice against each other. It makes us all better.”

Dick nods, “makes sense.”

“No!” Penelope exclaims, “you’re supposed to rage and refuse and make enough of a fit that Derek sends us home.”

“We can be partners, Penelope,” Reid offers.

“Alright, boy genius.”

And then everyone looks at Dick, one by one, and his mouth drops open just a bit, looking between them all and finally settling on Derek, his shoulders relaxing in defeat, hands still in his pockets. “I assume I go first?”

“Looks like we have two boy geniuses,” Rossi jokes.

Dick sighs and starts walking onto the mats, “is it another initiation for you to kick my ass in front of everyone?” He asks playfully.

Derek laughs “no, the goal isn’t to embarrass or hurt, just to improve. And to do that I have to know your skill level. That’s why you're going against me first.”

“Which is why everyone else is watching?” Dick adds wryly, but he doesn’t actually seem upset.

Derek shrugs with a smirk and gets into a fighting stance. “Yell ‘stop’ or hit the mat twice to tap out.”

“Yes, sir.” Dick gives a mock salute and slips into a fighting stance to mirror Derek’s.

Rossi counts them down and Dick comes at Derek immediately. Derek smiles internally at the move and easily dodges. It’s a test hit, swung wide, which makes sense. The kid is feeling Derek out as a fighter. It’s common practice, and Dick moves with certainty a lot of young fighters with great scores come with. But now he isn’t against other kids his age or an instructor. Derek’s got years of real life experience, FBI training, and a good fifty pounds on the kid.

Derek ducks a good kick and goes for a kidney shot but, to his surprise, his fist just hits air and he stumbles forward, his weight carrying him. Huh.

Derek spins around to find Dick ready, his fighting stance relaxed but not lazy. Now Derek charges forward with fast, powerful blows, but Dick dodges or blocks each once. But Derek forces him back steadily, and right as Derek starts to feel the kid start to wear down, he catches Derek’s wrist and uses his momentum to drag Derek forward, foot looping behind Derek’s and flipping him onto his back.

Morgan is flat on his back looking up to Dick’s grinning, upside down face before he realizes he lost. When he does he’s on his feet again quickly. “Alright, I won’t take it easy on you,” Derek grumbles, because that’s what he was doing. Obviously.

Halfway through the next match, Derek realizes Dick isn’t tiring, he was faking last time to get Derek to lower his guard. Bastard. The kid bounces, dodges, and weaves with the grace of a dancer, seemingly expending little to no effort. He also realizes Dick isn’t really throwing any punches or kicks, just blocking and dodging and then throwing some fancy move to send Derek to the ground but never following it up with a pin or hold.

The match after that, Derek realizes Dick is holding back. Even the punches he goads Dick into throwing don’t land with any sort of urgency, barely glancing off Derek’s skin. They probably won’t even leave a bruise. Derek might chalk it up to a lack of strength, but the arms he uses to block Derek are strong, thrumming with unused energy. Derek can’t shake the feeling Dick’s just playing with him. He hates it.

After that, Derek begrudgingly shakes Dick’s hand and admits defeat before pairing everyone else up, their eyes wide and, in Garcia’s case, jaw open. No one has ever beaten Derek like that. Him and Emily trade victories, but neither of them can drop the other as easily as Dick makes it look.

Prentiss gestures Dick over to be her sparring partner, hopping on the balls of her feet with the challenge and desire to win.

“Let’s see it super spy,” Penelope calls.

Dick looks between Garcia and Emily, silently asking.

Prentiss shrugs, “I did a stint in Interpol.”

Derek keeps their match in sight even as he fixes Reid’s form.

When Dick drops Prentiss the first match, he’s breathing heavily, clearly exhausted, but grinning with the triumph of a hard won battle.

And yet, the sweat, or lack thereof, on his face contradicts the picture.

The next match Dick goes down. Hard. An audible thump echoes through the gym and JJ makes a face of sympathy pain at the sound. Now Emily is the one grinning in triumph, but she offers a hand to help him up. Dick gets to his feet a little shakily, holding his side. “Best two out of three?” He asks Em.

An hour later the session is over.

Dick walks back to the group with Prentiss, “so did I pass?”

Derek exchanges a look with Emily. “What do you mean?”

Dick rolls his eyes, “look, man, I get it. This team is your family and you need to be sure I can protect them.”

Derek at least has the decency to look a little ashamed at how see through his plan was. But Dick just smiles a soft smile, “I’d do the same for my family.”

Everyone except Hotch and Prentiss leave for the locker rooms.

Derek is spraying sanitizer on the mats when Prentiss comes up to him, her eyes on the closed door everyone left through.

“You alright?” He asks her when she starts stretching a shoulder.

“I haven’t taken a beating like that since my Interpol days,” she answers,

“Well it’s obvious he’s capable of defending himself and team members if the need arises,” Hotch says, crossing his arms.

“I didn’t really think you’d let someone on the team if they couldn’t, but it’s nice to know for sure,” Morgan admits.

And something about Hotch’s expression, or lack thereof, sends off a warning bell in Morgan’s brain. He exchanges a look with Emily, who also noticed. “Hotch?” Morgan prods.

Hotch snaps out of his thoughts, but instead of clarifying what he meant by his non answer, he lets out a noncommittal “hn” and bids them goodnight before leaving the gym.

“You know the worst part?” Emily asks when they’re alone. “Even when I did win, it was only because he let me put him down.”

“Really?” Derek cocks an eyebrow. He couldn’t tell from his POV. He sighs, “when I was fighting him, it was obvious he was holding back.”

“A lot,” Emily agrees.
_______________________________

When Reid gets to the conference room, Prentiss is already seated and Dick is at his heels, texting on his phone. Reid catches the end of Emily’s conversation, “Lauren Reynolds is dead.” When she hears Reid and Dick come in, she also says, “give Jeremy my love,” and hangs up.

“Who’s Lauren Reynolds?” Reid asks, and he sees Dick also waiting for Emily’s answer.

“Uh, a friend. Died in a car accident.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Dick says.

The rest of the team comes in before Emily can do more than give a nod of thanks. Garcia clicks on the screen and an image of a young brunette girl pops up. “Molly Grandin, a twenty-five year old Central City University student went missing twenty-four hours ago. Her car was found abandoned at a strip mall parking lot.”

“Central City police chief informed me another twenty-five year old woman went missing four months ago and washed up three days later,” Hotch adds.

Garcia nods, “drowned in the local lake, her hands and feet smashed. Her car was found abandoned in the same parking lot as Molly Grandin.”

“Central City,” Dick mutters to himself. When he realizes everyone heard him, he blushes slightly, “uh, sorry, wasn’t expecting a case in CC.”

“If the unsub sticks to the same MO then Molly only has thirty-six hours left,” Reid says, bringing the conversation back to their job.

“Then we better get moving. Wheels up in thirty,” Hotch proclaims.
_______________________________

When they land, Hotch sends Morgan, Grayson, and Reid to the lake where the first victim was found, saying quickly that a local will meet them there to answer any questions about the crime scene.

They’re on a bridge overlooking the dumpsite, the water calm and woods surrounding serene. No other cars drive past them. Spencer opens the file to study the pictures of the first victim’s retrieval and nearly drops the whole thing in the river below when a voice yells from behind them.

“Dude!”

Morgan helps Reid catch the papers as Dick whips around, a smile breaking out on his face, “dude!” he yells back.

Spencer watches, mystified, as Dick and a young redhead man in a CSI jacket hug in the middle of the bridge. Spencer looks around for a car, but finds none. How the heck did he get here?

“What are you doing here, Wall?” Dick asks excitedly.

“Chief said some special Feds were out here checking out the scene and I knew you were doing this FBI thing so I asked for the assignment and ran right over.”

Reid doesn’t miss the CSI winking at Dick. Dick lightly shoves the CSI back and then gestures for him to follow him back to Spencer and Morgan.

“This is Spencer Reid and Derek Morgan with the FBI. Spencer, Morgan, this is Wally West, Central City CSI,” Dick introduces them and they all shake hands. Wally is much more professional with them than Dick.

“How do you two know each other?” Morgan asks, clearly not blind to the two’s familiarity.

“Dickie and I go way back,” Wally answers, leaning against the guardrail, his one arm sliding to the spot on the metal behind Dick’s back, like an almost hug if they were touching. Dick leans back against the rail, almost subconsciously falling into the easy closeness with his friend. “His dad worked with my uncle, then we were on this intramural league thing–ow–” Wally rubs his ribs where Dick just elbowed him, “no embarrassing stories, got it. I won’t tell them about when you ripped your–” Wally gets another elbow to the ribs and stops talking.

“You’re hopeless,” Dick crosses his arms as Wally rubs the spot on his side.

“Only for you, superstar,” Wally winks.

It’s not uncommon for people to hit on Dick, from what Reid’s observed. The lady at the Quantico front desk, two of the local detectives in LA, the barista at one of the coffee shops in LA wrote her number on Dick’s cup, the guy who helped them load their bags into the jet, the list goes on and on, but Reid’s never seen Dick blush before.

Morgan takes pity on the poor guy and starts asking professional questions instead of the personal ones Reid knows Morgan is dying to know. “What can you tell us about the dumpsite?”

“Body wasn’t weighed down, so it was found quickly,” Wally starts, talking as quickly if not faster than Reid’s natural pace, “no post mortem damage, the wounds on the body during captivity were carefully planned out. Both hands and feet broken with a mallet and two parallel stab wounds. Your unsub is definitely a control freak. Oh! And my guess is the stab wounds came from a Phillips head screwdriver rather than a knife.”

“Why would the unsub use a screwdriver?” Dick asks.

Wally shrugs, “I thought you guys were the behavioral experts.”

Derek leans forward on the rail, “so this guy wanted to watch her die and sink beneath the surface.”

“Sounds like a classic water burial,” Reid says.

“Looks that way, except most water burials are done by women,” Morgan answers.

Now Dick pipes up. “And until now the MO of physical abuse indicated a male offender. But a female would explain the lack of sexual assault with an unsub this obsessed with power and control.”

Wally nudges Dick’s shoulder, a move that might seem teasing but in actuality by the earnestness of Wally’s expression is more like an encouragement. “Look at you, Mr. Profiler.”

Dick sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “anything else, Wall?”

“I swung by the abducted girl’s place and did a cursory walk through with local officers. It’s like walking into a self-help store, mantras and books on positive energy everywhere.”

“We know the vics both struggled with self-esteem,” Derek muses.

Wally nods, “yeah, but the other bedroom looked more normal.”

Reid snaps his gaze to Wally, “the other bedroom was occupied?”

Wally nods, “looked like another girl lived there at least.”

“If Molly had a roommate we’d know about it,” Derek says. “So she must have wanted to keep it a secret for a reason.”

“We should call Emily and let her know. She’s at Molly’s apartment now,” Reid is already pulling out his phone.

“Want a ride back to the station?” Dick asks Wally.

“Well, I am pretty tired from running all the way here…”

Dick slings an arm around Wally’s shoulders and leads him back to their car. Reid does another scan, looking for trails or nearby neighborhoods. He makes a note to look at a map later.

It somehow works out that Dick gets in the driver’s seat and Wally hops in the passenger seat, leaving Reid and Morgan the back. Morgan just raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything, just climbs in. Dick had driven here, but it’s pretty presumptuous for a local officer to just make himself at home in federal property. Wally doesn’t give off rude signals, though, Reid admits, it comes off more like muscle memory, an action they’ve done a thousand times before.

Once they’re all in the car, Reid realizes Wally hasn’t stopped chatting Dick’s ear off, just picking up the conversation from their walk to the car.

Reid focuses on texting Emily what they’ve learned while also keeping one ear on the conversation in front of him. It doesn’t escape him that this is the most comfortable he’s ever seen Dick. Sure, Dick is friendly, warm, companionable, but it’s the sort of openness that leans towards friendly professionalism instead of the family bond the rest of the team have. Most of the time he’s like Reid when it comes to physical touch: avoiding it whenever possible, but him and Wally exchange easy affections.

“So how’s the fam doing with the new gig?”

Dick sighs, “you know how they are. B isn’t happy, which is typical, and things with Tim are still strained, and J struggled to reach out when I lived fifteen minutes away, now that I’m six hours…” Dick sighs again.

Wally rests his hand on the back of Dick’s seat as he drives, “and Little D?”

“I miss him.”

“I bet he misses you too.”

“He always picks up my calls.”

“The others will come around. You know they don’t do great with change.”

Reid and Morgan exchange a look. This is probably the most information they’ve ever gotten about Dick’s personal life, and Reid is still glaringly aware of the lack of details.

“Hopefully the ice will thaw soon,” Dick says, “but what about you? How’re Barry and Iris?”

“Pregnant.”

“What?”

“Oh yeah, there’ll be a brand new Allen running around next year.”

“Dude, congrats. I’ll have to send flowers. Or diapers. Whatever Iris wants.”

Wally laughs. “She’d like that. If you have time after your case, you should swing by. They’d love to see you.”

At Dick’s hesitant silence, Wally turns around, addressing the agents in the back for the first time, “you guys can come too! You can all meet the coolest couple in Central City, if there’s time after you solve the case.”

Morgan laughs, “we wouldn’t want to intrude. But I will let our team leader know there’s a compelling reason to give us an hour of personal time before our plane leaves.”

Wally grins. “Perfect.”

Dick shoots him a sideways look, “you’re shameless.”

Wally doesn’t deny it, he just says a little smug, “only when it comes to getting you to come home with me.”

Reid sees Dick silently shake his head.

“So this case,” Wally starts, “you think there’s any meta involvement?”

“We like to assume non-meta until there’s any evidence to the contrary,” Morgan explains, “otherwise we’d be grasping at straws trying to explain away everything with superpowers.”

“Plus, in a city like Central City with its own vigilante, meta involvement usually puts jurisdiction in their corner,” Reid adds.

“Ohhh right, yeah, vigilantes, wouldn’t want them messing up the investigation and contaminating evidence,” Wally muses.

Both Reid and Morgan nod in agreement.

“No, we wouldn’t,” Dick also says.
_______________________________

At the station, Reid and Morgan head to where the rest of the team has set up their base while Dick says goodbye to Wally. Reid sees everyone else clock the familiarity between their new team member and the redhead.

“Apparently they’re friends,” Morgan explains a little cheekily.

“Huh,” JJ comments, but no one says anything when Dick walks over to join them.

It’s perfect timing because lunch also just arrived. They all pick up their labelled bowls from Cava and begin to eat around the table while summarizing and compiling their data.

“So both our vics struggled with mental health,” Emily says.

“Molly’s mom told me she struggled with depression, even attempted once, but recently was doing better,” Rossi adds.

“Same with Gail,” Reid states, “she went back to school, started getting good grades, plus both victim’s rooms contained self-help mantras around the space.”

“It’s hard to believe mantras and positive energy could improve their lives that much,” Morgan says skeptically.

Reid watches Dick spin the plastic fork in his hand between his fingers with practiced ease, the fork obviously a stand in for a pencil or another tool.

“The guest rooms,” Dick says, still spinning his fork, “maybe our unsub convinced her vics to let her move in with them. She got to be the hero, the savior, and then when they started to outgrow her, she held them captive.”

“Both victims had treatment at Central City Psychiatric Hospital,” Hotch flips through some papers, “Molly for malnutrition probably caused by anorexia and Gail for depression, maybe our unsub works at the hospital.”

Dick shakes his head, spinning the fork faster, “no. Our unsub is a manipulative narcissist. It wouldn’t allow her to attain any degree because that would be admitting she doesn’t know everything.”

“But she knew enough about the victims to know how to gain their trust,” JJ points out, “odds are she stalked them prior to making contact.”

JJ looks at Morgan but Morgan is already dialing.

Prentiss starts before Penelope can give her usual poetic greeting, “Garcia, both families released their daughters’ medical records. Have you gotten access to those yet?”

“Yes, my Snow White beauty, both went to the same hospital but for different programs and at different times.”

“Does Central City Psychiatric keep their surveillance footage of the entrances and exits?” Prentiss asks.

“In this age of black market pharmaceutical drug trade you betcha.”

Dick chuckles, “glad to know it’s not just a Gotham problem.”

Emily’s phone rings and she excuses herself, which is odd, Reid notes. Usually Emily is hyperfocused on their cases, because most of the people she’s close to are also working the case. But Reid lets her go, he’s done a lot of work to discern what private information is irrelevant and none of his business and he’s pretty sure this is one of those times. He does, however, notice that although Dick keeps listening to Garcia, his gaze is locked on Emily, who is now in the hallway, her back to them as she talks on the phone.

“Molly and Gail had different doctors but both went to Central City General Pharmacy. Assuming they were stalked 10-14 weeks before their disappearance, I went ahead and started with footage from when they went to get refills which falls in that time window and… behold,” Garcia explains as the computer screen they’re all looking at switches to surveillance footage of a tall blonde woman with a cup of coffee following Gail.

“And check this out,” Garcia continues, the images go faster as Garcia fast forwards, “a few weeks later she’s there again…”

“With a matching purse to Molly’s,” JJ notices.

“So she stalks them then uses it to strike up a conversation,” Reid realizes.

“I am cleaning up the image and sending it to you now,” Garcia announces.

“Let’s get the image to the victim’s families and the local news,” Hotch instructs.

_______________________________

Two hours later and all they’ve learned is no one’s seen this woman or knows who she is. Garcia is once again on the phone now that they have no leads they’re hoping Garcia does what she always does and works some magic. Reid sits near the speaker phone, Morgan sitting on the tabletop, taking the lead while the rest of the team is sitting or standing, milling around, restless without an active assignment.

“Garcia, Dr. Weingold from CC Psychiatric sent us an extensive list of female patients in their mid-20’s that match our profile,” Morgan says.

“She’s most likely local, raised by a single parent or in foster care,” Reid helps. The only sound is the typing of Garcia narrowing it down and… Reid glances back to where Dick is leaning against the wall, clicking a pen in his hand absent-mindedly.

Morgan doesn’t seem to notice. “This unsub likes familiar places. Look for extended family or previous addresses. Did any of them grow up near the lake the first victim was found?”

“Oh, wait! Here’s one that might fit!” Garcia exclaims. “Jane Gould, her grandparents had a house near the lake.”

“Are they still alive?”

“No,” Garcia answers, “they died when Jane was in middle school but the water and power are all paid up.”

Reid looks up at Morgan, “it’s the one place from a parental figure she feels at home and in charge of there.” Reid’s eye starts to twitch as Dick’s clicking ups its tempo just a bit.

Once they hang up with Garcia, the team starts discussing Jane’s trigger. “She started acting out after she lost her grandparents,” Rossi theorizes.

Hotch reads her file, “arrested for vandalism, removed from two foster homes for destruction of property. Desperate attempts to get attention.”

“Loss of parental figures at such a young age turns your world upside down,” Dick muses, still clicking his pen, just the barest hint of melancholy in his voice. “There’s a lot of pain but no outlet.”

“Both Molly and Gail can relate to that,” JJ says.

Prentiss joins in, “Jane used them to convince herself she’s important.”

“More than that she thinks she’s a selfless savior,” Reid notes. He scratches the back of his neck, trying to hear another sound besides the incessant clicking in the background.

“Instead of an orphan that no one claimed,” Hotch finishes.

And then the clicking ends. Reid glances back and Dick has the pen steady, looking out the window. He blinks when he feels Reid watching him and the mask of perfect comfort slips back into place effortlessly. Reid realizes how close this conversation must hit for someone whose parents are both dead.

Not melancholy, Reid thinks about his tone just a second ago, maybe understanding?

Hotch tells the local chief to gather units and meet them at Jane’s grandparents’ home. They’re on a clock and Molly doesn’t have much time left.
_______________________________

When they all rendezvous at the lake they’re just in time. Jane holds Molly like a baby in the water, the young girl unconscious in the waist deep water. Morgan and Dick run to the water’s edge from the embankment, guns drawn, while Reid, Prentiss, and JJ hold their positions on the bridge overlooking the scene.

Jane holds a screwdriver against Molly’s sternum.

All their weapons are aimed at Jane’s head.

“Jane Gould!” Prentiss yells as they all swarm the area. “FBI let her go!”

Jane moves Molly’s unconscious body to provide her more protection from potential fire. Reid sees Dick creep just a bit closer to the water.

“She’ll drown if I let go!” Jane shouts back.

“Move away! Now!” Emily repeats.

But Reid, like every agent here, knows they don’t have a clean shot. Jane has great cover in Molly and Morgan and Dick can’t reach her in the water fast enough if Jane decides to stab Molly, even if they swan dive in, which is what Dick looks like he’s contemplating.

The air is tense, everyone holding their breath to see if Jane makes the right choice.

The tension snaps when Jane lifts her wrist, just a few inches, not enough for anyone to hit her but not Molly if they could even hit such a small target. Reid sees Dick aim his weapon, he feels the need to yell, to do something even when he knows there are no productive options.

But a cling resounds through the area and Jane screams in panic or pain, Reid can’t tell.

What the –

The screwdriver makes a soft plop as it goes under the water and a dulled arrow strikes the mud in the embankment by Dick’s feet, a soft explosion sending him to the ground. In the mud pile.

Before anyone can process what just happened, a red and yellow blur streaks across the surface of the lake, sending water in opposite directions. Reid ducks beneath the guardrail, as all the agents did as soon as the projectile entered the scene.

“Hold your fire!” That’s Dick’s voice. “All clear.”

Reid pokes his head up to see Kid Flash holding Molly, who’s just starting to wake up. Jane Gould is still in the water, sitting in the shallow part with a cord restraining her arms to her torso. Morgan’s pants up his knees are wet, but Dick is absolutely soaked.

He’s still sitting in the mud he fell in when the arrow knocked the ground out from under him, but it also seems when Kid Flash completed his run over the water, it rained down on the newest member of the BAU. Dick’s hair sticks to his face and his white shirt now clings to his skin, patches of dark mud decorating the material.

The sound of air moving spawns Reid to turn just in time to see Red Arrow swing from the opposite side of the river to stand beside Kid Flash, who wears a bright smile. Dick spits out some mud and glares at the intruder.

Reid, Prentiss, and JJ holster their weapons and sprint to reach the group at the bottom of the hill.

Morgan’s got Molly on the ground, supporting her weight and providing some warmth until they can get her some dry clothes, but the real show is Dick, on his feet again, having a discussion with the two vigilantes.

“This is a federal investigation,” he’s saying, “not League jurisdiction.”

Red Arrow scoffs, “like you could have made that shot, Officer.”

Reid hears Kid Flash bark a laugh as he retrieves Jane Gould from the water and Reid sees Dick clench his jaw. “Special Agent, actually.”

“Ooh,” Red Arrow raises his eyebrows, “can I see your badge?”

“Yeah,” Kid Flash slings an arm around Red Arrow’s shoulders, “we don’t get badges. The costumes are our identification.”

The rest of the team watches, mystified, as Grayson interacts with the heroes. While local cops in cities with a hero presence routinely deal with masked vigilantes, the FBI has little experience, so to see one, let alone two, iconic heroes is exciting for Reid, let alone watch one of their own get into an argument with them.

“Just get out of here before you ruin the evidence.” Dick grits out.

Kid Flash looks at Reid, “do you need our statements, Special Agent?”

Reid blinks. “Uh, no, actually crime scenes with vigilante activity have some of the highest rates of consistency between witnesses, probably due to the bright colors usually worn and extraordinary events caused by meta-gene powers that witnesses feel no need to exaggerate.”

Kid Flash grins and elbows Red Arrow, “another plus to our helping out today.”

“T-thank you,” Molly stutters, her teeth chattering.

At once, the heroes lose their cheeky humor, immediately dropping down to her level and offering soft assurances and holding her hands when she reaches for them. Even Dick’s annoyance softens at the display and he busies himself with handcuffing and reciting Jane’s rights to her.

When the paramedics make it down with a stretcher, Kid Flash and Red Arrow lift her onto it, obviously experienced with basic field medicine and procedure. They continue to murmur encouraging words, and when she grips their hands so tight her knuckles are white, Dick steps up and says a few words. The vigilantes watch him, and Molly, until she takes Dick’s hand instead and allows the paramedics to start lifting her up the hill to the waiting ambulance.

“Feel better, Molly!” Kid Flash calls and Molly even smiles as she waves back at him.

“Nice meeting you, Officer!” Red Arrow yells at Dick’s back.

Dick raises his hand not holding Molly’s, then lowers it again, like he changed his mind. Reid watches Kid Flash laugh before he wraps an arm around Red Arrow’s waist and they’re gone in a blur that makes Reid dizzy.
_______________________________

They go right from the crime scene to the jet to head back to Quantico, so Dick doesn’t have a chance to stop by his friend’s house. When Reid mentions it, Dick just waves it off.

Before the airplane door closes and the steps are rolled away, a figure busts in, careening into Dick like he has the momentum of a cannon ball. Luckily, Dick seems practiced in bracing for the impact or both him and Wally West would have gone sprawling on the jet floor.

“Hey!” Wally says brightly, “wow I thought I missed you guys,” he’s breathing heavily, “you guys work fast.”

“Helps when local vigilantes lend a hand,” Morgan points out, “isn’t that arrow guy usually in Star City?”

“Although the older, official members of the Justice League rarely work together outside of world ending events, the sidekicks, or younger generation have a collaboration rate of 22.7%,” Reid chimes in. When everyone, including Wally, looks at him, Reid simplifies, “it seems like the kids want excuses to hang out.”

“Well, if you all ever come back to town, I know where the best burgers in Central are,” Wally tells them all.

Hotch shakes his hand and thanks him for all his help.

They all politely find something else to do while Dick walks Wally to the airplane door, their heads bent together and voices low. Wally says something and Dick laughs, before agreeing.

“Well, I’m off!” Wally announces. “It was nice to meet you all, and, uh, keep looking out for sunshine over here–”

“--Wally!--”

Wally laughs and they fist bump before Wally wrinkles his nose. “Dude. You stink.”

Dick, who hasn’t had a chance to shower from his frolic in the mud at the crime scene, levels an unimpressed look at his friend, who laughs and runs off as the pilot calls for the door to be closed.

When the door is secured, Dick finally faces his team, patiently waiting. Dick sighs, “look–”

Rossi holds up a hand, “it’s none of our business, but we’re glad to see you have a friend.”

JJ leans forward, “and there’s absolutely no reason why we wouldn’t support said friendship.”

Dick’s cheeks turn a bit pink, and he shakes his head, “uh, no, we’re not–”

“None of our business, kid,” Rossi shrugs and opens his book.

Dick ducks his head to find his seat but Reid can see he’s grinning. Once they’re in the air, Dick goes to the restroom to change from his mud covered clothes to some sweats and a Wonder Woman t-shirt, grumbling under his breath about no good vigilantes.

