Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I watched the Silence of the Lambs when it first came out,” Piper said to the room full of students, walking through the room with her hands behind her back, illuminated only by the light of the projector. “I was ten years old and I snuck into an abnormal psychology class where they were watching the movie, and there’s this line that really stuck with me. Hannibal says to Clarice: Nothing happened to me, Officer Starling. I happened. You can’t reduce me to a set of influences.” Piper reached the front of the room, turning on her heel to face the students and shrugged. “Then I spent the next 18 years of my life trying.” 

Snickers burst around the room, scattered and cynical. “Hannibal was right, in some sense. You can’t reduce people to a set of influences. But what I’ve found is this… We all have influences in our lives – people, situations, events, genetics. But there’s something beyond that. In cognitive psychology, they talk about appraisals and filters. In clinical psychology, we talk about diathesis-stress models. In profiling, we talk about triggers and stressors. In biology, we talk about DNA. All DNA is made of the same three components – a nitrogenous base, a five-carbon sugar, and a phosphate group. You have your four different kinds of bases, two kinds of sugar, a phosphate group ranging from one to three. So while every living thing in the universe has these components, the combinations are completely unique. So, when we talk about influences, we’re talking about an infinite possibility of combinations that make up a person. There is no one cause, no one influence that makes Hannibal who he is, but rather the combination of influences that define him.” Some of them sat bored, doodling in their notebooks, while others scrambled to write every keyword. 

“That last meeting between Clarice and Hannibal is an important one too. For most of you, the reference to Marcus Aurelius probably flew over your heads – not many philosophy majors come through these doors. But he talks about the first principle. Of each particular thing, ask,” Piper recited, starting to pace about the room again. “ What is it in itself? What is its nature?” A thrill of power rushed through her as she felt people crane their heads to watch her speak. “Behavioural analysis is just that. We break down behaviour into its most basic elements.” She stopped by the projector, sliding through different images of serial killers and naming methodologies. “Cuts people, blows things up, GSW to the head, sexual assault, and so on and so forth. What is its nature? What purpose does it serve?”

“Because they’re not normal,” Noah said with his frat boy voice. “They don’t think like we do.”

Piper nodded thoughtfully, making her way to the front of the room. “And how’s that?” she asked.

“Well, it’s like you said, right?” Noah asked. “Something about them isn’t the same as everyone else.”

“Have you ever wanted to kill someone?” Piper asked and a couple students laughed at the question. “Come on, no-one?” she asked, chuckling. “No crazy roommate you’ve wanted to stab in their sleep? No teacher you’ve thought of secretly poisoning to get out of a test?” 

Murmurs seemed to indicate a yes, and Olivia held up her hand arguing, “But none of us would actually do it.”

“Why not?” Piper asked, shrugging. “What stops us from killing?”

“Because it’s wrong,” Noah insisted. “No-one has the right to take another person’s life.”

“Sure they do,” Piper countered. “The government does. Women who can’t afford to give birth to a child. The sick and the elderly who want to die with dignity. Children who can’t afford to keep their parents on life support. As agents, there are times and situations that force our hands when the only way out is to harm another person. So, what makes them morally reprehensible, and not us?”

“Because of their motivations,” Schmidt answered. “They kill people for their own pleasure.”

Piper nodded thoughtfully, turning the argument over in her head. “Did you know that Immanuel Kant regarded masturbation as a violation of the moral law?” she asked the group, a hand slipping into her pocket. “He argued that it was immoral because 'a man gives up his personality when he uses himself merely as a means for the gratification of an animal drive'. Rousseau equated it with mental rape. It wasn’t until Kinsey came along in the 40s and 50s that someone dared to suggest that masturbation was healthy sexual behaviour, and the AMA didn’t accept it until the 70s.”

“You’re not seriously comparing murder with masturbation, are you?” Olivia asked, gaining giggles from the rest of the room and Piper chuckled.

“Not at all. The reason I’m bringing it up is that desire and pleasure aren’t necessarily immoral things. In counselling, one of the first things they teach you is to validate the emotion, but not the actions. Seeking pleasure is human. Wanting revenge against a person who wronged you is human. Let’s go back to Hannibal Lecter for a second,” Piper said, starting to pace as she pieced her next statement together. 

“In the books, Harris talks about how when he was a child, Hannibal watched his sister being murdered and cannibalised by deserters in Lithuania, and that one of them claimed that he ate her too. We aren’t talking about Anthony Hopkins’s evil gaze anymore. We’re talking about a little boy who watched someone he loved die, and was forced to confront the mere idea that he not only ate his sister, but that he enjoyed it.” She stopped at the back of the room. “So, then we meet Anthony Hopkins’s Lecter. The greatest villain of American cinema. He once ate a census taker’s liver with–”

“some fava beans and a nice Chianti,” the class filled in and Piper grinned. 

“So then what is the difference between us and them?” Noah asked and Piper made her way back to the front of the room. A door swung open and Prophet peeked through, meeting Piper’s gaze and she nodded. 

“Unfortunately, that’s all the time we’ve got today, but I will leave you with this,” Piper said, capturing their attention. “The line between good and evil is permeable and almost anyone can be induced to cross it when pressured by situational forces.” She let a moment pass to let the words sink in before clapping her hands. “That’s all. Have a great weekend.” 

“Hey,” Sam greeted her as she walked into the office with Prophet. “Scare off the newbies yet?”

“I love freshman day,” Piper said, grinning ear to ear. 

“She gave them the Hannibal lecture,” Prophet replied and Gina shivered while Beth and Mick frowned.

“What’s the Hannibal lecture?” Mick asked.

“The talk where she spends an hour convincing you that you’re a stressor away from turning into a cannibal,” Gina answered.

“Sounds fun,” Beth remarked dryly. “You know what else is fun? 3 shootings in the last two weeks with very erratic victimology.” Piper perched on a table, listening to Beth’s briefing as she drank from a water bottle. “First victim, 35-year-old homeless woman, Sarah Markle, shot in a busy pedestrian crosswalk. Next victim, Derek Williams, 48 years old, local drug dealer. Shot outside Cowboy Stadium.”

“That’s a terrible name for a stadium,” Mick muttered, arms crossed. 

“And just this afternoon, the third victim, retired grandfather and engineer, 74-year-old Peter Warsaw. Found in the bathroom in a local shopping mall with a bullet in his head,” Beth finished, dropping her file on the table. 

“Crosses age, sex, and race,” Gina mused. “How are they related?”

“Forensics said the same weapon was used, Model 13 .357 Magnum,” Beth answered. “No prints. Guns left at the scene.”

“Specificity and choice of weaponry could be symbolic,” Mick offered, leaning back in his chair, feet up on the table. 

“Multiple guns, no prints, it’s pretty impressive,” Prophet said and Piper frowned, looking at the pictures of the weapon used, focusing on the white tape wrapped around the handle.

“Middle of the afternoon. A highly, highly public location. It's a tremendous amount of risk for the shooter,” Gina added. 

