Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time she saw him, he was just one in a long line of morning customers. Just as impatient and short of time as the rest of them. She gave him the same wide smile she gave every customer, asked for his order, prepared it and handed it to him in short succession, moving onto the next customer.

On his second visit the tall man made a comment about efficiency and hiring more staff; he wasn’t the first to and wouldn’t be the last, but for now she liked the rush and pressure and had no intention of hiring more staff.

His next few visits passed by and he was just one of her many repeat customers until one day he didn’t leave straight away. This time the man came in late just before the lunch rush and instead of his usual to-go cup he took a seat and ordered food with his drink order.

That was the first time Rose gave him a second glance. Tall and slim, toned but not overly muscled, dressed in a shirt and vest and carrying with him a light brown leather satchel, the man looked like he could be either a student or a professor. His hair was brown and curly, and a bit longer than she expected, along with the classical high cheekbones the Purebloods had in the Wizarding World and full lips. He was pretty, she noticed. Given the frequent superficiality of her chosen profession which limited interactions to introductions, good day’s and how are you’s, Rose liked to spend some time imagining what the people around her were doing.

To be perfectly fair, she had a slight advantage over others playing the game in that she could see people’s souls. This man’s soul was a brilliant, sparkling blue with hues of green and gold intertwined throughout, subdued and under a slightly dark cloud which tugged at, covered and hid parts of his soul on occasion. Something like grief and pain, like horror, dragging at him but he didn’t remain hidden – sparking out from underneath, lighting up and the cloud darkening or lightening as his thoughts shifted and changed. It was beautiful. He had so many good influences threaded throughout him, other people who had influenced him, woven into his very being, along with a few darker threads of the obviously negative influences.

Rose smiled slightly. She liked him.

But her first guess, of student or professor, didn’t quite match what his soul was telling her. She wondered what else he could be. In medicine, maybe? You often saw the worst of people in that profession. He did have nice long hands (pianist’s hands) but Rose quickly figured out, the longer he lingered in his booth, reading, that medicine was unlikely. While graceful on occasion, the man was also easily distracted and clumsy. Not the greatest combination for that profession. He did have an obsession with germs, though, she noticed, as he had given the table a quick wipe along with his seat when he sat down.

Unfortunately, lunch rush hit before Rose could settle on a profession for him and even when he joined the queue for another cup of coffee, she didn’t have enough time to analyse him further (or talk to him). The man was generally quiet and non-talkative, avoided contact with the people before and behind him in the queue (and with her, when possible) but he did tip every time.

Rose sighed heavily once the rush quietened down, finally, taking care to tend to her sitting customers first before she tidied and cleaned the empty table. The likely-not-a-Doctor didn’t look up as she tidied around him and Rose felt herself smiling unwittingly, reminded of an old friend of hers who used to sit in the library for hours, ignorant of the world outside, of the day and people passing her by. The motions were so habitual, she didn’t even realise what she’d done until she was cleaning up the coffee machine. Being used to Hermione’s distraction and forgetting to feed herself, Rose had automatically put easy snacks in reach which could be eaten without needing cutlery (and therefore focus) and which wouldn’t stain his hands (no strawberries, unfortunately, the red stain on her favourite book had made Hermione so pale, Ron had laughed for several minutes before Hermione retaliated with a spell).

Laughing at herself, hoping the man wouldn’t take offense, Rose continued tidying, shooting a quick glance at the man. He still sat in that booth, not even seeming to take notice the new addition to his table even as he absent-mindedly picked them up and snacked from them. She sincerely hoped he didn’t have any allergies.

As more and more customers left, Rose started preparing for the next day, even more amused by her still rather absent-minded last customer. Once it hid 3 o’clock, Rose flipped the sign to closed on her café and started preparing the different bread doughs for the next day. Although she would usually do this part of the day in the next room, the kitchen, rather than behind her counter, she had no intention of leaving the man alone in her café. Gathering the ingredients with her, she moved behind the counter and prepped herself for cooking.

Rose made another check by the man before she focussed on baking and made him a fresh cup along with replenishing his snacks, before leaving him to stand behind the counter, making sure she only gave him casual glances rather than her full attention.

By the time she started kneading her third dough, he finished yet another book, brow furrowed as he made further notes on the A4-sized notepad he had beside him on the table, pulling files out of his bag this time. It was the first time he seemed to blink back into reality, giving the plate he had been snacking from a startled glance and finally taking in his surroundings – including Rose with a cap to keep her hair from the food and gloves while she was kneading before giving a surprised glance at his watch and, clearly, growing flustered.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurted out to her, gathering the files he’d just taken out quickly replacing them inside his bag, looking embarrassed.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” Rose found herself saying with a soft laugh, watching as he fumbled with his bag and trying to bring her the dishes.

“How much do I owe you?” He looked startlingly earnest and she found herself suppressing another smile.

“On the house,” she declared cheerily, watching as he shook his head.

“No, I can’t just-“

Rose laughed again, covering the current bowl with a towel to give it time to rise overnight, easily slipping off her gloves and hair mask.

“Look, you didn’t order more food or drink. If I give you those things anyway and you didn’t order them, then it’s on the house and you are not under obligation to pay for these things. Really, it was my pleasure – you reminded of a friend from back home. She used to get lost in books like you do. I’m well used to taking care of book aficionados who would never remember to take a break to eat on their own accord,” she teased before pausing, a blush rising on her own cheeks. “Sorry, that was probably a bit rude.”

It was the first time he was actually looking at her, analysing clearly – usually when a guy stared at her the way he did, it would be almost sexual assessment, looking at her ‘attributes’ rather than Rose. This was not that – it was an almost clinical assessment, pausing over her face, hands, her body, clothing and shoes rather than her breasts or ass, eyes flickering over the room, the closed sign, the otherwise-desolate café and closed blinds.

“This isn’t safe,” he said with a frown and Rose stared for a moment. Well, at least he didn’t take offense. If she couldn’t see his soul, his statement would have been rather alarming.

“Your accent clearly denotes you as coming from England and it may have been safer there – in the US, women are 28 times more likely to be subject to gun violence than in other high-income countries like the UK. The likelihood of being subjected to sexual violence are higher for women than they are for men. One in every six women in the US has been raped or had an attempted rape happen to them in their lifetime. Additionally, 81.7% of sex-related homicide victims are female  and you have put us in an enclosed room, locked the front door and reduced visibility from the outside. You need to be more careful.”

A statistician for the cops, then, maybe? Merlin, those statistics were truly depressing but she still felt a small smile twitching at her lips at his social awkwardness and bad delivery. Very much like a mix of Ron (emotional range of teaspoon, Hermione’s voice huffed in her head) and Hermione’s cluelessness on appropriate topics to discuss in public with strangers.

Of course, he would never know that the moment his intentions shifted into assault – or any kind of negative intent towards her – he would have suddenly remembered something pressing he had to do elsewhere and be unable to return.

“I get that you have good intentions, I do,” she admitted, waving off his offense and concern when he noted her smile, “but you really should work on how you phrase things.”

She laughed lightly, loosening the apron tied around her waist and hanging it on the hook just beside the kitchen entrance.

“Come on then, and I’ll let you out. By the way, while women may be higher on the statistics, men can still be subjected to those crimes, so considering this my café, and I am the one who locked you in and closed the blinds, maybe it is you who should be concerned,” she teased, grinning widely – and probably inappropriately, judging by the topic and his growing frown – even as she tapped the key still in the door to draw his attention to it and show him that he could have left at any time.

“You know you can interrupt me and kick me out at any time,” he still said, looking concerned as she opened the door for him with a flourish.