And Reid smiles to himself, because if he noticed any similarities between a red-headed CSI conveniently on the same case as a red-headed speedster, Reid isn’t going to say anything. One, because it’s pretty obvious Dick doesn’t know his friend’s secret, and Reid won’t be responsible for rushing or ruining that friendship. And two, for someone who graduated high school at twelve and college at fifteen and faced relentless bullying, physical and emotional attacks, ones that couldn’t be handled by law enforcement or they’d get worse, vigilantes became apart of Reid’s daily life. He took solace in not just their presence, but their anonymity, the fact that in between saving the world, these people were just regular women and men.

So even if Reid can’t thank the Flash, or Superman, or Wonder Woman personally for giving him hope in dark times, he can let himself believe that for once in his life, his pattern recognition is wrong.

_______________________________

UNKNOWN CALLER: See you soon.

Emily stares at the message but it tells her nothing new. Last night, she stared at the message every few minutes for hours. She stared at it first thing this morning. And now, in the small coffee bar at the office, she finds herself drawn to look at the message again.

It’s not like she didn’t expect contact sooner or later. An old contact informed her a month ago that Ian Doyle vanished from prison. She knows this is him. She knows he’s coming for her. What she doesn’t know, yet, is how she’s going to stop him.

“Morning.”

Emily jumps at Dick’s voice, pressing a hand to calm her heart as he raises his hands in a non-threatening manner. Jesus, he’s quiet. She’s a trained spy and decorated federal agent and she didn’t hear or know he walked up. “Sorry,” she says, “didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Oh?” He pours some coffee into his cup, “any reason?”

Emily shakes her head, “weird dreams.” She watches him tear open three sugar packets at once to dump them in his cup. “Would you like some coffee with your sugar?” She teases.

Dick chuckles, “my grandfather says the same thing when I add sugar to my tea.”

Emily quirks a brow. ‘Says’ is present tense and she knows his parents are gone. Leads her to the conclusion the death of his parents wasn’t natural causes. Which makes his reaction to their last case fit nicely into her theory. But there’s no polite way to ask about death, so she doesn’t. Just like how Dick politely doesn’t follow up on her jumpy nature.

He starts stirring milk into his cup, “did Reid tell you…” he trails off, glancing around slowly.

Emily tenses, hand going to her weapon on her hip. Is it Doyle? Is he here? She never expected him to make a frontal assault on Quantico, but– “what’s wrong?” She knows her voice is tight.

Dick takes in her tensed stance, her hand on her weapon, and he shakes his head to try and de-escalate, “nothing. Nothing. I just, I don’t know, got a weird feeling.”

“A weird feeling?”

Dick laughs, “not very profiler-y, huh?”

Emily shrugs, “I’ve learned that our intuition is usually pretty good, even if we don’t put official profiler-y language with it.”

Emily stirs her own coffee and watches as the elevator doors open with a quiet ding. A woman, taller than Emily by an inch or so, walks off, her long black hair full and styled in loose curls and in a perfect no makeup makeup look that have multiple men turning to stare after her as she walks by. She’s obviously oblivious or uninterested in their attention, because her attention zeroes in on Emily with a bright smile, changing course from the stairs that would lead her to Hotch’s office to instead walk towards the coffee area.

“Lina!” Emily greets warmly, holding out an arm to hug her and setting down her cup with the other.

Beside her, Dick stiffens almost imperceptibly.

“Em,” Catalina returns just as warmly, “it’s so good to see you!”

“What are you doing here?” Emily asks her friend.

Lina shrugs, still loosely holding Emily's shoulders, “I’ve got a meeting with Hotch about some consulting on some new hires for the New York office.”

Emily glances at Dick, who looks like he’s debating trying to slip away, and Emily kicks herself for being so rude. “Catalina, this is Dick Grayson, the BAU’s newest profiler. Dick, this is SSA Catalina Flores, she moved from field work last year to administrative.”

A slow smile spreads across Cat’s face as she looks Grayson up and down, “good to see you again.”

“Again?” Emily asks.

Cat nods, “I stopped by Bludhaven a couple years ago on assignment. I was very impressed with Detective Grayson.”

Dick leans back against the counter, just slightly, still stirring his coffee. “Uh, yeah, thanks.”

Emily looks over to send a questioning look, but he’s got his gaze fixed on the contents in his cup. Dick’s never been this rude before. What the hell happened in Bludhaven?

Cat doesn’t seem to notice, just turning back to Emily, “I’ll be here all day, so let’s grab lunch.”

“Absolutely,” Emily agrees.

Cat leans in, her eyes twinkling, “I see what the girls mean when they talk about Dr. Reid. He’s adorable, isn’t he?”

Emily jumps when she feels hot liquid hit the back of her jacket. She turns to see her coffee spilled all over the counter, her cup overturned.

“Fuck,” Dick hisses, grabbing a handful of napkins and trying to contain the spill, “shit, I’m sorry Em–Agent Prentiss.”

Emily blinks in surprise. She’s never seen Dick stumble, let alone spill something. She’s seen him drink a beverage while landing in the jet.

Cat winks at her and then steps up, grabbing some more napkins with one hand and placing her other hand on Dick’s forearm, “it’s okay, I’ve got it.”

Dick takes a quick step sideways, away from the contact, to throw away his soaked napkins. His cheeks are a little flushed and he runs a hand through his hair, “okay. Yeah, uh, if you’ll excuse me,” he nods at Emily and then walks in the direction of the bathroom, throwing away his untouched coffee on the way.

Emily stares after in confusion. Cat chuckles softly as she gets the last of the spill. “Nice to know I can still fluster the boys.”

Catalina laughs and Emily shakes her head at her friend. She’d met Cat two years ago at a FBI mixer. She’d always been a bit boy crazy, but Cat is irrefutably gorgeous, and she always had plenty of options. She knows it too, always liking the chase, or the attention, more than relationships. Some things never change, Emily muses, and she loops her arm with her friends, leading her to Hotch’s office.

She can’t help herself from glancing back once in the direction Dick fled. He still isn’t back. She tries to chalk up his reaction to being flustered, like Cat said, but something nags at her.

Chapter Text

When Emily knocks on Garcia’s door, JJ is already sitting on the edge of Penelope’s desk, eating a bag of gummy bears. They both brighten when they see Emily.

“What are you ladies up to?” Emily asks.

JJ levels a look, “Em, we’ve been back from a case for two days and she hasn’t gotten her dish.”

Of course. Emily’s been so preoccupied with her whole spy friends and trying to keep an international terrorist from killing them she forgot about their tradition. She quickly takes the spot on Penelope’s other side and holds her hand out for a gummy bear. “Did you hear about the heroes?”

“Did?” Garcia leans back, “it’s all I’ve dreamed about. Not that I want to be kidnapped or in danger but the idea of those spandex covered super powered men coming to save me?” She makes a fanning motion.

JJ laughs, “you’re not the only one. On the ride back some of the locals told us their stories with Flash and Kid Flash and it painted a nice picture.”

Emily makes her hands into a ‘timeout’ sign, “hang on, are we sure Kid Flash and Red Arrow are adults? ‘Kid’ is in one of their names.”

Penelope brushes her concern away, clicking on her computer, “way ahead of you, super spy. I had an algorithm run against all videos of the heroes since they debuted and it puts Kid Flash as sixteen when he started at oldest and eleven at youngest. Going with the youngest estimate just to be safe that would put him at twenty-four as the absolute youngest he could be.”

“Which means he’s probably closer to twenty-seven or early thirties,” JJ remarks, “nice going, Garcia. And Red Arrow?”

Penelope answers, breezily, “Youngest possibility twenty-five, oldest thirty-two. Everything we are saying is legal as well as ethical.”

Emily, “okay, good. Just making sure. But,”

Penelope groans, “I know you’re about to say something to ruin this for me.”

“Spence is thirty,” Emily finishes and Penelope groans again.

Garcia sighs, “but Spence is different. He’s just a little genius baby. And I would be honored for Dr. Spencer Reid to save me from a madman.”

“But I wouldn’t want him to do it in spandex,” JJ adds and they all crack up. “Did Reid tell you about poor Grayson eating shit because of the heroes?”

Penelope pulls up an image of Dick sitting in the mud, soaking wet. “He got me photographic evidence.”

They all crowd around the screen, laughing hard. Penelope promises to send it to JJ so she can show it to Will.

“I also have a bit of gossip about young Mr. Grayson,” Penelope teases.

JJ slaps Emily’s arm, “us too!”

“Ooh!” Penelope claps, “you first.”

Emily gives a resigned sigh. She doesn’t want to expose anything about Dick he’s not comfortable sharing, but she knows Garcia won’t say anything or be anything but supportive if it turns out Dick’s sexuality is wider than they originally assumed. “He’s friends with one of the local CSIs,” Emily says.

“They seemed pretty close,” JJ adds, careful to keep any implication of more than friendship out of her tone, “sounded like childhood friends.”

“Do you remember the name?” Penelope digs.

“Wally something,” JJ spitballs, “Or Will, no, I’d remember if it was Will, but–”

“Wallace West?” Penelope already has his CCPD file pulled up.

Emily tries not to be stunned at Pen’s skill anymore but sometimes it’s unavoidable. JJ and Emily lean in to look over Pen’s shoulders at the screen as she flips through details and photos of Wally West. Familiar red hair, green eyes, dusting of freckles, and a slight gap in his bottom teeth that’s actually pretty endearing. He’s adorable, but it might be because Emily also knows he’s practically hyper-active, oozing friendliness and humor.

“Wallace West,” Pen reads, “CCU grad with majors in chemistry and criminology, joined CCPD as a CSI five years ago and has a remarkable closing rate. From his social media he seems like he frequents nightlife in Central City and Bludhaven, as well as volunteers for charities that specialize in helping youth inconvenienced by the metagene. Kids that have been thrown out, bullied, attacked, or trafficked because they have the metagene.”

JJ steps back, “so he’s a saint.”

“And possibly a meta,” Emily points out.

“Or has a friend or family member with the gene,” JJ qualifies and Emily agrees.

“Well, if that saying’s right, that birds of a feather flock together, then our Dick Grayson is a pretty good bird,” Penelope concludes, “my gossip is less fun but it does support my statement. Apparently Dick not only followed up on Molly’s medical and psychological treatment, but also Jane Gould’s.”

“What?” Emily can’t help the exclamation.

Penelope nods, “my friend who works the phones says he told her that it’s always worth checking in on the legitimacy of psychiatric treatment. I looked into it and the closest treatment facility to Bludhaven is Arkham Asylum, known for its frequent breakouts, rampant corruption, and status as the go to prison for the craziest of the crazies.”

“If he follows up with every victim he’s never going to sleep again,” Emily says softly, oddly touched with the boy’s gesture. It’s not like she’s ever checked in with a previous victim, and definitely not the perpetrator.

“He seems very empathetic,” JJ agrees. JJ would know.

“And he’s great in bed.” A voice comes from the doorway and all three whip around, prepared to defend themselves but Lina just laughs and holds out her hands, “don’t worry, I won’t write you up for sexual harassment.”

They all relax as Lina walks in and joins their little gossip circle.

“Okay, good,” Penelope starts, “because it really is just a joke, I would never sleep with a team member, just ask Morgan, our banter would never cross the line. And I feel it’s important to note I would never objectify him either, I see our team as whole people whether or not they are attractive–”

“Penelope,” Lina cuts off with another laugh, “really, it’s fine, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Phew,” Penelope finally fully relaxes, “well it is nice to see you again, girl, I missed you yesterday.”

“Yeah, I thought you were just here for a day,” JJ says.

Lina shrugs, “decided to extend once I found out your team wasn’t needed anywhere today. Thought I’d catch up with you girls. You can’t believe the testosterone level in my office.”

“Ugh, I can imagine,” Emily sympathizes. Too many times she’s been the only woman in a room, and she can definitely sympathize.

“Wait,” Penelope says after a beat, “did you ‘great in bed’?”

They all lean closer to Lina, holding their breath. Lina obviously likes the attention, taking a dramatic pause before nodding. All three of them gasp and Penelope demands details immediately (“about the situation, not the naughty bits, because privacy”).

Lina takes a seat in the spare chair in Penelope’s office as JJ and Emily get comfortable on either side of Penelope’s desk. Emily’s reminded of high school, talking about boys in hushed voices.

“I consulted on a Bludhaven case a couple years ago,” Lina starts, “his case, and you know how it goes, late nights, stakeouts, close quarters, but it was just a bit of fun, it’s all it ever could be given the distance and the age gap.” Lina says this last part a little sadly, like she didn’t always believe all they could ever be was fun.

“How did it end?” JJ asks.

The corner of Lina’s mouth twitches in a sad smile, “he was twenty-three, and twenty-three year olds barely know up from down, they’re figuring out what they want, right from wrong–” she shuts her mouth, eyes widening like she didn’t mean to say that last part.

“Lina,” Emily says once and Lina’s shoulders drop in resignation.

She leans her elbows on her knees, checking that the door is still closed once before going on. “Like I said, he was figuring out what he wanted, and I’m sure he’s grown since…”

“But?” JJ prods.

“We were together for maybe three weeks, three weeks of whirlwinds and sneaking around to get together, staggering when we got to the office, you know–” She wears a nostalgic smile, “but he had a girlfriend the whole time.”

Penelope jerks back like Lina had slapped her. “What?”

Lina nods, “I didn’t know. Dick never mentioned her, no photos on his desk or on his lockscreen, apparently she lived in Gotham. Didn’t tell me about her and didn’t tell her about me.”

“But women always find out,” Emily says wryly.

Lina nods, “the women always find out. One of my buddies out there told me Dick took some personal time after I left, and rumor has it he was trying to salvage things with his girlfriend. I never found out if it worked.”

Emily replays their interaction yesterday. Dick’s obvious shock, how flustered he was to see her, stepping away from her touch, knocking over Emily’s coffee when Lina mentioned Reid, another guy. His curtness makes a lot more sense through this lens. If she blew up her romantic relationship with a fling and said fling randomly appeared in her workplace, Emily wouldn’t want to make chitchat either.

“So when you saw him yesterday…”

Lina chuckles, “I couldn’t resist making him a little uncomfortable. It’s stupid, I know.”

Penelope takes her hand, “it’s not stupid. You got blindsided.”

Lina squeezes her hand, “thanks, Pen.” She stands up, heading to the door and looking over her shoulder, “but the sex was great so I guess it evens out,” she opens the door, “lunch ladies?”
_______________________________

They’re halfway through the flight when JJ realizes what’s different: Dick is sitting down. Every other time they’ve had these brainstorming meetings on the way to a case, Dick is up and walking around, slowly pacing while working out the problems. Now, he’s sitting in his seat, still buckled in even, the only movement a soft tapping of his fingers against his pant leg.

“All three victims were last seen at a local bar near campus,” Rossi says, “are there cameras?”

“Only image we’ve got is each victim kissing a blonde girl the week prior to their abduction and murder,” JJ supplies, “but we’re in Alabama, 80% of the girls have blonde hair.”

“From the images, can we tell if the hair color is natural or artificial?” Reid asks.

JJ shakes her head, “too dim and even if we could make an assumption that still wouldn’t narrow it down.”

“All three victims are male, in relatively good shape, it’s hard to imagine they wouldn’t put up a fight,” Emily says, studying the pictures of the three college students murdered so far. “Our unsub either needs surprise or a way to get the boys out without someone noticing.”

“The blonde girl?” Morgan offers, “no one would blink twice at a guy leaving with a pretty girl at a bar.”

“The coroner noted wounds on the victims,” Hotch explains, “not just defensive. They were beaten as well. No sexual assault. That points towards a male unsub.”

“But they were killed with poison,” Dick points out, “that’s a female weapon.”

“The defensive wounds also,” Reid pipes in, “the bruising around the knuckles, even a small break in one victim’s case, says they fought hard and made solid contact. Using an average 5’9 male weighing 170lbs. Against an average 5’4 woman weighing 140lbs would result in a debilitating blow. The fact these boys were still taken after dealing blows like that supports a male unsub. A strong one, too.”

“Or the unsub just knows how to fight,” Dick smirks, “women can take down men any day of the week and that victim could have punched a wall, or a car or something.”

“Very true,” JJ agrees.

They go back and forth for a few minutes until Emily cuts through the noise, “maybe it’s not a male or female unsub.”

Morgan snaps his fingers, “but a team.”

“The girl marks the victim a week before and lures them out then the male unsub does the heavy lifting and incapacitation,” JJ finishes, “makes sense. But that’s a lot of work for random targets.”

Rossi flips through the file, “it could be personal.”

Emily shakes her head, “besides their appearance, these boys have nothing in common. Different years in school, different majors, extra-curriculars, fraternities, friend groups, they don’t cross paths.”

Dick pulls out a tube of hand sanitizer and then rubs his hands together absent-mindedly, “so maybe just the archetype is personal. Vague douche-y frat boy. She’s probably after the specific type, not so much these individuals.”

“You assume she’s calling the shots?” Hotch questions.

Dick shrugs, “she’s the one marking the vics, the murder weapon is poison, he’s just providing muscle.”

Hotch nods, “good call.”

“Hotch, our best bet might be drawing out the unsubs while she’s on the hunt,” Morgan suggests, “stop the next murder before she has a victim.”

Rossi claps Reid’s shoulder, “you ever gone undercover, boy genius?”

Reid looks around, “why me?”

Emily laughs, “Reid, there are very few people in this jet that can pass for a college student.”

Reid slouches a bit in his seat with a half-hearted “not true…” which JJ and the rest of the adults appreciate but don’t believe. “Should we flip a coin, Dick?”

Dick fixes Reid with an amused look, “Reid, you really don’t have to, I got this.”

Hotch nods. JJ realizes it’s what Hotch wanted all along, but he wasn’t going to give Dick an explicit assignment. He wanted Dick to come to the conclusion on his own. JJ wonders why Hotch is testing the new recruit. Dick’s proved himself in the field and JJ knows how rigorous the hiring process is; Hotch would never bring someone on he has to evaluate this far into their probationship. Weird.

Reid argues a bit but once Dick makes it clear there will most likely be close quarters and touching involved, as well as some flirting, Reid gratefully lets Dick take the assignment. It’s a better fit anyway, Dick is social, friendly, he’ll have an easier time flirting. Plus, the dark hair and build matches previous victims.
_______________________________

They all go straight to the hotel when they land that night. It’s the first time they have to share rooms since Dick joined the team and Morgan isn’t looking forward to the conversation for how to divide up the beds or draw straws for the couch.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to worry. As he, Reid, and Grayson head towards the elevators, Dick takes a pump of hand sanitizer as they pass one and offers to take the couch.

Morgan usually bunks with Reid, so he knows all the kid’s quirks. The pristine shower routine, how many minutes he likes to read before turning the lights off, and the mouthguard he wears so as not to snore and keep Morgan awake. But he’s relieved to find that Dick is just as conscientious a roommate as he is a teammate. He lets Morgan go first in the shower but takes Reid’s offer to go next (because of the shower routine).

Morgan swallows a chuckle when Dick comes out in Green Lantern pajama pants and a Central City University sweatshirt, a little big on him. “What?” Dick asks when he notices Morgan.

Morgan just shakes his head, “it’s cute, kid.”

Dick scowls and goes to argue but Reid steps out of the bathroom in Flash pajama pants and Dick sighs, accepting the label as Morgan laughs.
_______________________________

Morgan wakes just enough to be aware he’s not asleep anymore but not enough to feel fully awake. He doesn’t need a clock to tell him it’s still the middle of the night and he quickly figures out what woke him up.

He can hear Reid’s breathing, louder than a normal person’s but quieter than without the mouthguard, but he also hears a voice, almost too low to hear, but Morgan strains. It’s Dick, he realizes, talking on the phone.

“Hey, I’m right here, I’m right here, baby, I’m fine…is Titus with you? That’s good…I think he’ll make an exception…yeah, he is heavy…do you want to tell me about it…”

There’s a minute of silence as Dick listens to the person on the other end of the phone.

Dick’s voice is achingly gentle, almost lulling Morgan back to sleep as well.“That is scary, Dami…you know I wouldn’t let that happen, right?...soon, baby, I’ll come home soon…getting tired?...I’ll stay till you fall asleep. Promise…I love you…”

Morgan assumes Dick hangs up because the next thing he hears is the sink running in the bathroom. Morgan startles just a bit because he hadn’t heard Dick get off the couch or walk across the room. By the time the water turns off, Morgan is on the cusp of sleep again.

The next morning, when Reid’s alarm goes off Morgan groans and stretches. He sits up to find two cups on the nightstand in between the beds, one for Morgan and one for Reid. Dick is sitting on the couch, fully dressed and sipping his own cup, reading the case file again.

“Do you ever sleep, kid?” Morgan jokes.

Dick shoots him a smile.
_______________________________

The team sits around the table, Dick beside JJ. He’s running a coin over his knuckles, which is just interesting enough to pull JJ’s focus away from the speaker phone in the middle of the conference room. Dick sees her reaction and grins, “old circus trick” he whispers, which just gives her more questions but they have a case to solve.

“This game of cat and mouse,” Rossi is saying, “luring the men, gaining their trust, and then killing them with poison, with this specific demographic, could be an indication of prior sexual assault.”

“Revenge on those like her perpetrator until she can work up to the boy who actually hurt her,” JJ says.

Morgan ‘hmms’, “these kills are too cold, I think. If our unsub was previously a victim, you’d expect more of a frenzy. At the very least some humiliation to these bodies if not more bodily harm.”

Dick stops running the coin over his knuckles, turning his hand quickly to catch it in his palm. “Garcia, can you search for any students at Alabama who have a sibling or parents or close friend who’s been sexually assaulted.”

“You are in luck, my raven haired beauty, I’ve got a list of thirty-three girls at Alabama with a sibling who accused a fellow student of sexual assault.”

“And it’s probably under-reported,” Dick mumbles to himself, “okay, filter out the accusations that resulted in expulsion or conviction.”

Garcia types. “Down to thirty.”

JJ closes her eyes against the anger simmering under her skin and nausea in her stomach at the statement. And Dick is right, the figures probably are under-reported. A quick glance around reveals everyone feels the same unease.

“Okay,” Dick continues without blinking, “filter for any of the siblings that sought psychiatric help or killed themselves.”

“Nine names, boy genius.”

An uncomfortable silence fills the room, the usual pride absent from narrowing down a list of suspects. Garcia bids them farewell and Hotch starts giving assignments to get ready for the undercover sting tonight, which just got easier now that Garcia sent over photos of the nine suspects. Dick gets up to get a pump of hand sanitizer from a large bottle near the doorway.

JJ watches Morgan watch Dick.
_______________________________

JJ finishes wiring Dick so they can hear everything from the van one block down from the bar. They’d cased the place in military grade cameras the day before so no matter where he goes, they won’t lose eyes on him. “You ready?” JJ asks.

Dick smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. If she wasn’t a profiler, she wouldn’t even notice the light agitation thrumming through his frame all day, but she is a profiler, so she does notice, and it worries her. “You don’t have to do this,” she says again, “say the word and I’ll pull the plug.”

“Thanks, JJ. I’m fine, really.”

He says it with a practiced flippance that tells JJ it’s one of his most used phrases.

The van doors open and Hotch, Prentiss, and Morgan file in. Morgan is in all black, ready to pose as one of the bouncers once Dick’s inside. Hotch nods once at Dick, “Grayson.”

Dick smirks, “Hotchner.”

Something about the interaction makes Dick relax, and he clears his throat to cover his smirk.

They test the mics and then survey Dick one more time before sending him into the field. He’s dressed in sneakers, jeans, and a plain blue t-shirt that brings out his eyes. When he runs a hand through his waves, it’s easy to believe he’s an upperclassman in college.

“Alright,” Hotch says, tone serious, “code word is ‘popcorn’ if you need an emergency extraction, got it?” Dick nods. “Morgan will be at the door, I’ll be in the manager’s office, and we’ve got agents stationed out back in case the unsub shows.”

Dick nods again, “do I target men too or just girls that look like our suspects?”

Prentiss considers it. “If none of our suspects shows, go for the men too. You never know who might have information. You’ve got their names memorized?”

Dick nods. He puts his comm in his ear. Hotch goes first. Then Dick. Then Morgan.

Emily and JJ turn their attention to the cameras. They watch Dick get in line and quickly get in the bar, Morgan stamping his hand. While Dick cases the environment, Emily and JJ watch the cameras, looking for any of the nine women identified as potential suspects. No sign yet.

It isn’t long before Dick strikes up a conversation with a girl at the bar in a cropped Phi Mu t-shirt, one of the sororities one of their persons of interest are in. He buys her a drink and leans towards her flirtatiously, getting her to talk about her sorority, her friends, her life. When she leans closer and slides her hand up his thigh Dick just grins and sips his drink.

“He’s a natural,” JJ remarks. She makes sure their mic is off so Dick can’t hear.

Emily fixes her with a look, “guys who look like him usually are.” She bumps her shoulder with JJ’s, “girls too.”

JJ pretends to be offended, “what does that mean?”

Emily laughs, “I went on nights out with you before you met Will. You were shameless!”

“Hey,” JJ points a threatening finger, “we never once paid for a drink.”

Emily holds up her hands in surrender, “I never said it wasn’t appreciated.”

“A very useful skill, as Dick is showing us.” JJ gestures at the screen, which neither one of them really took their eyes off of. JJ turns their mic back on.

Dick leaves the bar, moving farther into the room, eyes scanning for familiar faces. JJ and Emily do the same from the van. They watch him strike up a conversation with a group of frat guys (the same frat the most recent victim was in) by pretending to recognize one of the boys. They welcome him in easily and return to their conversation of ranking the girls in their sightline from ‘smash’ to ‘pass’.

Dick skillfully focuses in on one guy, the victim’s best friend, and gets him to divulge more about his deceased friend than the police could get out of him. Apparently, he was excited about meeting up with some hot chick again. Said it was the best sex of his life. Dick rubs his back comfortingly when the boy almost starts to cry drunk tears. He makes a nice exit after cheering the kid up by letting him call dibs on a brunette with long legs that just walked in.

Dick finishes his drink, dropping the empty glass on an empty table and ‘stumbling’ into a pretty blonde, dazzling her with a smile and an apology. She laughs at his cheesy line and blushes at his compliment then grabs his hand and leads him to the crowded dance floor.

They start dancing, almost getting lost between the strobing lights and sheer mass of people mashed together. JJ notices how, even though the girl presses herself firmly against him, his hands are on her waist, not hips, in a hold so loose she probably can’t even feel it. He disengages a minute later when it’s obvious she doesn’t know anything.

Dick gets another drink, but it’s just water and a lime. JJ checks the time. 1:30am.

The next girl comes up to Dick while he’s sitting at the bar sipping his water. She’s blonde, and very forward, offering her hand to Dick. Dick gives her an easy grin and runs an approving eye from her hand to her face, which causes her to blush.

He signals for the bartender to get her a drink but when he turns around to face the girl again she’s already stepped between his legs, her hands braced on his inner thighs.