“Any witnesses?” Sam asked and Beth shook her head.

“No-one could positively ID the shooter.”

“Guess we’re on our way to Dallas,” Sam said. “Bishop?” She looked up, almost flinching at her last name being used.

“Yeah?”

“You’re lead profiler,” Sam said and Piper furrowed her brow.

“What? Why?”

“Director’s request,” he replied cryptically, walking away with his backpack. 

“Does this mean Coop has to call you ‘boss’?” Prophet asked but Piper wasn’t paying attention, watching Sam as he left. 

A black man greeted them as the team walked into the field office, wearing a light blue shirt and dark blue tie, Sam obstinately walking with the rest of the team, forcing Piper to lead the pack. “You must be the BAU,” he said, holding out his hand for Piper to shake. “Wayne Sanderson.”

“Piper Bishop,” she introduced. “This is Agent Cooper, Rawson, LaSalle, Simms, and Griffith. We’re here to help.”

“Please tell me you have some answers for us,” Sanderson said, retracting his hand. 

“That’s what we’re here to look for,” Piper said. “You have somewhere we can work?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sanderson replied, leading the way. “We cleared the conference room. Case files, crime scene photos... You name it, we got it for you.”

“Much appreciated,” Piper told him, offering him a smile before turning to her team who all watched her expectantly. “Right, Mick, you’re the sniper. What do you see in the locations?”

“Three kill sites. A crosswalk in the financial district, a loading dock outside Cowboy Stadium and one of the busiest shopping malls in Dallas. High profile. Heavy pedestrian traffic. You don't pick a location that public unless you're trying to make a statement,” Mick reasoned. 

“All three kill sites, the shooter leaves the gun at the scene,” Prophet added. “It’s like his signature, he wants us to know he’s responsible.” 

“Could be a gang initiation, or an act of terrorism,” Beth offered and Piper shifted uncomfortably, reminded of the shootings in New York and Hotch almost getting blown up. 

“They're all very public locations. It's creatin' chaos all over the city. That's consistent with a terrorist agenda,” Mick reasoned. 

“Alright, Beth, check in with your contacts with the NSA and counterterrorism, look for any domestic terror activity in the city,” Piper told her and the woman nodded, pulling out her phone and walking away. “What about witness statements?”

“Well, noone got a good look at the guy,” Gina answered, “but someone did witness the first shooting. She saw a car pull up to the crosswalk, a white male pull out a gun, shoot our homeless woman Sarah Markle, drop the gun, and drive away. Plates were removed too.”

“That’s a lot of organisation,” Piper remarked, leaning on the back of a chair. “Wrapping the revolver in tape, removing plates.” She tapped her fingers on the chair thoughtfully. “Mick and Gina, you both know weapons like the back of your hands, I want you to take the gun. Prophet, when Beth gets back, you two take the first kill site. Sam, you mind doing the second shooting?”

“If that’s where you want me,” Sam said serenely and Piper repressed a scowl. 

“Then I’ll take the most recent one. Meet back here for lunch?”

“Sounds good,” Mick replied, grinning at her and patting Gina’s shoulder with the back of his hand before they headed off to the forensics lab and Prophet headed off to find Beth while Sam and Piper both headed downstairs. 

“Are you gonna tell me what this is about?” Piper asked as they reached the curb. Sam tried to pretend as though he hadn’t heard her, only for her to pull at his arm. “Coop, what’s going on?”

He let out a small sigh, making sure they were alone before saying, “We’ve been getting the wrong kind of attention.” Piper folded her arms, listening intently. “Veronica Day, Thomas Luca, the Fredericksburg explosion, it’s put us in the spotlight.”

“I’m not following,” Piper said, shaking her head. “Since when is that a bad thing?”

“The Director’s been getting some heat. They think the Red Cell is a waste of resources when we already have the BAU at Quantico. That the members on this team would be better used elsewhere.”

“Like where?” Piper asked, scoffing slightly. 

“Beth’s been offered to run a counterterrorism taskforce in New York,” Sam told her and Piper raised her brow.

“What? That’s amazing.”

“She’s not the only one. Counterintelligence has been asking for Mick for a while now, and a spot’s opened up on the National Parole Commission for someone like Prophet. And I just got a personal request about a joint DEA arms trafficking task force for Gina.”

“Okay,” Piper said, uncomfortably. “But I don’t see what that has to do with making me the lead profiler.”

“You will,” he said morosely before getting into the driver’s seat of his SUV and Piper’s left standing alone on the curb, watching the tail lights drive away. 

They congregated over a banquet of takeout, their table littered with burger wrappers and paper cups. “So, you think our guy is former law enforcement?” Piper asked Gina who nodded.

“A Model 13 .357 Magnum used to be the standard issue gun for all cops, even FBI, before we switched to semi-automatic pistols,” Gina explained. “They stopped making them in ‘99.”

“The guns were probably bought through back channels too,” Mick added. “Guns have changed hands so many times since the original owner, practically untraceable. Whoever prepped these guns... They're good.”

“Okay,” Piper said, rubbing her face. “Let’s go over the first crime. Prophet, what’d you see?”

Prophet set down his milkshake, standing up to the pinned pictures of the first crime scene. “So the shooter pulls up here. He pre-taped the gun to conceal the prints, removed the tags from the back of the truck so no witnesses can ID it. This guy aims a gun at three different people before he finally finds his victim. Then it takes him five shots to get the kill.”

“So, he’s methodical in terms of planning, not so much in execution,” Piper mused. 

“The witness also said that he took a picture after the kill,” Beth added. “Could be that he wanted to relive the crime.” Sam watched Piper’s face, assessing the way she was putting things together in her mind. 

“Okay, so we have hesitation, which might indicate conflict over what he's doing,” Piper said slowly. “We have victims who can easily be rationalised – a homeless woman, a drug dealer, and an old man. Could be an attempt to alleviate guilt, like he doesn’t want to kill.”

Just then, Penelope’s face popped up on Piper’s laptop screen and the group rolled their chairs over to get a look. “Hello, hello, my merry band of travellers. Your saviour has arrived.”

“I like the sound of that. Find us anything good?” Piper asked. 

“Like a pig in truffle season. I found your shooter in the mall surveillance footage, three minutes before the shooting. Observe.”

The screen switched to the mall footage, a middle aged man wandering the floor. “He's agitated. He has no sense of purpose,” Sam commented, gesturing at the shooter. “He follows one person, he changes direction, and he follows a completely different person.”

“Right. So, check this guy out,” Penelope told them, zooming in on their victim. “That is Peter Warsaw. That's our victim, and he's walking straight toward him.”

“Tell me you have a name,” Piper said and Penelope grinned.

“Have I ever let you down? I checked his image with the security footage from the parking lot. I pulled the plates. His name is Dale Dixon. He's a school teacher in piano.”

Sam glanced at Piper, trying to measure her reaction, finding a frown and a crinkle in her brow. “That doesn’t make any sense. How does a school teacher get access to discontinued guns?”