“Yes,” she admitted easily with a slight shrug. “But I liked the company and you didn’t seem like you were in a rush.”

He hesitated on the threshold for a moment, looking at her, a slight blush on his cheeks.

“I- Thank you. You didn’t have to – with the food and letting me stay, so thank you. I was working something out and I think I made a breakthrough and, um… Yes, anyway. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Please feel free to come back any time. You can always quote me more statistics,” Rose teased with another laugh, closing the door on him. He gave her an uncertain smile and walked away only after he watched her lock the door. It shouldn’t be funny – anyone could get caught by surprise or overwhelmed but here she was, having fought in a war and survived since she was too young to have to fight for her life but being forced to nevertheless and no one had seemed to care. And now that she could fend for herself, that she had runes and a home to protect her, here was this sweet, kind man trying to look out for her. He was years too late, decades too late, in fact, but it was sweet – and hilarious in its irony.

He didn’t know that Rose, the current alias she was living under, was the Master of Death and she had developed the ability to read a person’s soul in the decades since she’d come into this world. It didn’t tell her what they were doing, but she could tell if they dreaded where they were going or if they loved their job or home. With barely a glance, Rose could tell if they were slowly being crushed under external pressures or if they were weighed down by something, like grief. She could also tell if something was hurting a person’s soul – be it an abusive relationship, drugs or depression. What bothered her most, though, was not the ones whose soul was being crushed or darkened, but the ones whose soul had gone dark; the ones who raped or killed others. Unintentional homicide darkened a soul, a weight hanging over them, but it wouldn’t actually turn a person’s soul; to turn a soul dark there had to be intent, a willingness or enjoyment in the act.

She could slip helplines and addresses for victim centers to the ones in a bad relationship or struggling with something, but Rose had no idea what to do with the ones who had killed or raped. But she would have known if he had been one such soul. Of course, it wouldn’t stop her from being someone’s first victim, but that’s what her wards were for.

Rose sighed at the depressing turn her thoughts had taken, slowly closing the last blinds before resorting to magic to ensure everything was actually cleaned and tidied away. Maybe someday she’d find a solution for that one too.

Spencer sighed, frowning slightly. They were on the way home after another case – this one luckily resolved rather speedily and before the last victim could pass away, but they would likely carry the scars with them for the rest of their lives.

“Hey, pretty boy,” a dark hand snapped in front of his face and Reid jolted back into awareness to find several eyes resting on him – some more and some less conspicuously, but even Hotch had paused in his case write-up to focus on him and JJ had removed her headphones slightly to listen.

“What’s eating at you?” Morgan’s voice was jovial, but his focus and attention was clearly on Reid, expressing his concern without being too forceful.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Reid attempted before pausing slightly. “Well, I… Someone told me I should work on how I phrase things.”

Even Rossi was now paying attention.

“Hey, kid, look, anyone who doesn’t like listening to you, they’re not worth your time. Get me? You’re invaluable to the team and-“

Reid shook his head.

“No, not what I mean. She told me I could come back to quote statistics to her.”

Morgan’s tense forward lean shifted into a languid relaxed lean back into the seat cushions.

“Oh, it’s a her, is it, Reid?”

The genius rolled his eyes at the teasing.

“But if it’s not what you said, it must be how you said it. C’mon, pretty boy, what happened?”

Eager for a new perspective – although still somewhat leary of inevitable teasing which would follow – Reid explained that his new neighbours had a crying baby and his local library was open but having some work done inside, so he had sought out his local coffeeshop on his day off to do some work on a paper he was trying to write but wasn’t coming together as quickly as he’d hoped. And about how he’d stayed after hours and the snacks he’d been fed (he pretended not to hear Rossi’s whispered ‘like a baby bird’) before reciting the speech he’d given her verbatim. Really, it was their fault he'd eaten it automatically - this was exactly what his team did when Spencer got distracted and skipped lunch, leaving small morsels of food around him and him eating it absent-mindedly as long as it was within reach, without noticing.

JJ was staring at him agape, Hotch’s mouth was curling upwards with barely suppressed laughter and his team seemed to be more than mildly amused.

“Man, you’re really lucky she didn’t call the cops on you after that,” Derek told him, laughing but a moment passed when they realised Reid still hadn’t caught on.

“Look, kid, you clearly had good intentions in telling her she needed to be more careful to be safe, but you missed the line a bit and it could have easily come across as threatening instead of helpful,” Rossi explained and Spencer easily revisited the conversation in his head to try and see it from an outsider’s perspective and blinked rapidly when what the rest of his team – and what the woman at the coffeeshop – had pointed out finally became clear.

“Reid, I’m sure we could assign you to JJ for training if you’d like for the next few cases. You may find some of her media handling tips helpful in general conversations. Like that one,” Hotch offered easily.

“Did she say anything else?” Morgan asked and Reid opened his mouth but paused, unsure if he was willing to recap her commentary to his team about his own lack of awareness and safety. The team exchanged a not-so-subtle look.

“Well, let us know if you need anything, alright, Spence?” JJ asked and Reid smiled at her, nodding.

Reid wasn’t sure yet what to make of the café owner. The woman was petite with loose, black curls and vibrant green eyes hidden behind a small frame of glasses. She was running fit and had scars – Reid still wasn’t sure what to make of the one carved into the back of her right hand. It spelled ‘I must not tell lies’ as if someone carved it into the back of her hand repeatedly, the flesh giving away and curving underneath. There were other scars – one on her forehead, a few one her lower arm he’d spotted when her sleeve fell down as she hung up her apron. He wasn’t even sure what that one could be from – a large conical object.

To be honest, up until now he hadn’t paid her much attention other than to watch and make sure the operation was hygienic, especially when she made his coffee, and just a glance over her to analyse her behaviour. But he hadn’t spent more than a moment’s thoughts on her until she’d just let him stay past closing time, had noticed she’d fed him snacks in retrospect and refilled his sweetened coffee drink without even drawing his attention. He noticed she ran the busy shop by herself and wondered if she needed the extra money so desperately to pay off a business loan and that’s why she refused to hire more staff. On the other hand, she had appeared calm and relaxed, seemingly enjoying both the rush in the morning and the calm periods beforehand and afterward.

He knew he’d likely be going back – it was not only comfortable but the coffee was amazing and perfectly sweetened, which was a surprise, even for Mocha. The chocolate taste was rich without being overwhelming and the few times he’d tried it with additional flavours they had been a delicious addition without taking over the other flavours. And the peace and quiet was nice; Reid could blend out the noise of the crowds easily enough as the hustle and bustle in the background was a constant.

“Good morning. One gingerbread Mocha to have here. May I use that table there?” Reid found himself asking despite still feeling hesitant. The aforementioned table was slightly off-side out of the general thoroughfare and hidden in the corner beside the kitchen entrance. It was a smaller table and with just barely enough space for two if they crammed themselves onto the bench. Or enough for Reid to sit comfortably with his satchel beside him out of general view.

He was technically on his day off, a gunshot glancing off his thigh and with his continued refusal for pain medication, Spencer was off for the next two days to recuperate before being allowed to return for his desk duties. But with Hotch being on holiday with Jack for all of last week and this week too, Reid wanted to help out at home with the cases piling up. And writing up profiles to help police departments seemed like a good use of his time when he struggled to focus on his latest thesis project (only Hotch was currently aware of the new PhD he was pursuing).

The woman behind the counter nodded – having made this his regular haunt for the past three months, Reid really should know her name but neither of them had ever made the effort to introduce themselves and orders were made on the spot, so names were never taken and she didn’t wear a nametag either. What was the socially appropriate way to ask for the name of the person one has been talking to for approximately one and a half months out of the three? Who has given him free food and drinks and taken care of him and let him stay past normal shop hours? It was frankly embarrassing to ask for her name at this point.