It’s barely an action–a reaction–but JJ sees him lean back in what could be construed as trying to get a better look at the girl but JJ interprets as trying to put space between them.

Emily makes a soft noise and JJ wonders if she saw it too.

Dick hands the girl her drink, winking suggestively but using the distraction to slip off the stool and into the crowd.

They see him change his course when a group of guys raise their drinks, toasting to the most recent victim. JJ can’t tell how Dick evaluates the group but she watches him zero in on one guy with a beer.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Dick stands close so the other guy can hear him.

The guy glares at the rest of the boys drunkenly toasting, “they don’t even know him. Not the real him.”

Dick steps closer, “what does that mean?”

The guy takes another angry drink of his beer, “these alpha pigs don’t have any idea who Aaron is–was.”

Dick puts a comforting hand on his shoulder and the boy seems to see Dick for the first time, taking him in. Drinking him in, JJ edits, and the tears that shook his voice just a second ago fade as he offers a hand. “I’m Ben.”

Dick flashes a smile, “Richard. I’m happy to listen if you want to talk.”

Dick blinks innocently, pretending not to see the way Ben runs his eyes down and then back up Dick’s body, never letting go of his hand. “That would be really nice, Richard.”

Ben leads them to one of the dark hallways going to the bathroom. It’s obvious Ben wants to go to the bathroom but Dick stops him by using their linked hands to pull Ben towards him. The kid takes advantage immediately, pressing Dick against the wall, hands on his hips. Ben is maybe two inches and twenty pounds larger than Dick, pinning him easily.

It’s almost too dark in the hallway for JJ and Emily to make them out but JJ enhances the contrast, damn sure she’s not going to lose a visual and leave Dick alone.

Dick lets Ben kiss him, even does it back convincingly, coming up for air, and whispering against Ben’s cheek, “is this what you and Aaron did? Here?”

“Yes,” Ben kisses Dick again, “always here. Until,” Ben breathes out the last word, swallowing Dick’s mouth again.

“Until what?” Dick asks.

“Huh?” Ben presses his forehead down onto Dick’s, eyes glazed and speech slightly slurring.

“You said ‘until’,” Dick responds, matching his speech to Ben’s, slurring slightly, like he’s just as drunk, “you and Aaron used to do this until…” he hiccups, like a stereotypical drunk boy who has no ulterior motive.

Ben draws his eyebrows together and JJ finds herself leaning forward, tense, as she sees a flash of anger across his face. He threads one hand in Dick’s hair and tilts his head back, the other hand on the base of his neck, and presses his hips harder, pinning Dick fully. Dick has a loose hold on Ben’s elbows, letting himself be manhandled.

Emily’s lips are pressed in a straight line. “I don’t like this,” she says.

“Until?” Dick whispers again, running his lips over Ben’s.

The larger boy grimaces, “would you shut up?” He kisses Dick roughly, using the hand in his hair to jerk his head back, into the wall behind him.

Dick grunts at the impact and Emily is strapping her vest on, “that’s enough.”

JJ checks her weapon, hating to push back, but, “he hasn’t called us in,” she says unhappily. There are procedures with undercover missions. Procedures they just went over; procedures Dick has not utilized.

“JJ, that boy is not safe. Dick,” Emily speaks directly into the microphone, “get out of there. We don’t need his information that badly. Your safety is the priority.”

“Prentiss, we wait for the call,” Hotch says over the line, even though he doesn’t sound happy about it, “Dick, if you feel unsafe call for us.”

JJ jumps to her feet, fully on board with storming in there with Emily when Dick flinches as Ben puts both hands under Dick’s t-shirt, lifting it enough for them to get a look at his lower abs. But as Ben drops his head to kiss Dick’s neck, he looks directly at one of the cameras, stares right at JJ and Emily, and shakes his head.

“What happened between you and Aaron?” Dick asks breathlessly.

JJ clenches her fists when he cringes as Ben bites his neck. Emily is still standing by the doors to the van.

“He only kissed me in secret,” Ben answers against Dick’s neck, “and then he left me for that bitch.”

“Who?” Dick flexes his hips against Ben to bring Ben’s lips back to his neck instead of growing suspicious.

Emily and JJ aren’t breathing, waiting to see if Ben will answer. A name. They need a name.

“Lexi,” Ben practically spits, “I’m the only one he told. She took him from me and now I’ll never get him back.”

“Hotch, did you hear that?” JJ asks immediately.

“Affirmative. There’s an Alexandra Simon on our list.”

Now JJ speaks directly into the mic, “okay, that’s enough. We’ve got plenty to use, Dick, you can stop, we can come in–”

“--No.” The word stops JJ and Emily but also Ben, who’s just unbuttoned his pants. “I, uh, want to slow down,” Dick tells Ben. He alternates between looking Ben in the eyes and glancing back out into the main room of the bar.

Ben steps back, confusion all over his face. “Are you seriously going to be a tease?”

Dick jerks back, crossing his arms but leaning in with a vicious smirk, “please, I just wanted to pretend you were Aaron.”

It’s perfect, cutting right through Ben, who reels back like he’s been struck. He shoves Dick with both hands back into the wall, hissing, “you’re just a fucking slut,” and storming off.

Dick relaxes against the wall, running a hand through his hair and taking a second for himself.

“Are you okay?” Emily asks gently.

“Fine.”

Emily opens her mouth, most definitely to tell him to get out, but before she can, Dick is moving again, back into the main bar, obviously with a plan.

“I’ve got eyes on the suspect,” he says and Emily and JJ scan the cameras until they find what they’re looking for: Alexandra Simon flirting with a dark-haired boy.

“Dick–” JJ starts.

“I can get evidence, JJ,” Dick tells them, “if not a perfect confession.”

JJ and Emily exchange a look. Neither of them like it. Not one bit, but with their primary suspect right there and a perfect opportunity to catch her in the act…

Dick takes their silence at complacency.

Emily takes a deep breath and sits back down, “all of the previous victims–”

“--I know her type.”

“Be careful. We don’t know where the second unsub is.”

Dick approaches Lexi, easily cutting in front of the guy she was just talking to. “Hi, beautiful,” Dick’s voice is smooth, the ultimate frat douche. JJ would be impressed if she wasn’t concerned, seeing him flip so effortlessly between covers.

Lexi steps closer, her attention completely on Dick, “hi, handsome. I’m Lexi.”

“Richard. You got a boyfriend, Lex?”

Lexi smirks, “just ended things with him.”

“Then it must be my lucky night.”

Lexi’s smile grows, “you have no idea.”

Dick gets Lexi to talk about her classes (she shares Capitalism in the 21st Century with the first victim), her family (one sister gone from suicide), her sorority (who routinely partners with another vic’s fraternity), and what she likes to do for fun (she recently joined the same pickle-ball league as the second victim). It’s circumstantial, but almost enough to bring her in for questioning.

They maneuver hand in hand, Lexi luring Dick back to the dark hallway. But this time, she leans against the wall. She plays with the collar of his shirt, pulling him in closer. “I like you, Richard.”

“I like you too, Lexi.”

“You’re a senior right?”

Dick nods. Lexi giggles and stands on her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his lips, “I’m a freshman.”

Dick pulls back, “really?”

Lexi nods, “just turned eighteen actually. Do you like that?”

“That you’re legal?” Dick asks.

Lexi just giggles again, “yeah…”

JJ studies Dick’s body language. How, even though he could pin Lexi, like Ben pinned him, he stands off to her side, one arm braced against the wall over her head. He’s not even touching her, but he doesn’t stop her as she grabs his shirt and drags his mouth down to hers.

Emily shifts, as uncomfortable with the situation as JJ. They didn’t think she would be so aggressive so early.

“How old was Lexi’s sister when she was assaulted?” Emily asks, on the phone with Garcia. Emily puts Pen on speaker so the mic will pick it up.

“Eighteen,” Garcia answers, “she accused a senior of sexual assault her first year at Alabama.”

“We were right, she’s recreating what happened with her sister,.” Emily is back on her feet, waiting for the go ahead to close in.

Dick breaks the kiss as quickly as he can, “hey, did you date Aaron? He’s in my frat.”

“Only for, like a week,” she answers breezily, “he was an asshole.”

Dick kisses her again, “harsh words for a dead guy.”

When he pulls back, Lexi lets out a huff of frustration, “he deserved what he got.”

Dick tucks a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, “just like Todd and James?”

She blinks, “what?”

“What?” Dick answers quickly, and so innocently that JJ watches Lexi question if she heard him correctly.

She falls for the gaslight, pressing herself closer to Dick, “do you want to get out of here?” She bats her eyelashes, playing the doe eyed freshman perfectly.

Dick grins down at her and licks his lips, leaning in to whisper in her ear, “so you can kill me too?”

Lexi jerks away from Dick, panic plain on her face, “w-what?” She looks around rapidly.

“I could really use some popcorn for this,” Dick mutters, which just confuses her more, but that’s their signal and JJ hears all the doors of the bar bursting open, Morgan, Hotch, and locals swarming in.

Lexi shrinks into the wall, hyperventilating, “Lucas!” She screams. “Lucas! Lucas!” She’s shrieking, panicked enough that Dick holds his hands out in a non-threatening manner, trying to calm her, telling her he won’t hurt her. JJ gasps as another guy rushes Dick from behind, an empty beer bottle raised over his head as a weapon while Dick is preoccupied with Lexi.

“Behind you!” Emily yells into the comm.

Dick spins around at the last second, catching Lucas’s wrist with the bottle and squeezing until he drops it. He ducks a punch and spins around Lucas, releasing his wrist and bringing an elbow down onto his temple, dropping him.

Both JJ and Emily let out a relieved breath and head to the scene themselves.
_______________________________

Alexandra Simons and Lucas Cowen are arrested for homicide. Outside the bar, Morgan loads the killers into the waiting police car while locals take witness statements. Hotch is on the phone with Rossi back at the police station, Prentiss already went to the station to help fill Reid and Rossi in for interrogation, while Dick leans on one of their cars, a far off look in his eyes. He glances up at the sky every once in a while, but snaps out of it when JJ stands next to him.

“You look dead on your feet,” she remarks.

Dick blows out a laugh, “it is three in the morning. And some of us have been on our feet all night,” he jokes.

“Come on,” she gestures for him to get in the passenger seat, “I’ll drive you back to the hotel. Morgan and Hotch are almost done here and Reid, Rossi, and Prentiss have got the interrogation covered.”

Before getting in, Dick looks at the sky one more time with a frown.

“What?” JJ asks, also looking up.

“I think it’s going to rain.” Dick gets in the car.

They ride in silence, Dick tapping his fingers on the car door the only sound. JJ’s good enough to know he doesn’t want to talk about it, but should he? She doesn’t want to force him or make him uncomfortable, but she can see purpling bruises on his neck and one distinct bite mark that twists her gut. It never should have gone that far.

They talked procedures before. Dick knew the procedure, he knows what’s expected when an agent goes undercover and Prentiss had a whole spiel about sexual activity. And yet, he carried on and let himself get mauled, knowing unless an extreme circumstance occurred, they couldn’t come in until he signalled them or wanted out. She shivers at what could have qualified as an ‘extreme circumstance’. They were close, but if that guy decided to get violent, or forceful, or god forbid not take Dick’s ‘no’ they would be fast enough to protect Dick from harm, but not to protect him against the emotional scars an encounter like that would leave.

“JJ?” Dick speaks up and JJ wants to yell all this at him until he understands how stupid it actually was, but she knows better.

So she just says, “hm?” like it’s a normal drive back to the hotel. She barely registers the rain hitting the windshield until she automatically turns on her wipers.

“Could you pull over for a sec?”

“Sure,” she turns her hazards on and pulls over on the side of the road. They’re barely in park before Dick pops open the car door. He makes it to a tree about ten feet away before he bends over and throws up. JJ scrambles with her own door, rushing to his side.

_______________________________

Dick coughs, dry heaving now that his stomach is empty. He leans one hand against a tree and wipes his mouth with the other, squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’m a freshman.”

“Really?”

“Just turned eighteen actually. Do you like that?”

Dick coughs again. Eighteen. Fuck, she was so young. And Dick used her, he took advantage of her, just like–just like–

God, he’d only been nineteen when she… she–

Dick coughs again and spits some bile out.

He feels something touch his back and he flinches away. It’s Lexi pulling him towards her–Ben grabbing him roughly–Oh, god, is it her hand again–

“...Dick…”

She’s only eighteen. He’s twenty-six. There were eight years between them too. Eight years apart and she–she still–her hands–she– oh, god he took advantage of Lexi just like–like–

“Dick!”

JJ’s voice cuts through the panic, grounding him. Dick spits once more and straightens, pushing aside some of his wet hair from his eyes. He’s not sure if it's wet because of the rain or his sweat. He blinks some water out of his eyes and finally looks around, meeting JJ’s eyes, concern evident in them.

“S-sorry,” he wipes his mouth.

“Are you okay?” She has one hand on his back (ohhh, it was her hand, not her hand), and gently, slowly so he can watch her, places her other hand on his shoulder. Dick doesn’t flinch away this time. He’s back in control of his own mind.

“Sorry,” he repeats.

“You don’t have to apologize,” JJ says quickly, gently, oh so gentle. She was never gentle. “Tonight was a lot. I’m sorry we didn’t step in sooner.”

He shakes his head. She thinks he’s upset about Ben? Like it isn’t his first time kissing someone when he doesn’t want to; like he isn’t used to just being there for someone else to take what they want from him. No, he’s not upset about something as meaningless as that.

“No, it’s just–Jesus, JJ, she’s only eighteen,” his voice breaks, “she’s just a kid and I–”

JJ sucks in a breath and tightens her grip on him, “you did your job. You didn’t cross any lines. Do you hear me, Dick? You did not take advantage of her.” She waits until he’s looking at her to continue, “you only ever touched her hand and her hair. You did things better than the book.”

Dick leans on the tree for a few more minutes in silence, breathing through the nausea and coming back to himself with a breathing exercise from his Robin days. He blows out his remaining air and finally faces JJ again, a small smile as peace offering on his mouth, “I don’t suppose you have a mint?”

She laughs in relief and pulls out some napkins and a mint from her pocket.

Dick takes them gratefully.
_______________________________

After JJ says goodnight to Dick in the lobby with strict instructions to call her if he needs anything, JJ waits for Morgan to get back to the hotel.

He sees her in the lounge and comes right up, taking the seat opposite of her. “How is he?”

JJ purses her lips, “he’s shaken up, Morgan.”

Morgan shakes his head in disgust, “it shouldn’t have gone that far. Did he not feel comfortable calling for help? Or did he feel like he had to do that until we got the unsub?”

JJ rubs her temples, “I don’t know, but he made himself sick on the way home because he thought he was preying on barely more than a child. He was the predator in his mind. He wasn’t back with me until I got through the panic and got him to at least pretend he believed me when I told him he did everything right.”

Morgan clenches his jaw, “think there’s something there?”

JJ knows Morgan’s past. She sees how it still affects him. She doesn’t say anything about it, just extending her hand over his clenched fist in silent support. He has her support, always. “I think it doesn’t paint a nice picture,” she finally answers him.

Morgan sighs, “he doesn’t talk about his childhood, JJ. To anyone, but, yeah, his reactions tonight set off some warning bells.”

JJ bites the edge of her nail absent-mindedly. “I’m not putting his reaction in my report.”

“JJ–”

“It was a private moment and if we want him to trust us he has to feel like we’re safe to talk to.”

Morgan nods, resigned, still holding JJ’s hand, “and tattling on his panic attack will just make him pull away more. Fine.”

“If he’s still up, will you check on him?” JJ asks him when Morgan stands.

Morgan squeezes her hand once more, “of course. Thanks for telling me, JJ.”
_______________________________

Dick isn’t still up when Morgan gets to the room. He closes the door as quietly as possible. There’s one low lamp still on in the corner of the room, near Morgan’s bed, but Dick is fast asleep.

Derek feels even worse when he spots Dick on the couch, wishing he could have been early enough to tell him to take one of the beds. Morgan would’ve happily slept on the couch tonight. Even the light still on makes Morgan run a hand over his head in frustration. Even though it would probably be easier for Dick to sleep with it off, he left it on for Morgan and Reid. The perfect roommate.

Morgan takes his shoes off and silently pads over to where Dick is sleeping. He’s in the same pajamas: Green Lantern pants and a CCU sweatshirt, but he’s curled up, pressed against the corner of the couch like he’s trying to sink into it. The collar of his sweatshirt is pulled up to the bottom of his chin, his head angled toward the clothing like it soothes him.

And Morgan can’t help but think how young he looks. How young he is. For the first time, the usual uniform of a federal agent and big personality can’t cover up his age. Curled up in sleep, he looks so, so young. Barely more than a child.

Derek’s never had any desire to be a parent. Not after what happened to him as a kid, and definitely not now that he sees the worst of humanity every day, but when he met Reid, the same protectiveness he feels towards his sisters reared up. Only his sisters are older than him; always been smarter, and wiser, more experienced, but Reid was none of those things, and Derek still feels like shielding him from any pain.

He feels the same protectiveness form around Dick, younger than Reid now.

Dick’s eyebrows wrinkle and his hands tense where he’s holding his arms. A soft sound comes from the back of his throat, like he’s trapped in a bad dream.

Derek pulls an extra blanket over him then hits the light.

Before Derek himself can close his eyes, he pulls up Carl Buford’s status in federal prison, just to make sure the bastard is still where he belongs.

The next morning Dick is back to his sunny self, greeting everyone and cracking jokes, even talking about the case like everything is fine, but Morgan knows. And JJ knows. And Dick knows.

They all politely pretend not to see the hickeys on his throat, the only evidence that he went undercover at all.

Chapter Text

Emily Prentiss has learned quite a bit about Dick Grayson in the two months he’s been with the BAU. Not from what he says, because it’s astonishingly little. He’ll talk for days about the most recent football or basketball or baseball game, or about a new article Reid sent over, or about cooking tips with Rossi. He remembers all of their stories, from the brief ones Hotch shares about Jack to asking about Rossi’s ex-wife and Morgan’s sisters. He’ll light up like a Christmas tree when he gets to talk about his his family, giving anecdotes about his little brother’s artistic talent or his other brother’s tech genius or his other brother’s rebellious spirit, but he never gives personal details, doesn’t mention names if he can help it. He also never mentions his parents.

Emily knows they’re dead, but only from Garcia’s snooping, not because Dick ever made an inference to his living situation after they were gone.

He smiles and jokes and knows everyone’s names when he says good morning, he’s open enough for everyone to trust but not quite open enough to actually trust any of them. Not completely. Emily recognizes that particular mask.

Her only tell is her nails. Spencer pointed out the inflamed nailbeds, product of her nervous habit. Morgan didn’t point it out so bluntly, just asked her if anything’s wrong. Penelope asked if it’s a new boyfriend after Emily was running two minutes late three days in a row.

She would think they’re the only ones to notice how on edge she’s been, but she’s noticed Dick’s eyes tracking her, cataloguing her bitten nails and frazzled air. He doesn’t ask, but he notices.

And Emily can’t bring herself to do anything about it because she recognizes the tendencies and she is currently dealing with her past coming back to bite her in the ass. She only hopes Dick never has to go through this.

Ian Doyle is in DC. She knows this. The purple flower delivered to her apartment just confirmed it. She feels herself constantly holding her breath, looking over her shoulder, because he’s not a patient man. She knows he’s biding his time, planning, all she can do is wait until he makes his move. She knows what she did seven years ago, faking the death of his daughter to aid in his interrogation is unforgivable. Emily just never expected to face him for her penance.
_______________________________

One of the most notable aspects she’s noticed about Dick Grayson is how great of a talker he is. It fits with his personality. He’s always at ease in a room, even better at putting others at ease. Two days ago, in Louisiana, Dick talked a man out of shooting himself in the head once he’d been caught. The man had kidnapped two parents of an autistic boy for money, desperately trying to get his children back. At the end, he thought the only way out was if he convinced the mother he kidnapped to shoot him so his boys got his life insurance.

Prentiss doesn’t know exactly what Dick said, but the next thing they all know, he’s leading the unsub out of his boat with his hands cuffed.

And now, at the annual gala thrown by the FBI to celebrate their agents, Dick is just as comfortable, one hand in his pocket while he charms Strauss. She even laughs and pats his arm before introducing him to someone else. Head of the Boston office if Emily remembers.

Emily glances over to where Hotch stands beside her, also watching the interaction. She shakes her head, “where did you find him?” She asks in disbelief.

Hotch makes a noncommittal ‘hn’ that gets Emily’s attention. “What?” She bumps her shoulder with his.

He inhales slowly, not taking his eyes off of Dick and Strauss. “I didn’t find him.”

Emily furrows her brows, “you didn’t recruit him?”

Hotch shakes his head. “The order came from higher up.” When Emily aims her gaze at Strauss, Hotch looks over, “higher. Don’t know who but it was an ironclad order.”

“How does a detective from Bludhaven get that kind of treatment?”

Hotch takes a drink of his whiskey. “I don’t know.” he raises his glass in greeting to Rossi but Emily excuses herself, mingling until she reaches the spot where Morgan and Dick are speaking to a man in his fifties, his mustache quickly turning grey with age, and another man in his sixties with very little hair left at all.

“I tell you, lad, we’re just tickled down in Blud that you got this sweet gig,” the man with no hair tells Dick, obviously flushed with partaking in the free booze.

A waiter stops near Emily. “Champagne, miss?”

Emily thanks her and takes the glass for no other reason than to have something to do with her hands if she doesn’t drink it. She focuses back on the conversation. The old man is still talking and even though Dick’s smile hasn’t changed, his eyes are pinched.

“It took the boys and I by surprise, y’know?” The man continues, “out of all the fine men I’ve recommended to the Academy, they took Richard! Ha!” He laughs and raises his glass, like he’s expecting people to laugh with him. He takes a drink when no one does.

“You’ve been retired for a couple years, Herb,” the other man, the one with the mustache, says gently.

“And if you’d told me when I retired that Rich would be the one to make it up I’d laugh in your face!” He elbows Morgan like they’re friends. “I mean, he’s pretty, but a bit of an airhead, right? Does he pull his weight on your team?”

Dick looks at the ground and even though Emily can’t see his hand in his pocket, she has a feeling his fist is clenched. He doesn’t defend himself though. Morgan isn’t smiling anymore either. “Dick has the highest close rate of anyone in your department, before or after your retirement,” Morgan says icily. “Higher than yours ever was, sir.”

Dick covers his surprised laughter with a cough but it doesn’t do a great job of hiding the true action. Herb’s face flushes and he stares daggers at Morgan, “I don’t know what strings his daddy pulled to get you to say that but I’m not scared of B–”

The other man puts a firm hand on Herb’s shoulder, “Dick Grayson is one of the finest detectives your department has ever received and you should be thankful he stuck it out with your pompous ass calling the shots. I won’t listen to your blustering any longer, Herb.” And then he takes the man’s drink out of his hand, catching a passing empty tray. Herb, whose face is almost completely red, looks at Morgan for help, then Emily, but when he finds no allies he turns on his heel and walks away. Hopefully to the exit.

“If you didn’t say something, I would,” Morgan jokes with the man.

“You didn’t need–” Dick starts but the man cuts him off with a far gentler hand on his shoulder.

“It’s an honor to speak up for you, son.”

Dick ducks his head, a faint blush on his cheeks, “thanks, Commiss.”

The man nods then lets go of Dick, nods at Morgan and Emily, then slips into the crowd. Dick exhales, “I need a drink.”

Emily laughs and offers her own, “here, you need this more than me.”

Dick accepts it gratefully and downs half of it in one go.

Morgan chuckles, “the FBI throws one party every year and it’s never fun rubbing elbows with these people.” He elbows Dick in the ribs, “the afterparty with just agents is much better.”

“Oh, thank god.”

Both Morgan and Emily smile at that. Emily looks for the mustache man but can’t spot him, “who was that? You seemed close.”

“The drunk idiot was my old captain. Corrupt as they come, do anything for a dollar type. My job got a lot easier when he ‘retired’.”

Morgan snorts. “Had a chief like that in Chicago. Slimy bastards.”

Dick nods, then his face softens, “and uh, the other guy is James Gordon, Gotham City Commissioner. He’s one of the best men I’ve ever met. I should have guessed he’d be at this thing.”

“He seems nice,” Emily says encouragingly and Dick takes another drink.

He takes the garnish out of the glass and throws it away. He downs the rest of the champagne and Morgan whistles. “So how long do we have to stay? I hate stuff like this.”

“At least another half-hour,” Emily answers, “but Reid and Garcia are hanging out by the dessert table with a deck of cards.”

Dick physically relaxes, his eyes glazing with a new warmth that has Emily biting her tongue not to smile. He excuses himself to go search for the kids’ table.
_______________________________

Hotch finds her thirty-five minutes later and Emily quickly ends her call to Clyde, her old Interpol contact. Hotch gently grabs her elbow, his eyes scanning the room from their vantage in the corner. “Have you seen Dick?”

Emily cranes her neck to try and see over the band, “he should be with Reid and Garcia.”

Hotch shakes his head. “They said he excused himself fifteen minutes ago.”

Emily blinks with new eyes, also starting to scan the crowd. “What about Morgan? They’re close.”

“He’s not with any of the team and he’s not in this room according to my most recent sweep.”

Emily looks up at his face, “Hotch, are you concerned about his safety or what he might be doing?”

“Depends on where we find him.”

Emily sets her jaw and nods. So the assignment of Dick to their unit must have come with no context to make Hotch this anxious. They find Garcia as she’s about to head out with Reid and Morgan, but she stops immediately when she sees their faces. “What’s wrong?”

The gala is held at the opera house and when Penelope tracks Dick’s phone she gets a ping in the second floor men’s restroom. Garcia asks if she should contact the rest of the team but Hotch has her wait in the ballroom and tells her to not sound the alarm just yet, in case it’s just some bad shrimp.

Emily goes with Hotch to hunt him down though. When they reach the closed restroom door, Emily knocks, “Dick? You in there?” She waits a beat. No answer. She looks at Hotch’s phone screen. It says Dick is inside.

Emily pushes the door open slowly, Ian Doyle’s face flying through her mind, the man responsible for toppling governments, flattening towns… but when she gets the door open she sees Dick sitting on the floor, his back pressed to the wall in between two of the sinks built into the wall. His jacket is hung over one of the sinks, his knees are drawn to his chest, his arms holding them close and hiding his face in his arms, like a child scared of the dark.

Hotch exchanges a look with her, both surprised. Emily flicks on the light and Dick winces. “Dick? What are you doing in here?” Emily slowly approaches.

“Breathing,” comes Dick’s muffled reply.

Emily holds out an arm to keep Hotch away for now, not wanting to overwhelm him. “Is this about what Herb said? Because you know it’s not true–”

A dark chuckle comes from Dick and he looks up, quickly squeezing his eyes shut and wincing, “hurts.”

Emily looks up. “The lights?” She asks.

