Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Mumma. Mumma." Sticky hands slap across my face while I stubbornly pretend to remain unconscious.

"Mumma!" A second set joins in, apparently deciding teamwork is the way to go.

"Mummmmmmmaaaaaaaaahhh." The last one escalates into a full-volume scream.

Well. So much for sleeping in. Not that I've had much of that in the last year.

I bolt upright with a dramatic, sleep-hoarse "Roar."

Their giggles explode around me as I grab the closest twin — Nora — and attack her with tickles. Micah immediately climbs over my shoulder like a tiny, uncoordinated backpack, throwing his arms around my neck as he joins the chaos.

Not even a second later, another "Roar" joins in as Spencer throws himself onto the bed, the twins instantly abandoning me to swarm their father instead.

"Dada!" they shriek, climbing over him while he laughs and pretends to be dramatically overpowered.

"Oh no," Spencer gasps, flailing as Nora attempts to sit directly on his face. "Two apex predators and I have no defensive adaptations."

Micah roars again, louder this time, and Spencer clutches his chest. "Not the T-Rex! They have surprisingly poor depth perception but extremely strong bite force—"

He dissolves into laughter when Micah immediately tries to bite his shoulder.

"Micah... we've talked about the biting thing," I say, attempting authority and achieving absolutely none of it.

He just grins back at me, curls a disaster, eyes the exact same warm brown as Spencer's, bright with the unmistakable confidence of someone who knows there's no way he's going to get in trouble for this.

I can't help it. I reach out and smoosh his little cheeks with my hands, lowering my head to rest against his as he giggles.

"You're too cute."

"And you call me the pushover." Spencer mumbles.

My eyes lift to land on my husband. "Between the two of us, you are one hundred percent the pushover."

Spencer opens his mouth, then stops when Nora grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks hard enough to tilt his head sideways.

He just blinks.

"Point made," I add.

Micah immediately goes for the other side, both hands digging in with terrifying commitment.

Spencer closes his eyes for a second. "They're just showing how much they love me."

"They're going to scalp you," I say mildly.

Another tug.

I glance at him again, taking in the shorter cut. It suits him. It's neat. It makes him look... somehow sexier, which I didn't think was possible.

But I still miss the old mess of it. The curls. The way it fell into his eyes when he forgot to push it back.

I used to call it his Jesus hair.

And — very practically — it was extremely convenient to hold onto while I was riding—

I clear my throat before that train of thought goes anywhere inappropriate for six in the morning.

"Are you ready for today?" He asks, in between the twins roughhousing.

Micah gives one last determined tug before abandoning the hair in favor of trying to climb over his shoulder.

"Not even a little... but... the whole JJ situation and the fact that I've been gone for over a year, it's kind of the push I needed."

Spencer exhales, "I do miss working with you."

Something in my chest pulls tight as I slide my hand into his.

"...Yeah," I say after a second. "Me too."

It goes quiet for a second. Just the kids moving, the mattress dipping, morning light coming in through the curtains.

Then Spencer checks the clock on the nightstand.

His expression changes. "Your mother should be here any minute."

I drop back onto the pillow and scrub my hands over my face.

"Fantastic."

And I actually mean it. The twins adore my mother, which means I can leave them with her while I go hunt serial killers without feeling like the worst person alive.

Nora crawls across my stomach and settles in my lap. I immediately wrap my arms around her, holding her close while I kiss the top of her head.

Spencer watches me for a second, concern creeping in around the edges. "You don't have to go in today."

"Yes, I do." My voice comes out flatter than I mean it to. "If I don't go now, I won't go at all."

Because otherwise I might remember why I took a year off in the first place.

You know, all those minor things that happened while I was gone — like Spencer getting shot in the leg, George Foyet stabbing Hotch approximately twelve thousand times, and the general realization that this job occasionally tries to murder the people I love.

Obviously the sensible next step is to head straight back into danger.

Micah pats my cheek, sticky fingers and all, shaking me out of the memories. "Mumma?"

I pull him in automatically, pressing a kiss into his hair.

"Mumma's fine," I murmur, even though I'm not entirely convinced.

Spencer reaches over and brushes his thumb lightly along my jaw, calming more than comforting. "First days are always the worst."