He smiled at her as he took his coffee order, exhaling loudly the moment he stepped away, regretting yet another day he couldn’t quite bring himself to ask the question. A quick glance around reinforced his original thoughts that the table was secluded and out of view. As long as he made sure to look at the pictures with his back to the wall, no one else should be able to see them and he could look at the case files without anyone being close enough to read what was in them – except for maybe the pretty café owner when she would undoubtedly turn up with a refill he would have forgotten to order. In return Spencer always made sure to tip plenty, covering not only the tip for the service and quality of the food and drink but also the ‘free’ snacks and drinks. He’d caught her rolling her eyes at him for than once but neither of them fought over it.

“Oh,” he heard her breath out and blinked back into awareness, noticing the fruit pastry in his hand (and mouth) only absentmindedly before realisation dawned.

“Shit,” he cursed, quickly slamming the files shut along with his laptop where he was writing up the notes for the respective police departments, leaving only the FBI logo visible.

Embarrassed by his lack of attention – he had intended to be more cautious and attentive today, he really had, Spencer blinked up at her with a grimace.

“You- You didn’t see anything, did you?”

He saw her make a quick glance at the café around them, clearly assessing whether anyone needed her attention, before sliding a chair over to sit across from him.

“So you’re FBI, huh?”

Rubbing tiredly over his eyes, barely suppressing a wince when the shift in movement draw his attention back to the injury on his thigh, Spencer eyed her cautiously.

“Yes. Part of the BAU – it stands for Behavioural Analysis Unit. How much did you see?”

“Only the headline and first sentence, really,” she admitted with a casual shrug. “What’s the BAU do? What does Behavioural Analysis mean?”

“We look at a crime scene – or crime reports,” Spencer admitted with a wave at the files, “and we try to find clues from the way things were done or left behind which tell us why the person who committed the crimes did things a certain way or needs to do things a certain way and what that tells us about him, his family, age range, prior crimes etc so the police can use the profiles we create of the likely perpetrator to narrow down their suspect pool.”

“Wow, that’s amazing,” she was honest in her praise, eyes wide in awe and admiration and Spencer could feel the blush colouring his cheeks as he ducked his head slightly.

“Sorry again for seeing that. I am not allowed back at work yet due to an injury and needed to work elsewhere for a bit. I hope that’s okay. I can leave if you want,” he said in a rush and she laughed again, her hand landing on his stopping him from gathering his things.

It was funny; he normally disliked contact with other people – especially strangers – and hand contact more so than any other, but he didn’t mind her hand on his. It could just be because he had been here for months and everything was always cleaned fastidiously. Even the normal areas gathering dusts – between the blind slats, on top of the lampshades, windowsills etc – everything was always immaculate. Or it could be because he had grown comfortable around her.

Before he could second-guess himself further, he stretched out his hand.

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, by the way.”

She laughed.

“I wondered if I’d ever find out. My name’s Rose, Rose Potter-Black.”

He blinked momentarily, wondering if the hyphenation meant she was – or had been – married, but dismissed it as irrelevant information almost immediately again.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand. Her palms were soft but her fingers were roughened from labour. The scar on the back of her hand was deep under his hand and he could tell that it had been done over time – the edges were shallower when the letters hadn’t lined up exactly each time, the imprint not deepened.

There was a slight blush on her face now, too, after his gentle caress of her hand before he’d extricated it, a soft pink underneath her bright eyes, and Reid felt satisfaction curl around him when he noticed the dilation of her pupils.

“Now, please don’t tell anyone I’m working on this in here. I’m technically not meant to.”

“What, you mean you’re not supposed to take classified files of ongoing crimes into the public with you? Colour me shocked,” she teased, deadpan, having regained her equilibrium quickly.

He laughed and she grinned at him, clearly waiting for a retort, but the bell announced a new customer entering and she left with a quick, apologetic shrug.

Rose focussed on the group which had just entered, but the back of her mind had already jumped up and down with joy. A solution – finally. She’d tried it with two of the cops who regularly came in here before, but it had clearly been disregarded, but Reid would have more resources and may be far better placed to assist.

People had names written on their soul – which is why it hadn’t occurred to her that Dr. Reid had yet to introduce himself. Although she had been surprised that his were ‘Spence’ and ‘Reid’ and a newly forming ‘pretty boy’ (which amused her to no end). Most people had the names loved ones gave them and the ones they self-identified with, attached to them. It was how some of the darker faeries got access to your soul if you gave them one. Spencer could’ve introduced himself as Dr. Spencer Reid and they wouldn’t have had a hold on him, but if he’d just said Reid or Spence, he would have been in trouble.

Luckily, this world had no faeries as far as she could see. She was the only one here, no magical creatures besides herself and her familiar – a jobberknoll.

But seeing people’s deeds and names made it easy to use a switching spell on the piece of paper she had in the back room which contained the names of the customers whose souls were dark along with the crimes she knew – rape and murder each coloured differently, so at least she could tell that much. Sometimes people paid by card which meant she could match their soul names to their official names at least, to make her list more accurate. A one-dollar bill from his wallet landed where her list had been, and Rose didn’t let on the satisfaction of finally, maybe – hopefully – making progress in getting these people off the street, having watched their souls colour more with each successive crime. She handled the rest of the afternoon with ease, letting customers pass through and refilling Spencer’s coffee and snacks without further disturbing him.

She wondered if he’d ever tell her more – like how a guy who looked as young as he was managed to get a doctorate. It turned out her first impulse of him being a doctor wasn’t that far off, maybe not a medical one, but still. She wondered what in.

The day passed by in a blur and she wondered what Reid would do – not that he’d tell her, but she wondered how his day went, what he’d do. The episkey spell was almost an afterthought, used when she was ostensibly tidying behind him, but he still noticed. Rose noticed his brows furrow, the corners of his eyes tighten and his hand land on his thigh where the injury had occurred, puzzlement etching across his features when he clearly noticed the improvement. Ducking her head, Rose continued tidying, shoulders tight as she focused her attention on anything but him. Merlin, even without saying a word, she was a really bad liar, she admitted to herself.

Reid smiled at her absent-mindedly as he left, but was clearly distracted. Rose winced to herself. Probably not her best idea, but she hadn’t wanted to leave him injured if she could help. Oh well, hopefully he’d come back.

The team was on a case flying out that same afternoon. Although injured, Reid was called in as he could work from the office and he’d been pressuring for it anyway. As the case involved a cipher for him to crack, Reid stood in front of the board for hours or in the library and coffeebreaks were often supplied by others. It shouldn’t surprise him as much as it did, then, when he didn’t notice the paper in his wallet until they had solved the case and were on the way home and Reid was sliding money across to Morgan for Garcia’s birthday present.

“What the-“ He slid the paper out, noticing he had Morgan’s full attention as he scanned through the list.

Mr. Moore – Dan – male sex – twelve rapes, two murders

Patrick – Torres – male sex –  one murder between the sixteenth and eighteen of this month

Ronny – Mr. Ronald Richardson – male sex –  sixteen murders, latest one between the fourth and eighth of this month

Lisa – López – female sex – four murders

Gino – Cook – male sex – eighty-nine rapes, almost daily (domestic violence?)

Lyssa – Ronald – Mrs. Melissa Ronald – female sex –  perpetrates domestic violence

Dion – Bell – Mr. Dennis Bell – male sex – perpetrates domestic violence

Lizzy – Hudson – female sex – eight rapes.