Dick nods. “T-trying t-to breathe. That-that’s what you have t-to d-do…” his voice shakes in a way Emily’s never heard and she instinctively bends down to his level, trying to get a better look.

“I can help you breathe,” she says softly, “can you come out for me?”

Dick nods and he starts scooting his body out from under the sinks, keeping his eyes closed against the lights. Now that he’s closer, Emily can see his hands are trembling slightly, and his breathing is ragged, like… “Dick, are you having a panic attack?”

“I’m f-fine,” he mutters, creeping closer inch by inch, “it’s a c-common r-reaction…”

Reaction? Reaction to what? She hears him trying to get control of his breathing. In for four, hold for four, out for four.

Dick drops the arm he was using to cover his arm to help himself move just a bit faster and he looks up squinting. Emily extends a hand to help him but he flinches back so hard he hits his head on the marble sink. Emily moves before she thinks it through, reaching for him when he grips the back of his head in pain, but his eyes blow wide open and a strangled sound wretches itself free of his throat as he scrambles back.

“N-no!” He exclaims. “Please,” he covers his face, bracing for a blow that doesn’t come.

Emily freezes instantly and backs up, hands held out. She doesn’t move for him again, as desperately as wants to when she sees how he’s starting to shake. He’s afraid. Emily looks over to Hotch. “He’s been drugged.”

Hotch nods, moving farther into the room to kneel down next to Emily. “Dick?”

Dick cringes, but he lowers his head and looks around, eyes unfocused, clearly not seeing the real scene in front of him. “B?”

“It’s Hotch.”

“Oh.” Dick nods. “Y-yeah. Makes sense. I…” he flinches as another shadow they can’t see clouds over reality. He squeezes his eyes shut and presses himself against the wall, physically trying to curl in on himself, “no, please, s-stop, I don’t-I don’t want–”

“We have to get him out of there,” Hotch says, the reluctance evident. Emily shares it but nods. To help him, it’ll make his reaction to whatever he’s been drugged with that much worse. Hotch reaches first, gently grabbing Dick’s forearm and leaning him up to get a grip on his other shoulder, leading him out.

Dick clings to Hotch’s shirt, trembling, his pupils big and sweat beading at his hairline. “I didn’t…B, I did good…I didn’t tell…I-I was strong…”

Emily tries to tune out the babble, knowing Dick wouldn’t want them to hear this, and also to keep her emotions in check at how desperate he sounds, the helplessness as he pleads with them, alternating between begging them to stop hurting him and begging for assurance that he did good.

Hotch holds Dick against his chest, giving him all the assurance he asks for from whomever Dick sees instead of Hotch. She doesn’t have her phone so, when Dick seems to have calmed down a bit, Hotch transfers him to lay his head in Emily’s lap.

She tries to swallow her rising panic. His eyes are open, but his gaze flicks around the ceiling wildly, pupils so big she can barely see any blue. He’s sweating, still trembling, and Emily can see how rapidly his pulse point beats. Too fast, way too fast, but she can’t do anything to calm him down. She cards her fingers through his hair and he grips her other hand in both of his.

“P-please, n-no, s-stop…Ca…no…I don’t–I don’t want…” Dick flinches away from her touch and Emily immediately stops touching his hair, a sick feeling taking root in her stomach.

His eyes flicker closed, and Emily’s not sure if it’s better or not. He keeps squeezing her hand, but his speech grows more slurred, more erratic. His eyelids twitch, like his eyes are still glancing wildly around even if they’re closed.

Hotch pushes open the door, Morgan, Rossi, Garcia, and Reid wait in the hallway, making sure there are no stray eyes to see something they shouldn’t. Emily feels guilty enough that the rest of the team has to see Dick like this. She knows he’ll hate it. She would.

His grip loosens on her hand from a death grip to just a firm hold. “P-please,” he rasps out, “you don’t–you don’t have to h-hurt m-me…I’ll be good…”

Emily has to look away from his face, the youth and innocence twisted in fear and pain too much as he begs for mercy she can’t grant. Hotch sends a sympathetic look her way and takes Dick’s arm to wrap around his shoulder, hauling him to his feet. “Morgan.”

Morgan is inside in a second, grabbing Dick’s other arm and slinging it over his shoulder, his expression falling in pain when Dick ducks his face away, like he expects Morgan to hurt him. “Hey, Dick,” Morgan murmurs, “It’s Morgan. You’re going to be just fine. You hear me?”

Dick blinks his eyes open, “Morgan?”

“That’s a good man, stay with me, okay? You’re safe, no matter what those voices are saying, you’re safe.” They practically drag him out of the bathroom.

“We’ve got an ambulance waiting out back,” Morgan tells Emily.

Suddenly, Reid’s voice rises and Rossi lets loose his stern tone but it doesn’t stop the man with a mustache, Jim Gordon, from shoving past both of them, ducking under Garcia’s hands. Emily steps protectively in front of Dick but Gordon doesn’t seem to care.

“Dickie?” He says, “Dick, can you hear me? It’s Jim.”

Dick blinks again, just a bit more lucid. “J-Jim?”

“Right here, son.”

Dick groans, “he’s gonna be so mad, Jim.”

“No, no, Dickie,” Jim steps around Emily, who lets him, and Morgan lets Jim take his place supporting Dick, which seems to calm the boy. “You’re going to be just fine.”

Dick flinches again, eyes squeezed shut, “B-Babs, no, no, please, Jim, you have to–he’s going to–I can’t-I can’t stop him,” a sob wrenches out of his mouth and Emily sees Garcia bite her fist to keep her sounds of crying quiet.

Jim swallows hard as he and Hotch continue to carry Dick, “I know, Dickie, I know. It’s not your fault. You did good, son. She’s fine. She’s safe. Just like you. You’re safe.”

“He’s gonna be s-so mad; w-was s-so stupid…drink…toxin…” Dick mumbles, head lolling.

Emily gasps, guilt stabbing her right in the gut. Her drink. Was that what caused this? Was that what trapped Dick in whatever hell he’s going through?

“No,” Jim admonishes gently as they slowly make their way down the back staircase, both Hotch and Jim careful not to drop Dick, and Rossi and Morgan on either side in case they do. “He’s going to be so proud, like he always is. You know that, Dickie, he could never be mad at you.”

Dick snorts.

Reid holds the door open for the paramedics waiting with a stretcher. As soon as the night air hits Dick, he starts thrashing and yelling, “no! No, I have to–Jay–Jim he’s going to kill him! He’s hurting him!”

“Dick it’s okay!” Jim tries to yell over Dick’s screams as the paramedics tie him down.

“He’s going to hurt him!” Now Dick is sobbing, “Let me go! Please! I have to save him! All of them! They’re just kids! Stop! Stop! Please–let me go–let me save them–please!” Dick’s eyes fly open, tears still spilling out, “Please! Jim! Hotch! Emily, p-please I have to–I have to save them, please, he’s going to hurt them! P-please-I…I…” he loses consciousness fast when the paramedic sticks the syringe in his neck.

Jim clears his throat, voice scratchy. “I’m going with you,” he tells the paramedics.

“We’ll meet you there,” Hotch says, barely hiding a tremor in his voice.

The paramedics shut the doors behind Gordon and then climb in, turning on their sirens to speed to the nearest hospital.

Garcia lets out her cry, turning into Morgan’s chest. “Oh my god. That-that was awful.”

Reid licks his dry lips. “He must have been dosed with a powerful hallucinogenic, mixed with a paralytic. From his…reactions…it matches victims of some strands of fear toxin.”

“He said toxin,” Rossi says, “to Jim, he said ‘toxin’. Not drug, or poison, but toxin. He knew.”

“Let’s get to the hospital and make sure the doctors know.” Hotch breaks them all out of their stupor and they race to their cars.

Emily barely gets her door closed before she lets out a gasping breath. Seven years ago, when she worked undercover as a weapons dealer for Ian Doyle, she smuggled in fear toxin for him. His favorite mixture was fear toxin, a sedative, and a bit of ketamine.

She slams her palm on her steering wheel. That drug was meant for her. As a message. Anywhere, anytime, he seems to taunt. You’re not even safe surrounded by federal agents.

Dick was collateral. A chance variable that spared Emily from the cocktail. She speeds all the way to the hospital, guilt pushing her faster.
_______________________________

At the hospital, Hotch instructs the rest of his team to wait in the lobby while he checks on Dick’s status. If he’s still…affected, there’s no reason for the team to see him like that. For his sake and theirs.

He peeks into the hospital room the nurse at the front desk gave him directions to and, to his relief, sees Dick inside, sitting up in the hospital bed, slowly blinking as a nurse checks his vitals. Jim Gordon stands by Dick’s shoulder, nodding as the nurse says something. Dick looks between them, his eyes hazy, dried tear tracks on his cheeks.

When Dick sees Hotch, a lopsided smile blossoms on his face, “Hotch! Hey! Ah, sorry,” he looks up at the nurse again, “I’m a little high right now,” he holds his forearm with the IV out.

“How are you feeling?” Hotch enters the room, eyes tracking over the young man for any signs of the earlier pain.

Dick blinks again, “oh, I’m good. Just a bit of fear toxin, but,” he shrugs, “no biggie. Been there, done that, never fun.” He makes a thumbs down gesture, “but the drugs they gave me with the antidote are cool.”

Hotch looks at the nurse questioningly. Protocol for fear toxin is just the antidote in case there are later side effects.

It’s Jim that answers though, “Dickie’s got a higher tolerance for the antidote than most people, so they gave him a relaxant to help until the toxin is out of his system.”

Hotch keeps his face neutral but he’s stunned. Agents have gotten hit with fear toxin before, but it is rare.

“If I had a nickel for every time I got hit with fear gas, I’d have,” he starts counting on his fingers and then drops his hands, giggling instead, “I’d be a billionaire like –”

“--Gotham and Blud have higher rates of fear gas attacks,” Jim cuts him off, “it’s sad but most boys on the force are used to the threat.”

“He should be fine in an hour or so,” the nurse says, “we’ll keep him overnight for observation though. Usually fear toxin is administered in a gaseous form, which makes it easier to flush out, but Mr. Grayson got a liquid dose. And we’d like to make sure there’s not an adverse reaction to the concentration of ketamine we also identified from his blood sample.”

“The ketamine was just mean,” Dick grumbles and then yawns.

Jim chuckles and leans Dick back on the bed, the younger man’s eyes already closing. “Get some rest, okay, Dick?”

“Are you gonna call him?” Dick mumbles.

Jim sighs and scratches the back of his neck, “do you want me to?”

Dick wrinkles his nose.

“Alright then,” Jim pats Dick’s shoulder.

A minute later and Dick is out, chest moving steadily. Jim walks Hotch into the hallway. “You two are close,” Hotch remarks.

“Yeah, Dick dated my daughter.”

Hotch notes the past tense, “and you’re still close?”

Jim chuckles as they walk down the hallway, “they’re still friends. We’re all practically family. They were young and it just didn’t work out. Dick’s a good lad, though. One of the best.”

“He’s proven himself an asset to the team.”

Jim looks over at Hotch sideways, “he’s the kind of guy who will always have his team’s back. So you’ll watch his, right?”

Hotch nods. “I’ll always watch out for my team.”

Chapter Text

The next morning Emily tries not to fidget too much in the elevator with Morgan. She knows he’s already concerned about her. She knows Reid’s noticed she’s biting her nails again and she knows Morgan is keeping a mental tally of how many mornings she’s been running late. So she tries not to give in and bite her nail now or tap her fingers on her purse strap.

He’s going to be okay. He’s going to be okay.

She keeps repeating it to herself. Hotch said so. The doctor said so. The dose of fear toxin was non fatal.

Because Doyle wasn’t trying to kill her. Not yet. Last night he was just taunting her. He wanted to hurt her, not kill, and Dick was just collateral. If she had drunk that glass of champagne…she shudders to think what horrors she would’ve been forced to face.

Morgan glances over and looks like he wants to say something, but the elevator doors open and she steps off quickly. Her plan was to go straight to her desk and bury her head in work but she stops short, jaw dropping slightly. Morgan stops beside her and they exchange a look before turning their attention back to Dick Grayson at his desk.

He’s at his desk like nothing happened, flipping through a case file and making notes.

“He…” Emily trails off. “He was in the emergency room last night, right?”

“Does he know that?” Morgan looks at Emily and they both reach a silent agreement and make their way over to Grayson’s desk.

He doesn’t look up when they approach. Morgan and Emily sit on either side of him, leaning against his desk.

“Morning,” Dick says after a moment of silence.

“Morning,” Derek replies. “Thought you’d be at home.”

“Why would I be at home?” Dick answers breezily, still making notes and not looking up.

“Dick,” Emily says gently, “you should be at home.”

Dick sighs and closes the folder, “guys, I’m fine. Scout’s honor.”

“Dick you got hit with fear toxin,” Emily presses. “You’re allowed to take a sick day for that. I think the doctor would actually recommend it.”

“Exactly,” Dick leans forward, “fear toxin, not mustard gas. It sucks but once it’s out of the bloodstream everything’s alright. Like I said last night, I’ve been hit before, I’ll get hit again, it’s part of the gig.”

Derek glances at Emily again before returning his attention to Dick. “I don’t think it is, Dick.”

Dick rolls his eyes. “Well you’re not from Gotham.”

Derek quirks an eyebrow. “And you are?”

Dick freezes, but just for a second. Emily catches it, but a lay person might not’ve. It happens quickly, a blink and you’ll miss it reaction before he’s back to normal. “Yeah,” Dick answers smoothly. “Moved to Blud when I was eighteen.”

“Why not just join Gotham PD?” Emily asks before she can stop herself. “Eighteen is kind of young to move out.”

Dick shrugs, “not particularly.”

Emily knows her and Morgan aren’t being as discreet as they should, but she’s seized with the chance to learn more about Dick, because she knows the chance is fleeting. “Did your brothers move with you?”

Dick smirks, “concerned about their wellbeing?”

“Just chatting,” Derek says.

Dick rolls his eyes again. “Look, I appreciate you guys checking in, but I’m fine. I promise I’ll take it easy but I’m not going home. My brothers are living their lives in Gotham and they’re also fine. I’m sure they appreciate your concern for me and them. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Dick gestures to the file in his hand.

“Alright,” Emily acquiesce, her guilt eased just a bit that he actually does seem okay. That’s concerning in a different way, but it’s enough for her to retreat to her own desk.

“Don’t work too hard, hotshot,” Derek musses Dick’s hair as he leaves and Emily has to bite her lip to keep from laughing at Dick’s scowl.
_______________________________

The rest of the day is uneventful, which Emily is thankful for because she isn’t all that productive. One, because she keeps one eye on Dick all day but he acts completely normal. He jokes around with Morgan and asks Reid for an article on quantum physics he can send his brother. He even flirts with Penelope at lunch, like everything is normal and last night didn’t happen.

And two, because Emily has been trying to get in contact with her old team from her Interpol days - Clyde Easter, Tsia Mosely, and Jeremy Wolff. The last member, Sean McAllister, already knows Ian Doyle is after all of them. Well, Sean believes it, because Sean’s the one that told her. Tsia and the rest are still trying to delude themselves into a feeling of safety.

But they don’t know Ian. Not like Emily does. Seven years ago Emily Prentiss went undercover as Lauren Reynolds, an arms dealer and drug trafficker, in order to take down Ireland’s biggest terrorist. But she wasn’t just one of his employees. She crafted herself to be exactly what Doyle wanted. She did her job so well that she even got a nice rock on her left hand for the trouble.

When they brought Doyle in, Interpol obviously had to get Emily out, but a man as dangerous as Doyle wouldn’t just let the love of his life go, so they had to fake her death.

And somehow Doyle knows the truth now. He’s out of prison and tracking her team. He’s finally got his chance for revenge and Emily is the only person that can give him what he wants.

So yeah, even though her caseload deserves her full attention, she barely glances at it all day.

When six o'clock rolls around she says goodnight as Morgan and Garcia leave. Then six thirty when Rossi and Reid, 6:35 JJ and Dick head out, and finally seven o’clock Aaron closes his office door.

“Going home anytime soon, Prentiss?”

“I’m right behind you,” Emily answers as she packs up her things.

She bids Hotch goodnight, takes a breath, and starts walking the opposite direction. The sun is down and the night is chilly, so she stops for a hot coffee. Two actually, then keeps walking to the plaza near the fountain. She sets down the extra coffee on an empty table and sits down.

And then she waits.
_______________________________

She feels his presence before she feels the hand on the back of her shoulder, but she stiffens just the same. She doesn’t turn around. “I knew you were watching me.”

“What’s the expression?” His voice is exactly the same. Deep, heavy with an Irish accent. She used to feel safe when she heard his voice, even though she always knew the danger it held. “Keep your friends close, your enemies under surveillance?”

He walks to stand in front of her and she fights to keep her pulse from jumping at seeing him after so long.

“I’ve been waiting for two hours,” Emily says, her voice strong and steady, “you should know better than to keep a lady waiting.”

Ian trains his blue eyes on her. They aren’t angry. They’re sad. Almost heartbroken. “It seems hypocritical, seeing as I had to wait seven years.” He takes the seat across from her.

Emily takes another breath, “hello, Ian.”

“Hello, Lauren…oh, wait. Lauren Reynolds died in a car accident, didn’t she?” He smirks cruelly.

“What do you want?” Emily annunciates each word.

“You,” he answers immediately, gaze trained on her, “oh, not today. Don’t worry about that. But soon.”

Emily narrows her eyes and squeezes the gun she’s holding under the table just a little tighter. “I’ve got a Glock leveled at your crotch. What’s to stop me from taking you and the little ones out right now?”

“You’d never make it back to your car and you know it.”

She does know it. A man like Doyle doesn’t meet an enemy alone. Even if she can’t see them, she knows his soldiers are close, probably with their weapons aimed at her head.

Ian continues on, a bit of amusement in his voice. “Tell me, does the lovely Penelope know the truth about you? Or is she too busy watching movies with Derek to care?”

Emily looks at him sharply.

“Here you are, all alone, while Aaron sits at home with his son,” Ian goes on, “while the beautiful JJ cooks dinner with her beautiful family and Rossi reads a book by the fire.” Ian’s smile grows at the same rate as Emily’s horror. “Dr. Reid is probably still on the metro, hm? Oh, that one does have some quirks.”

Emily feels a fire of protectiveness flare inside her chest. “Come near my team and I will end you.”

“I don’t have a quarrel with them. Well,” he pauses and sweeps his gaze across the empty plaza. “Most of them. Mr. Grayson seems intent on starting a quarrel with me, however.”

Emily furrows her eyebrows, genuinely confused. Ian chuckles at her expression and points to the statue, “your colleague is waiting right there. To protect you, if I had to guess. Unfortunately, I’ve got five men with rifles trained on the lad.”

Emily stiffens. She doesn’t know if he’s bluffing, but she doesn’t know why he would be. He’s made it clear he knows where her team is, and he’s made it clear he’s not going to kill her yet. So what does he gain by lying and saying that Dick is here when he isn’t?

“He’s innocent,” Emily says.

Ian chuckles, “he’s got a gun aimed at me. But he’s a smart lad. He knows he won’t be any good to you if I kill him tonight. Right?” He pauses, cocks his head to the side, and then grins. “Good lad.” He returns his attention to Emily. “Where were we?”

“My team is innocent.”

“But you aren’t.”
_______________________________

Dick watches Emily from his spot in the shadows as she sits at a table in the plaza. She’s obviously waiting for someone.

His comm crackles to life. “Anything?”

“Nothing yet,” Dick says softly, “she’s just sitting alone. But she got an extra coffee so she’s expecting someone.”

“Ian Doyle?”

“Most likely.”

“Any idea if she’s on his side?”

Dick hesitates, and Barbara’s typing fills the silence as he thinks it over. “My gut says no,” he finally says, “I’ve worked with her for over a month now. She’s smart, and she cares about her team.”

“Doesn’t mean she isn’t also working for a recently escaped terrorist.”

“I don’t think so, Babs. She’s been on edge since I’ve gotten here, and recently it’s gotten more noticeable,” Dick pushes back, “she’s jumpy. Nervous. I think our first instinct was right. She’s Doyle’s target, not accomplice.”

“You’ve convinced me, Boy Wonder.”

“Gotta go, O,” Dick changes his comm channel when he notices a sniper take a position on a roof behind Emily, the perfect position for a headshot. Another one across the street. Dick draws his own gun when Ian Doyle himself walks up behind Emily, placing a hand on her shoulder.

If Dick wasn’t convinced before, Emily’s reaction to Doyle’s touch would’ve convinced him that she is not a double agent. She didn’t turn after her assignment in Interpol. She’s afraid of him and trying her best to hide it.

“I knew you were watching me.” Emily’s voice comes through his comm loud and clear from the bug he slipped in her coat inseam weeks ago.

“What’s the expression? Keep your friends close, your enemies under surveillance?” Doyle responds.

“I’ve been waiting for two hours,” Emily says, her voice strong and steady, “you should know better than to keep a lady waiting.”

Doyle takes the seat across from her. “It seems hypocritical, seeing as I had to wait seven years.” He takes the seat across from her.

Dick finally gets a good look at the man. He matches his Interpol file to a T.

“Hello, Ian.”

“Hello, Lauren…oh, wait. Lauren Reynolds died in a car accident, didn’t she?” He smirks cruelly.

“What do you want?” Emily annunciates each word.

“You,” he answers immediately, gaze trained on her, “oh, not today. Don’t worry about that. But soon.”

Dick draws his gun and flicks the safety off. He doesn’t believe this guy for a second.

“I’ve got a Glock leveled at your crotch. What’s to stop me from taking you and the little ones out right now?” Emily threatens.

Dick smirks. Atta girl.

“You’d never make it back to your car and you know it.”

Not quite true. Dick could make sure Emily gets back to her car, if that’s really the play she wants to make. Up in the air whether Dick would walk away unscathed.

Ian continues on, a bit of amusement in his voice. “Tell me, does the lovely Penelope know the truth about you? Or is she too busy watching movies with Derek to care?”

Dick clenches his jaw. Idiot. Of course Doyle has the rest of the team on surveillance. He knew there was a risk Doyle would target someone else on the team, but he can only be one place at a time and his bet is still on Doyle wanting to torture Prentiss with this information more than hurt anyone else. He’s got to go with his gut, because he can't protect them all at the same time.

“Here you are, all alone, while Aaron sits at home with his son,” Ian goes on, “while the beautiful JJ cooks dinner with her beautiful family and Rossi reads a book by the fire. Dr. Reid is probably still on the metro, hm? Oh, that one does have some quirks.”

“Come near me team and I will end you.”

“I don’t have a quarrel with them. Well,” he pauses and sweeps his gaze across the empty plaza. “Most of them. Mr. Grayson seems intent on starting a quarrel with me, however.”

Dick flicks his gaze around, then turns his head slowly.

“Your colleague is waiting right there. To protect you, if I had to guess. Unfortunately, I’ve got five men with rifles trained on the lad.”

Doyle must have pointed Dick’s hiding spot out. He locates the five men, most definitely with guns. Most definitely up in the air whether he could walk away unscathed. He takes one hand off his gun and palms a smoke bomb, just in case Prentiss still wants to make a move.

“He’s innocent,” Emily says.

Ian chuckles, “he’s got a gun aimed at my head. But he’s a smart lad. He knows he won’t be any good to you if I kill him tonight. Right?”

Dick looks at one of the men in a building behind him and slowly puts his gun away.

“Good lad.” Dick hears Doyle say. “Where were we?”

“My team is innocent.”

“But you aren’t.”

“I was doing my job.”

“I think you did a little more than that.”

Sheesh, they do sound like an old married couple.

“You took the only thing that matters to me so I’m going to take the only thing that matters to you: your life. Honore de Balzac once said ‘most people of action are inclined to fatalism, and most of thought believe in providence.” He stands, pushing his chair back, “tell me, Emily Prentiss, which do you think you’re going to be?”

Dick rolls his eyes. Self-indulgent asshole. He has no idea how Emily put up with this guy for so long.

When Doyle is gone, and all his men are too, Dick jogs out from behind his hiding place and finds Prentiss, still sitting at the table, a stricken look on her face. Dick bends down in front of her. “You okay?”

Emily slaps his hand away, “why the hell are you here?” She demands.

“Me?” Dick stands, giving one last sweep around to make sure it’s clear, “what the hell were you doing without back-up?”

Emily scoffs, getting to her feet, “you have no business getting involved.”

“Hey,” Dick catches her arm when she tries to pass him, “it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that drink was meant for you. The rest of the team will figure it out at some point, but you needed back-up now.”

She shrugs him off, “Dick, that man is out of your league.”

“I can handle this, Prentiss. I can help you.”

She rolls her eyes and starts walking to her car.

He catches up to her, “who was that guy, anyway?”

“No one,” Emily mutters.

She’s walking quickly but Dick has experience keeping up with someone brooding and trying to avoid talking.

“Prentiss, that guy just threatened to kill both of us. He’s obviously not no one.”

She sighs, stops walking, and presses her hands to her eyes. It almost makes Dick want to abandon the intense line of questioning. Almost. Because even if he knows who Ian Doyle is, Emily doesn’t know he knows.

“Thank you for having my back,” Emily says, all the anger gone from her voice, “but please drop this. For your safety and mine forget this ever happened. Tell no one. Understand?”

“Emily–”

“Dick. Please.” A tremor goes through her voice. Her eyes are wide and she looks like she’s barely restraining herself from shaking him. “This is my mess. Stay out of it.”

Dick runs a hand through his hair and makes a show of looking conflicted before sighing, “fine.”

Prentiss relaxes.

“I won’t tell anyone else, but you can’t expect me to pretend that guy didn’t just threaten you. I’ll stay out of it but I’m making sure you get home okay.”

The side of her mouth twitches in a small smile. “Alright.” She gestures for him to start walking again, this time side by side instead of Dick chasing after her. Dick lets himself relax as they walk. It was a good night: neither one of them got shot and Dick’s risk paid off. Now Emily trusts Dick that much more after he “got caught.”

“So you’re really not going to tell me who he is?” Dick asks as they make it to her car.

“Would you believe me if I said a pissed off old boyfriend?”

Dick can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out.

Chapter Text

Reid sets down the solved Rubik’s cube in victory. “Eleven seconds.”

“Nice,” Dick picks the cube up and inspects his work. “That has to be a record or something.” He toys with the game then sets it down a second later to check his phone.

Reid watches Dick frown and puts the device away. “Everything alright?” Reid asks. It’s just them in the conference room right now.

Dick flashes a smile. “Peachy.”

Now it’s Reid’s turn to frown. “That’s the third time you’ve checked your phone but haven’t unlocked it in the past hour.”

Dick sighs but he’s grinning, “nothing gets past you, doctor.”

Reid just waits until Dick sighs again and starts slowly pacing around the table.