"Mm." I lean my head briefly against his shoulder. "Remind me why we agreed this was a good idea."

He doesn't hesitate. "Because you love the job."

I close my eyes.

"...Yeah."

I stay there for another second, both kids tucked into me, Spencer warm beside me, the room still quiet before the day starts pulling us in ten different directions.

Then I sigh and push myself upright.

"Right," I say, voice dry. "Let's go before I change my mind for the twentieth time."

                                               *******

I don't know why I feel so nervous. It's like first-day jitters all over again. My shirt suddenly feels too tight, I keep fidgeting with the buttons, and I'm very aware of my hair in a way that probably means it looks terrible.

It's ridiculous. It's not like I haven't seen these people in forever. I mean, two days ago we had a bloody playdate with Jack and Hotch.

Still, this feels... strange.

I swear everyone is staring at me like I've got food on my face.

Which, just in case, I subtly wipe.

Nothing.

Good. That would have been humiliating.

Spencer's hand finds mine as we walk through the doors, his fingers slipping easily between mine like he's done it a thousand times before. Which he has. Still, the small squeeze he gives my hand feels very intentional.

For half a second I picture Nora in the doorway and Micah's chubby fingers waving at us when we left. Yep, pretty sure the guilt is oozing out of me.

I squeeze his hand back. He doesn't say anything. Just raises his eyebrows slightly, the silent profiler version of you okay?

I nod. Mostly because if I open my mouth right now I'm pretty sure something incoherent will come out.

Spencer pushes the doors open and we step inside. And somehow the bullpen looks exactly the same.

Which, logically, makes sense. It's only been a year, not a decade. No one has renovated the FBI while I was gone.

My eyes drift across the room.

The carpet near the filing cabinets still has that tiny tear in it from the time Morgan and I decided racing in office chairs was a good idea.

(It wasn't.)

There's a faint coffee stain on the edge of Spencer's desk that no amount of government-issued cleaning spray has ever managed to remove.

That one's my fault.

Technically.

In my defense, if Spencer insists on looking that attractive while explaining quantum mechanics before I've had caffeine, spills are basically inevitable.

And then my eyes land on my desk. Exactly how I left it. Right down to the same decorations. The same picture frames of the team (and yes Logan and my parents were amongst them) lined up along the edge.

Including my personal favourite — the wedding photo of Spencer and me with the extremely drunk Elvis.

And sitting in the middle of everything, my Monica Geller bobblehead.

I walk over slowly, reaching out to tap her. She immediately starts nodding aggressively, which only makes it funnier with the turkey still stuck to her head.

Spencer steps up beside me, glancing down at the desk before looking back at me.

"It's like you never left," he says.

I nod before diving into my bag to retrieve one very important item.

"It's just missing one thing." I add the photo frame of the twins with the rest, and let out a small breath.

Right. I'm back. Officially.

"My oh, my, do my eyes deceive me?" Morgan's voice carries across the bullpen before I even turn around.

He's leaning against the railing with that familiar grin like he's been watching the whole thing for a minute.

I sigh. "Derek, we had lunch three days ago."

"Yeah," he says, pushing off the railing and walking over, "but this is different."

Before I can ask how—

"Evie!"

Garcia appears from the break room, unicorn mug in hand, and shockingly not spilling anything as she rushes over and pulls me into a hug.

"You're actually back-back," she says into my shoulder.

I pat her arm. “In the flesh."

"You owe me $20." Her gaze landing behind me and onto Derek.

Morgan stops beside us, shaking his head. "What can I say, she was a nervous wreck last week, I didn't think she had it in her."

I glare at him, "Did you really bet on me not coming back to work?"

“Yes,” Morgan says patiently. “And I’m very sorry I bet against you now.”

"Okay, everyone needs to calm down. I went on maternity leave. As in, there is a point I would be returning."

Emily steps around Morgan, a small smile tugging at her mouth. “Welcome back.”

"Thanks."

Spencer shifts beside me, his hand briefly brushing mine again, a subtle reminder that this is typically normal, especially with us.

I click my tongue, "So, who bet what?"

Garcia tilts her head, mentally adding up the wagers no doubt. "Well Derek had you done for bailing, Prentiss had—"

"Two weeks," Emily says calmly.