Reid stared, hoping the paper would somehow make more sense the longer he looked at it. When Morgan asked him something, he slid the paper over to him automatically. Morgan’s eyebrows rose and then furrowed as he looked over at him.

“What is this? Did you write- no, that’s not your handwriting. At a guess, I’d say female. Where did you get this from, Reid?”

Now Prentiss was coming over to look at the sheet.

“I don’t know, Morgan. For all I know I’ve had that for weeks. I- I got money from the ATM about a fortnight ago – twelve days ago, to be precise, in Maryland on our last case before this one. I’ve obviously bought things since then but I didn’t notice that in there until now.”

“So,” Prentiss said, waving JJ and Rossi over to them before handing them the small piece of paper, “someone picked your wallet and added a piece of paper without taking anything and it has a list of names and crimes on it. Does that sound about right, Reid?”

Reid hesitated.

“I can’t say for certain no money was taken, but if it was, it would have been a small amount.” He had been at the café rather frequently back home and he made sure to tip but he didn’t pay that much attention to the amount he tipped as he knew it covered ‘free’ food and drinks. But he should have noticed someone picking up his wallet.

“You good if we get it analysed for prints, Reid?” Rossi asked and Reid nodded, quickly emptying the wallet of his cards and remaining money before putting it into an evidence bag. The paper went into yet another one. They all knew they were unlikely to recover anything from the wallet at this point, but the paper was still a possibility.

“Hey baby girl,” Morgan started his phone call to Garcia, “need you to check on a list of names for me.”

“Oh my chocolate thunder, anything for you. But I thought you guys just got off a case?”

“Yeah, but someone slipped Reid a list of names and crimes at some point. We need to check it out.”

“Alright, your fountain of wisdom and knowledge is ready to amaze you.”

Derek chuckled but the atmosphere remained tense. For someone to get close enough to steal from Reid without him noticing was like a magic trick, and not necessarily a good one. The list of crimes seemed surprisingly clear and detailed but they’d found more than one unsub who decided people in their community were ‘sinners’ or projected crimes onto innocent people.

A moment passed after Garcia was typing rapidly, clearly looking up the names on the list Derek was showing her over the video.

“Alright, first off, these people are all residents here where we live or at least working near here. Secondly, Mrs. Melissa Ronald was arrested and booked just yesterday – she beat her only daughter to death and was found over her body when the Police booked her. From what’s written up so far, she has confessed and actually did the crime. The rest are not in the system for these crimes, although a few of them have some old stuff on file. But none of what is mentioned here with the exception of Mr. Giovanni Cook who has a sexual assault and stalking on his record and Mr. Dennis Bell who has been investigated and even held for domestic violence but let go when the wife dropped the charges.”

“Do any new murders line up with the dates in question, Garcia?”

“One second, my favourite magician.” A few moments later Garcia continued, “yes, actually, for one of them although the body wasn’t discovered until about a week later.”

The team exchanged looks.

“So either someone is murdering people and pinning it on these people or someone is actually trying to report their co-criminals. Question is, how do they know about all these? I mean the level of detail in these is astounding and I’m not sure even Mr. Cook would be able to say how often he had raped his partner and presumably previous partners. So how does this third party know?”

That was a good question, Reid concurred. How did they get the list into his wallet and how did they even have the details listed there if even the perpetrator would be hard-pressed to count them? And if there were multiple victims of the rape, they were unlikely to all have counted them.

The good mood from the previous case dissolved as the team got to work.

“You’re staying with me, Reid, for now. We’ll drop by your house in case you need anything.”

Oh. That hadn’t even occurred to him – some of the cards in his wallet had his home address on it. Of course that wouldn’t be safe anymore until they figured this out.

Reid sighed – why did they always go after him?

“Well, hello, sweetheart,” Morgan started and Reid heaved an inaudible sigh behind him. Of course he’d flirt with Rose; he should have never shown him the café but Spencer really needed a pick me up by now. Over the last week they’d been able to link more and more crimes to the people on the list but although fingerprints were lifted from the wallet and paper, none of them were on file other than the people on his team.

“Good morning. What can I get you?”

The smile was professional and her voice distant, Reid noticed with surprise, only too used to others dismissing him as soon as his friend and colleague Derek Morgan spared them the slightest attention. Stepping to the side so he was beside Derek, rather than behind him, he made eye contact with Rose. Her smile widened and became more genuine, eyes softening.

“Hey Spencer. How are you? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Ah, yes, sorry – a case. Could I get a cinnamon Mocha please?”

“Of course. Anything else?”

“Do you have any more of those fruit pastries?” He found himself asking hopefully and Rose giggled.

“Of course, got some just for you.” Then her smile cooled down as she turned back to Morgan.

“Apologies, sir. What can I get you?”

Oh, she hadn’t realised-

“This is my colleague, Derek Morgan,” he found himself introducing and Rose’s eyes widened.

“Oh, sorry, nice to meet you, Mr. Morgan,” she said reaching over the counter to shake his hand. Derek was smiling widely by this point, flirtatious manners having dropped entirely.

“Well, pleasure to meet you, too, Miss…?”

“Oh, so sorry, it’s Rose Potter-Black, Mr. Morgan.”

Morgan winced. “Just Morgan, please, no Mr.”

“Alright, call me Rose then. So, again, what can I get you?”

Morgan laughed and quickly scanned the board before ordering, Reid hovering impatiently behind them, eying the cabinet.

“She’s pretty,” Morgan told him under his breath when she stepped away to make their coffee and Reid rolled his eyes.

“And clearly not interested,” he emphasised. Morgan laughed.

“Not in me,” he agreed easily. Reid blushed but didn’t disagree – it wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed. He just didn’t quite know how to broach the subject. And he would wait until the paper-note person had been found.

Reid was sorry that he had to leave without being able to sit down and chat with Rose, but unfortunately everything was too precarious at the moment when they weren’t sure yet if someone was after Reid or just a genuinely good Samaritan. It was sort of sad that none of them expected to find the latter and the suggestion had only been added to their board at Garcia’s behest who thought someone out there was doing the right thing and reporting to the authorities without veering into vigilantism.

They were half-way to the office when Reid stretched to grab a folder from the backseat to check on something for Derek when he heard a paper crinkle. Surprised, Reid checked his breast pocket underneath his sweater and found another note now with only two names.

“Derek,” he breathed and Morgan pulled over with a squeal of the tyres. He was on the phone with Hotch before he’d even looked at it.

“Freshly washed?” Morgan asked and Reid nodded, both on the same page with what that meant.

“Sometime at the café, then,” and Spencer nodded reluctantly. That had been the first stop of the day and it had definitely not been there when he put the shirt on. They had been in the car so no other bus passengers to worry about. The café was the only solution.

“But we stepped in, ordered, and walked out. Someone would have had to slip underneath my sweater vest to get to my money in my breast pocket,” Spencer argued and Morgan shrugged, clearly just as confused.

“I know, Reid. And I was right with you all the way – no toilet breaks or moments where we were separated. This makes no sense.”

Reid nodded and listened as both him and Morgan were ordered back to Quantico while Garcia set out to investigate the café (and its pretty owner).

Chapter Text

Hotchner had already pulled the team off rotation, explaining the matter to Strauss as having names and leads on several potential serial offenders in the area and the team members being quintessential to the informant so they couldn’t hand it off to the Police. Meanwhile the team was investigating the names, trying to tie offences to the offenders, working on multiple geographic profiles and profiling the murders to see if they tied to one of the names they’d been given. They were also still investigating the names to see if any crimes had even been committed on top of researching the clientele. Morgan and JJ had spent several hours at the local police stations interviewing the investigating detectives and obtaining copies of the files – Morgan as the liaison for once and JJ there to soothe any politically ruffled feathers of the higher-ups.