“It does fit the second half of the profile,” Beth offered. “He’s hesitant, agitated. Clearly he doesn’t want to kill.”

“Well, let’s bring him in and ask him,” Prophet said irritably and Piper pursed her lips. 

“Sam and I can take Dixon. I want you guys to look into where he’s sourcing these guns from. Something about this doesn’t make sense.”

“Yeah, we got it,” Mick told her and Piper and Sam moved off.

Chapter Text

Dale let them in, a little flustered and apologising for the mess as he led them to a small dining table. Sam studied the house as he walked in, slow and measured as he looked for evidence of anyone else in the house. “It’s terrible,” he was saying, taking a seat. “I heard the gunshot, didn’t know what had happened.”

“I’m sure it was very disorienting,” Piper said, smiling at him placidly as Sam joined him. “Can I ask, what were you doing at the mall?” 

“Just grabbing some lunch,” he answered and Piper let out a small, dry snicker.

“Must be a pretty lenient school you work for if they let you go to the mall in the middle of a school day. That too, 20 miles from where you work.”

Before Dale could say another word in his defence, the yard door opened inwards and a young boy, no older than 12, entered with his mother, noticed the both of them and immediately backtracked, bumping into his mom and clinging to her. “No, no!” 

“It’s okay, Max,” Dale said, getting up instantly and skirting past Piper to get to him. “They’re from the FBI.”

“We’re just here to talk,” Piper said gently, stepping forward tentatively but not too close. “I’m sorry if we scared you. Max, right? I’m Piper. This is my friend, Sam.”

“Are they gonna take me again?” Max asked and Piper looked at him quizzically, then up at his mother, and before she could answer, Dale sent them upstairs to his room. 

“Max always that jumpy around strangers?” Sam asked him as Piper studied Dale. 

“Max… well, he’s just a shy kid,” Dale said, hesitant and Piper tilted her head at him.

“That’s not shyness, that’s a trauma response,” Piper told him. “Not a great idea to lie to FBI agents, Dale. Makes them think you’re hiding something.”

“Hiding?” Dale tried a laugh. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“You think you’re a good liar, Dale,” Sam said, watching him squirm under their joint gazes “You’re really not. You’re lying about the kid, you’re lying about the mall.”

And the whole facade crumbled, Dale suppressing a sob as he muttered, “He said he was gonna kill my son. I told him I wasn’t a killer but he made me do it.” He sank into a seat and Piper let out a quiet sigh.

“So, someone made you kill?” Piper asked him.

“Are you gonna arrest me?” Dale asked, appealing to Piper. 

“We have to take you in, Dale,” she said, not unkindly.

“Please,” he begged her. “He took my son. What would you have done?”

“We can't help you unless you tell us everything,” Sam said to him. “What happened at the mall, what happened at the crosswalk.”

“He said he would let my son go if I went to the mall and killed someone,” Dale said, his voice tight and strained. “A life for a life, he said. He didn't say anything about a crosswalk.”

Piper licked her lips, glancing at Sam, tense. “We got multiple shooters,” he said and Piper sighed.

“Yeah, no shit. Alright, you take Dale in. I’ll get Max, see if we can figure out how the abductions are happening. Then we adjust the profile.”

“Sounds good,” he replied, taking Dale by the arm and the man shuffled obediently, letting Sam guide him outside while Piper left to take care of the kid and his mom.

“So he's kidnapping people's loved ones, holding them for ransom, and then he is forcing them to kill innocent victims in order to earn their freedom,” Piper summarised, watching the local officers take notes. “What we know from Max Dixon, the eight year old boy that was abducted, is that we’re looking for a white man in his 40s with a Southern accent.”

“Based on the weaponry being used,” Mick continued, “we believe that he has experience in guns and that at some point he might have been involved with some branch of law enforcement.”

“Essentially what he's doing is he's coercing these people into murder,” Sam told them. “And so far we think that there have been three separate shooters with three separate possible kidnappings.”

“He’s obsessed with death,” Prophet added. “He’s got a God complex. He wants to prove that he can turn ordinary people into killers.”

“He's a manipulator, and he's also highly proficient in how he gets these people to kill…” Mick said. “Rigging of the guns, creating the murder scenarios, even asking for photographs of the deceased.”

“Thank you for your time,” Piper addressed their audience. “We’ll keep you updated if anything changes.”

They started to shuffle off and disperse and Piper caught sight of Gina and Beth coming through the hallways with an urgency in their steps. “Multiple witnesses report seeing what they believed to be a kidnapping in Lakeside Park,” Beth said and Piper frowned.

“They saw the abduction?” she asked and Gina shook her head.

“No, just the aftermath,” she explained. “A young husband looking for his wife.”

“Do we have an ID on the husband?” 

“No, but we’ve got enough statements to put together a good picture of what happened,” Beth said and Piper pulled out her phone, dialling Penelope and leaving her on speaker. 

“Good afternoon, temporary Texans,” Penelope answered.

“Got a challenge for you,” Piper replied, setting the phone down on the table. “We need you to find a woman who was abducted from Lakeside Park this afternoon.”

“And I’m guessing I have no security camera to work with?”

“Just eyewitness testimony,” Beth answered and Penelope’s grimace could be heard from across state lines. 

“Alright, gimme what you got.”

“Middle Eastern man, early 30s,” Beth started. “Looking for his wife, said her name was Carolyn, she was 3 months pregnant and had long curly hair. He was wearing a windbreaker with a Lakevale Hospital logo on the back.”

“Piper, you owe me a lasagne for this one. Martin Malek, he’s an internist. His wife, Carolyn Malek, has been seeing an ob at Lakevale hospital for the last three months.”

“Derek’s right, you really are a miracle worker,” Piper replied, her tone chipper.

“Always the tone of surprise,” Penelope remarked and Piper grinned, leaning forward on her chair.

“Any chance you can hack into Malek’s phone, figure out where he is?”

“Psh, piece of cake,” Penelope replied and, after a moment or two, said, “He’s near a farmer’s market downtown.”

“Love you, Pen,” Piper said quickly, picking the phone up as everyone started getting up.

“Be safe,” she replied before hanging up.

Sam spotted him first, moving in with Mick at his 8 o’clock, and Piper skirted around Malek with Gina, gesturing for people to back away. “Drop the gun, Martin,” Piper said, her gun snug in her holster. A cameraman shuffled forward, aiming his camera at Martin and Mick pushed him away, ordering him to get out. “No-one has to die today.”

“He’s gonna kill my wife!” Martin cried. 

“I know,” Piper said gently, stepping forward with her hands up. “I know you want to protect them. Your wife, your baby.”

“A life for a life,” he said, raising the taped gun. “That’s what he said.”

“You’re a doctor, Martin,” Piper reminded him, taking another step forward. “First oath you take… Do no harm. You know what mine is? Protect and serve. That’s my job. Martin, your wife, your baby, they’re as much my responsibility as they are yours.” She glanced at the camera in front of her, still standing next to Mick. “Listen to me,” she said quietly, taking another step forward. “I can give you a way out.”