“My, uh, my brothers aren’t exactly happy I took this job so they’re icing me out. It’s…annoying.” Dick swallows, a rare sign of emotion that Reid knows is stronger than he’s letting on.

“I don’t have any siblings, but if someone from the team abruptly changed offices I would have feelings about it, but it wouldn’t mean I don’t love them.”

“Yeah,” Dick runs a hand through his hair, “it’s just…it was a hard year last year, and I barely got things back on track when,” Dick abruptly clears his throat, “it’s not important, but I tried so hard to hold us together and then I left and I feel like it’s all falling apart again.” Dick stops pacing. He looks up and furrows his eyebrows when he realizes Reid is listening intently. “Sorry, man, it’s not your problem.”

Reid leans forward, “on the contrary, sharing feelings of frustration or anger is quite beneficial for team cohesion.”

Dick raises his eyebrows and Reid huffs nervously. “Uh, I’m here whenever you want to talk.”

Dick relaxes his posture, “thanks, man.”

Reid hesitates but decides to just go for it, in the spirit of team cohesion. “I’ve, uh, I’ve been getting these intense headaches recently.”

Dick tilts his head in concern. “Have you seen a doctor?”

Reid nods, “nobody can tell me what’s causing them, but… my mom is schizophrenic and sometimes I can’t sleep at night because I think the headaches mean I have it too.” Reid looks away, feeling his cheeks heat. He’s never said that out loud before.

“I’m so sorry, Reid. Have you told anyone on the team?”

Reid shrugs, “you.” When he looks up he’s startled to find Dick in the chair in front of him. He hadn’t heard the man move. “The others would worry, and they mean well, but they’ll just make me feel like a baby, you know?”

Dick nods reflectively, “I do.” He pauses and then half-smiles, “sometimes my friends call me a mother hen because I tend to worry, and my baby brother is sick of it because sometimes I make him feel like a, well, a baby.”

Reid chuckles, “it doesn’t sound so bad when you say it like that.”

“I just want everyone to be okay, and sometimes worrying is the only thing I can do. I won’t tell anyone else,” he tells Reid seriously.

The rest of the team members filter in so Dick takes his seat and Reid lets the conversation drop. He’s never had many friends. Being in adult spaces as a child ensured that, and even joining the BAU it took months for him to start calling this team his friends, and then family. He knows he’s gotten better at talking to victims, or making small talk, and especially at trusting the people around him won’t turn around one day and point and laugh at the genius freak sitting at the table with them. But the traditional concept of friendship, the feeling of kinship with people of similar age, interest, and humor… Reid’s never quite grasped it.

But Dick… Reid thinks he might get to experience having a friend. One he made all on his own.

Penelope comes in last, wearing a purple sweater and an unhappy look. She takes her seat and clicks on the screen. “Two DC homes torched, two families, on the same night.”

“I’m surprised it hasn’t hit the news yet,” Derek remarks.

“I managed to find an article on the fires by this guy Jeff Hastings but all anyone can talk about is this storm that may or may not arise,” Garcia rolls her eyes.

“Strange,” Rossi adds sardonically, “the media usually thrives on tragedy.”

Reid glances sideways as Dick makes a small sound that might be a laugh, but he doesn’t say anything.

Hotchner reads from the file, “Ron and Lauren Consenza and their 10 year-old son were found in the master bedroom of their home each shot through the forehead. The gun belonged to the father.” He swallows and closes the folder in the way he always does when a child is involved.

“Murder-suicide?” JJ posits.

“Looks like metro P.D.’s investigation is going that way, but it’s still the first 48. They want our help,” Derek says.

Penelope clicks new images on the screen and Reid takes over reading the facts, “Kerry and Frank Fagan, like the Cosenzas, were found in their master bedroom dead from a suspected gas leak.”

“It had to be massive to cause that,” Dick says as he studies the photos of a destroyed home.

“Any connection between the families?” JJ asks.

“Only one,” Penelope answers, “a continent: Kerry Fagan was born in Germany and Ron Cosenzas from Italy.”

Derek opens his mouth to ask another question but Emily breezes in, her cheeks pink from the chill outside and winter coat still on.

“Guys, I’m sorry I’m late,” she sits down and unbuttons her coat.

“You okay?” Dick asks.

Emily glances at him and then away dismissively, “fine. Just one of those weeks.”

Or one of those months, Reid thinks, but he isn’t going to put her on the spot like that. They’ve all gone through hard things and when she’s ready to talk about it, they’ll all be here to lend an ear or a hand.

“House fires are rare,” Rossi starts to get them back on track, “these were only a few miles apart and within the same hour, kind of tips the scales of coincidence.”

“If somebody did this, they’re highly motivated and organized,” Reid explains.

Hotchner nods and they all wordlessly get up to head out. Being in DC, they don’t have to get on the jet which is a nice change. Reid, JJ, and Penelope even get to stay in the office as their headquarters while Dick, Emily and Rossi head to the first crime scene and Derek and Hotchner head to the morgue.

Reid pockets his Rubik’s cube and follows behind the rest. Dick waits for Emily to go out first and follows at her back, but she still doesn’t look at him. Interesting. Penelope walks beside Reid and nudges his elbow, watching the strange interaction between the pair too. She raises her eyebrows in a question and Reid shrugs.
_______________________________

Reid reads the initial reports as Emily’s voice comes through the speaker phone. “The fire didn’t spread because the Cosenzas had a sprinkler system, but there’s some odd security.”

Reid puts down the notepad he’s been using, “what do you mean?”

“There’s a steel door,” Emily answers, “what did the dad do for a living again?”

“Computer networking,” Penelope answers, “and the Fagans were financial advisors.”

“The neighborhoods don’t require anything more than an average deadbolt, this is like a panic room,” Emily continues, “add to that he had a 40 caliber and load of locks.”

“What was this guy afraid of?” Rossi wonders out loud.

Penelope wraps a scarf around her neck and then jumps into the conversation from beside Reid. “There’s no history of any kind of psychological weirdness with either family and no financial troubles I can find.”

“Interesting,” Reid remarks, “because from looking at the habitual standards of the families and where the bodies were found, they’re in direct conflict.”

“The master bedrooms?” JJ prods.

Reid nods, “usually Lauren Cosenza would be downstairs helping her son with his homework and Ron wouldn’t even be home yet. Add to that the Fagans were supposed to be at a dinner party.”

Dick pipes up from the speaker phone, “so likely these victims weren’t by chance.”

“More weirdness to report here,” Derek adds, his voice also from the phone, “coroner says Ron Cosenza was dead before the fire started, so there goes the murder-suicide theory.”

“Any luck on finding connections between the victims?” Hotchner asks.

“Yes,” Penelope adds with the first hint of excitement since the day started, “both victims had one phone number in common, belonging to Byron Delaney, who is British.”

“Let’s meet up and I’ll send Morgan and Prentiss to Delaney’s address while Grayson, Rossi, and myself come back to Quantico,” Hotch instructs.

“Mind if I tag along with Morgan and Prentiss?” Dick asks, “feeling a little stir crazy today.”

There’s a beat and Reid isn’t sure if Hotch is going to grant the request, which would be weird. It’s weird for someone to question Hotch’s instructions at all, or request a specific assignment., but, “sure,” Hotch says.
_______________________________

In the car, Morgan drives while Prentiss is in the passenger seat and Dick sits in the middle backseat between them. “Whoever’s doing this is contradicting themselves. Exposing bodies but then going through all this to hide it.”

“Do you think they wanted us on the case?” Dick asks from the back.

“The BAU? Why would they?”

Derek watches Prentiss out the corner of his eyes as she glances back, almost like a reprimand, before she faces forward again and answers, “I don’t think we’re even on their radar.”

Morgan keeps driving but he sees Prentiss look at him quickly then facing out the window for the rest of the ride. She’s obviously hiding something but the middle of a case isn’t the place to push. He comes to a stop in front of a brownstone and turns the car off. They all inspect the seemingly empty house, no lights on inside.

“Garcia never got an answer when she called,” Prentiss says.

“Well, let’s see,” Morgan says and unbuckles his seatbelt. Prentiss and Grayson follow suit, although Dick is frowning and scanning the street.

Derek gets out of the car and closes his door behind him. He turns to ask Prentiss how she wants to play this when he hears the front door open. He barely gets a look at a man wearing all black and a white hockey mask before he feels a tight grip on his jacket, yanking him to the other side of the car.

“Down!” Dick yells as the masked man starts shooting at their car.

It’s an automatic weapon, not a handgun, and the tires to the SUV pop as bullets rain down on the metal. All three agents take cover behind the car, trying to find a break in the fire to find better cover.

He hears someone yell, “move! Move!” and knows there must be more assailants.

Dick tries to poke his head around but the gunfire intensifies and he covers his head with his hands as glass shatters all around them. Prentiss stays down and pressed to the side of the car, but her gun is drawn.

There’s a small break as car alarms all down the street go off and Prentiss is on her feet in pursuit faster than Derek can pull her down. He draws his gun and follows as she fires on a group of about six men, all with automatic weapons. When two start returning fire, Derek and Prentiss duck down and Dick darts behind a nearby car, reaching into his jacket for his own weapon.

Prentiss stands back up and fires again. Morgan hears a yell of pain and then a squealing of tires, then two more gunshots and an engine revving, making a fast getaway.

They all wait five seconds before standing and running down the street and around the corner in pursuit. But they come to a halt when all they find is the dead body of one of the men. Derek scans the area as Prentiss checks the body’s pulse and Dick catches up.

For one second, a flash of confusion flashes through Derek when watches Dick also case the area, one hand lingering inside his jacket, but on the opposite side of his gun holster. He wants to ask, but there’s no time. Prentiss is already examining the body and Dick is bending down next to the man’s wrist, a bullet hole clean through it. It matches the hole through his head.

“Shit,” Derek says breathlessly. He hadn’t been expecting a firefight. Especially not from a professional team.

Prentiss pulls on gloves and then removes the white hockey mask, revealing the face of a young man. “He can’t be more than twenty-five,” she says in disbelief, “barely more than a kid.”

“A kid with a deadly weapon isn’t just a kid anymore,” Dick says wryly.

“Two shots to the head,” Derek observes, “and one in the wrist. Why the wrist?”

“To make sure he can’t return fire?” Prentiss offers.

Derek pulls on his own glove and raises the kid’s wrist to get a closer look. “He’s got a tattoo. At least what’s left of one.”

Dick stands from where he was crouched beside Morgan, “so they blew a hole through his wrist because we could’ve I.D.’d him, which means they’re confident we can’t I.D. him with face or prints.”

Hotch and Rossi’s SUV screeches to a stop and the two men jump out. “Are you three okay?” Hotch demands.

“Oh, we’re fine,” Derek reassures, “but the team that most likely took out Delaney inside is ex-military.”

“They could have taken us out easily,” Dick muses.

Derek gives a long look at Dick, because he’s not so sure of the truth of that statement. Sure, Morgan almost got hit, but Dick pulled him to cover in time. “So why didn’t they?” Morgan asks instead.

He sees Dick and Prentiss exchange a quick look.
_______________________________

Back at Quantico, the team congregates in the conference room. Emily leans against one of the walls. From this vantage point, she can watch Spence draw on a piece of notepad paper, trying to figure out the tattoo from the pictured remains. Dick tosses a Rubik’s cube up and catches it. Everyone else is gathered around, brainstorming, when Penelope rushes in.

“So I talked to the reporter of the one article about the fires,” she starts, a little out of breath from running, “the article that got pulled, and told me to follow the money, so I did, and his paper is owned by a multinational media company who is primarily owned by a firm called CWS.”

Dick snaps his head up, “Clearwater Securities?”

“You know them?” Rossi asks after Penelope nods.

“Heard of them. They’re a private counterintelligence group of Geneva. The US government contracts with them for ops too dirty or too public for the Justice League,” Dick explains.

Emily wants to ask how Dick has any knowledge of Justice League assignments or US government intel on job assignments, but the conversation moves on. Hotch’s words from the gala playback as Garcia explains that all three victims worked for CWS. Hotch had said that Dick’s transfer came from above him. Just how high is this kid’s security clearance? When Emily looks up again, Hotch has the same contemplative look on his face, probably thinking the same thing.

“How long ago did our vics work for CWS?” Morgan asks Penelope.

“Seven years ago.”

Emily swallows, her mouth suddenly dry. Doyle. She has a sinking feeling she knows the tattoo Reid’s going to finish drawing in a few minutes.

“We need to get CWS in here, ASAP,” Hotch says, “find out which of their operations went sideways and who’s after their contractors.”

“So we’re looking for a European team, one of whom this is personal. They could have spared the child but chose not to,” JJ says.

Reid pushes his chair back from his desk and slaps the paper with his pencil. “Got it.” He shows them his drawing: a seemingly normal four leaf clover, but the stem has a small ‘v.’ Emily’s stomach sinks just as she knew it would.

The team gathers round the image, studying it in silence.

Dick steps back, “that’s a similar crest associated with a hidden sect of fallen warriors that travelled from Dublin to America on a ship: the Valhalla.”

Everyone looks at him in shock and Dick ducks his head, “there’s this whole thing in Gotham about a secret society of warriors that haunts the city. Legend has it one branch stems from the warriors that came over on the Valhalla.”

Derek sits on the edge of Reid’s desk, his tone one of disbelief, “and you just casually know this legend?”

Dick scoffs, “ask any kid who grew up in Gotham and they’ll tell you about the Court of Owls. There’s a nursery rhyme and everything.”

Hotch keeps his arms crossed and his gaze on Dick, “hn.”

Emily zones out as the team figures out the logistics of getting CWS leadership here and getting them to divulge if any of this resonates with them. She zones out because she doesn’t want anyone to catch onto her reeling thoughts. She wonders if CWS will give up the information, and what she’ll do if they do.

Because sooner or later, her team will figure out that Ian Doyle took on the moniker ‘Valhalla’ when he broke with his IRA faction and branched out to become Ireland’s most notorious terrorist.

_______________________________

Two hours later the BAU has the name Ian Doyle and Penelope is displaying a picture with four people, in military gear on a military truck. Two of the soldiers are Kerry Fagan and Ron Cosenza. Penelope zooms in on a street sign, “the million dollar question, anyone know what language that is?”
Dick beats Emily to the punch, “those are villages in North Korea.”

Penelope smiles, “I love you.”

“They teach Korean in Bludhaven?” Hotch asks.

Dick shrugs, “did a spring break trip to South Korea.”

Emily watches Hotch return his attention to Garcia, but she knows Hotch doesn’t quite believe Dick.

She jumps in to keep the conversation going before anyone else notices Hotch’s behavior, “there’s a political prison near Haengyong-Ni. Camp 22; North Korea denies it exists.”

“You think this team took Doyle there?” Derek asks.

“That would explain why he’s after them,” JJ guesses, “except Delaney isn’t in the picture.”

“He could be their handler,” Emily supplies. Like Clyde was her handler.

“All we know about Doyle is he was never married, had multiple residences, and was arrested at his Tuscan villa,” JJ reads from the file.

Emily swallows and looks away, fighting flashbacks of the months spent in that villa, with Doyle, and– no, don’t think about it. It’s safest not to even think it.

JJ continues, “but we also have a list of everyone who was at the villa at the time of the arrest and there might be photographs. Reid’s looking into it now.”

Emily’s mouth feels like it’s made of cotton.

“So those people need to be warned Doyle’s on a warpath,” Dick suggests. Emily hears his message loud and clear.

“He’s locked in this hellhole for 7 years,” Rossi muses, “how’d he get out?”

Morgan shrugs, “does it really matter?”

“To break out of a prison like this, which is rumored to be tighter than any federal prison in the United States? That makes him incredibly dangerous,” Hotch says.

She needs air. She needs air and she needs to call Tsia and Clyde. She feels like the walls are closing in. Her team is too close, too close to figuring out she knows more about Doyle than she’s let on, too close to figuring out that she’s the reason Doyle is even here.

If Reid finds images from that day, the day Doyle was arrested. The day Emily was “arrested” too, in clear view of surveillance footage of the sedans used to extract her from the assignment, this all falls apart. The life she’s built here will crumble. Her team won’t trust her, might even blame her. And worst of all, they might continue to pursue Doyle, forcing him to retaliate and get closer to Doyle than they should ever be.

She needs to make sure that doesn’t happen. She needs to make sure Doyle is never within shooting distance of her team. She needs them to stay alive.

She looks around at her team, her family, studying each of their faces. Rossi, Hotchner, JJ, Garcia, Derek, she looks out the glass at Reid working at his desk. These people that welcomed her, gave her a place to belong. She has to blink away tears at the thought of what she has to do. To keep them safe. To keep them alive.

For them, she’ll do whatever it takes. Even if it hurts. Even if it means she never sees them again.

She clears her throat and pulls her phone from her pocket and grimaces. Derek asks if she’s alright. “I’m sorry guys, I know this is horrible timing, but my cat is getting sick all over my couch. Is it alright if I take twenty minutes?”

Hotch nods, “be back in thirty.”

She nods and leaves the room. She looks back up at them once while waiting for the elevator. They’re gathered around the table, brainstorming putting together a multi-agency taskforce to hunt Ian Doyle.

One last look.

The elevator dings.

She doesn’t look back.

Chapter Text

When Emily gets back to her apartment, sans gun and badge, she takes off her coat and goes to her safe, pulling out the ring Ian gave her. She studies it, letting herself get washed back seven years ago, then drops it in the toilet and flushes it away.

She changes into jeans and a leather jacket, grabs her go bag, and heads back the way she came.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when she finds Dick Grayson eating a bag of M&Ms in her kitchen. “What the hell are you doing here?” She exclaims, clutching her chest.

He doesn’t even flinch, “I think the better question is what are you doing here?”

She stares at him in shock, “no, I think my question was better.”

He shakes out a few pieces of candy and throws them in his mouth, “you’re about to do something dumb, aren’t you?”

Emily ignores his question, still shocked from his sudden apparition.“What the hell are you doing in my apartment? How did you get in here?”

“I have three brothers who routinely make hasty, chaotic, and self sacrificing plans so I have a pretty good radar for these things,” Dick goes on, his tone joking but his gaze serious, “so I recognize that look in your eyes, Prentiss.”

“Go back to Quantico,” she shoves past him, but he grabs her arm, his grip strong.

“You’re going after Doyle on your own, aren’t you?”

She looks away. She eyes the paper weight on a nightstand and calculates if she’s going to need to knock Dick out and if that’ll give her enough time before he wakes up and runs back to the team.

Dick smirks, like he’s read her mind, “you can try.”

She clenches her jaw. She really wants to punch him in the face right now.

The smile drops off his face as he pulls her just a hair closer, his blue eyes shining into hers, “I know the lone wolf thing is attractive. I’ve seen it, I’ve done it, but it rarely works out. I won’t tell the team and I won’t call for back-up, but I’m not letting you go in alone. Doyle has a crew of 15-20 guys, heavily armed.”

Emily furrows her eyebrows, “how do you–”

“--If you go in alone you’re not coming out. I won’t let that happen.”

She’s struck with a sense of deja vu, like Dick reminds her of someone, but she can’t put her finger on it. She wrenches her arm out of his grasp, “I can’t have your death on my conscience, Dick.”

He rolls his eyes, “you barely know me.”

She’s so shocked at his cavalier attitude she lets him take her bag and sling it over his shoulder. He gestures for her to lead the way.

She needs to do this tonight, and if Dick was able to follow her and get in her apartment without her knowing, she’s not going to be able to lose him in time. She’s severely underestimated Dick Grayson and paying for it now. So she sighs and walks out of her apartment with a partner in crime.
_______________________________

They watch Doyle’s men stream out of an Irish pub. Dick keeps one eye on Emily, who’s listening to a voicemail from Penelope and trying not to cry, so Dick politely averts his gaze. He taps a finger on the steering wheel. Emily had a small arsenal at her place: guns, flash bombs, but nothing vigilante quality.

When Doyle himself walks out of the pub they both grab their weapons and exit the car, splitting up to box Doyle’s gang in.

Dick hears Emily open fire with an automatic on one car, breaking the window and then throwing in a smoke bomb. All four doors open as men emerge, collapsing on their knees and choking on the smoke.

Dick moves with the shadows, practically invisible. He wraps his arm around one man’s neck until he passes out and hits another on the back of the head. He ducks behind one of the cars to dodge a bullet and then leaps out from behind his cover, spinning in the air and landing on the gun, knocking it out of the goon’s hand and lashing out to take a fourth man down as well.

He hears Emily ask the men from the smoked out car where Doyle is, and then two gunshots. A thud as something hits the ground.

Dick spins around and runs around the car, spotting Emily’s body on the ground and Doyle with his gun still pointed at her. He scans her over, looking for a head wound, but finds nothing. He exhales a breath of relief. Must’ve been chest shots, and he knows she’s wearing a vest.

Doyle bends down next to Emily, placing the gun at her temple. The five men in the car Emily threw the smoke bomb in all point their weapons at Dick.

Could he get out of this? Obviously. He’s been in tighter positions when he was nine. But Emily is unconscious and he can’t make it to her before Doyle shoots her in the head if he decides to make a break.

So he drops his weapon and holds his hands up in surrender.

Doyle smirks, “you’ve become quite the nuisance, Mr. Grayson.”

“You wouldn’t believe how many times I’ve heard that.”

Emily groans.

Doyle smiles down at her, “hello, love.” He looks back up at Dick. Well, past Dick. “Take him.”

Dick has time to let out an annoyed sigh before someone uses the butt of their gun to hit him in the head.

_______________________________

Morgan moves through the slowly growing crowd of agents as Hotch and Rossi handle the logistics of putting together a manhunt for Doyle. Reid jogs up to Morgan, “is Emily back yet?”

Morgan stands up straighter, his stomach sinking. He’s such an idiot, in all the activity and new bodies on their floor, Prentiss had slipped his mind. She had left forty-five minutes ago and Hotch told her to be back in thirty. Reid must see the alarm on Derek’s face because he swallows and starts trying to reason through it, saying she’s probably stuck in traffic, or her cat got sick again, but it’s half-hearted.

“What did you need her for?” Derek questions.

“Just a hunch,” Reid says sheepishly, but Derek knows it’s more than that.

“Hotch!” Morgan yells and he immediately has Hotch’s attention. He watches Hotch take stock of where all their team members are, and how his expression darkens.

When they’re all gathered around a board displaying everything they know about Ian Doyle, Hotch turns to Reid, “Prentiss isn’t back, is she?”

Morgan shakes her head as everyone realizes how long it’s been.

“And that’s not all,” Reid says quietly. He hands Hotch a sheet of paper. “This document is what Emily got from her Interpol contacts. It’s a list of covers for spies. Lauren Reynolds is on the list.”

“Who’s Lauren Reynolds?” JJ asks.

“Seventeen days ago I heard Emily tell someone on the phone that Lauren Reynolds is dead. But she didn’t sound surprised, she sounded like she was repeating a mantra.”

Penelope grabs Derek’s arm.

“If Emily is on this list then she’s on Doyle’s list too,” JJ points out, worry evident in her tone.

Rossi looks up from the list, “that explains her behavior the last month. The secrets, the evasion–”

Hotch opens Emily’s desk drawer, revealing her badge and gun. Hotch pulls them out to display them to the rest of the team.

“Why would she leave her badge and gun?” Derek wonders out loud even though he thinks he knows the answer.

Reid runs his hands through his hair, “that doesn’t make sense. Why run? We’re her family, we can help.”

Rossi answers in a somber tone, “she’s not close to relatives, no friends, we’re the only family she has and Doyle is killing families. She ran to protect us.”

JJ huffs a worried exhale as Penelope squeezes Morgan’s arm tighter. Reid’s eyes dart back and forth, a tell that he’s worried and doesn’t understand how they’ve all ended up in this situation. Hotch sets Emily’s gun and badge back down on her desk and slowly turns in a circle, searching the room.

“What is it, Hotch?” Morgan asks. He can see the tension in the older man.

“When’s the last time someone had eyes on Grayson?”

“He went to the bathroom…” Rossi trails off as he too looks around, “a while ago.”

“Oh god, why is this day the worst?” Penelope demands to no one in particular.

As the rest of the team looks around in worry and Reid goes to check the bathroom, Derek stays focused on Hotch, who also looks worried, but not in the same way as everyone else. “Talk to me, Hotch.”

“Garcia, I need the security tapes of when Prentiss and Grayson left this building. I need last known locations of their phones,” he says instead of answering. He adds on, a little quieter, “and I need all the information you can dig up on him.”

“Sir?” Penelope questions.

“You think Grayson and Prentiss are connected?” Rossi presses.

“I don’t know, but something’s wrong.”
_______________________________

“I still don’t understand why Doyle would be after Emily,” Rossi says.

They’re gathered around the conference table. Derek is nursing a cup of coffee while Rossi sits impatiently and Reid paces. Hotch stands with his hands in his pockets, wearing a stony expression. JJ checks her phone, hoping Emily texted her back, but it’s still blank. They’re waiting for Penelope to rush in or call in at any second when she emerges from the internet rabbit hole she’s gone down. On the screen is a still image of Dick Grayson going into Emily’s apartment building.

“So I talked to a friend from Langley,” JJ starts, he couldn’t give me Emily’s full CIA history but he could give me this,” she changes the image on the screen to Emily’s picture from her CIA profile, “she assumed the identity of Lauren Reynolds as part of a special task force called JTF-12.”

Rossi sits up straighter, “I heard about them. They were profiling terrorists, weren’t they?”

JJ nods, “assembled after 9/11, CIA and Western agencies contributed their best and brightest.”

“How does Doyle fit in?” Reid asks with a frown, concern etched into his expression.

JJ answers unhappily, “he was their last case and now the JTF is on his hitlist,” JJ changes the images on the screen, “Jeremy Wolf was victim #1, from Germany’s BND. Sean McAlister at Interpol, was the second, he was murdered last week in Brussels with his wife and daughter,” JJ takes one second to check on Hotch, who’s hiding a grimace. She knows how he feels when murderers choose to involve the children. “Tsia Mosely of France’s DCRI got engaged to Jeremy earlier this year, after he died she fled to DC and was just found dead downtown. Team leader Clyde Easter, British SIS, hasn’t checked in since Tsia’s murder.”

“Did JTF make the arrest?” It’s the first thing Hotch has said since he sent Penelope to gather information online.

“No, the host countries handled that. The team moved on to the next case.”

Hotch goes on, “if all they did was deliver a profile, how does Doyle even know about them?”

“They utilized a skill we don’t: infiltration.”

Reid shifts uncomfortably.

“Emily posed as another weapons dealer to get intel on Valhalla,” JJ trudges on, “and the recon they did on Doyle included a comprehensive history of his past relationships. Emily was his type.”

A silence filters over the team as a shared pit emerges in all their stomachs. If Doyle isn’t just an old mark, but a scorned lover, things just got even more dangerous for Emily.

“So we know why Doyle is after Emily, and we know why Emily feels like she needs to run, but why did Dick follow her?” Morgan asks the question on all their minds.