They didn’t get together again until two pm to discuss the information garnered thus far.

“It’s hard to narrow down,” Garcia started, the team congregated in her small office, “but I’m fairly certain it’s the proprietor rather than a customer.”

Reid raised his eyebrows.

“What? But the-“

“Uh-uh, keep quiet, pretty boy, until baby girl has finished speaking.” Morgan interrupted, a hand over Reid’s mouth only to retract it when the genius licked Morgan’s hand.

“Don’t mess with me,” he told him, narrow-eyed, when Derek was wiping his hand on his trousers with disgust, “but I’ll take your point,” he finished calmly, nodding to Garcia.

“Aww, thank you, my perfect tall drink of hot chocolate, for defending my honour.”

“Anytime, sweet-“

Hotch cleared his throat and both Garcia and Morgan quickly turned more professional, although Reid noted the twitch of Hotch’s lips and exchanged a quick wink and grin with JJ.

“Okay, so because we don’t have a timeframe of when you got the first letter, at least not with absolute certainty, there is an overlap between several of the customers and Reid’s eight visits during that time window.”

“Eight, huh?” Prentiss said quietly, elbowing him gently, a teasing grin on her face. Reid flushed a bit but rolled his eyes at Emily and focussed back on Garcia.

“The reason I think it’s the proprietor is because it’s too much of a coincidence, otherwise. Our dear proprietor, Rose Potter-Black, opened that café not too long ago but before that there was no Rose Potter-Black. There was, however, a Hyacinth Potter-Black who started and ran two youth centers in Detroit and Cleveland for about fifteen years. Then before that there was a Dahlia Potter-Black who created a technology company and opened a bookstore slash library in Los Angeles which are still turning a profit today. All of those, including the café, are coming into the same bank account with the exception of the youth centers which has a separate account and is run on donations with the Potter-Black accounts filling in the remainder as needed – and it isn’t needed as often as you’d think. Anyway. I can find possible traces in England even before that owning a flowershop going from her bank account but it’s not online now and was before the Internet in many respects so I’m just going off what I can guess. It’s called Lily’s flowershop, though, and she really does seem to have a flower theme going with her names.”

Garcia shrugged lightly as she looked at the team. “So, I’m not sure what you’d like to call it, but I can tell you with certainty that Rose is not her real name and that she changes it every ten years or so. I don’t know how to explain the rest given how young she looks.”

There was a pause as everyone looked at the evidence filling the different screens from the company directory, old newspaper articles and her bank account information.

Hotch stepped back slightly, exhaling and then turning his attention to the resident genius who was still perusing the different screens, likely looking for a misstep. He wasn’t sure how to explain it either but he would rather have the proprietor in his sights so he can assess her honesty than try further guesswork.

“Reid, we are going to have to ask her to come in and talk to us, at least, to determine if she is the one who gave you those names and how she obtained them. Would you be comfortable calling her or would you prefer one of us to ask her to come in?”

Reid looked at him for a moment before sighing. “Let me call her.”

Hotch hesitated for a moment before nodding.

“But on speaker, please.”

He didn’t think Reid would give anything away but as unit chief the concern was less whether he trusted his people but what he can justify and explain on paper and, given his legal career, it was always better to have witnesses should anything be potentially questionable (and prosecutable).

The youngest team member sighed but acquiesced easily, probably having deduced Hotch’s reasoning on the matter already. Garcia easily opened up the camera focusing in on the coffeeshop again.

“Good Afternoon, this is Rose. How may I help you?”

“Ah, hello -ah, Rose. This is Reid. I mean, Dr. Spencer Reid. I – we met. I mean, I sat in-“

A giggle interrupted him.

“I know who you are,” she said easily, then added with a slight flirting lilt to her tone, “Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Reid flushed and avoided the eyes of everyone else in the team.

“I- Err, yes, I mean- yes, that’s me. I- You know how I am FBI?”

Her tone changed to cool and professional immediately, noticing the change in conversation and Reid’s lack of reciprocal flirtation.

“Yes, I do. Is there something I can help with?”

Reid breathed out in relief at the segue; this, at least, he knew how to handle. “Yes, please. Do you know where the FBI offices are in Quantico? Could you come in?”

“I- you mean, me? I mean, yes, of course I can. Is this a café order or are you asking me to come into the FBI?”

“You, please. I- we have some questions.”

A loud exhale and a shuddering breath in.

“Of course, Dr. Reid. I’ll be there. Can it wait until after I close the café at 3 o’clock or do you need me to close early?”

Spencer’s eyes snapped to Hotch. A quick glance at the watch showed that 3 o’clock was just over half an hour away so he gave Reid a quick nod.

“After you close up is fine. We’ll alert the guard at the gate so you just need to give them your name and one of the team will come down to fetch you.”

“Okay,” a small hesitant pause, “whatever I can do to help.”

“Thank you,” Reid said quickly, genuine gratefulness leaking into his voice as he softened now that she had agreed easily.

This time the smile in her voice was audible.

“Any time, Spencer,” her voice equally soft and gentle, eliciting a smile from the genius. “Sorry, but I have to go now. I have customers waiting.”

The phone call ended with a click and as she’d said, there were three customers on camera waiting for Rose’s attention by the counter.

Morgan patted him on the back softly and the others followed suit, giving him gentle reassuring touches as they filtered out of Garcia’s office.

“We could use your office,” Hotch suggested, gesturing to Rossi’s office door. They all took in their space and noticed the case files and crime photos spread over several desks with eight crime boards in easily visible locations. Prentiss winced.

JJ took in the scene with a practised eye and quickly checked something on her phone. “I’ll book us a meeting room. We want her cooperation at the moment and she is not a suspect for most of the crimes she has reported with a rather solid alibi. A meeting room will be a neutral location without being overwhelming. And I would suggest only two or three people there for the interview so it doesn’t seem like we’re putting pressure on her.”

Hotch nodded after giving the suggestion a moment’s thoughts, easily acquiescing with the more experienced liaison.

“Thanks, JJ. And good job, Reid. We all reconvene at 3 – that should give us at least quarter an hour before her arrival to set on some questions. If you’re okay with it, I’d like you to be there, Reid and lead the meeting.”

Both nodded at him, Reid offering a quick smile, and the rest grabbed their chairs to sit together and figure out what questions they needed to ask.

True to his word, the gate guard had let her through easily and Rose hopped off her bicycle, feeling the blush rise higher on her face at all the side-glances she got for using a bicycle rather than a car and pushing it through the yard. After a moment’s hesitation she left it at the side of the building – if you couldn’t trust the FBI not to steal a pink girl’s bike, then who could you trust? And walked in through the main entrance, eyes roving over the security measures, imposing guards and guns (Americans and their guns, she could practically hear Hermione hiss in outrage in the back of her mind).

“Good afternoon. I’m here to meet with the Behavioural Analysis Unit at the behest of Dr. Spencer Reid. My name is Rose Potter-Black,” she quickly blurted out when the tall wall of a man at the beginning of a security check so much as glanced at her. In her defence, he really looked imposing – like Morgan only twice as muscled and even larger if that was possible. Rose wasn’t even sure she’d taken a breath in between saying all that – something the guard had obviously noted as well going by his amused smile.

“Deep breath,” he said easily, his voice a deep rumble, “and then try again. In the mean time, put your bag and drinks in here, we’ll put it through carefully and then get rid off anything metal before you go through that.” He nodded in the direction of the scanner.

Nodding, Rose quickly took out her earrings, necklace and rings as well as the keys to her shop, patting herself down to make sure she’d gotten everything.