Morgan shrugs. "Look, you've got twins at home. We assumed you'd remember you had better options."

I stare at them. "Really guys? I thought we were friends.”

"In fairness," Garcia says, "it was a very small pool."

Emily lifts one shoulder. "Most people would pick the babies."

I glance down at the photo frame of the twins sitting on my desk.

"...They are very persuasive."

Morgan grins. "See? That's all we're saying."

Emily nudges his arm. "Ignore him. We're glad you're back."

Garcia nods emphatically. "Very glad."

Morgan gestures around the bullpen. "Besides, this place has been weird without you. And with JJ gone... let's just say it's good to have a familiar face back here."

I glance around the room again — the same desks, the same agents, the same usual BAU chaos.

"...Yeah," I admit. Because it really does suck not having JJ here.

Spencer leans down, pressing a kiss to my temple. "I missed you."

I roll my eyes. "You missed sneaky hotel sex and car—"

"I beg of you not to finish that sentence." Hotch's voice cuts through the bullpen and I freeze.

Slowly, I turn.

"... Right,” I say. “I was extremely professional on cases, Hotch.”

He just looks at me for a long moment. "Good to have you back, Evie."

"Thanks." Warmth creeps up my cheeks despite myself.

Hotch then glances at the team. "Conference room in ten."

With that, the team breaks apart, people heading back to their desks or grabbing files on the way out. A few quick shoulder squeezes and head pats pass by as they go.

Within seconds it's just Spencer and me again.

"Coffee?" he asks gently.

I reach up, running my fingers down the purple scarf wrapped around his neck. "You really do say all the right things."

He chuckles, sliding an arm around my shoulders and tugging me toward the break room.

******

Spencer's arm is slung loosely around my shoulders as we walk into the conference room, his thumb idly brushing my arm like he's forgotten we're technically at work and not just wandering around the house.

Not that I'm complaining.

Emily slips into the room ahead of us while Derek's already there, leaning back in one of the chairs with his phone in hand, the faint beep of a message cutting through the quiet.

"Is that Ellie again?" Emily asks after hearing Derek's phone beep.

I drop into the chair beside Spencer, nudging his knee under the table.

Spencer already gave me the Ellie rundown after the whole Prince of Darkness case. And when I say rundown, I mean every possible detail, because once my husband starts explaining something he does not stop in our house.

I felt bad for the kid though. She seems to have latched onto Derek, which considering everything I can't blame her.

"She texts me every morning on her way to school." Derek says.

Of course she does, the poor thing.

"How's she doing?" Spencer asks.

"Well, she's already got herself a BFF named Jill, and she thinks she wants to play soccer." Derek says.

Emily nods. "She's adjusting. That's good."

Hotch walks in before anyone can say anything else.

"Bristol, Virginia." He says, setting the files down. "The body of a 25 year old Jenny Delilly was found yesterday." He hands the files out. "She had been tortured, sodomized, and electrocuted before being forced to make a goodbye call to her parents. Her body was then dumped off Elden Street."

I flip open the file.

"Well," I mutter, "this seems like a very gentle reintroduction to work."

Morgan snorts across the table.

Hotch however ignores me as he continues, "A week ago, the body of Kara Kirkland was found in the same area having suffered identical injuries."

"This reminds me of The Butcher case." Derek says.

I look up at that.

"Why does that name sound so familiar?" Emily asks.

"The Butcher was a sexual sadist that killed 20 women in the same area of Virginia from 1984 to 1993 and then vanished. He tortured blonde women in their 20s that lived in or near Bristol." Spencer explains.

Emily nods slowly. "That was one of Rossi's old cases, wasn't it?"

"Yes." Hotch nods.

"Does he know?" Derek asks.

Right on cue, we hear footsteps approaching and all turn as Rossi walks in carrying a box.

"Some vacation." Emily comments. "Did you get any sun?"

"I never got any anything." Rossi says pausing beside me to press a quick kiss to my cheek. "Welcome back."

"Yes, yes it's all very exciting, but seriously, do you think The Butcher's back?" I ask.

Rossi shakes his head, "I doubt it. We profiled him as a white male in his late 40s back then. He'd be in his 70s by now."

"Didn't you almost catch him?" Derek frowns.