“How?” Martin asked, tears dripping from his eyes. 

“Hold your gun vertical, in front of your chin,” Piper told him and he listened, keeping the revolver an inch away from his face, raised to the sky. “Close your eyes,” she said, watching his dark brown eyes close. “You’re gonna pull the trigger and I’m gonna catch you, alright. Mick, you hearing me?”

“Loud and clear, boss,” Mick replied quietly on his radio.

“When you hear the shot, tackle the cameraman. Noone gets a clear shot. You copy?”

“I got it.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Martin,” Piper told him and he squeezed his eyes shut as he pulled the trigger, a loud bang followed by screams and a cameraman falling to the ground as Piper pulled Martin into an embrace, twisting him out of view and onto the ground. 

“Did I do it right?” Martin asked, his entire body shaking as Piper grabbed the gun and threw it away.

“Perfect,” Piper said, smiling at him. “If this whole internist thing doesn’t work out, you should consider acting.”

“Will he buy it?” Martin asked as Sam herded the paramedics over. 

“Best plan I’ve got, so let’s hope so,” Piper said. “Play dead for a minute, would you?” she asked and he closed his eyes, going limp and Piper stepped away, watching them pull Martin onto a backboard, then lift him onto the gurney, FBI agents forming a barrier to prevent anyone from getting a decent shot. 

“Risky move,” Sam remarked, Mick somewhere in the distance apologising to the cameraman. 

“I think you should go with him,” Piper said, glancing at Sam. “See if we can get more information about how he operates after abducting a victim.” He nodded, heading into the ambulance and pulling the door closed after him and Gina rested her elbow on Piper’s shoulder.

“Badass move, Bishop.” Piper snorted at the comment, glancing at her watch. 3:00 pm. Dread built up in her chest, a tight knot as Sanderson ran up to her, his coat flapping. 

“They just found Carolyn Malek on a median off I-20. They're bringing her in now,” Sanderson reported and it was like her throat had closed up. 

“Good. Gina, let Sam know so he can tell her husband that she’s okay,” Piper managed, sending her off. Then, glancing at Sanderson, she said, “We’ll meet you back at the office. Agent Griffith should be there, she can interview Carolyn when she comes in.”

“Alright, sounds good,” Sanderson said, nodding as he left and Piper dropped the pretence, walking away to somewhere quiet and stumbling against a wall, trying to breathe normally. She squeezed her eyes shut, hearing the gunshot go off again, her voice bleeding raw, blood, God, so much blood, a hand on her shoulder and she moved to swat it away to find Mick looking at her concernedly. 

“You okay?” Her hand was in a claw against her chest and she shook her head, unable to say something. Mick glanced around, making sure they were alone, and pulled her deeper into an alley. “Is it a-a panic attack or something?” 

“M fine,” she said, struggling to breathe. Come on! Get a grip!  

“Fine?” Mick scoffed. She refused to look at him, trying to stumble away, but he gripped her shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Hey, it worked. Your plan worked. Carolyn, her baby, Martin, they’re all okay. You saved them.” His hand was warm against her cheek as she nodded slowly, swallowing, her hand on his chest, trying to use his heartbeat to ground herself, forgetting everything else and focusing on breathing in time to the rise and fall of his chest. The pounding in her head started to fade and she righted herself, clearing her throat. 

“Sorry,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ears. 

“You have nothing to apologise for,” he said and she scoffed, hands on her hips. 

“Sure. I’m lead profiler and I’m losing it in an alleyway.”

“Hey, you may be lead, but you’re sure as hell not alone,” Mick assured her. “Even if things went sideways, which they didn’t, thanks to you, we do this as a team. We’re here for you just like you are for us.” Piper met his eyes, earnest and insistent, and nodded.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

“Not necessary,” he replied. “Ready to get back to work?”

“Yeah, you’re driving,” she said, a small smile on her face and he returned it, walking back with her.

“He forced her to watch Martin on the news,” Beth explained, standing while the rest of them sat around their late lunches – subs, sandwiches, burgers, and sodas. “She gave us a brief description, but it should help. Brown hair and blue eyes. 150 pounds, give or take. And he only had three fingers on one hand. And cut marks all over his arms, like scars.”

“Do we have anything on the secondary site?” Piper asked her and Beth shook her head.

“She said he put a blindfold over her, put her in an old red truck. But his words are really what give him away. He said, this is the part where you see how much he loves you, this is the part where he does it, the phone isn’t gonna ring, there isn’t gonna be a stay.”

“Like a stay of execution,” Prophet said, raising his brow at the rest of them.

“So, he’s an executioner,” Gina said. “A prison guard.”

“Well, he's using model 13 guns. I mean, we pegged him as potential law enforcement ever since we first examined the weapons. Sure sounds like somebody who works in the system,” Mick reasoned and Piper nodded, shifting from her lean to pick up her phone, calling Penelope. 

“Two calls in one day, I am blessed,” Penelope said, her voice chirpy and Piper smiled.

“Hey, I’ve got a profile for you.”

“Fire away, Pat Benatar.”

“Unsub’s in the prison system,” Prophet told her. “Executioner, guard, counsellor, administrator. Late 40s, missing two fingers on one hand.”

“O-Okay, that’s… weirdly specific for once. I’ve got a Richard Stahl. 49 years old. He spent the past 20 years on the execution team at Huntsville. He's helped perform almost... 50 lethal injections, sheesh.”

“Anything on background?” Piper asked.

“Yeah, he had a horrible childhood. His entire family was murdered in front of him. He saw the whole thing and... Eugh, he lost his pinkie and his ring finger in a buzz saw accident when he was 12.”

“P, anything on what weapon was used?” Prophet asked.

“Model 13 Magnum. Oh, here’s your trigger, he was fired six months ago. Super-high profile. All over the news. A botched execution. Stahl was blamed.”

“Did he do any time?”

“Insufficient evidence,” Penelope replied. “And then he went off the grid. There's no last known address. But his aunt Mary Ellen lives in Frisco which is right next to Dallas, and she's the one who raised him after his parents were murdered.”

“Alright, thanks, Pen,” Piper said, lips pursed as Penelope hung up, thinking about their next moves. “We’ll split up. Sam, Gina, Mick, head to Frisco, talk to Mary Ellen. The rest of us will head to the penitentiary.”

Chapter Text

They’re left waiting in an empty break room, Beth pouring herself a cup of coffee while Prophet sidled up to Piper. “Hey, why’d you want me here?” he asked quietly and Piper glanced at him. 

“Because you know prison guards better than I do,” Piper said honestly. “They all give me the creeps. Seriously, I dunno what kind of man applies for a job like this. But you… You know better. You know how to profile them. You’ve got instincts I don’t have.”

A man in uniform walked in, with military cut hair and his last name embroidered in white letters against a black tag on his chest. “You must be the FBI,” he said and Piper stepped forward with a smile, holding out her hand. 

“I’m Piper. This is Agent Simms and that’s Agent Griffith. We wanted to ask some questions about Richard Stahl.”