Naturally, it turned out Rose needed three trips – first the belt, then the shoes and by then Rose was scarlet and ready to sit in the corner and cry at all the attention she’d garnered from holding up other people.

“Alright, you’re good to go,” she was finally told and Rose quickly grabbed her tray so she could step into the corner and reassemble everything without having to be close to or look anyone in the eyes.

“And your escort’s at the side there waiting,” he finished and she paused, throwing a quick glance over to where he was pointing only to find Morgan waiting by the lifts. The man stepped over the moment she made eye contact and Rose was ready to sink into a puddle on the floor, realising he’d probably watched the whole thing.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” the man waved off easily, obviously noticing her embarrassment and lowered eyes as she threaded her belt through the loops on her trousers. “Happens several times a day, at least.”

Rose doubted it judging from the outrage of the other employees but it was kind of him to try and placate her, so she didn’t argue (out loud).

Finally hooking the last earring into place, Rose shook herself slightly, trying to get rid of the nerves, gently lifting up the coffee and pastries she’d brought with her, hoping she had brought enough for everyone when she took twelve with her (and glad for the warming charm she’d used to keep them the right temperature and the spell to keep them stationary and not leak all over the place when she hit a bump with her bicycle).

“Alright. Just so you know, I don’t believe you but I appreciate the sentiment. Now, take me to your leader,” she added with a slight grin and was relieved when Morgan laughed out loud, easily taking one of the six-trays off her along with the two bags.

“Well, after having your coffee this morning, I am really glad you didn’t listen to the boy genius when he said you only need to bring yourself.”

Rose laughed, feeling herself relax as she followed the man into the elevator.

“We got you a meeting room,” he explained as he lead her down a corridor to a small room where Reid and JJ were already waiting. “Good luck,” he offered, ready to step away but her hand on his arm stopped him. She’d put the coffees down but looked puzzled.

“Look, I’m not certain what this is about, but I can guess. And I have no issues with the entire team being here,” she told them calmly and Morgan’s eyebrows rose.

“You sure? You were flustered downstairs when a few people glanced at you – this will be a room full of profilers.”

Morgan knew Hotch would tell him he should have taken the first offer, but the girl was sweet and innocent, and he didn’t really want to expose her to everyone unless she had a heads-up first.

Rose laughed. “Interrogations I can handle – everyone else staring at me like I’m a circus animal expected to perform some sort of trick in public is where I draw the line. So, yes, do your worst, I can handle it.”

There was certainty in her voice and a calmness in her actions when she told him that suggested at one point there had been a ‘worse’; that along with the connotations of an interrogation did not lend a pretty picture, but Morgan just smiled and patted her on the shoulder.

“Good woman. It was going to be a pain hovering over a tiny computer screen to watch the interrogation,” he ignored Reid’s reprimanding “Morgan!”. “Besides, you already know the way to our hearts – with good food and drink.”

Rose laughed again when Morgan found himself a seat on the other side of her, opposite of Reid, a small insulation against all the strangers who would soon fill the room.

“My name’s Jennifer Jareau, by the way, but please call me JJ.”

“Pleasure to meet you, JJ. Please call me Rose. And this one’s yours,” she then told Reid and handed him the sweet Mocha with cinnamon in it. “I didn’t bring plates, but I got napkins. Otherwise, this six-tray is the sweeter ones, labels are on each cup on what’s in it. The other one is plain black coffee but different roasts so you can pick whichever you’d prefer. And please help yourself to the pastries.”

Rossi led the way into the room, eagerly introducing himself and selecting an Italian Roast along with a savoury pastry. The rest of the team filtered in quickly after that, including Garcia.

“Oh, this is perfect,” Garcia declared easily, eyeing the pastries and sweet drinks. Morgan laughed.

“They are perfect,” Morgan said easily remembering how good they had tasted, “but not as perfect as you, baby girl,” he flirted easily with a slight growl which made Garcia blush and smile at him coquettishly.

“Oh, you know there’s no room for anyone else in my heart, my chocolate adonis.”

Morgan noted that Rose seemed amused but had relaxed even further, especially when Hotch rolled his eyes issuing an only slightly reprimanding “behave”, which Morgan took as the approval it was. On days like this, it was really good working with a team of profilers who could read the room and knew how to support the play at relaxing their interviewee when she was surrounded by strangers.

“I love your dress and your glasses,” Rose told Garcia. “It’s so pretty. I wasn’t sure I would even be let in here in my jeans but I didn’t want to waste your time going home and changing either, so I’m really glad to see the dress code isn’t quite as men-in-black as I thought.”

Garcia laughed.

“I get away with it because normally I just stay hidden in my office behind my computer screens. And I am that good.”

Hotch raised his eyebrows but notably didn’t contradict her. The FBI had recruited a hacker rather than put her in jail precisely for that reason.

“I like you,” Rose said easily, lifting her drink in a toast which Garcia echoed with an easy smile, before turning to Hotch.

“So you’re the leader, then?” She asked, head tilted, focussing on him.

Curious as to why she’d picked him out rather than Rossi, Hotch remains stoic and unresponsive, knowing Rossi will easily pick up the thread. Sure enough the author easily changes his posture to become more authoritative and giving the impression of being larger than he is by taking up more room.

“And what makes you think that?” He asks, voice hard as he looks at her.

The café owner merely gives him a second glance but looks surprised he has to ask.

“You all defer to him even if you don’t openly say anything. The way you look at him for approval and he is the one who told you to behave. I’m fairly certain it’s him.”

Glances around the table between the profilers at the detailed attention and observant nature she’d displayed with just a few words and this time Hotch nods.

“You’re right. I’m the unit chief, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner,” he introduces himself and continues the introduction with their official titles despite knowing most of them gave her their name already.

“You are here because twice when Dr. Reid was at your café he returned with a list of names.”

Rose nods.

“Yes, did it help?”

Hotch controls his surprise at the easy confession but only barely and notices some quick glances from Prentiss and Rossi.

“So you gave Dr. Reid the list?” He asks, just to get final confirmation.

“Yes,” she says easily, brows furrowed as if confused by their surprise. “I tried to tell the Police officers who come by on occasion first but they don’t do anything as I had no proof. Once Spencer told me he’s with the FBI, well,” she divulges as if it were that simple. “I could have just handed to him but I didn’t know what to say or how and I figured if it’s on him when he finds it, he’s curious enough he’ll have to look into it and maybe he can help prevent further crimes.”

Morgan groans and Reid looks like he’d like to hit his head on the desk. Her brows furrow.

“Sorry, did I cause some sort of trouble?”

Hotch’s lips twitch against his will.

“Well, Reid was staying at Morgan’s in protective custody. A lab has been analysing fingerprints on the list and his wallet as we weren’t sure if someone was stalking Dr. Reid or intended him harm possibly like a list of threats that could happen to him.”

Her mouth dropped open and she blanched.

“Oh my god, Spencer, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of that to happen at all, really.”

She does fit in well with their resident genius, Hotch thinks wryly, recalling a conversation they’d had earlier with Reid about needing to consider how he phrases things and how they might come across to the other party.

“I blame the people who raised me,” she says quickly and there is so much to take from those simple words – the distance (not family, but referenced as people), the resentment and the honesty behind the word blame Hotch thinks there is much more to uncover here. “Too little socialisation training when I was younger.”

Morgan snorts.

“What are you? A dog?”

A quick laugh. “Not far off,” she says and Reid nods quickly. “There is evidence that-“ but cuts himself off when he notices Rossi’s quick headshake.