"In the spring '93, we narrowed the geographical profile. We alerted every blonde in their mid-20s in Bristol and the surrounding counties. The pressure got so intense, the killings just stopped." Rossi answers.

"Well, the Copelands killed into their 70s. This could be him coming back." Spencer says.

Hotch answers, "It's probably a copycat. If he's emulating The Butcher, he could just be getting started."

Oh good.

So my very first case back is potentially a sadistic torture copycat recreating the work of a serial killer who terrorized Virginia for nearly a decade.

And here I was worried I might miss the tea parties and dinosaur reenactments happening in my living room right now.

Hotch dismisses us a few minutes later and everyone scatters to grab their things before wheels up.

Somewhere in the middle of all that I manage to call my mother… For the fifth time.

Yes, I am aware that makes me an overprotective parent.

Yes, I am also completely fine with that.

The twins are apparently alive, happy, and currently making cupcakes, which my mother assures me is all natural, sugar-free blah blah. I absolutely don't believe her, but as long as the kids are having fun thats all that matters.

I also tell her I'll stop calling.

She also does not believe me.

Twenty minutes later I'm buckled into my seat on the jet beside Spencer, staring down at the case file while trying very hard not to check my phone again.

"All right, let's go over victimology." Hotch says, sitting down at the seat opposite us.

I flip open the paperwork in front of me, trying to focus on the here and now.

"Both Jenny Delilly and Kara Kirkman were single professional women." Spencer says. "Jenny had just gotten a job as a web designer, and Kara worked for a nonprofit."

I glance sideways at him as he talks.

Right. I forgot how much this particular version of Spencer does it for me. That hair, scarf and his profiling voice is like a goddamn aphrodisiac.

Emily clears her throat, "Each woman was taking from a populated area with no witnesses. Jenny from a crowded drugstore parking lot, Kara from the back patio of a ground floor apartment when her roommate went inside to answer the phone."

I scribble a few notes, mostly to prove to myself I still know what I'm doing.

"Why not take the roommate?" Derek asks.

I don't look up as I answer, "She's brunette. He prefers blondes."

See! Still know how to do the job.

"These vics were forced to make phone calls. Jenny left a message, and Kara spoke with her fiancé." Emily adds.

I frown, turning that over. Why have the victim make the call? What was the point of that?

"Garcia, were you able to trace the calls?" Hotch asks.

Pens voice echoes from the phone speaker, "My pretties, they're using disposable cells, so I'm coming up empty."

Shocking. Just shows this guys not a novice.

Derek leans closer from across the aisle. "We do have a timeline, though. According to the M.E.'s report, both victims were dead for about 3 hours before they were found, which means based upon the times of their messages, they endured 5 additional hours of torture after making their goodbye calls."

Five hours. Sounds lovely.... Not.

"It wasn't enough that he caused his victims pain and suffering, it extended to their parents as well?" Spencer asks.

I look at him again. Still mildly ridiculous that his jawline can make me drool after all these years together.

I clear my throat and drag my brain back to the case — which, in my defense, is harder after a year of mostly just staring at Spencer without having to be serious about anything.

"Rossi, were the phone calls The Butcher made his victims leave similar?"

"Yeah, but the content varied. 13 vics left answering machine messages for loved ones, 5 actually talked to someone before they died, and two reached no one." Rossi says.

"But didn't The Butcher make his victims end their messages by saying they were enjoying it?" Emily asks.

Hotch frowns, "That was the signature."

"Wouldn't that make a sadist flaccid?" Derek questions.

I lower my head slightly, pressing my lips together so I don't laugh.

Focus.

"It wasn't about him." Rossi says. "It was about the parents. He wanted to make sure that they knew he had complete control and dominance over their daughters."

"All right, Morgan, Prentiss, and Evie." Hotch orders glancing at the three of us. "Go to the M.E. We need to compare ritual and M.O. Rossi, Reid, and I will interview the families and go over the messages."

I nod, stretching out my hand as Morgan raises his for a fist bump. Honestly, I'm pretty keen to be partnered with these two.

"Rossi, what's in the box?" Derek asks lowering his hand.

Rossi glances at the thing he'd been carrying this whole time.

"Evil." Rossi states.

Huh. Nothing ominous about that at all.