“It doesn’t take a genius to check her home,” Reid says, looking around for reassurance, “maybe he noticed she left and went to check on her when she didn’t answer her phone.”

“Maybe,” Rossi says, “but why not tell anyone where he was going?”

JJ rubs her temps, fighting an oncoming stress headache. “Emily left Quantico at 5:15pm and got to her building at 5:38pm. Dick Grayson walked out at 5: 25pm and got to Emily’s at 5:46pm. He went straight from here to there.”

“So he knew she had a plan, he knew she was running,” Derek states, “is he running with her?”

Hotch looks away.

“But Dick and Emily have only known each other for a month,” Reid points out, “out of everyone, why would she trust him with her plan?”

“Maybe she didn’t,” JJ adds, “maybe he figured it out and she had to adapt.”

Derek leans forward, “he’s had his eyes on her since he got here. He’s always watching her, so it’s possible.”

Rossi holds up his hands, “wait a minute, are you saying this kid decided to go on the run with Prentiss because of a crush?”

JJ sees Morgan glance at Hotch, who looks at the table, deep in thought and carefully not looking at any of them. JJ’s about to ask what’s got him so concerned but the speaker phone in the middle of the table buzzes as Garcia calls in.

“Okay, knights of the round table, both Emily and Dick’s phones’ last locations was her apartment.”

“Not unsurprising,” Rossi mutters, “anything else?”

Hotch leans his hands on the table to get closer to the microphone, “what about Grayson, Garcia? Have you found anything.”

“That is where it gets weird, oh captain my captain,” Penelope replies. She’s obviously trying to be her normal upbeat self but her usual effortless humor comes out a little forced. “I had to do some serious sleuthing but I found and unsealed his CPS file and his past is… different.”

“We already deduced childhood trauma,” Hotch says matter of factly.

Reid nods, “dead parents, foster care with three brothers.”

There’s a small pause before Penelope talks again. “Not exactly.”

Morgan leans forward, “what do you mean, babygirl?”

“I mean,” she continues, “none of that is technically wrong but it is pretty liberally construed. Dick Grayson doesn’t have any brothers, at least not biologically. He was the only child of Mary & John Grayson, trapeze artists in Haly’s Circus before their act went wrong and they fell to their deaths when he was nine. Police report says Dick saw the whole thing.”

JJ shakes her head, thinking of Henry, “that’s horrible.”

Morgan furrows his eyebrows, “he grew up in the circus?”

Reid wiggles the fingers on his left hand, “that thing he always does, with the coin on his knuckles? He said it’s an old circus trick. I thought he was joking, but he literally meant a trick he learned from the circus.”

“What happened after his parents died, Garcia?” Hotch asks.

“So the circus was in Gotham City during the accident so Dick was turned over to state. Unfortunately, all the group homes were full so they put him in juvenile detention.”

“What?” They all share Morgan’s shock. “A nine year old in juvie right after seeing his parents die?”

“That’s got to have an effect on the psyche,” Hotch mumbles this more to himself. Then louder, “what then, Garcia?”

“Well that’s where it really gets interesting. His file was sealed tighter than fort knox but I finally got it and it turns out billionaire Bruce Wayne was at the circus that night and got custody of Dick Grayson three weeks later.”

That gets all of their attention. It’s Rossi who breaks the spell, “say that again, Garcia.”

“You heard me, Pops. Wayne Enterprises CEO billionaire Bruce Wayne took custody of Dick Grayson.”

Reid shakes his head gently, “no, that’s not right, Bruce Wayne has wards, but…” he looks up, dumbfounded, “the oldest is Richie Wayne.” He shakes his head again, but this time in frustration, “oh, I’m an idiot, how did I not realize?”

Morgan claps him on the shoulder as JJ pulls up photos of Richie Wayne. Some are from Wayne fundraisers, charity galas, and some are press photos from around Gotham, but all of them are of Dick Grayson.

“He kept this from us on purpose,” Rossi remarks.

“Not just that,” Penelope continues, “the level of detail to scrub any cross references of Dick Grayson and Richie Wayne is immaculate. I mean I had to decrypt his CPS file to even know to connect Dick Grayson and Bruce Wayne, and that just brought up an article from the night of the accident which says Bruce Wayne was in attendance. I’m in awe of whoever did this.”

“So he lied about who he is,” Derek scoffs.

“More like omitted,” JJ points out.

Rossi looks at the team, “There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

“Bruce Wayne has more children, right, Garcia?” Reid asks.

“Right-o. After Dick, he adopted Jason Todd, Tim Drake, and has one biological child, Damian Wayne. And this is where it gets a little dark,” Garcia warns, a small shake in her voice, “Dick moved out of Gotham pretty much as soon as he was eighteen and only went back last year when Bruce Wayne went off the grid for the entire year. Completely gone, no sightings, not even a blurry iPhone photo, but he popped back up again six months ago.”

“When Dick enrolled in the Academy,” Morgan finishes.

“Any insight on Wayne and Dick’s relationship?” JJ asks.

“Yes,” Garcia answers softly, then speaks up, “from ages 9-18 Dick Grayson’s medical records show one bout of pnemonia, a broken leg, three concussions, and four inquiries from mandated reporters, probably teachers, for bruises found on him.”

JJ swallows and squeezes her eyes shut briefly. “That medical history plus the moving out as soon as he could? It’s not a good picture.”

“What about the other children?” Hotch asks in a tight voice.

Reid snaps his head up, “Jason Todd was abducted and held for ransom, right Garcia?”

“Correct again, boy genius. Jason Todd was kidnapped at age 16, and when Wayne didn’t pay, the kidnappers made everyone believe they killed him. It’s not clear, but somehow the kid must have escaped because he came back into the picture two years later. But just eight months after Jason Todd’s alleged death, Wayne adopted Tim Drake after his own parents were found guilty of child neglect. To date, his medical file shows a couple broken bones and concussions as well.”

There’s silence again as the team digests all this information and its potential implications.

Morgan clears his throat, “none of that explains why Dick would run off with Emily.”

“No,” Hotch stands up straight, “but it does provide the basis for a profile of someone potentially working with Doyle.”

Reid whips his head to look at Hotch, “you don’t really think Dick could be a double agent.”

Morgan sighs, “he knew an awful lot about Valhalla awfully quickly.”

JJ crosses her arms, “and he has been watching Emily since he got here.”

Hotch clenches his jaw, “I wasn’t the one who approved his transfer to th BAU,” he starts, “the order came from above.”

“Strauss?” Rossi guesses.

“Higher,” Hotch answers, “no name, just a direct order.”

“So he’s got friends in high enough places to get him on the most elite team in the FBI,” Rossi drums his fingers on the table.

“Anything else Garcia?” JJ asks.

“Just one, I looked into Dick’s financials and he’s actually got two accounts. One is pretty much what you’d expect from someone on a government salary. He orders takeout a little too much, but nothing out of the ordinary. But the second is definitely funded by a billionaire, which makes sense now that we know he comes from money. But I dug a little farther and the only transaction since the account was set up is for 5 million dollars. Withdrawn last month.”

“Do we know where it went?” Hotch asks immediately.

“Yup,” Penelope pops the ‘p’, “do you all remember that case in Louisiana with that guy taking parents hostage and begging the mom to shoot him so his kids could collect life insurance?” She takes their answer as an affirmative. “Dick sent the money to his family. Set up a trust for the kids and gave two million as a donation to the town itself to fund some social safety nets while the city gets back on its feet.”

Morgan pinches the bridge of his nose, “that complicates the profile.”

“It could be his way of showing remorse for what he’s about to do,” JJ drums her fingers on the desk nervously.

Suddenly, Penelope gasps, “guys,” her voice is shaking, “I’ve been running a program to search for Doyle, Emily, or Dick since I got here and I just got a hit. It… it’s not good…”

The screen changes to a video feed. There are two black SUVs and men streaming out from a pub. Doyle brings up the rear. As soon as Doyle is visible, they watch Emily and Dick walk into frame, their backs to the camera. They split, and Dick moves out of frame but they watch Emily toss a flash grenade into one of the trucks and then they watch Doyle aim his gun and fire twice.

She hits the ground and doesn’t get back up.

JJ lets out a strangled cry.

But Doyle bends down and opens her jacket, smiling at what he sees, then stands and gestures for someone to pick her up and put her in the car.

The feed cuts out after that.

“She’s alive,” Rossi says, like he’s making sure that everyone knows, “the good news is she’s alive.”

“But-but she’s with him!” Penelope practically shrieks, “she’s in so much danger.”

Morgan is on his feet, “where the hell is Dick?”

Hotch sets his jaw, “he got out of the way before Doyle got a jump on Prentiss.”
_______________________________

Dick has a headache when he regains consciousness, but that’s not unusual after being kidnapped. There are different headaches though. There’s the cotton mouth, dull, slow feeling of waking up after getting knocked out with a chemical, and there’s his current predicament: a pulsing throb at the back of his head.

He keeps his eyes closed and makes sure not to move to give himself some time to get his bearings. There’s a soreness and strain in his arms, emanating from his wrists supporting his weight from the restraints holding him up. It’s cold wherever they are. No heating. His arms are bare as he’s been stripped of his collared shirt and leaving only his white undershirt. He fights not to try and scratch an itch on the side of his face. There’s a dried sticky substance on his skin: dried blood. But aside from his head and his arms, nothing else hurts.

Moving on from his injuries, he can hear breathing. It’s even, but heavier than normal, a sign of stress or injury. There’s also a slight creaking, like someone is shifting in a wooden chair. From a few feet away, he can hear water dripping.

Dick blinks his eyes open slowly. There’s a low light from a lightbulb, thankfully not too strong to hurt his head. After a few seconds he opens them more fully and gets his feet under him to take some of his weight once he knows none of the goons are in here waiting for him to wake up.

It really sucks to wake up and immediately go into the villain monologue/interrogation/torture part of the routine. At least he has a chance to catch his breath here.

Emily is handcuffed to a wooden chair next to him, fully conscious and watching him. She sits back when she sees Dick is conscious.

“Well that could have gone better,” Dick’s voice is raspy and he winces slightly at the sound. Yup, that feels like a concussion.

Emily swallows and ducks her head, “I’m sorry. I should have seen Doyle–”

“Hey,” Dick cuts her off, “don’t do that. I knew the risks when I followed you.” Dick looks around the cement room they’re in. He can see more light coming from a hallway. There’s no door between the cell and the hallway so Doyle must be confident they won’t make it out of here.

Ha. Rookie. Dick shifts his wrists in the cuffs holding his arms above his head. If it was just him, he could get out of these before Doyle even knows he’s awake. But he’s not alone and he can’t use too many of his Nightwing tricks. He’s just regular FBI agent Dick Grayson. Plus, he’s got a job to do.

“So, uh, any idea why we’re still alive?” He asks Prentiss.

She doesn’t get a chance to answer because Doyle walks in. Emily’s back is to the doorway, and his steps are silent, but Dick can see him walk in. Emily tenses, just a bit, and Dick takes one useless step towards her, wanting to put himself between her and the threat.

Doyle steps up behind Emily and puts one hand on the side of her bare neck, “where’s my ring?”

She swallows. “I flushed it.”

Doyle chuckles, “I spent seven years in hell because of that ring.” he reaches around to grasp the collar of her shirt and down the neckline.

Dick clears his throat, “you can’t actually blame her for your literal war crimes.”

Doyle freezes, glaring up at Dick with ice blue eyes simmering with anger, “excuse me?”

“Sure, she got you arrested, but it was only a matter of time. And you were the terrorist, it’s not like you didn’t know the risks.” Dick shrugs as much as he can with his arms extended above him, “I’m just saying, it’s kind of unfair to blame her.”

Doyle chuckles darkly but removes his hand from Emily’s shirt and steps around, taking slow steps until he’s right in front of Dick. Two more men come into the room, both stationed at the doorway.

“Aw yes, how could I forget,” Doyle examines him, “the newest agent. Lovely to see you again.”

“I get the feeling you’re being sarcastic.”

Doyle smirks. “You should thank me for not shooting you in the head, Grayson.”

Dick sighs dramatically, “thank you, oh great terrorist.”

“Dick…” Emily warns.

But Dick pays her no attention, “is this really what all this was for Doyle? You slaughter four international agents and two families for what? Revenge? Grow up.”

Dick’s head snaps to the side with the force of Doyle’s blow. His brain feels like it bounces off the inside of his skull but he doesn’t make a noise. Just a breath.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, boy.” Doyle growls.

Dick works his jaw, “actually, I do. I know she hurt your feelings and you went to prison for it. I also know that you’re going to pay for all the people you’ve killed. And this time it’ll be more than seven years.”

“Dick,” Emily snaps, “stop talking.”

Doyle grins, “listen to lady, lad.” He turns to look at Emily, “tell me, Lauren, should I shoot him now? Or wait until you’ve confessed?”

Emily strains against her restraints, “Doyle this is between you and me.”

Doyle continues like he didn’t hear her, pulling out a switchblade and opening it. “No, I think I’ll make you listen to his screams. And then I’ll kill him right before I kill you.”

Emily looks at Dick with wide eyes, jaw clenched. The fear in her eyes isn’t for herself. It’s for Dick. He tries to reassure her as best as he can without using words. It’s okay. He’ll be okay.

“So it really is revenge?” Dick’s only answer is a fist to the gut. He coughs, “Reid hits harder than that.”

“How does that sound, Emily?” Doyle sneers, “knowing you’re the reason I’m killing this boy,” he sends his fist to Dick’s side again, “barely more than a child,” he punches Dick in the nose, “how does it feel to know his screams are on you,” Doyle gets a solid hit to Dick’s gut that forces the air and a grunt of pain from him.

“Ian, stop! Stop!”

Doyle breathes heavily. He opens his switchblade and places the point against Dick’s jaw, turning his head to get a better look at the forming bruises. Dick can feel blood from his nose.

“I’ve taken harder hits when I was twelve,” Dick taunts, then he turns to address Emily, “I’m fine, Em, really.”

She doesn’t look relieved.

Doyle barks a laugh, “look at that fire. Tell you what, maybe I won’t kill you. Maybe I’ll just torture ya until yer a bleeding mess.” He takes the blade and runs is along Dick’s bicep, not deep enough to scar, just sting. He looks to his men at the door, “Benny, how much does a pretty boy go for these days?”

Dick clenches his jaw and stays very still, not letting Doyle or Emily see the shiver running up his back. It’s not the first time a criminal has used the threat (it’s actually one of the most common), but it’s never pleasant. Unfortunately, Doyle sees the flash of something in his eyes because he grins, “yeah, maybe I’ll make a pretty penny on ya. Then you can fight all you want,” he leans in to whisper in Dick’s ear, “they like it when you fight.”

Dick jerks forward and grabs Doyle’s ear with his teeth, biting down. Hard. Doyle yells out in pain and wrenches himself back, dropping his knife and bringing a hand to the blood gushing from his ear. Dick spits out the flesh in his mouth and then offers the terrorist a bloody grin.

“You’re going to wish you didn’t do that,” Doyle growls, practically running out of the cell to get medical attention to his ear.

When he’s gone, the only sounds are both Dick and Emily breathing hard.

“Why did you do that?” Emily exclaims.

“Get punched in the face? Sorry, I didn’t know I had a choice.”

She scoffs, “you exacerbated him. He was focused on me, Dick, not you! You didn’t need to pull attention like that!”

Dick rolls his eyes, then winces at the shot of pain singing through his brain at the motion, “Emily, nothing good was going to come from your conversation. He made that clear.”

She looks away, still angry, but she can’t argue. The way Doyle came in and immediately put his hands on her. The obsession still there, like her body is his possession. They both saw it. She felt it.

“Thank you,” she says softly. Then harder, “but don’t do it again.”

Dick doesn’t make any promises.
_______________________________

“It just doesn’t make sense,” Reid says for the umpteenth time, “why would Dick turn on us?”

Hotch and Rossi exchange a look. Derek clocks it immediately. “You think Grayson came here with the objective of getting Prentiss to Doyle.” He directs his next question to Hotch, “you said orders came from high up to put Grayson on our team?”

Hotch nods.

“And if Doyle has friends in high enough places to break him out of a North Korean prison, he might have friends in the FBI,” Rossi connects the dots.

Hotch’s expression doesn’t change, “it’s crossed my mind.”

Derek leans back in his chair. “Alright, so let's profile him. We’ve got someone who experienced deep trauma as a child.”

“The loss of his parents,” JJ fills in.

“God, that has to mess a kid up,” Penelope mumbles to herself.

“And let's not forget the possible abuse by one of the most powerful men in the world,” Rossi continues, “that could be how Grayson got involved with Doyle. Even if he did come forward, Wayne would never face consequences.”

Derek takes over. “So he resorted to other methods to escape his home. Makes sense. Organizations like Doyle’s specialize in recruiting talented kids who feel like they’re trapped and offering them a better life.”

Rossi taps his fingers on the table, “alright, so Grayson gets involved. How? When?”

Everyone looks at Reid, who’s been silent. He’s frowning and not making eye contact. That is, until JJ places a reassuring hand on his arm and he sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “the Bludhaven Police Department is historically one of the most corrupt. If we were looking to profile our teammate as an alleged accomplice, my guess would be BPD is a cover for an illegal organization.”

“So he joins the force in Bludhaven as soon as he can,” Derek continues theorizing, “until Bruce Wayne disappears, and he has to go back to Gotham to take care of his brothers. As soon as Wayne is back, Grayson applies for the Academy.”

Penelope runs a quick search, typing quickly, “Ian Doyle broke out of prison one week before Dick enrolled.”

A chill goes through the room.

Spencer’s voice is small, “he confided in me that his brothers haven’t been answering his calls since he took this job.”

“If Wayne is a child abuser, it could be anger for leaving them with him,” Hotch speaks up, “or if they know who Dick is involved with, it could be anger or worry about this assignment.”

“But this could all just be coincidence,” Reid snaps, “he’s watched all our backs on every mission. He’s our friend,” he argues, “he got dosed with fear toxin that was supposed to go to Emily.” He knows how all this sounds, but outside of chalking it up to coincidence, Reid doesn’t have a reasonable explanation. He wants to hit his head on the table to see if it’ll jumpstart his brain. He’s missing something, he knows that. He knows there’s another explanation than Dick being a double agent. It’s right in front of him, he can almost see it, but it’s just out of grasp.

Rossi looks over sharply, “her champagne at the gala. That’s how it happened.”

“His reaction was real,” Hotch admits begrudgingly.

“Grayson did say he has experience with fear toxin,” Morgan counters, “it could be a ploy to get us to trust him.”

“Not us,” JJ corrects, “Emily. By drugging himself with her glass, she would feel a sense of guilt along with trust.”

“Maybe enough to follow him into an ambush,” Rossi finishes.

They all look at the screen, frozen on the image of Doyle overtop an unconscious Emily and Dick nowhere in sight.

Penelope lets out a shaky breath and puts her hands over her face, “what do we do? How do we find her? How do we fix this?”

Morgan runs a hand over his head in exasperation.

“Everything Doyle’s done has led to Emily,” Hotch explains calmly, eerily calm, like he’s trying his best to keep his team focused on their objective and not go out of their minds with worry about their friend, “that means he’ll take his time.”

JJ closes her eyes and tries to swallow the lump in her throat. “We have to find her. Now.”

“If Dick is a double agent, he’s just following orders,” Rossi says, “we need a profile on Doyle to find Emily.”

_______________________________

Dick tries to work some feeling back into his arms but it’s really no use, not with being restrained at this angle. His whole midsection throbs and he would love some water. To wash the dried blood from his face or to drink, he really doesn’t care.

Scratch that. Drink would be preferable.

He would also love a clock.

“What’s going through your head?” Emily asks. She shifts in her seat, trying to rub some feeling into her own wrists, cuffed behind the chair she’s in.

Dick cocks his head, “just going over the profile.”

She huffs a laugh, “and here I thought it’d be an escape plan.”

Dick smirks, “not yet.”

“So why are you thinking about the profile? We know Doyle was behind everything.”

Dick shakes his head and gazes around the room, “there’s just something about it nagging me. Those families slaughtered don’t quite make sense.”

Prentiss sighs, hanging her head slightly, “there’s no point, Grayson. He’s going to kill me and I want you to try your hardest to get out of here after he does it.”

“Not going to happen, Emily.”

She sighs again, “you and that damn hero complex.”

Dick shoots her a grin, “is it a complex if I actually am a hero?”

She rolls her eyes but she smiles, trying not to laugh.

“I just don’t understand the point,” Dick says, “why do all this? What’s the end goal? To get revenge on you?”

Emily is silent.

“I mean, does he want Lauren Reynolds back? Or to punish you for not being her?”

“Dick, I deceived him for over a year. I got him to propose to me and then sent him to a North Korean prison. Of course he wants to punish me.”

Usually Emily rubs the pad of her thumb and pointer finger together when she’s lying, but because she’s cuffed, Dick can’t see her hands.

He shakes his head, “there’s something missing.”

_______________________________

Reid is rubbing his eyes with his elbows on the table while JJ’s hair has lost all the styling it had at the start of the day. Outside the conference room, it’s a circus of agents executing the manhunt for Ian Doyle. But it’s not enough.

“I’ve looked through JTF’s personal records again and Jeremy made some fancy plans before his death,” Penelope’s voice is hoarse at the late hour, but no one even thinks about suggesting anyone go home, “specifically he bought a large estate in Spain.”

JJ scans the screen over Penelope’s shoulder, “he signed the documents with one of his covers and made a down payment in cash. Deposited the rest.”

Hotch paces behind them, hands in his pockets, “so Jeremy sold the list of JTF team members to Doyle. He betrayed his own team.”

“He was the first victim, killed quietly,” JJ confirms, “Doyle didn’t want any attention until he was ready.”

“Did Tsia, his fiance, know?” Morgan asks.

“Can’t tell,” Penelope answers, “but nothing in her financial records point to her knowing.”

“So what do we know about Doyle?” Morgan questions.

“He;s a power-assertive psychopath,” Rossi starts off. “Highly controlling and very explosive when something doesn’t go as planned.”

“We need a clue where Doyle would take her,” Hotch says, his voice tight with frustration, “there’s something in the profile that gives us that. We just… we haven’t found it yet.”

Rossi taps his fingers on the table. “We’re missing something. It’s right in front of us and we’re missing it.”
_______________________________

Dick and Emily wait in silence for Doyle to come back. Dick’s given Emily a break from the questions for the past twenty minutes, but he can’t wait any longer. “Why families?” He asks softly.

She whips her head up, wide awake, “what?”

“If you’re his stressor,” Dick explains slowly, “and he wants revenge on the woman who betrayed him, why did he kill that little boy in DC?”

Emily tenses and tries to glance at the door behind her, “he’s a psychopath, he likes annihilation.”

“But why family annihilation?”

Emily makes a frustrated sound in the back of her throat, “why is this so important to you? Can’t you see we have bigger problems?”

He smirks, “call it a professional curiosity,” he lets the smirk slide off his face and meets Emily’s eyes, “my parents were killed when I was nine, but the guy who did it left me alive.”

Her expression softens, “I’m sorry.”

Dick breezes past her pity, “Doyle didn’t have to kill the child but he did.”

Emily breaks eye contact, her jaw set, “Dick I can’t talk about this. Please. It’s not safe.”

Dick looks up when the sound of approaching steps echo through the hallway. Emily looks at him with wide eyes, able to hear Doyle coming but unable to see him. “Remember what I said,” she tells Dick breathlessly, “after he kills me get out of here, however you can.”

“Not gonna happen, Em.” He meets her gaze calmly, “we’re both going to walk out of here. The team will find us. You just have to fight like hell until they do.” He uses one hand to twist the thin band around his pinky, the material so thin and almost perfectly matching his skin tone it’s practically invisible. He twists it three times as Doyle and two henchmen make it to the room.

_______________________________

Penelope is in the middle of running a background on all staff members that were at Doyle’s compound when he was arrested when her screen freezes. “No, no, no, no, no,” she mumbles to herself, “don’t quit on me now, baby.” If she has to waste five precious minutes to go downstairs and boot up her whole system, she might cry. She’s held it together so far because Emily needs her but if those five minutes are the ones where Doyle kills Emily she’ll never forgive herself.

But her computer doesn’t shut down. A chat box opens up. Penelope immediately starts running a trace as the person on the other end types: I THINK YOU’RE LOOKING FOR THIS

Attached is a pair of coordinates and a link to a map. Penelope clicks and another window opens to show a blinking blue dot in a warehouse in DC. Her heart is beating like a hummingbird’s in her chest.

IS THIS WHAT I THINK IT IS? She types back.

GET TO THEM FAST, O WISE TECH GODDESS :)

Another link comes through. Then a message: THIS SHOULD GIVE CONTEXT. -O

“Guys,” Penelope says in a strangled cry. She clicks on the link and gasps as pictures of a little blonde girl, maybe five, and an older Irish woman sat against a wall, their hands tied behind their backs and a gun just in frame, aimed at the little girl’s head.

“What is it Garcia?” Morgan asks immediately.

“I think I have a location.”

The team instantly crowds around her. Rossi sucks in a breath at the pictures. “How did you get these?”

“An anonymous source?” Penelope doesn’t quite know how to explain it, but she pulls up the map with the coordinates and pictures from the building at the coordinates. The inside matches the photos of the little girl and her mom. She clicks through the photos and gasps again when the next ones show the little girl and woman, this time slumped against the wall, bloodstains on the cement behind them.

Reid points to where a hand holds the murder weapon in the photo, “look at the shooter’s hand.”

JJ leans closer, biting her lip, “it’s Emily’s. Look at the nails.”

“Who’s the little girl?” Rossi asks the question on everyone’s mind.

Reid snaps his fingers, “the family in DC. The little boy. Up until them, Doyle murdered with a surgeon’s precision, no collateral damage. What if that little boy is a surrogate for this little girl?”

“If Emily killed this girl, that would explain why Doyle is so obsessed with revenge,” JJ finishes the theory. “Garcia, can you find out who she is?”

Penelope types furiously, letting out a small exclamation a few seconds later, “I matched immigration records with Doyle’s arrest based on his employees. Lyla Jones, she’s the only child that matches. Settled in Boston 8 years ago, adoptive guardian Crystal Jones, who was Doyle’s housekeeper. Lyla and her mother went missing seven years ago, bodies were never found.”

Hotch is already leaving the room, “we need a full SWAT team at that location ASAP.”

The team runs after him. They run to save their family.

_______________________________

The fear leaves Emily’s eyes as soon as she feels Doyle’s presence behind her. “You knew where to find me when you made your cute little last stand,” Doyle says gently, “so you know what this is about. Game’s over, love. Time for your last confession.” He pulls a handgun from his coat and aims it at her head.