“Sure, okay,” Rawlins nodded, as though he’d been expecting them. “What would you like to know?” Piper did her best not to frown as Beth took a seat with her cup of coffee. 

“According to his file, he participated in 50 lethal injections,” Piper said. “How’d he cope with that?”

“Well, it takes a team to carry out a full execution. Most people, they come here, do their job, try to leave it behind when they go home. Not Richard,” Rawlins said, pouring himself a cup of coffee as the trio watched him.

“You think he enjoyed the executions?” Beth asked.

“He never came right out and said it, but, uh... Yeah, I do,” Rawlins replied. “And it got worse the longer he was here. I was his partner for ten years. I knew him better than anybody.”

“How did it get worse?” Prophet asked, arms crossed as he studied Rawlins. 

“Well... Prisoner'd be taking his final walk, and Richard would start taunting him, telling him how much it was gonna burn when the juice of that needle started coursing through his veins.”

“You think he liked seeing them in pain?” Piper asked, hands in her pockets.

“I think he enjoyed pain, period,” Rawlins answered, lifting his cup to his lips to take a sip. 

“That execution that went wrong, the one Stahl got fired for? What happened?” Beth asked. 

“The first drug, sodium thiopental, is supposed to sedate you before the second and the third drugs are injected,” Rawlins explained, setting his cup down and leaning on the back of a chair. “Well, Stahl never injected the sodium thiopental. When the other drugs started flowing through that condemned man's body, he went into convulsions, cried out, writhing in pain. And Stahl claimed it was an accident.” He looked at Piper, long and hard. “I saw you on the news, that suicide. Man, I knew Stahl was sick, but I never imagined he’d go that far.”

“Have you talked to him at all since he was fired?” Piper asked, her expression neutral, watching as he took a seat. 

“Yeah, once. I-I felt bad for the guy. He's got nobody.”

“Where’d he call you from?” 

“Blocked number,” he said simply, “I got no clue, and he didn’t want me to know. Just wanted to talk.”

“Talk about what?” Beth asked. 

“Well, his face was in the news and, uh, he was gettin' death threats and... Wanted to buy a gun for protection. He felt like he couldn't do it out in public, so, uh... I gave him the name of some guy off the radar.”

“You mean illegally,” Piper said, tilting her head at him with a raised brow. 

“Look, if I knew what he was gonna do with the gun, I wouldn’t have given it to him.”

“How thoughtful,” she remarked. “I need the name of the dealer.”

“You're FBI. He ain't gonna give you anything,” Rawlins told her. 

“We could set up a buy,” Prophet offered, looking at Piper and she met his gaze for a moment before turning to Rawlins. 

“Call your guy. Tell him you got a couple friends who wanna buy some guns,” she told him.

“If he knows I ratted him out, he'll kill me,” Rawlins said and Prophet stepped forward.

“Way I see it, you got two options. All right? You can cooperate with us or you can protect your scumbag gun dealer friend. You do that, we're gonna put you away as an accomplice to murder. Choice is yours,” Prophet said, pulling out his phone and passing it to Rawlins. “Call him, man.”

“I’m gonna check in with Coop,” she said, mostly to Beth while Rawlins took the cell phone, and walked out of the room, one hand holding her phone, the other in her pocket, dialling Sam’s number. 

“Cooper.”

“So, Stahl’s partner knows a dealer who supplied Stahl with the guns, we’re setting up a buy to get more information. According to this guy, Rawlins, Stahl was a sadist, he’d taunt the death row prisoners, and that botched execution Penelope mentioned? Turns out Stahl forgot to sedate the prisoners before the injection.”

“And you’re sure this Rawlins guy is legit?” Sam asked and Piper frowned.

“I mean, he was his partner for ten years. Why would he lie?”

“Can’t answer that, but I can tell you that when he was a kid, Stahl would visit murder-suicide spots around town. Could be a form of masochism. That, plus he carved the words ‘ling-chi’ into his headboard, meaning–”

“Death by a thousand cuts,” Piper murmured, running her hand through her hair. “This kid was depressed.”

“To the point where it manifested in self-harm,” Sam continued. “Those missing fingers? He cut them off himself.”

“So, he’s depressed and in so much pain that he needs to hurt himself, but then why volunteer to kill other people? Everything we’re seeing reflects a huge ego, a need to grandstand, but the language Stahl uses… it makes him a bystander.”

“Agreed. Something doesn’t add up.”

“Alright, we’ll regroup at the office,” Piper said as Beth and Prophet emerged and she hung up, pocketing the cell. 

“We set up a buy for 10am,” Prophet told her and Piper nodded. 

“Good. Let’s go, I’ll catch you up on the way back.” The three walked out through the hallway together, oblivious to Rawlins hanging back by the doorframe, watching them as he sipped his coffee.

“If Stahl is a masochist then why does he act out on a grand stage?” Sam questioned, pacing while the rest of them sat around the table, the sun setting outside. “Why does he have a big show, the public killings, the, uh, the planning, the-the manipulation of others. Those are the actions of somebody who has a gigantic, huge ego.”

“Which doesn’t match the language he uses,” Beth remarked. “He never makes himself the subject of his own sentence. ‘This is the part where you see how much he loves you. This is the part where he does it.’”

“The language does fit the personality we’re seeing in Stahl’s childhood,” Piper provided. “His locus of control is completely external. He’s suffered an extreme lack of agency over his own life, he doesn’t have the confidence to manipulate another person.”

“His words are of a person who has no ego at all,” Sam said, turning to pace back across the room. “His personal traits are pure masochism, and his actions are those of a sadist.”

Gina raised her head, as if out of a deep slumber. “He has a partner,” she remarked and everyone turned to face her. “It’s the only explanation. He’s a puppet. There has to be a master.”

Mick bursted into the workroom, instantly reaching for Piper’s laptop and she raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought I sent you for dinner,” she said, slightly offended.

“You did. Decided to use my talents elsewhere, and I may have come up with a lead on Stahl’s location.”

“Yeah?” Piper sat up straight as he pulled up a map of Dallas. 

“So we know that Stahl has an affinity for murder sites, right?” Mick said, Prophet leaning over his shoulder. “Check this out. It's a house in south Dallas. It's the site of a triple murder three months ago. Now it's abandoned and boarded up. But I looked at the satellite images from the past three weeks. Check out the car.” He straightened back, letting Piper have an unobstructed view and she scoffed.

“Faded red truck,” she said, looking at Mick. “Nicely done.”

“SWAT’s ready to roll. Still want that dinner?”

“I’ll have a bigger appetite when we get these guys,” she said, grinning. In hindsight, she shouldn’t have been so damn cocky. But the thought of an easy win was too good to give up. 

It’s dark by the time they get there, undercover in a plumber’s van and Piper’s peering at a thermal image to look for signs of life and there’s nothing there. “Mick’s getting antsy,” Sam told her and Piper closed her eyes, aggravated. 