                                             *******
I don't know how M.E.s do this job. Between the smell of disinfectant and the whole opening dead bodies thing, it's really not doing great things for my appetite.

I keep that to myself as I force my attention back to the body in front of us.

"You can tell from the burn wounds that they were assaulted with an electrified object." The M.E. says, handing Emily a report.

I frown. "Like a curling iron? Or a poker?"

She shakes her head. "Inconclusive. They also have numerous lacerations on their bodies."

I glance down at the victim while the M.E. continues. “Slight ones near the throat, deep ones on the chest."

"Multiple knives." Emily summarizes.

"The guy was creative." The M.E. adds.

"Creatively sick." Emily replies.

Took the words right out of my mouth. “What about the contusions on the back of their heads?" I ask.

"They were most likely sustained during the abduction."

Derek glances between the two of us. "This is a different approach than The Butcher's abductions. Based on Rossi's profile, The Butcher was a smooth-talker who lured his victims without initial physical force."

"Yeah," I say, still looking at the body. "Whoever this guy is, he doesn't have that kind of patience. Or confidence." I straighten, pulling my attention away from the table. "He's sloppy."

"Thank you." Emily says as we gather to leave.

But I pause for a second, looking down at the victim one last time.

This. This is why I came back. For them.

I turn away from the table and follow Morgan and Emily out of the room.

The smell of disinfectant sticks to the back of my throat all the way down the hallway, and yet an hour later I'm demolishing a burger like I haven't eaten in a week. Priorities change apparently.

I shove the last bite into my mouth and do a small, completely undignified happy shimmy in my seat.

"God," I say around the mouthful of food. "I missed this."

Derek and Emily chuckle as they finish the last of their own meals.

"Come on," I add, brushing crumbs off my hands. "Admit it. No one else talks you into food breaks like I do."

Derek crumples his wrapper and tosses it into the bag. "You're a bad influence, Pretty Momma."

I shake my head at the nickname, but I can't help the small smile that follows. Good to know that one stuck.

Emily nods toward the lot, and the three of us climb out of the SUV, attention shifting back to the reason we're here.

"All right," Derek starts, glancing down at the tablet. "This is right where she parked her car. And then she rushed in there to get a prescription."

I follow his line of sight to the pharmacy across the lot, then glance down at the surveillance footage on the tablet.

"Then she comes back to her car and somebody gets her attention." Emily continues.

I point to the screen when I notice her head turn. "Someone calls out to her. She tosses her stuff on the trunk... and then runs off that way."

Derek nods. "And that's when we lose her."

"So how do you snatch someone from here?" Emily asks. "Push her into a car?"

"Way too crowded." Derek answers, then gestures toward a car driving past us. "But there is a blind spot right there."

We start walking toward it, rounding the corner of the building.

"There's enough cover here," I say, glancing around the corner. "You park a car, come up behind her, grab her fast and get her inside before anyone really notices."

"But could you do that alone?" Derek wonders.

"I doubt it. And two people would explain how the first victim was abducted so quickly from the patio when her roommate went inside to answer the phone." Emily adds.

Derek nods. "It would also shed light on the M.E.'s findings. It wasn't one Unsub with two knives. It was two Unsubs with their own weapon."

By the time we get back to the precinct, my husband is already halfway through a lecture, his hands curled into the little dinosaur claws he gets when his brain is moving faster than the rest of him can keep up.

It's one of my favorite tells.

Spencer glances up as we walk in. For a split second his expression softens, that small, almost disbelieving look he's been giving me all day like he's still adjusting to the idea that I'm actually back here working beside him.

"Their victimologies were similar, too." Spencer says as we approach.

Hotch and Rossi turn toward the three of us.

"What did the ME say?" Hotch asks.

Derek takes the lead. "Multiple wounds from two separate knives on each victim. There's no way Jenny DeLilly was abducted by one person."

"So two knives, and two Unsubs?" Hotch clarifies.

"He couldn't take Jenny alone. When you look at Kara's patio and the fact that the roommate went inside for two seconds, it's highly unlikely." Derek continues.

"So what are you saying?" I'm guessing that's the local detective on the case. He has the slightly overwhelmed expression of someone who didn't realize the FBI was about to walk in and immediately double his problems.

Emily glances at him. "We're looking for a team."

I fold my arms, looking between the board and the detective.