“Look, I get it now. I really did just want to help. I tried other avenues but when I realised Spencer was FBI I thought it would be perfect to give him the list. I just didn’t know what to say: Hey, now that I know you’re FBI, can I just give you these names and their crimes? I figured that would be maybe abuse of power? Investigating people at a friends’ behest? I don’t know. Really, I just didn’t want Spencer to think I was just interested in his access to higher power and I had no idea what to say if I were to broach the subject. I really thought this would be a better solution all around,” Rose admits with a bashful smile and a shrug, obviously conceding that in retrospect there may have been several flaws with that plan.

“And just how did you get those names?” Rossi asks, leaning forward slightly to better take note of the nuances in her expressions – something Hotch doubts is necessary as Rose seems to have no experience or skill in keeping her emotions hidden and every thought she has is practically visible on her face. Much like Garcia, Rose wears her heart on her sleeve.

“Well,” she draws out slowly, clearly wondering whether to concoct a lie or tell the truth and Hotch waits, wanting to see which she will choose. Finally, she sighs and gives in, shoulders drooping – truth it is, then. Good. Reid is still watching quietly, obviously knowing he is emotionally compromised and happy to let them ask the hard questions rather than sour his relationship.

“This is going so sound so weird,” she whines under her breath and Prentiss exchanges a quick glance with JJ who shakes her head slightly, clearly not sure either. Another deep breath. “I can see people’s souls.”

A moment as the team takes it in, quick glances – indulge in the delusion or play against it? Indulge, is the quick decision and Hotch’s look at JJ lets her know he wants her to take lead as the more sympathetic team member aside from Reid and less sceptical than Morgan and himself.

“And what does that look like?” JJ asks, voice gentle, expression open and inviting. Rose looks surprised but happy to be taken seriously and answers honestly, speaking of colours and threads, clouds and names.

“So you can see people’s names on their soul? But some of the names you gave us were off, like it was their middle name and not their first or a nickname rather than their normal name,” Garcia interrupts, sounding genuinely curious to the point Hotch isn’t sure if she actually does believe what Rose is saying.

Rose hums slightly.

“No, it’s not your name on your birth certificate. On your soul I can see the names you see yourself as, the ones you identify yourself with.” A pause, hesitant, as if reluctant to divulge it. “I – I can also see the names you kind of identify with but you don’t like. It’s like they have a line through them – but you’ve been called it so often you identify yourself as that even if you don’t want to; mentally distant but not emotionally. Does that make sense?”

She is clearly making a point to look at neither Morgan, Prentiss nor Reid and to a room of profilers her clear pinpoint straight eyecontact with Hotch without allowing her eyes to so much as glance at the people at either side of her may as well be a neon lit sign.

Hotch sighs. He doesn’t believe but he is reluctant to expose either of his agents to emotional pain. But both of them give a slight inclination of their head, agreeing wordlessly to what he is going to ask.

“What can you tell me about Dr. Reid?”

Her eyes snap to their resident genius, checking if this is okay with him and this time the nod is overt and clear; Hotch admits that Rose keeps gaining esteem by simply checking on the comfort of his agents rather than just bowing to him and doing as he asks regardless of the impact it may have on others around him.

“His names are Spence. Reid.” Her lips curl up in a slight smirk when she adds, “Pretty Boy” and watches Spencer blush furiously. Morgan sniggers and Hotch looks away quickly to hid his own smile.

“Genius is crossed out.”

The team winces slightly. Just how much time had she spent with Reid to figure out this much, Hotch wondered but nodded curtly.

“His soul is a lot of blue – loyalty. With strands reaching out to others” the way she looks at the team it’s clear a lot of them are linked to them. “kind of intertwined? Like he’s given you part of himself and taken part of you into his soul. And now that I know what he does the grief and pain hanging like a cloud over him and subduing his soul some days makes sense. Introvert, he keeps everything tucked deep inside. Someone like Garcia on the other hand,” she nods to the vivacious technical expert in the room, “their soul is barely held inside their body, constantly reaching out of the body to give part of themselves to those around. Generous, loving, kind-hearted soul. You’re a soft orange-pink colour and wrapped yourself around all of them. It’s like you’re trying to throw all the love and happiness you can at those around you.” Rose shrugs with a soft smile as Garcia blushes, avoiding eye contact even when Derek wraps his arm around her to tuck her into him.

And with a slight grin and nod at Morgan she adds, “and, yes, baby girl is written into your soul.”

“Morgan. Chocolate Thunder,” she adds with a slight laugh to her voice. “Derek. Brother. And your non-identified word is ‘boy’. There are more but they’re far away and kinda faint, like they’re disappearing slowly.”

Rose grimaces when Morgan winces.

“I- I’m just going to talk about the last one. Sorry in advance,” she says to Prentiss, clearly aware of what the impact on the others has already been. “Prentiss. Emily. Name you don’t identify with is Lauren. You also have a few more but like Morgan most are faint and illegible by now.”

Hotch’s brows furrow when Prentiss doesn’t just pale but blanches, like all the colour has leached out of her.

“I- you can’t know that,” she bites out intuitively, quickly, and Hotch is about to interfere, knowing that whatever she is about to say will have everything to do with an emotional outburst and nothing to facilitate their interrogation or relationship with the café owner who is still indulging them willingly despite not being obligated to. “No, Hotch,” Emily pre-empts. “You don’t understand. She can’t know that name. That’s from an Interpol Undercover Op.”

This time there is a pause as everyone assimilates that information. Morgan turns to Rose.

“Can you read some of the faint names on me?” He asks quickly and Hotch recalls that Morgan, too, had been part of some undercover operations. He will need to find out more about Lauren Reynolds and Interpol at a later date if the name is still as visible unlike the others, Hotch thinks before reprimanding himself for falling for Rose’s story of being able to see souls. He still isn’t sure how else to explain what she does and sees, but seeing souls is an absurd explanation. Which also makes it even more curious that it was the one she chose when explaining herself to the FBI; that usually didn’t spell good odds for belief in the supernatural.

“Sam- Samuel, I think. And… Keith, maybe?”

Derek nods quickly – not at her but at Hotch and he finds himself grimacing. So someone with good enough access to find out undercover personas and their names but not good enough to find the real names of the criminals she identified? That made no sense.

“What can you tell me about my soul?” He asks quickly, before he can chicken out and so he can ascertain the veracity of what she’s telling.

“I-“ Rose looks at him, blushes furiously and ducks her head down, hiding her face in her hands and refusing to make eye contact.

“Please tell me you have a child,” she says quickly and quietly with an undertone of desperation and Hotch’s eyebrows rise. No one in the team would be careless enough to mention his or JJ’s child outside the office just in case of being accidentally overheard and opening them up to reprisals.

“Yes,” he says quickly, still wondering why she is asking when she exhales with what must be exaggeratedly large relief, blush fading a little now as she dares to look back at him again.

“Aaron. Hotch. Daddy.” She says and he tilts his head before he finally follows what her thoughts must have been when he hears Rossi laugh loud and hard, and bursts into laughter himself. Prentiss is equally quick, along with Morgan and JJ but Reid takes a moment longer, blushing furiously when it dawns on him.

“Yes,” she hisses, rolling her eyes, face a deep red again while the team tries to reign themselves in. “It’s a lot less funny when you ask someone about their child and they tell you they don’t have one. I didn’t want to divulge your secret bedroom habits to your team without knowing if you could still maintain eye contact the next day.”

More laughter and even Reid is giggling now. Garcia is curled into Morgan, holding her stomach, eyes tearing up with laughter.

“Behave,” he tells them less sternly than he should.

“Yes,” Rossi says, and before he can stop him, noticing the wicked grin curling at his friend’s lips, “Daddy.”