“There’s no-one in there. If Stahl really is using this place and he realised we busted in, he’ll change locations again,” Piper said patiently.

“Maybe he’s looking for his next victim,” Prophet offered but Gina shook her head.

“No, he hunts in the day. Maybe he abandoned this place?”

“But if we’re saying this guy’s just a puppet, that means none of these decisions are actually being made by him,” Beth reasoned, putting down the thermal camera, sat beside Mick in the front of the van. 

Piper sat up straight, a glassy look in her eye as she paused everything. “It takes a team,” she remembered slowly and Mick frowned at her from the driver’s seat. 

“What?”

“It’s what Rawlins said when we talked to him. It takes a team to carry out an execution,” Piper explained, picking up her phone call and dialling Penelope.

“Seriously? I was 5 minutes away from clocking out,” Penelope answered, obviously grumpy.

“I wouldn’t call you if you weren’t the best,” Piper replied, narrowing her eyes hopefully and Penelope sighed.

“What can I do?”

“Richard Stahl participated in 50 lethal injections, correct?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, I need to know anyone else who was involved in those executions. Get me the biggest common denominator.”

“You are lucky I’m an ace with fractions,” Penelope replied and Piper smiled, waiting patiently. “Okay, I have a George Rawlins. Apparently he volunteered to have Stahl as his partner.”

“Yeah, he said they were partners for 10 years,” Prophet recalled, his lips pursed. “Kinda rubbed me the wrong way too.”

“Oh good, I thought it was just me,” Beth remarked and Piper nodded. 

“Alright, so we check Rawlins out too. Prophet, Beth, the two of you should get some sleep before your meeting tomorrow. Mick and Gina–”

“Keep an eye on Rawlins?” she asked and Piper nodded firmly. 

“Sam and I’ll stay here, keep an eye on this place,” she added, glancing at Sam questioningly and he nodded firmly. The rest of them disperse, cloaked in darkness, to two separate undercover vehicles parked back down the street, leaving Piper and Sam in the dark panelled van. She leaned back in her chair with a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose and Sam studied her. 

“Tired?” Sam asked and Piper dropped her hand, rolling her head to the side to look at him. 

“It’s been a long day,” she said and Sam nodded and she looked at him, licking her lower lip. “Sam… what’s going on?” she asked quietly. He leaned back against the leather seat, his ever-present journal on his lap, and let out a sigh.

“You know, Rossi was my mentor when I first joined as a profiler,” Sam said slowly. “Difficult man to impress.”

“Yeah, well, you did. Impress him,” Piper said. “I’ve never heard him speak well of anyone’s judgement, except yours.”

“When I left, he told me to always trust my gut,” Sam continued. “That it was my greatest asset.” He paused, taking in a deep breath. “And right now, it’s telling me that my work here is done.”

“What?” Piper asked, twisting to face him fully. 

“I knew the Red Cell wasn’t built to last,” he ploughed on. “Fickler’s use of his discretionary budget was controversial enough when he first proposed it, it’s only grown more controversial now.” Piper looked at him, completely dumbfounded. “My only purpose in this team was to leave behind something… immutable. My own… legacy. To create a group of agents who went above and beyond in service.”

“Sam…” Piper said, her voice trailing, her expression resembling something close to hurt. 

“Annual budget review’s coming up, and I think… we’re gonna be target number one,” Sam said. “And I want you prepared.”

“Prepared for what?” Piper asked.

“Piper, there is a leader in there,” Sam said, pointing at her chest. “I know it. The team knows it. Hotch knows it. Strauss knows it. And it’s only a matter of time before Fickler notices it. When it comes, I need to know that you can handle it.”

“That… that’s insane, Sam,” Piper spluttered. “You told me Beth’s being offered to be in charge of a taskforce–”

“For terrorism threat analysis,” Sam explained, leaning forward. “A job she was long overdue for. Being part of this team proved that she could be a team player. And Mick… he needed somewhere safe after Iraq. People he could count on. A job that wasn’t so dehumanising. Prophet found his purpose, a fresh start. Gina, she’s become more confident in herself, in her abilities as an agent. And you…” Sam smiled, shaking his head with a tenderness that Piper had always found endearing. “You’re an incredible profiler, with profound empathy. You’re quick on your feet, smarter than you let on, and you make people the best versions of themselves. Exactly the kind of leader any unit would want. All I wanted to do was push you further.”

Piper leaned forward, letting the compliments wash over her like water over rocks, and looked at Sam with such concern. “And what about you?” Piper asked softly. 

“Me?” Sam asked, smiling. “We all have our time, Piper. There’s only so long I can keep running.”

“C’mon, Rossi’s like 70, he’s not very fast, you don’t see him retiring,” Piper said and Sam chuckled.

“Dave never did know when to quit.” He breathed in deeply. “But I need to step out of the darkness, Piper. I need to step back into the light. I want to close my eyes and feel the sunlight on my eyes. I want to see the world in its beauty, not its evil. I want my art to be about love and warmth. I want to… plant trees in the soil. Do you understand that?”

Piper took a deep sniff, keeping her eyes from watering as she nodded. “I do.” She took his large, callused hands in her own. “And I’m gonna miss you a hell of a lot.”

“So will I,” he replied gently and Piper smiled at him, bittersweet.

Chapter Text

They’re underneath a highway, watching the dealer pull the boot of his car open, backup parked about a mile away, a familiar sniper perched somewhere Prophet can’t see. “That's an MP7,” he said, talking to Prophet. “High-velocity muzzle. 4.6x30 ammunition. Shoot with that thing, you ain't gonna miss.”

“Pretty badass,” Prophet remarked. “Got anything smaller?”

“You got any handguns?” Beth asked. “M13s, Smith and Wesson. They still make those?”

“That's a big gun for such a little girl,” he said, looking down at Beth and she curled her lip.

“Can you hook it up or not, man?” Prophet asked. 

“Gimme some time. Had a guy in here... Cleaned out all my model 13s. But I can get some more.”

“He took everything you had?” Beth asked, raising her brow at him.

“Look, this ain't a bar,” he said, leaning back against the car. “You got the cash, I sure as hell ain't gonna cut anyone off.”

Before either of them could say another word, a bullet zipped through the dealer’s chest, and Beth ducked instantly, Prophet a little slower, and the second bullet ripped through his shoulder and he yelled, more bullets ringing out as he fell to his knees. Beth’s already got her gun out, crawling for cover. The last thing Prophet feels is a blow to the back of the head.

When he wakes, he’s in the back of a van, Mick peering at him. His grin was subdued, but unmistakable. “You had us scared there for a minute, man,” Mick remarked and Prophet groaned, his arm numb from pain, as he sat up, Mick instantly bracing him. “Hey, careful.”

“Is Beth okay?” Prophet asked, slowly sitting upright, and Mick’s smile faded. 

“Rawlins took her,” he answered and Prophet shoved him with his good arm.

“What the hell were you doing, then?” Prophet demanded. 

“Piper told me not to take the shot!” Mick argued and Prophet glared at him.