God forbid it was just a nice, easy copycat.

Nnnnoooo that would've been too easy.

I keep my eyes on the board, on the photos, on literally anything that isn't the sick knot twisting in my stomach.

Spencer steps up beside me, close enough that I feel him before I look at him.

"How are you holding up?" he asks quietly.

I shrug. "I've seen a dead body before."

When I glance at him, he's already looking at me with that expression. That entirely unconvinced, soft look he just nails every time.

Come on, it says. It's me. My husband, unfortunately, is extremely good at reading me.

"I'm fine," I say, then exhale through my nose. "I just..." My eyes drift back to the board. To Kara. To Jenny. "I need to keep reminding myself that what we're doing matters. That my mother is doing a great job looking after our children while we hunt down people who torture women for fun."

For a second, he doesn't say anything. Then his arm slides around me and he pulls me into him, right there in the middle of everything. His hand settles against the back of my head.

"It matters," he says softly. "What we're doing matters."

I close my eyes for a second, letting myself lean into him.

"I know." My voice comes out smaller than I want it to.

Spencer leans back enough to look at me, one hand still at my waist.

"And your mother adores them," he adds. "They are probably having the best day of their lives."

I huff out a laugh. “Yeah, well. At this rate they're going to love her more than me."

Spencer immediately shakes his head. “That's not how that works."

I glance at him. "You don't know. My mother has snacks and zero rules."

His mouth twitches. "They still prefer you."

I smooth a hand over his scarf, more to do something with it than anything else.

"I'm okay," I tell him, quieter this time. "Or I will be."

He studies me for a second longer like he's deciding whether that's true.

Then he nods once. "Okay. But if that changes, you tell me."

I tilt my head. "What, and ruin your very serious profiler brooding?"

"Evelyn."

I sigh. "Fine. But if you keep looking at me like that, people are going to assume you're about to drag me into a supply closet."

His expression doesn't change, which somehow makes it worse. Then, completely serious, "Right now?"

I smirk. "Wow. Are you proposing supply closet sex on my first day back?"

His ears turn pink. “No, I— that's not what I—"

I laugh, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

"Relax," I murmur. "Save it for the hotel."

His ears are still pink when I turn back to the board like nothing just happened.

"Anyway," I mutter, folding my arms again. "Back to the psychopaths."

                                          ******

Oh the woods.

It's almost déjà vu at this point. Standing in a crime scene, staring at another dead body while half the local police department tries to figure out what happened.

Emily crouches down, examining the latest victim's wallet. "Heather Langley. She lives nearby."

And to no ones surprise…she's blonde.

"Third body in a week," Hotch adds from beside me.

"I've got additional units patrolling the area, but it's too big." The detective says, shaking his head.

Yeah. Woods tend to have that problem. I fold my arms, forcing my eyes away from Heather's face and back to the bigger picture.

"The Unsubs fit into the community," I say. "They go unnoticed."

Rossi steps up beside us. "This is the exact same place Susan Cole, The Butcher's last kill, was dumped. Heather's body is laid out in the same way."

Because apparently someone decided reenacting a serial killer's greatest hits was a good use of their free time.

"Arms above her head, demeaning straddle." Derek adds.

Rossi crouches down next to the victim. "Exactly the same stab wounds."

Spencer moves closer on my other side, already leaning in slightly as he studies the injuries. "The wounds are strategically placed so they miss the major arteries, but inflict maximum pain. These Unsubs aren't just trying to copy The Butcher, they're trying to exactly reenact his last kill."

I glance back at the body and, whether I want it to or not, my brain starts replaying how it happened.

"Copycats usually start from the beginning," I say. "So why are they fixated on the last crime?"

"Something about this particular case is significant to them?" Spencer suggests.

Hotch nods. "Morgan and Prentiss, contact the parents and see if they got a phone call."

"You should make the notification first." Derek says to the detective.

He nods. "Yeah, we will. And then we'll bring the parents down to the station."

With that Derek, Emily and the detective head off toward the patrol cars.

"We need to release the profile," Hotch adds before he and Rossi start talking through the next steps, but Spencer's still beside me.

I look back at Heather, ignoring Rossi and Hotch's bickering, a quiet I'm sorry in the back of my mind before I turn my attention back to the team.