Dick opens his mouth but Emily shoots him a warning glare, tears gathering in her eyes, “take me to where she died. I want to see it.” Emily closes her eyes, expecting the bullet, but Doyle puts the safety back on and puts the gun away. He bends down to untie her ankles from the chair. “Breathe, just breathe,” she mutters to herself.

Dick recognizes the breathing exercise she’s using. It’s one of the first ones Bruce taught him. When Doyle grabs her arm to jerk her to feet, Dick rattles his chains, “hey, it’s rude not to extend an invitation.”

Doyle ignores him and starts leading Emily out of the room. Emily doesn’t look back.

“Hey!” Dick calls after them, “hey!” But they’re gone around the corner. Then it’s just Dick and Doyle’s two henchmen. “Well,” he says to the two other men in the room, “what do you fellas think about unlocking these?” He rattles his chain again for effect.

They smirk but don’t answer.

Dick nods. Of course it can’t be easy. He keeps an eye on the guards, but they’re not really watching him, satisfied with trusting he’s restrained and too injured to try anything. (But they don’t know they’re dealing with a Bat).

He knows he won’t have long before they know something’s up. Unlike handcuffs, which he could get out of but fake still having them on until he was ready, the chains are loud and clunky. No way to avoid the instant knowledge that he’s escaped.

So he’s got to be fast.

He hears the lock click free one minute and thirteen seconds later. He instantly rips the top button off the front of his pants and throws it on the ground, setting off the smoke bomb and disappearing into the cover.

The men yell and cough, too surprised to pull their guns before their vision is completely obscured. Dick takes them down one by one. The first with a clean kick to the head and the other by using his own gun to break his nose. Once they’re down Dick takes off down the hall to find Emily.

While running, he slows slightly to grab two old pipes off the floor. He comes up behind two guards in the hall and knocks them out, using the pipes like a lighter version of his escrima sticks.

“You were the only one that knew!” Doyle yells.

Come on, Em, fight like hell, he chants in his head as he runs, trying to find where Doyle took her.

He can hear the sounds of a fight; a thud and a grunt of pain. Doyle releases a pained growl, and then Emily’s scream and a crash.

“You killed my daughter?” Doyle practically screams. The sound of a blow.

Almost there, almost there.

Dick leaps over a guard, tangling his legs around his neck and bringing the man down before he has time to know what hit him. Dick flips to his feet and swerves out of the path of a bullet, jumping to the opposite side of the hall and using the wall to push himself at the man with a gun, sending him careening into the cement and down for the count.

From down a few halls, Dick hears the sound of a door being thrown open. He smiles to himself. The cavalry has arrived.

Dick’s midsection throbs and his head is dizzy from the fancy moves but he takes the next corner so fast he has to scramble to keep his momentum from sending him into the wall.

“...and then she got on the plane,” Emily sputters, Doyle’s hands around her neck, pinning her to the ground and choking the life out of her.

“Where is she?!” Doyle screams in her face.

Dick tackles the man to the side, rolling them both away from Emily, who gasps and coughs for air. Dick makes it to his feet first but grimaces and reaches for his injured ribs. Doyle gets to his feet slower but pure hatred sparks in his gaze. “You,” he says lowly, “are about to die.” He pulls the gun from his jacket and aims it at Dick’s head.

“Nope!” Dick rolls, dodging the bullet and pops back up in the circle Doyle made with his arms when he aimed the gun. Dick wraps an arm around Doyle’s neck and flips, hearing the older man gasp for breath as he hits the ground.

Dick runs to Emily and drops to her side. She’s still breathing heavily, a hand on her throat. “Let me see,” Dick gently tilts her head up to catch a glimpse of the forming bruises across her neck. “I think the team is here so we’ll get a doctor to make sure it doesn’t swell up too bad.”

She gives a strangled sound and tackles Dick to the side as a gunshot rings out.

“For fuck’s sake,” Dick mutters and presses Emily lower to the ground. She’s barely conscious and Dick makes sure she’s propped against a decently covered spot in the room before rolling to the side and charging the terrorist, jumping into a full twist to avoid the next bullet and knocking the gun out of Doyle’s hands on the way down. It shoots across the cement floor and both men run after it. Dick makes it first and scoops up the weapon, disassembling it in his hands quickly.

“Fucking pain in my arse,” Doyle mumbles, blood streaming from his nose and a black eye forming.

“Yeah, yeah, just call me a meddling kid at this point,” Dick sneers, wincing as the lights hurt his head.

Doyle pulls out two knives: one is the switchblade from earlier and the other is a longer dagger. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

“I have a feeling you’re not.”

When Doyle charges, Dick uses the man’s shoulders to springboard over and scoop up the two pipes. He turns to face the man and spins his makeshift weapons, “you sure you want to do this?”

In answer, Doyle charges, because he didn’t learn the first time. Dick strikes fast and hard at the pressure points in Doyle’s arm while dodging the guy’s knives.

Doyle cries out and drops one of the knives, holding his arm close to his chest. “Who are you?” He snarls.

“Just someone you really pissed off,” Dick replies before swinging one of his weapons one more time and knocking Doyle out.

_______________________________

When Derek bursts through the door sounds of a fight are coming from, he’s prepared for the worst, but he’s not expecting to see Dick Grayson standing over an unconscious Ian Doyle with two old pieces of drain pipe in his hands. When Dick sees him, he drops the makeshift weapons and gives a small smile of relief. But when Morgan doesn’t lower his gun, Dick tilts his head to the side slightly, taking in Morgan’s stance, the officers behind him, then slowly raises his hands in surrender, never breaking eye contact even though he’s no longer smiling.

Morgan waits one beat. Two. Dick stays perfectly still, his body language nonchalant, and he favors one leg, but Derek has the feeling Dick could react on a dime if Morgan decided to treat him as a hostile.

Derek searches for Prentiss, finding her body behind an old bookshelf and curled up against the wall.

She opens her eyes and spots him, relief relaxing her whole body. She tries to stand and Derek holsters his gun and runs across the room to help her. “Whoa, slow down, Prentiss.” Her face is a mess, covered in bruises, and finger shaped marks on her throat tell Derek exactly what someone tried to do.

He hears the rest of the SWAT team continue to secure the building and clean up Doyle’s remaining men, but Derek is focused on Emily, who’s leaning against his shoulder while Derek lowers them both onto the ground until medical can get here.

“Doyle?” Prentiss rasps out.

Derek turns around and watches Dick secure a still unconscious Doyle’s hands behind his back. The kid is also a mess, his face mottled with bruises and dried blood, his wrists turning purple and still bleeding from whatever restraints he was in.

“He’s down for the count,” Morgan tells Prentiss softly, “he can’t hurt you anymore.”

Prentiss suddenly gasps, eyes flaring wide and she tries to stand, “Dick, Morgan you have to help him, he–”

Dick crouches down on her other side, “I’m fine, Emily. See? I told you no one was dying today.”

“Oh, thank god,” Emily relaxes against Morgan again, “Morgan, this kid is insane.”

Morgan glances behind him at Doyle again. “I’ll say.” He scans Dick once more, looking for any signs that this is all a set-up, a way to save his hide, but Dick makes his way to the ground until he’s fully sitting and leans back against the wall, one hand going to his ribs and his eyes closing briefly.

“Can I please go home now?” He mumbles.

Morgan chuckles, “how about a quick stop at the hospital first?”

Morgan hears Dick mumble something unintelligible, but it sounds something like “you’re no fun.”

They stay just like this until Hotch arrives with the EMTs.

Chapter Text

The team descends on Hotch as soon as he shuts the door to Emily’s hospital room. Hotch holds up a finger for them to wait and then walks down the hall to a small conference room. The team follows silently. Once the door is shut, Hotch begins.

“She’s going to be okay.” A surge of relief goes through everyone there: Morgan, Reid, JJ, Penelope, and Rossi. “They both are.” The last of the tension drifts out of all their bodies. “Emily has some intense swelling and bruising on her throat and face but nothing serious,” Hotch explains, “Dick’s got a concussion, some bruises on the face, two bruised ribs, and some lacerations on his wrists. I left a message for his emergency contact. JJ, you’re Emily’s, so you can go in after we’re done here.”

JJ nods and no one says anything, a general air of shame filtering in to replace the worry.

“It seems we,” Hotch leans back on the table, “I was wrong.”

“Not just you Hotch,” Morgan places a hand on Hotch’s shoulder, “none of us should have been so easily convinced Dick was a double agent.”

Because now they know the truth. He was never a spy. He risked his life for Emily, and probably saved hers at the end.

JJ looks at Spencer, “you were right, Spence. We should have trusted him.”

Reid nods affirmatively, as close to saying ‘I told you so’ as he gets. But he furrows his eyebrows, “that’s true, but it doesn’t negate the oddness of his past.”

Everyone stares at him in shock.

“So…now you’re suspicious of him?” JJ asks.

“No!” Reid shakes his head, “I don’t think he’s against us at all. I–I’m just saying that there are still some inconsistencies. It’s just weird. I still feel like I’m missing something right in front of my face.”

Morgan sighs, “yeah, me too. The SWAT team gave me a report after they swept the warehouse. Doyle had ten men stationed around the property, including Doyle, but SWAT only needed to incapacitate four.”

“What are you insinuating, Morgan?” Rossi has his hands in his pockets.

“I’m saying that someone took down five men and Doyle by the time we got there, and when I ran into that room Dick was standing over an unconscious Ian Doyle.”

“You think Dick, kidnapped and injured, took down five highly trained men with weapons?” JJ clarifies, “he didn’t even have a firearm on him right?”

“Doyle did,” Rossi points out.

Morgan shakes his head, “none of the men were shot and Doyle’s gun was found in the room with Emily, completely disassembled.”

“It’s not out of the realm of possibility,” Hotch offers, “Dick himself is highly trained, we’ve all seen it. Factor in adrenaline and the knowledge Doyle was about to hurt Emily. People can do extraordinary things under extraordinary circumstances.”

“What about the hacker?” Reid asks, “someone was skilled enough to get into Penelope’s systems and give her that tip about Doyle’s secret daughter.”

“That couldn’t have been Dick,” Morgan says emphatically, “times don’t add up and there wasn’t a computer in the warehouse.”

Penelope purses her lips, “but there were three security cameras throughout that building that went dark right after Doyle took Emily out of the holding room.”

“Coincidence?” Rossi offers.

“Garcia, did the hacker have a signature?” Reid asks her.

“Just the letter ‘O’. IT is currently sweeping my laptop but if they were good enough to get in there most likely won’t be a trace left.”

“Could they be working with Dick?” Morgan thinks out loud, “but why? We’re his team.”

Penelope takes a seat, the first one to do so, “there are hundreds, if not thousands, of activist hackers at any given minute…” she trails off, a far-off look in her eyes. Rossi snaps his fingers to bring her back and she jerks, “sorry, sorry, I was just thinking, but it’s not possible I mean they’re just an urban myth…”

“Babygirl,” Morgan prods.

Penelope shakes her head to clear it, “sorry, sorry, um, there are rumors of the hacker, y’know, like the best of the best. No one knows who they are or where they are, how they started or even really when, but they go by the name Oracle.”

“An all knowing Internet presence,” Reid mumbles, “O.”

“What else have you heard, Garcia?” Hotch asks.

“Just crumbs,” she answers, “and they could be false, but from what I’ve gathered, they work on the big stuff, like decommissioning nuclear missiles, hacking into global satellites, deterring another 9/11, getting info in and out of cities under attack, like Gotham or Bludhaven, Metropolis, Central City, Salt Lake that one time.”

“So again, not out of the realm of possibilities that this…Oracle…would step in to catch one of the most notorious terrorists in IRA history,” Rossi fills in. “Quite a few coincidences.”

Hotch presses his lips together, “and yet no proof that they’re connected.”

_______________________________

JJ is sitting by Emily’s bed when she wakes up, groggy from the pain meds. She tries to speak but all that comes out is a raspy whisper and then she’s coughing. JJ gets up immediately and pours some water into a paper cup. She helps Emily sit up and takes a few sips.

“Hey super spy,” JJ says with a smile.

“Doyle?”

“In custody,” JJ answers immediately, “you’re safe.”

Emily reaches for JJ’s hand, who takes it in both of hers, holding it as tightly as she can without hurting Emily. “Are you mad at me?” Emily whispers.

JJ laughs, “of course not, Em. None of us are. We were scared out of our minds for you but no, we’re not mad.” She cocks her head, “well, maybe Reid is a little mad, but it comes from love.”

Emily laughs, trying to blink away her tears. It’s over. She can’t believe it’s really over. She’s spent seven years running, just waiting for the other shoe to drop, but maybe she can finally relax now. Her team knows her secrets, Doyle is in custody. She doesn’t have to be alone anymore.

JJ checks her phone, “hey, Cat texted and said she’d love to stop by and check on you if you’re up to it.”

“Maybe tomorrow. That’s sweet of her but I think I just want to see my team. My family.” Emily startles, “wait, Will and Henry, do you need to get home? You must’ve been awake all night, it’s okay if–”

JJ shifts to sit on the hospital bed by Emily and the girls lean against each other. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Suddenly, Emily gasps as the memories of the night hit her like a truck, “Dick!” She grabs JJ’s wrist, “where is he? Is he okay? JJ, he was hurt–”

JJ hurries to reassure her, “it’s okay, he’s okay, Emily, he’s fine. A little banged up but fine. He’s in the room right next door.”

“He’s really okay?” Tears fill Emily’s eyes again, the pain meds only aiding the emotional outburst, “Doyle was going to kill him. He was going to… he hurt him, JJ. That stupid kid followed me and,” she hiccups.

“Shhh, he’s okay,” JJ strokes her hand through Emily’s hair comfortingly, “you’re both okay.”

Emily lets her friend hold her together, just leaning against JJ. Emily knows when the pain meds wear off she’s going to be embarrassed about all this emotion, but she knows JJ won’t tell anyone. JJ will let Emily find her footing before letting the rest of the team in.

So she sits in the quiet and closes her eyes, reveling in the feeling of utter safety. Her mind starts replaying the last few hours. That room, Doyle beating Dick in front of her, threatening him, threatening her, telling Doyle that his daughter is alive, Doyle strangling her… and then… she thinks it was Dick to got him off of her.

She thought she was dead, and then she could breathe again. She has a vague memory of breathing again, and the sounds of a fight, blurry figures. She furrows her eyebrows, eyes still closed, trying to will the picture to get clearer.

She sits up, “I need to talk to Dick.”

“Emily, I–”

“JJ.”

JJ nods and helps Emily get out of bed. She’s a little wobbly on her fight and her face is sore, but she’s fine for the most part. She walks out of the room with JJ at her side, ready to catch her if she needs.
_______________________________

Dick is alone in his hospital room when he wakes up, groggy from the pain meds. Aw man, he thinks, he hates anyone other than Alfred giving him pain meds. He hates feeling groggy and slow. It’s even worse knowing he feels this way and it wasn’t even necessary. A concussion and some bruised ribs? Please, he’s done patrol with worse injuries and an ibuprofen.

He stumbles out of the bed and goes to the attached bathroom to splash some water on his face. He’s in some loose sweatpants and a t-shirt given to him by the hospital but no socks. He wishes he had some socks. He’s still at the sink when the hair on his arms stands up. He tries to shake off the feeling, because it’s probably just leftover jitters from last night. Everything is fine. Doyle is in custody. Emily is alive.

He hears the door to his room open and close so he dries his face and walks out, expecting Hotch. “Hey, H–” he stops suddenly when it’s not Hotch. The smile drops off his face.

“Hey, lover,” Catalina smiles, slow and sensual. She’s still in her slacks and button up, her gun at her waist, “I was helping with this manhunt and heard you got hurt. Wanted to check in.”

“Like you care.”

She tsks, like he’s hurt her feelings, “don’t be mean.”

“Get out.”

“Or what?” She takes a step forward. “Are you going to make me, Dick?” Another step.

“Stop.” He doesn’t realize, but he takes a step back for every step she takes towards him, until his back hits the wall. But she doesn’t listen. She never listened.

She grins, “you going to throw me out yourself?” She’s close enough he can smell her perfume. He remembers that perfume. He wants to throw up. “Or,” she leans in, “you gonna kill me?”

He jerks back like she hit him, smacking the back of his head on the wall. He winces, remembering he still has a concussion. Cat laughs.

Dick sighs and leans his weight against the wall, “what do you want, Catalina?”

She puts a hand on her hip, “I heard you tried to turn yourself in. Well, not you, the other you, but still. Apparently the police didn’t believe Nightwing the Saint would kill someone.” He tenses as she steps even closer, “I don’t believe you regret what we had that badly, Dick.”

He slaps her hand away, “I don’t want you here.”

She rolls her eyes, “you can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me. Those weeks you and me had. They were special,” she hisses the last few words, like she’s the victim in a break-up. She pokes him in the chest and his skin feels like it wants to sear itself off his skeleton even through his shirt. “I’m just being nice–”

“Get out!” He snaps and she startles, “haven’t you done enough? Just-just leave me alone!” He squeezes his eyes against the memories fighting to be seen behind his eyelids.

“Cat?”
_______________________________

Emily feels a surge of protectiveness rear up inside her when she opens the door to Dick’s room and finds him and Catalina talking. Arguing more like. She should feel it for Cat, her friend, her head clocks this, but her gut knows something is wrong.

That protectiveness, that instant urge to jump in between danger and her friend, it’s for Dick, not Cat. The first thing she sees is how pale his face is. It could be due to his injuries, or the pain meds, but she doesn’t think so.

The next thing she says is their positioning. How, even though it was Dick doing the yelling, he’s pressed as close as he can get to the wall, slouched, like he’s trying to melt into it. Cat is the one pining him, even though she’s not touching him. Even though he’s bigger, and a better fighter.

And because she’s a highly trained profiler, she sees the slight tremble in his hands.

He looks… well, frankly he looks like a cornered puppy, young and trying to survive.

“Cat?” Emily says.

She freezes and spins around, grinning big, “Emily, you’re okay!” She crosses the room and gently puts her arms around Emily in a hug, “I heard you two got hurt and figured I’d stop by.”

“That’s…nice.” While Cat is hugging her, Emily watches Dick, who swallows and runs a hand through his hair, pushing himself off the wall and moves to stand in front of the bathroom, no longer pinned but keeping an eye on all the exits. And Catalina. “I’m really not up for visitors right now, and I don’t think Dick is either, is that okay?”

“Oh my gosh, of course,” Cat backs up, still holding Emily’s shoulders, “I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Feel better.” She kisses Emily’s cheek and then she’s gone.

JJ glances at Emily, confirming Emily’s feelings of unease. “I’m going to make sure she knows where the exit is,” JJ says. Gentler, she says, “Dick are you alright?”

Dick pastes on a smile, “fine, JJ.”

Once JJ is gone, Dick blows out an exhale and runs a hand through his hair again, wincing slightly when it pulls. He leans against the wall directly across from Emily, “how are you feeling?”

“I’m not in any pain so the drugs are working.”

Dick chuckles, “got to love numbness.”

Emily looks at the door behind her and then back at Dick, her tone soft, “Dick, what’s your history with Catalina?”

He quirks an eyebrow, “she hasn’t said anything?”

“I want to hear it from you.”

“You don’t want to hear it at all.”

“Dick–”

“Em. Drop it.”

And he looks so tired. So… hollow, that she does. She moves to sit on the end of the hospital bed. “How are you feeling?” She takes in the bruises on his face. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”

He waves away her apology, “all part of the gig. Really, I’m fine.”

There’s a silence while Emily thumbs the edge of the blanket, replaying being in that room with Doyle over and over. She was going to die. He was going to kill her. And then the weight on her chest was gone. She could breathe again. And Dick… “I have you to thank for my life.”

“You did most of the work,” Dick grins, “I just hit him in the head.”

Emily tilts her head, replaying the blurry images, “I think you did more than that.” She watches him raise his eyebrows, but not offer an explanation. “Who are you?” She asks quietly.

He shrugs, “same as you, Prentiss. Just doing my job.”

She wants to reach for him, but she sees how closely he’s watching her hands, how his arms are crossed over his chest, like he’s protecting himself from her eyes, how he taps his fingers on his arm. The smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. She doesn’t reach out. “Well, thank you,” she says instead.

_______________________________

The next morning instead of going home after being released from the hospital Hotch, Morgan, and two officers are waiting in the lobby.

“What’s wrong?” Prentiss asks, her stomach sinking.

“Ian Doyle escaped custody,” Hotch tells them.

The effect on Emily is instant. She takes a step back, her jaw dropping in disbelief. No, no, no, no. After all this, could it really fall apart?

“You two need to come with us to Quantico where we can protect you,” Morgan says, gesturing for them to follow them out to the cars.

Dick sighs and follows Emily, pinching the bridge of his nose. Once in the car, he checks his phone. Just like he did on the walk to the waiting room. And just like then, there are no notifications. “Still no answer?”

Dick sighs again and shakes his head, “nope. I told you, they’re seriously pissed. But…I thought Dami would text me back.”

“I’m sure if they knew the situation–”

Dick waves off the suggestion, “nah. They should want to talk to me on their own, not because I guilted them into it.”

At Quantico, the rest of the team is waiting for them. Reid hugs Emily and waves at Dick, who gives a fond nod in return. They all head into their usual conference room for some privacy.

“We need to know where Doyle would go,” Hotch starts, looking at Emily, “and no secrets this time.”

At this, people glance at Dick, who’s half sitting on the table by the door. He takes a pump of hand sanitizer then grabs an orange out of the fruit bowl and starts to peel it. He looks up when he feels everyone’s stares, pausing his snack. “Uh… was that last part aimed at me?”

“Did you forget to mention anything to us?” Rossi teases.

“Something that might inform how much we trust you,” JJ says it a bit more pointedly.

Dick drops his arm to hold the piece of fruit in his lap, his whole body relaxing in defeat. “So you figured it out, huh? Can’t say I’m surprised,” he mumbles the last part under his breath.

“How could you not tell us you’re Richie Wayne?” Reid finally asks.

Dick opens his mouth, gearing up to defend himself, but then freezes, just for a second, and a flash of confusion colors his expression. It’s so fast, a blink and you’ll miss it reaction that’s almost immediately covered by a nonchalant shrug and sheepish smile.

But Emily saw it.

“I didn’t want you guys having any preconceived notions of who I am. Being B’s kid comes with a lot of pressure already and I wanted to prove myself on my own,” Dick explains, “I wanted to earn my place on the team; earn your trust, instead of anyone thinking I bought it.”

Morgan claps him on the shoulder, “understandable, kid. And… I’m sorry.”

Dick scrunches his eyebrows, “sorry for what?”

The team exchanges guilty looks. Except Reid, who just glares at everyone accusingly. “They thought you might be working for Doyle.”

Dick looks away, thinking it over, then gives a single, affirmative nod, “I can see how you’d reach that conclusion. It’s not like I’ve been very open or honest with you guys.”

“That’s no excuse,” Morgan squeezes Dick’s shoulder. “You’ve watched our backs for months and we should have trusted you. We do trust you. You tell us to duck and we will, no questions asked.”

“Aw,” JJ playfully punches Morgan’s shoulder, “that’s pretty sweet, Morgan.”

“Thank you, Morgan,” Dick says. And they all close the subject.

Everyone turns back to Emily, returning to the serious matter at hand: finding Doyle. Emily takes a breath, preparing to say the secret she’s been keeping for the past seven years. “Ian Doyle had a daughter. I made him think she was dead.”

Penelope inhales loudly, “so… those photos, they were staged?”

Emily nods. “I knew if Doyle’s enemies learned he had a daughter she would never be safe. My unit chief made me include her in my profile for questioning Doyle, so I did so after I faked her death.”

“And Doyle now knows his daughter is alive?” Reid clarifies.

Emily nods again. “That’s where he’s going.”

“So we have to find and warn her first,” JJ declares, “where is she, Emily?”

Emily sits down. “I arranged for Doyle’s housekeeper, Crystal, to raise Lyla in Reston, Virginia.”

Hotch takes a seat next to Emily, “I assume they changed their names.”

“Of course,” Emily answers, “Lyla and Crystal Jones became Stephanie and Crystal Brown seven years ago. I haven’t seen them since I put them on that plane.”

“Alright,” Hotch nods, “could Doyle find them?”

Emily clenches her jaw, “the only reason he hasn’t yet is because he didn’t know she was alive. He has unlimited resources and friends all over the world.”

“Let’s get them into protective custody as soon as possible.”
_______________________________

By the time local police make it to Crystal Brown’s home, the thirteen year old girl is gone. Crystal Brown is found dead, stuffed in a closet with a bullet hole in her head. A Ring Camera across the streets shows a black van pull up and five men with guns break down the door.

“He’s not being subtle,” Reid watches the footage, “he knows people will see.”

“So he must have a way to get out of the state quickly,” Morgan leans on the back of a chair, flexing his fingers.

“No,” Dick watches the footage again, “Doyle’s smarter than that. He’s leaving the country.”

“Garcia,” Hotch commands, “check all private airports in the DMV for flights departing tonight.”

Penelope types furiously as everyone holds their breath. “Got it. Sending coordinates now.”

Both Emily and Dick grab their coats to follow the team but Hotch stops them, “you two stay here.”

“Hell no,” Emily fires, “this whole thing is my doing. I’m finishing this.”

“You’re injured,” Hotch argues.

Dick scoffs, “barely. Look, we can waste time by arguing or we can save that little girl.”

Dick and Hotch stare each other down. And the rest of the team watch, expecting the youngest member to realize his place and step down, but to their surprise, he holds his ground, meeting Hotch’s gaze, and the older man sighs and gives a resigned, “let’s go.”

Dick bumps Reid’s arm with his elbow, “always works,” he mutters as they walk out together.

_______________________________

They beat backup to the runway but there’s no time to wait. The plane is getting ready to go. Morgan, Reid, JJ, Hotch, and Rossi get out of the car, all with bullet proof vests and weapons. Hotch yells back, “stay here!” at Dick and Emily.

Emily cranes her neck to see what’s happening outside. Their team faces fourteen men, all with their weapons pointed at the BAU. Doyle holds Stephanie against him in the middle of the stairs up to the plane, gun at her temple.

Well that’s not ending well, Dick thinks to himself. He leans into the front seat to hit the unlock button and then makes to get out. Emily grabs his arm and hisses, “what are you doing? That is an active operation and you distracting our team could get them killed.”

“There’s no way they can defend themselves, take down Doyle’s men, and get to Stephanie before the plane either takes off or Doyle blows them both up,” Dick hisses back, “I’m not going to sit here and watch it happen.” He slips out the door, closing it behind him silently.

He listens to Hotch trying to negotiate with the terrorist, both sides on a stand-off. One waiting for a signal to start shooting and the other waiting to be shot at to retaliate. Dick stays in the shadows, invincible unless someone is looking for him.

He knows it’s better for his cover to pull his gun, but it’s more important for everyone to walk out of this alive, so he pulls two daggers and spins them in his hands. He also gets a flash grenade ready. Lots of things could go wrong with this plan (if anyone could even call it a plan) but Dick has to try. He knows this ‘negotiation’ will turn into gunfire any minute.