“Why the hell would she do that?”

“Because I want him to stand trial, not buried six feet under,” Piper answered, her face popping up on a laptop screen, sitting shotgun in a car.

“Even though he could have killed us?” Prophet demanded and Piper licked her lower lip.

“He wasn’t going to kill either of you,” she explained patiently. “To him, the pleasure is in the manipulation of others. Going after Beth is his way of manipulating us.”

“How do you know that?” Prophet asked and Piper’s expression turned cold as she raised an M13 to the screen, taped by the handle. 

“We’re headed to Market Street, what’s your ETA?”

“Well, we just watched Rawlins drag Beth into the house,” Gina answered from the front of the van. 

“Alright. Surround the house, wait for my signal to move in,” Piper replied and Prophet groaned, bumping his head against the back of the van. 

“What are we waiting for?” he said and Piper repressed a sigh.

“We need to arrest both of them – Stahl and Rawlins,” she explained. “We go in now, we spook Stahl.” She swallowed, looking at her watch. 

“You don’t hear from me in ten minutes, you go in. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Prophet grumbled, getting to his feet and Mick’s hand stopped him, firm against his chest.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Mick asked, Gina’s arm slung around the back of her seat as she watched them with raised brows. 

“To bring Rawlins in. You gonna help or get in the way?” Prophet asked, his gaze determined. 

“You just got shot in the arm, you can’t go in the field,” Gina reasoned and he glared at her next.

“Oh yeah? Watch me.”

“Prophet…” Mick tried, his brown eyes filled with concern. “We’ve already lost one agent. I’m not about to lose you too. Stay in the van. Please.” 

Piper swallowed, getting out of the car in broad daylight, her hand wrapped around the revolver, Sam by her side. The streets are empty, but it’s not their doing. “I don’t understand,” Sam voiced, turning to look at Piper. “You’re sure he said Market Street?”

“Positive,” Piper answered, frowning, and the burner phone in her pocket trilled, demanding to be picked up. 

“How’s the fair?” Stahl asked and Piper clenched her jaw.

“There is no street fair,” she said, scowling. “I can’t kill someone if nobody’s here.”

“I don't expect you to kill just anyone, Piper. I already got someone picked out.” A figure in a denim shirt stood up, underneath a clock. Piper and Sam walked over, both holding guns at their sides. “Me,” he told her. Her eyes glanced up at the clock, then back down to Stahl. Five minutes.

“I gotta say, that boss of yours seems like a pretty stand-up gal,” Rawlins said, glancing out the window, Beth in the middle of the bedroom, her wrists bound to a chair. “Think she’ll kill to save you?” He returned his gaze to Beth, who simply looked at him. “Don’t underestimate what people will do for love.”

“Love?” Beth scoffed. “Is that what you told Richard? That you loved him?”

Rawlins smiled. “Oh, yeah. First day he got to Huntsville, I saw that wimpy little kid, cuts all over his arms. I knew I could get him to do whatever I wanted to. Even murder.” He walked over, taking a seat on a dresser as he leered at Beth. “You didn’t answer my question. Will she kill to save you?”

“No,” Beth answered, narrowing her eyes at him.

“What, doesn’t love you enough?”

Beth scoffed. “She won’t have to kill anyone. In fact, when she finds you, which she will, you’re gonna wish you were dead.”

“You seem awful sure of yourself,” he said, smirking.

“You’re not the first guy to try and manipulate her,” Beth told him. “She’s one of the smartest and toughest agents I’ve worked with. You won’t win.”

“Won’t I?” Rawlins asked, grinning at her. “Guess we’ll find out in 3 more minutes.”

Piper raised her gun, her jaw tightly clenched. “So, I kill you and Beth goes free?” she asked, Sam frowning and staring at her. 

“You’re not seriously gonna do this?” Sam asked her.

“Shut up, Sam,” Piper shot at him dismissively, her gaze glued to Stahl. “That’s the deal, right? A life for a life?”

“That’s the deal,” Stahl answered. 

“So, when you die, where do I send the proof?” Piper asked, her gaze neutral. “I know Dale Dixon sent you a photograph. And you probably saw Malek kill himself on TV. So, what do I do with you?”

“Piper, hold on,” Sam interrupted. “Maybe there’s another way. I’m sure we can reason with–”

“Reason? With him?” Piper demanded, finally glancing at Sam. “He’s not the one in control, Sam.” She turned back to Stahl, gun aimed at his chest. “You’re just a puppet. Obeying orders, dancing to someone else’s tune. Me? I’m not like that. I’m the one in control. So–” She lowered the gun, her expression turning cruel. “Kneel.”

“Piper!” Sam cried desperately and Richard bent down on one knee, then the next, completely still as Piper moved around him, pressing the revolver to the back of his neck. Her free hand was loose by her thigh – three fingers, then two, then one…

A gunshot rang out and Richard crumpled to the floor, face first. “How long left?” she asked, instantly falling to her knees and letting her bag fall to the floor as she unzipped it, rapidly pulling out a blood bag. 

“Got about a minute left,” Sam said, glancing at the clock. 

“Roll him over for me,” she told him and he obliged so Piper could position the blood bag near his chest, under his shirt. Pulling out a knife, she stabbed the bag twice, then backed away to grab the phone, take a photograph and send it to Rawlins. 

He smiled, capricious, and the gun he had raised to Beth’s face lowered. “Looks like I win after all,” he said, showing Beth the photograph of Stahl bleeding out. “Your lucky day.” Pulling out a knife, Rawlins cut Beth’s bonds free, and upon release, Beth tackled him with a yell, grappling him to the floor, her knife at his throat. 

“And what about your reprieve?” Beth asked, her voice savage. “She protected me from you. Who protects you, huh, Rawlins?” Her voice raised to a yell, anger unlike anything she’s felt tearing at her throat. “Who protects you from me?” The blade cut into his skin, beads of blood popping out as she pinned him to the ground. 

The door burst open; Mick, Gina, and an entire SWAT unit pouring inside, guns pointed at Rawlins. “We got him, Beth,” Mick said, but Gina didn’t wait for Beth, rushing inside to pull her off of Rawlins and Mick pressed forward, giving them space to get out. With SWAT at his back, Mick pulled Rawlins to his feet and pressed him against a wall, cuffing his hands together before dragging him outside. 

Prophet stood outside, clutching his bandaged arm, and immediately started forward when he saw Beth, wrapping her into a squeezing hug. “Thank God you’re okay,” he murmured, clutching her tightly. A dark SUV pulled up onto the street, the side door opening before the car even came to a complete stop, and Piper ran out, sprinting towards her team, Sam close behind. 

“Beth!” The woman is released from one hug, only to be tackled by the force of Piper’s hug, almost falling over. 

“Hey, I’m okay!” Beth assured her, a small laugh escaping as the younger woman released her.

“Not until a medic checks you out,” she told her, shifting her gaze to Prophet. “Are you okay?”

“The bullet was through and through. I’ll live,” Prophet said and Piper smiled softly, wrapping him up in a hug too. 

“Hey, what about me?” Mick asked, having dropped Rawlins off into Sanderson’s car, his hands hanging on his vest, and Piper released Prophet. “I’ll have you know, you put me through a lot of emotional anguish.” 

Beth smiled at Mick ruefully, welcoming a hug from him as well. “So, what happened with Stahl?” Prophet asked, effectively putting a damper on the mood. 

“Piper whacked him ‘round the head with an M13,” Sam answered and Gina snickered.

“So, that photograph,” Beth said slowly, letting go of Mick and looking at Piper with a newfound respect. “You faked it?”

“Wasn’t that hard,” Piper said, shrugging. “And Rawlins has too big an ego to believe I could trick him.” 

Beth nodded slowly, swallowing thickly. “Thank you.”

Piper smiled at her. “I did promise to have your back, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Beth said, chuckling. “That you did.” 

Piper nodded firmly. “Then let’s go. I need a drink.”

“Wait, an alcoholic one?” Mick asked, grinning gleefully as he hung his arm around Piper’s neck

“Fuck, yeah,” she answered, letting out a small laugh.

The thought of playing a drinking game with Piper had been too tempting to let go, that too, a head to head between Piper and Prophet, nailing shot for shot, as Gina refilled their glasses until she tapped out, leaving Prophet the last man standing, and completely wasted. Mick, a lot more sober than Prophet, dropped him off at his apartment, the older man’s arm draped around his shoulders.

“I’m-I’m sorry, man,” Prophet slurred as Mick fumbled with the keys. 

“About what?” Mick asked, finally getting the thing into the door and opening it before facing Prophet.

“I laid into you, and-and I shouldn’t have… yelled at you.”

“You got shot and Beth got abducted. I would’ve done the same thing,” Mick reasoned. “C’mon, let’s get you inside.” Prophet’s good arm goes back over Mick’s shoulders, firm and broad, as he was helped inside, the door kicked closed behind them, and Mick drops him on a sofa before turning the lights on. It’s old and industrial, his furniture minimal and modern, and Mick found the kitchen, pouring a glass of water for Prophet before returning to the living room. “Here,” he said, offering the glass to Prophet before taking a seat on the coffee table in front of him, watching him down the whole thing before handing it back to Mick. 

“What did you mean before?” Prophet asked. “When you said you couldn’t lose me too?”

Mick looked at him blankly, seeing something resembling hope in Prophet’s eyes. “Just that… Letting Rawlins go was the hardest thing I’d ever had to do,” Mick said, stumbling over his words, authenticity unfamiliar on his tongue. “The only thing that mattered more than getting him was getting to you, and if you’d…” His words get stuck in his throat, the thought of Prophet dying more than he could bear. “Prophet, I dunno what I’d do if I lost you.” 

A moment passed, and before Mick could register another thing, Prophet’s lips were on his, his hand in his hair… and he liked it. Mick’s hands fisted in Prophet’s shirt, his body shifting closer from the table to Prophet’s lap, letting go only to brace himself against the sofa. His breathing had become more strained; his muscles tensed. Mick’s heat was feverish against Prophet’s body, his hands pulling off his plaid shirt, then the grey undershirt, careful with his wounded arm. His thumb brushed at the bandage tenderly, remembering being unable to watch it being redressed when they got back to DC. 

“Mick,” Prophet murmured. “I’m okay.” His hands slid down from Mick’s neck to cup his cheek and watched his brown eyes close, his head lowering to press his forehead to Prophet’s. 

“I could’ve at least warned you,” Mick said quietly. “I could’ve done something .”

“It’s the job, Mick. I know what I signed up for. Occupational hazard. Besides,” he said, kissing Mick again, “I wouldn’t have gotten to have you like this without that bullet.”

“Shut up,” Mick muttered, kissing him harder, hands moving to tug at the belt of his jeans, lips trailing down from Prophet’s neck to his chest, and if he wasn’t already drunk, the sight of Mick’s mouth wrapped around his dick was enough. 

“Fuck,” Prophet breathed out, his dark eyes closing as Mick’s tongue swirled around his throbbing length, his world crashing down around him. 

Two Weeks Later

Their personal items have all been removed from the office, their desks packed up. Piper’s white sleeves are rolled up, her hair in a tight ponytail, arranging their files in organised boxes to be taken to Quantico while Sam talked to the movers downstairs. The gym front was closed, supposedly for maintenance, and everyone else was already gone – Beth to New York, Mick working for Interpol, Gina working with the DEA, and Prophet to make his mark on the Parole Commission. And so, she was here, packing, again. 

“So, how’s it looking?” Sam asked, walking back in and Piper glanced up at him from the floor. 

“Four months down, six more to go,” she said, smiling at him and watching him groan. “So, what are they gonna do with this place?”

“Probably turn it into a safehouse,” Sam said, shrugging. “Gym front is perfect for undercover operatives.” Piper pursed her lips, nodding as she turned back to her files, sorting them into piles and slotting them into boxes. “You give Fickler an answer yet?” Sam asked, taking a seat on the floor in front of her. 

“He’s a very hard man to say no to,” Piper sighed, looking at him. 

“It’s a hard job to say no to,” Sam reasoned. “Assistant director in charge of the DC office is huge.”

“It’s a desk job,” Piper said, cringing. “Besides, I was expecting SAC, like you or Hotch, not a Field Office.”

“He’s a profiler, he knows you won’t agree to anything out of DC,” Sam told her, leaning forward and Piper snorted lightly, looking at her files again.

“You know, my dad’s been obsessed with climbing ranks for as long as I’ve known him. I think it has to do with him needing to prove himself to everyone… He’s put his career above everything and everyone in his life and I don’t… I don’t want that life. I don’t want his life.” She tipped her head back, leaning against a wall. “I fought for my PhDs so people would take me seriously, not ‘cause I was some… pretentious douche.” Sam frowned, tilting his head and Piper threw a pen cap at him, smiling ruefully. “I wasn’t. I was just… People looked at me and all they saw was this little girl wearing her mom’s clothes. But I don’t have to prove anything anymore. I don’t need an office, or a title. I just… I wanna do what I love, with the people I love.” She looked at Sam, his droopy eye that made him look contemplative, the lines around his eyes, proof of a life lived with laughter, and her heart ached at not being able to work with him anymore. 

“I’m gonna miss you too,” he said, smiling and Piper’s smile was bashful, her gaze turning back to her thumbnail, picking at it. 

“Thank you,” Piper said, looking at Sam again with a smile, “for giving me a third home.”

“Thanks for coming,” Sam replied and Piper straightened, sniffing deeply.

“So, what about you? What’s next for the great Sam Cooper?”

“Well, I’m always welcome to teach,” Sam said and Piper gave him a sceptical look. “I always wanted to travel. But for fun this time. Start in South America, move on to Africa, up to the Middle East, Asia, Australia.”

Piper grinned, nodding. “I like it. Promise you’ll send me a postcard every now and then?”

“Deal,” Sam said, smiling.