Dick sneaks past Doyle’s line of men and crouches in the shadows under the stairs leading to the plane. Morgan spots him and his eyes widen. Dick holds his hands out in a ‘calm down’ or ‘wait’ motion. Trust me, Morgan, Dick chants in his head. You said you trusted me, now prove it.

“You’re too late,” Doyle shouts, “you’ll never find us.”

That’s my cue.

Dick throws the flash grenade and it rolls to the feet of Doyle’s men. “Down!” Dick yells. His team drops to the ground, covering their heads when the grenade goes off and blinds the goons. They stumble, yelling in pain and clutching their faces.

Dick leaps into action. He prioritizes knocking guns out of the men’s hands because he knows his team can handle the arrests if he can remove the bullets. He works quickly, targeting wrists and hands. One guy blinks his eyes unsteadily, aiming his gun at Hotch and Dick throws one of his knives. It goes clean through the man’s wrist.

His team is getting back on their feet when he hears Stephanie scream.

On the bridge, Doyle must have dropped his gun when the flash grenade went off, because he’s got two arms around Stephanie’s waist, trying to force her into the plane.

“Help!” She screams, “help me!”

Dick backs up then throws his other dagger. It catches Doyle in the knee and he buckles. The force of him hitting the steps shoves Stephanie to the side and over the railing. She screams as she falls but Dick is already running. He dives and wraps his body around hers, turning them before they hit so his ground hits the pavement. He rolls them a couple times, making sure to keep Stephanie’s head protected.

“I got you, I got you,” he mumbles into her hair. He groans when they come to a stop, his bruised ribs vehemently more bruised from the impact. He sits up, Stephanie clinging to his shirt, in time to see his team having most of Doyle’s men in handcuffs. JJ is running up the stairs above Dick to stop Doyle from getting in the plane.

But one man stumbles to his feet, rubbing his eyes with one hand and waving his gun around with the other, clearly still blind and clearly born stupid, because he pulls the trigger. He gets three shots off before Emily tackles him.

Dick grunts and rolls to the side rapidly, feeling a searing burn on his arm. He immediately holds Stephanie out at arms length, looking her over for injuries, but she’s fine. He blows out a breath in relief.

Her eyes widen at the blood spreading on his bicep. “It’s okay,” he reassures her, “just a scratch.”

Tears well up in her eyes. He expects them to be from fear but she gets to her feet and stomps towards the stairs, “hey!” she yells, “bald dude! Get back here I’m gonna kick your ass!”

Dick hurries to his feet and grabs the girl, holding her back from marching up there and shooting Doyle herself. She loses her energy, the fight draining out of her, and collapses into Dick’s arms, letting him hold her. She turns her head to cry into his shirt. “She’s gone,” she cries, “my mom. He killed my mom. He killed my mom…”

Dick sinks to his knees, holding Stephanie tight. He rocks her gently. He knows there’s nothing he can say to make her feel better, or even slightly okay, because nothing can change that the woman she knew as her mother is dead. Murdered by her biological father. Dick can’t change the past, but he can hold her now and try to take some of the pain that’s eating at her.

It’s what Bruce did for him.
_______________________________

Reid stands with the rest of the team in the emergency room of the same hospital as yesterday and is hit with deja vu. Dick is once again sitting on a hospital bed, but this time Emily is standing with them, while a thirteen year old blonde girl sits on the bed with Dick, clutching his arm with both hands. She keeps her eyes downcast and tries to hide the tremble in her lower lip. When she releases one of her hands from Dick’s arm to wipe her nose on her jacket sleeve it shakes.

They tried to separate Stephanie from Dick to give the EMTs some room to examine Dick’s gunshot wound but she started screaming bloody murder so they let her stay with him because it got her to the hospital for a check up too.

Reid chuckles every time a well meaning nurse or doctor gives her a pitiful look and she starts cursing them out. Hotch already scolded Reid for laughing.

Luckily, Stephanie is unharmed. Physically, at least, not even a bruise. But emotionally… she saw her mother get shot right in front of her. It’s going to leave some psychological scars and with Crystal dead, Reid’s not sure whatever family Stephanie is placed with is going to be equipped to help her through it.
Maybe Stephanie knows this on some level too, which is why she refuses to let go of Dick. She’s identified him as safe and the social worker in the corner as a threat.

The doctor finishes stitching the gash in Dick’s right arm and starts bandaging it. Reid sees Morgan try to disguise his looks at the scars littering Dick’s arms, back, and shoulders.

“Here you go,” JJ hands Stephanie a bottle of water and a granola bar. They can’t talk about the case in front of her, so they’ve just been making chitchat for the last forty-five minutes trying to put the little girl at ease enough to at least talk to the social worker.

Reid has a feeling it’s not going to be good when they have to force Stephanie to go with them at the end of the night.

JJ hands Dick a granola bar too. “How’s the arm feel?”

Dick rolls his shoulder, “just a scrape.”

Morgan snorts, “from a bullet.”

Dick shrugs, “at least it didn’t go through the muscle. That would’ve been annoying.”

Hotch gets back from taking a phone call and catches the end of the sentence. “Scrape or not, you’re on mandatory desk duty for the next two weeks.”

“Come on, Hotch–”

Hotch levels a look at him, “and you should be grateful I’m not making you take vacation.”

Dick closes his mouth, “desk duty is fine, sir.”

Garcia and Rossi turn around to hide their grins.

Reid clears his throat, “where did you get a flash grenade?” Reid knows he’s not the only one who noticed Dick didn’t use his standard issue weapon, instead opting for knives and a flash grenade. It aided the overall mission with stealth, but… agents aren’t given weapons like that.

“Uh,” Dick starts but then sits up straighter, looking around the emergency room. He looks at Hotch, “did you call anyone about the whole kidnapping thing?”

“Of course,” Hotch answers, “I called your emergency contact yesterday when we found you but it went to voicemail. I just got off the phone with–”

“Aw man,” Dick pinches the bridge of his nose, wincing as it pulls his stitches.

Suddenly, the automatic doors of the emergency room open and a teenager in red converse and a denim jacket comes storming in, followed by a tall dark haired man in a leather jacket and combat boots, and a child in jeans and a Wonder Woman sweatshirt. Their eyes immediately find Dick.

“Grayson!” The youngest exclaims, shoving the teenager aside to reach Dick faster.

Dick breaks out in a big smile, “hey, little D,” he opens his free arm for a hug but the kid hits Dick’s chest with both of his hands, “you were kidnapped?”

Reid blinks in shock, his expression matching everyone else on the team. The two other boys make it to the bed, wearing similar dark expressions. Reid fills in their names from his research on the Wayne family: Timothy Drake-Wayne, Jason Todd, and Damian Wayne. Dick’s brothers.

Dick shoots a look at Hotch, “you called–”

Hotch holds his hands up, “I didn’t. I called–”

The doors open again and the CSI from Central City, Wally West, runs in, his sneakers screeching to a stop beside them, but Wally’s eyes are locked on Dick’s. “I didn’t call them, I swear, but I was busy with Barry all day yesterday, there was this meta with tornado powers, so I missed Agent Hotchner’s call, and when I got home, Tim was waiting in my apartment and he already knew so we took the jet, which is why it took me so long to get here…” he trails off when it’s clear Dick isn’t mad.

Dick raises an eyebrow at Tim.

Tim scoffs and kicks the floor with the toe of his shoe, “okay, I’m mad at you but I want you to be okay.”

“So you bugged Wally’s phone.”

“Obviously.”

Dick smiles but doesn’t get a chance to respond because the little one starts berating him. “How could you be so foolhardy as to get captured? And I see you’re injured once again, an event I’m sure could have been avoided,” the little gremlin rounds on the team and Reid has the urge to step behind Morgan for cover, “was your team defective? Did they not look out for you?”

“Damian, Dami, hey, come here,” Dick gently turns the kid back to face him and then pulls him in for a tight hug with one arm, making sure not to crowd Stephanie, who’s watching the whole exchange with a perplexed but amused expression. “I missed you,” Dick says into Damian’s hair. He kisses the top of the kid’s hair and Damian relaxes, wrapping his arms around Dick’s waist.

“So… you’re good?” Jason Todd asks briskly.

Dick smiles overtop of Damian’s head, “completely fine. Bullet just grazed me.”

Jason nods, still not making eye contact. “Good. That’s good. You’re still a dickface though.”

“You’re a dickface,” Stephanie fires back. “Dick saved my life.”

All three siblings start talking at the same time.

Tim rolls his eyes, “he’s got a habit of that.”

“He can still be a dickface,” Jason shoots back.

“Who is the child?” Damian asks.

Stephanie sits up straighter so she can look down at Damian, “who are you calling a child, pipsqueak?”

Damian growls and looks at Dick, “explain yourself, Grayson.”

“Alright, everyone calm down,” Dick puts some space between Damian and Stephanie by moving Damian to his other side, keeping an arm around the kid’s shoulder. Damian, as tough as a front as he’s presenting, tucks himself against Dick’s side.

“We’ll give you some space,” JJ tells the siblings, “but Stephanie will have to talk to the social worker at some point.”

“Could you tell her to stick around for a bit? I’ll bring Steph over in a few. I’ve got some experience with the system and I have some thoughts,” Dick asks them.

Stephanie bunches his shirt in her hands, “no, I don’t want to go with her, please…” her voice trembles.

“Hey,” Dick wraps his other arm around her shoulders, “I’ve got you, okay?”

The team stays long enough to watch Stephanie nod and then walks away to take a seat in some waiting chairs on the other side of the room.

As soon as there’s room, Dick’s family presses closer. Damian stays pressed to Dick’s side, Jason examines the bandaging on Dick’s arm with a gentle hand and a concentrated expression, and Tim steps up and immediately starts interrogating Dick, who doesn’t fight his smile. Wally takes a seat in the one chair near the bed, immediately turning sideways to lay his legs over the armrest, silent and content to let his family handle the questions.

Reid sits back in his chair, the conversation of the team fading onto the backburner as he watches Dick and his brothers. Something about them… it nags at him.

The same feeling of having a word on the tip of your tongue but it’s just out of reach? That’s what Reid feels like watching the boys all together. Like if he took a picture it would be familiar. Like he’s seen it before.

But where?
_______________________________

Emily gets to the office for her first official day back and the first day of her two week desk duty assignment. Even if she’s not psyched about it, she can admit it’s the right move. After everything with Doyle, the death of her friends, the death of Crystal Brown… yeah, she could use some time to process before getting back out there.

A major part of her life is over. And now without those secrets hanging over her head the rest of her life seems so much more possible, like she can finally settle down without constantly looking over her shoulder. Once Doyle is safely in a maximum prison in Ireland she’ll finally let go of the breath she’s been holding.

The elevator doors open and she walks to her desk, puts her purse down, and just smiles to herself. It’s good to be home.

“Prentiss,” Morgan greets.

“Morgan,” Prentiss greets.

Rossi and Reid are at the coffee station, JJ is at Penelope’s office, and Emily can see Dick talking to Hotch in Hotch’s office. She’s surprised to see Stephanie Brown sitting in the conference room next to Hotch’s office. Her face has some color back, her hair looks washed, and she’s in new clothes. And she’s not alone. Two of Dick’s brothers, Tim and Damian, are sitting at the table with her. Tim is working on a laptop, Damian is doing something in a notebook, and Stephanie is spinning her chair in circles.

Morgan hands Emily a manilla envelope, “as requested,” he says, “you sure you want to do this?”

Emily takes a breath but nods, “yeah,” she takes the file. Inside is all the information the team gathered on Dick Grayson when they thought he had something to do with Emily’s kidnapping, “I need to know everything you do.”

“Why? We snooped because we thought we had to, but…” he trails off, leaving the rest unspoken. That she has no reason to dig around their teammate’s past, but she’s doing so anyway.

“It’s just a hunch,” she says carefully, “something’s nagging at me and hopefully this helps fit some of the pieces together.”

“Okay.” Morgan knocks his knuckles on her desk twice before going back to his own.

Emily is still reading over the file when the elevator dings and Bruce Wayne steps out. Rossi and Reid exchange a look of shock as the world’s richest man stands in the middle of the bullpen.

“Can we help you, sir?” Rossi asks.

“Oh, I’m just waiting,” he says smoothly, shooting them all a charming grin, “good morning, agents. Don’t mind me.”

Emily looks at Morgan, neither one of them knowing the right thing to do. Especially after reading Grayson’s file.

Dick spots Wayne and comes out of Hotch’s office, Hotch close behind. In the conference room, Tim and Damian also stop what they’re doing to watch. Dick jogs down the few steps and up to Wayne, stopping just a few feet away. “You’re here,” Dick states.

Wayne shifts his weight. “You called.” If Emily didn’t know better she would think he’s nervous, “is that alright?”

Dick snaps out of whatever daze he was in. “Yeah. Yeah, of course. Sorry, you just took me by surprise. I thought… uh, I don’t know what I thought.”

Wayne takes in the bruises on Dick’s face, then the spot where Dick’s arm is bandaged under his shirt. “Are you alright?”

“You know me, I’m tough.”

“I do know.”

Something passes between them silently. Something not even Emily can read.

“Grayson,” Hotch calls from the railing by his office.

Dick jumps. “Oh right. Everyone, this is Bruce Wayne. B, these are agents Hotchner, Prentiss, Morgan, Rossi, and Reid.” They all wave when Dick says their name.

Wayne nods at Hotch. “Hotchner.”

Hotch nods back. “Wayne.”

Dick stifles a smile, “come on, B, they’re in here.” Dick leads Bruce to the conference room with the kids.

JJ and Penelope reach the space, slightly out of breath. “Is Bruce Wayne really here?” Penelope loudly whispers. JJ finds them and nudges Garcia.

They all go back to work and pretend like they’re not all watching whatever’s happening in that room. Dick gestures to Stephanie and Wayne extends a hand for her to shake. The other two boys start talking at the same time then shrink down in their seats when Wayne says something. He crouches down in front of Stephanie to get on her level and he says something to make her smile. Then she says something to make him smile.

Reid returns to his desk chair, eyes glued on the scene, not even pretending to be nonchalant. He takes a sip of his coffee, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

Wayne turns and says something to Dick, who leaves the room, closing the door behind him. Dick jogs to his desk to grab a folder then notices them all staring at him. “What?”

“Dick, when you said you had some ideas, we didn’t know you’d call Wayne to take Stephanie in,” Morgan says, “is that… is it safe?”

Dick blinks, “safe?”

They all exchange a look but it’s JJ who breaks the silence. “When we thought you were a double agent, we did some digging and found your medical records. Yours, Tim’s, Jason’s…”

A lightbulb goes off in Dick’s eyes. “Oh, you think… no, no, you guys are brilliant, believe me, but you’re way off here. B would never abuse us.”

There’s a disbelieving silence and Dick sighs, “I know how it looks, okay? A single guy adopting kids with similar features all around similar ages, but it’s not that. Bruce’s parents were killed when he was nine, just like mine, and Jason’s, and Tim’s.”

“It’s a way he can save himself,” Rossi mumbles.

“Or at least try to save us from some of the pain he went through,” Dick shrugs, “our relationship is complicated, to say the least, but it’s actually… he’s actually pretty great.”

Morgan leans forward, “you sure about that?”

“He’s the best man I know.”

They believe him. They trust him. And they’re the best profilers in the country, maybe the world, and none of them can find a hint of a lie in that statement. The glass conference room door opens and all three kids pour out, Wayne bringing up the rear. They make their way down to Dick’s desk.

Dick uses both hands to mess up Damian and Tim’s hair. They both shout and try to get away but Dick just laughs. Damian scowls but he doesn’t stray too far from Dick, and Tim just shoots Dick a glare but doesn’t bother to fix his hair. Stephanie has a small smile, semi hiding behind Wayne in case Dick tries to do the same to her.

“I’m going to head home with Tim and Damian,” Wayne says to Dick, ignoring Damian’s protests, “I’ll see you next weekend?”

Dick nods, “I’ll send you the final forms and then bring Steph down.”

Wayne looks around at all of them, “it was nice to meet you all.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Hotch says, coming down the stairs from his office.

“Do you, uh,” Tim rubs a hand on the back of his neck, “is it cool if we meet you at the airport? We won’t miss departure time, swear, but…” he looks over at Damian.

Damian crosses his arms and raises his chin, “Grayson promised ice cream and I refuse to leave until that promise is fulfilled.”

Stephanie stands up straighter, “ice cream?”

Bruce Wayne smirks, “that’s fine.” He offers his hand and Dick shakes it.

Emily looks over when Reid snaps the pencil in his hands. His face has gone white. Emily wills him to look at her, so she can see what’s wrong, but he’s frozen, just watching the Wayne’s.

Wayne doesn’t notice as he walks out with Hotch.
_______________________________

The elevator ride is silent, neither man uncomfortable with not talking, both trying to figure out the other. Hotch keeps his hands in his pockets and Wayne keeps his at his sides.

“Thank you,” Wayne finally says, staring straight ahead, “for watching out for Dick.”

“He’s a good kid.” Hotch stares straight ahead as well.

“He’s the best man I know.”

Chapter Text

Four Months Later

Dick left one week after Bruce Wayne came to the BAU. The little one, Damian, stayed the whole week, coming into work a couple of times. He was a prickly one, but Emily liked him. She didn’t mind prickly. Dick left on some excuse of going back to Blud or not wanting to track killers anymore, but Emily knew it was bullshit. He was here for Doyle.

Their team is back to seven. It’s less interesting without the enigma inside a puzzle that was Dick Grayson, but his absence does it make it easier to work on a side project.

Emily is waiting by the elevator when she gets off. She greets Catalina with a smile and hug and leads her to the conference room. “Thanks for doing this,” she tells her.

“Of course,” Catalina answers breezily. She looks as beautiful as ever. “You said you needed my help on a case?”

“Mm-hm.” Catalina sits down as Emily closes the door then takes the seat next to her. “Kind of old, almost nine years ago, but it was never solved.”

Catalina shrugs, “doesn’t mean it can’t be solved.”

Emily grins, “exactly. I thought you could offer some insight because it actually happened at the time you were stationed in Bludhaven.”

Cat leans back, shocked, before covering it with her signature smile, “how can I help?”

Emily passes over a crime scene photo. “Victim’s name is Mark Desmond, aka Blockbuster. Killed by a bullet to the head on a rooftop.”

Catalina looks at the photo, “I didn’t think the BAU handled meta cases.”

“Every once in a while.” Emily passes another sheet of paper. “You were in Bludhaven for three weeks. You took vacation for the three weeks after that.”

Catalina raises an eyebrow, “am I not allowed to take a vacation?”

“You were sent down there to help track Blockbuster, but you didn’t stick around for the manhunt for his killer. You weren’t even present at the autopsy.”

“Your point?” She drums her fingers on the table. “Office said they had a suspect so I didn’t stick around. I needed a break after.”

Emily passes another sheet of paper, this time a close up of Blockbuster’s head wound. “Almost. Local PD didn’t have a suspect until the local vigilante, Nightwing, walked in twenty-two days later and tried to turn himself in for the murder.”

“And?”

“He obviously didn’t do it. Nightwing’s story was all over the place, he doesn’t even carry a gun, and one wasn’t found with Blockbuster.”

Catalina sits back, crossing her arms, “so maybe the kid dumped the weapon.”

“Maybe. Kill Desmond, dump the weapon, and then turn himself in three weeks and one day later?” Emily shakes her head, “it’s possible for an unsub to be racked with guilt but it just doesn’t fit the profile in this case.” Emily sets her hands on the table and lowers her voice, “it’s interesting, though. There’s not a record of Nightwing ever carrying a firearm. Bludhaven PD standard issue is a Sig Sauer P226, but the gun that killed Desmond was a 9mm Glock 17.”

Catalina is silent.

Emily sits back and looks, “that’s what the FBI issues.”

Catalina makes to stand up, “look, I don’t know what–”

“Sit down,” Emily snaps.

Catalina sits down.

“You said you dated Dick for three weeks while you were stationed in Bludhaven when he was twenty-three.” Emily slams a piece of paper down on the table: Dick’s record of service. “But he was only nineteen during your assignment.” She pretends to check the dates. “Barely nineteen,” she corrects herself, “you got to Bludhaven two weeks after his birthday. He’d moved to Bludhaven and enrolled in the police academy nine months earlier.”

Catalina swallows, “so I mixed up some dates.”

“What does a twenty-seven year old woman have in common with a nineteen year old kid?”

Catalina scoffs, “please, he wasn’t a kid–”

“He’s practically a kid now.”

Cat looks away, her arms still crossed. She looks at the door like she’s debating making a break for it.

“You know the other odd thing?” Emily asks and waits until she’s got Catalina’s attention again to continue. “Dick Grayson took some vacation after Blockbuster’s murder too. Didn’t check in for three weeks. In those three weeks, there wasn’t a single Nightwing sighting either.”

“What are you insinuating?” Catalina snarls. It’s an ugly sound, one that Emily’s never heard her use.

Emily reads off yet another paper, “Bludhaven requires its officers to have a physical every two months for their first five years of field work, given the high death rate. Dick Grayson’s physical came one weeks after his ‘vacation’. Do you know what it said?”

Catalina tenses her jaw, “that’s a HIPPA violation.”

“Because you respect boundaries so much, right Cat?” Emily doesn’t wait for her to answer. “It noted burns on his body, almost healed lacerations on his wrists, and trace amounts of lorazepam and propofol in his system. He wasn’t taken off active duty because it was right after an attack that left them short staffed. So the report got buried.”

Catalina has the decency to look away.

Emily puts down the paper to look Cat in the eye, “you know what I think?” She waits until she has Cat’s full attention again. “I think you broke your oath. You broke every ethics code there is. You broke the law. And you took advantage of that boy. I don’t know the specifics and I don’t want to but I think you hurt him. Tortured him.” Emily’s voice is dark, barely holding in her rage.

“You can’t prove any of that,” Catalina hisses.

“Maybe not,” Emily smirks, but you know what I can do? She leans forward, “I can dig up photos of you meeting with Nightwing six times in those three weeks. I can pull your weapon from that year and run a ballistics test to match it to the weapon that killed Desmond.”

Cat’s eyes widen, panic entering them for the first time since they started talking.

“There’s a photo of you meeting with Nightwing two days before Blockbuster turned up dead,” Emily continues, “you want to know what I think happened?” Emily doesn’t give her a chance to answer, “I think you got Dick to trust you, got him to lead you to Blockbuster, and then you shot him.”

“You’re wrong,” Catalina says darkly.

Emily lifts her eyebrows. “Am I?”

“You’re a fucking bitch,” Catalina hisses, jumping up and sprinting for the door.

But when she throws it open, Morgan and Hotch are waiting with cuffs.
_______________________________

2 Years Later

Oddly enough, it’s everyone’s first time visiting Gotham. It’s not really a vacation spot, with the high crime rates and semi-frequent super villain attacks, and the FBI closed their office here decades ago. Gotham and Bludhaven have been on their own for the majority of recent history.

Maybe that’s why so many vigilantes pop up here.

Their flight was delayed, so it’s dark by the time Hotch parks the rental van in front of their hotel. Everyone is tired and a bit on edge, but they’re grateful to finally go to bed for the night. They came immediately from another case.

Morgan helps unload the bags, keeping an eye on their surroundings.

“Where do you think we should start looking?” Reid asks.

Rossi chuckles, “tomorrow how about we try the giant mansion on the hill and if no one answers we’ll go from there?”

They only traveled because when Emily called Dick’s cell, it was no longer in service and even Garcia couldn’t hack her way into finding the Waynes’s numbers. They’d reached out to the local PD but when the answering officer, Montoya, heard what they were calling about, she sighed and said she’d make a note but the city was currently dealing with a gang war so it might take a while.

A shadow travels overhead and Emily immediately pulls her weapon. They all look around frantically for the threat, until a whistle gets their attention and they look up.

Emily puts her gun away when she sees the black and white mask, the bright blue symbol, and the shit eating grin. Nightwing sits on a fire escape a few stories up. He swings his legs and leans his chin on the railing. “Now what are federal agents doing in Gotham?”

Reid smiles, “we’re looking for our friend. An old teammate actually.”

Nightwing tilts his head. “Hmm. Maybe I can pass along a message?”

“That would be very helpful, thank you.” Reid is beaming up at the vigilante. Nightwing returns the smile.

Emily presses her lips together quickly to keep herself from smiling at the charade. But she plays along, “an international terrorist escaped prison in Ireland last week. His daughter lives at the Wayne Residence and we have reason to believe he’ll come for her.”

“It’s really nice of you all to come,” Nightwing says as another shadow flips over head and lands beside him, “but I have a feeling Doyle isn’t a threat to his daughter anymore.”

The figure sits down next to Nightwing. She’s dressed in purple, down to the cape, and two tendrils of blonde curls peek out from her hood. Her eyes are covered in the signature bat mask but she grins down at them and offers a wave. “Agents,” she greets.

“Did you know, Miss Spoiler,” Rossi calls up, “you popped up one year to the dot after Stephanie Brown moved in with the Waynes.”

She shrugs good naturedly, “the more you know.”

“So you’ll watch out for her?” JJ asks. “Doyle’s daughter? You’ll keep her safe?”

Spoiler jumps off the railing, flipping twice on the way down then looking up at Nightwing to make sure he saw. He gives her a thumbs up. “Oh yeah,” Spoiler says to the BAU, answering JJ’s question, “if Doyle comes within city limits he’s in for a real ass kicking.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Hotch says fondly, “and you’ll have back-up?”

Nightwing jumps down, flipping three times before landing gracefully. He spins his escrima sticks and Morgan sees drain pipes instead of high tech batons.

“She’ll have back-up,” he declares. “We don’t do this alone.”

Hotch nods in approval. “Good.”

“Impressive dismount,” Reid remarks, “maybe the Academy should install a gymnastics course.”

“Nah, it’s just an old circus trick.”

Reid laughs, “noted.”

“Well,” Nightwing brings a hand to his ear, “we should get back on patrol. It was nice to meet you, agents.”

“You too,” Emily tells him. “Be safe out there with that hero complex.”

Nightwing smirks, “is it a complex if I really am a hero?”

Spoiler scoffs and JJ gets the feeling she just rolled her eyes, “you’re so insufferable sometimes.” She looks at the team, “it was really nice to meet you all. Don’t be a stranger.”

Gunshots go off somewhere close by and all the agents automatically reach for their weapons. Nightwing holds up a hand to stop them. “Don’t sweat it. We’ve got it.”

Spoiler gives them a salute then shoots a grappling gun, disappearing into the night. Nightwing shoots his, but pauses briefly, “you know, I bet if you stopped by the Wayne Manor tomorrow around lunch time, you could give your message to your friend in person.”

“I think we’ll give it a shot,” Morgan says and Nightwing smiles once more before shooting into the night sky.