Garcia is shaking with renewed laughter and JJ’s laugh has grown high-pitched. He can’t even stop his own chuckles enough to stop his team.

It takes several minutes for everything to calm down again.

Rather than enter the minefield again – he can guess at the boy for Morgan and genius for Reid but he doesn’t know or understand how this café owner can know half the things she does.

“Are you also called Hyacinth? And Dahlia? Do you also own Lily’s flowers in England?”

The last traces of a smile are wiped from Rose’s face in an instant.

“Yes,” she finally admits quietly after a hesitant pause.

“Lily’s flowers was opened sometime in the 1970’s,” Hotch continues placidly.

Rose hesitates noticeable but nods again after a small pause. “Yes,” she states, voice clear and calm and gaze fixed on him.

“You don’t look like someone in their fifties.”

Another statement but this one elicits a sad smile.

“No,” she says, voice sad as her gaze flits across Reid before dropping to the empty table top. “No, I do not.”

Aaron turns several words over in his mind, trying to settle on the best approach, when Reid intervenes.

“How can you not age?”

Rose sighs, rubs tiredly over her eyes but finally nods and settles.

“Sorry, but your video just got interrupted,” she says quietly and Garcia pulls up her tablet to check and nods to Hotch to confirm Rose’s words. “No audio either,” the technical analyst says and Rose just nods, like it’s expected for all their recording equipment in the room to malfunction simultaneously.

“I shorted it,” she says, even though she hasn’t moved an inch towards the cameras or cables or any of her own technology to do so. “Magic and Tech rarely work well together,” she declares like it’s a known fact.

Then a wave of her hand with a stick in her hand turns the napkin into a bunny rabbit. An alive bunny rabbit. Hopping and sniffing and Garcia is already cuddling the thing to her chest under Rose’s soft smile.

Hotch opens his mouth and then closes it again when he realises he doesn’t know what to say to this. What do you say when you see magic – real magic, not the physics magic Reid does?

Another wave of her wand and Hotch is floating in the air with his chair, just a bit, not high enough to be disconcerting but Hotch feels himself panicking anyway. But she notices and he’s back on the floor before he can say anything (or threaten her with a gun, an option he was seriously considering at this point, but he should have known just asking would be enough from what he’s seen so far). One of the pencils is turned into a hedgehog, another into a cup and fresh water pours into it. A snake appears out of nowhere and Rose hisses at it, before it, too, disappears. Another wave of her wand and everything – bar the bunny still being held protectively by Garcia – is returned back to what it was before.

“If I drank some of the water,” Reid starts, “would some of the lead in the pencil have disappeared when it’s turned back?” He is looking intently at the No 2 pencil, trying to measure its weight and staring at it as if it will somehow divulge all the secrets of Rose’s (Hotch still chokes but continues the thought anyway) magic.

The woman laughs, looking taken aback and surprised, but pleasantly so. Hotch is glad that Reid managed to hit the right note with her rather than being dismissive or aggressive as other team members might have been. Her defenses are back down, shoulders relaxed as she gives Reid a soft smile, her crush on the young geniu- man, obvious to a room of profilers.

“No. The pencil is turned into a cup, the water is drawn from the surrounding air. The pencil remains unchanged and the water will be free of pollutants or toxins of any kind.”

That is handy, Hotch thinks to himself even when he still struggles to wrap his mind around magic exists being a proven fact.

“There’s no chance we all ingested some kind of hallucinogen, is there?” Rossi asks rhetorically while reaching out to pet the only remnant of the magic they’d seen – the bunny.

“Even if we had, we wouldn’t all have the same hallucination,” Prentiss states categorically and for once Reid just nods instead of chiming in with statistics. Hotch sighed internally – he’d already known but he rather disliked having it confirmed.

“So you really can see souls?” Morgan asks, looking straight at the… witch? Is it still offensive if the person really is a magic user? Hotch wonders, but dismisses the thought for the moment as having less priority.

This time Rose rolls her eyes, as if they are all slow for having to rethink their entire world view.

“Yes,” she says firmly and Morgan just nods calmly.

“Are ghosts real?” Garcia asks quickly before any of the profilers can jump in and when Hotch opens his mouth to dismiss her question, he pauses, revisiting their discussion so far and finds himself quiet again, realising that what he had long since dismissed as non-existing may actually be real.

“And angels?” Reid asks quietly and Morgan takes in a hissing breath and Hotch winces.

Rose blinks looking surprised at them all.

“I should probably explain a bit more about myself, which will answer your questions in a way. In the spirit of openness and what I have said about the names you don’t want to associate yourself with – mine are probably Freak and girl-who-lived and woman-who-conquered. Anyway. I was born on the 31^st July 1980 in Godric’s Hollow – but not in this universe. In my world there’s a secret society of witches and wizards and I learnt magic at school at age eleven. There was a war, we won, but it was at a cost. I survived attacks I shouldn’t have and frankly attribute to my parents and incredible luck. And then I got a hold of three items which, when gathered, make one apparently the Master of Death.” She shrugs, as if the title alone shouldn’t be blowing their minds as much as it does.

“Landing in this world – or dimension – was very much another aspect of my luck and rather accidental at that. I can’t go back. And I don’t age. So while in my world, yes, ghosts and magic-users exist – they don’t in this world. No magic users, no ghosts. No angels – trust me, as Master of Death, I’d know,” she adds with a reassuring nod at Reid, despite clearly not knowing why he asked.

Is it reassuring, Hotch wonders, that angels don’t exist? He isn’t quite sure where he stands and what questions he wants to ask, but he knows he has hundreds of them.

“I can move onto the afterlife anytime I wish to, though,” she says with a shrug like it’s no big deal. “I can also talk to the dead as long as I can visualise them and have one of their soul names.”

“I think that’s enough for me for today,” Rossi declares after a pause. The rest of the team eyes him and at his nod, also gathers their things to leave.

“Ms. Potter-Black,” Hotch says, before his team leave, handing her his card. “Any further souls, just send me a text please rather than waiting for Dr. Reid to come by. We will handle it. And we will keep this meeting confidential – you will be assigned as a confidential informant and receive a cheque for each successful tip. I- I am not sure about active cases where we need to find the unsub and whether we can call you in on those if you really can talk to the dead, but we will handle it when it comes up.”

If she needs the soul name of the unsub, she will likely not be very useful anyway, but never say never. A statement more important today than any other day, Hotch finds. He’s still not over the fact that they can now call on someone who can talk to the dead – the world just got a lot weirder. He just knows Reid will be reading up on the physics of travelling through dimensions and time and bombard her with questions; Hotch is just glad he doesn’t have to be there for that date to listen to it. His mind is blown enough.

Morgan taps him when they’re half-way down the corridor with a wide grin and a nod back. Turning around Hotch smiles too when he sees the Master of Death, blushing red, eyes sparkling as Reid leans in for a kiss.

“Come on, leave them to it,” he orders his team as he holds open the elevator, watching them scurry in quickly. He will deal with readjusting his world view tomorrow, Hotch decides. Tonight he thinks they all need a drink or ten. “First round’s on me,” he offers in clear invitation and everyone nods eagerly – there are some revelations which you just cannot handle unless you have ingested copious amounts of alcohol. Naturally, Dr. Reid is probably the exception to that rule but even if invited, he doubted they would be able to drag their resident genius away from his new-fangled girlfriend.

“Didn’t I say it?” Garcia gloats as they wait to leave on their floor. “Good. Samaritan,” she states with clear emphasis, poking Morgan’s chest to reinforce it.

“We all got it, baby girl, you were right.” He’s rolling his eyes though, but his smile is wide. “Out-profiled the profilers,” he concedes with a laugh and Garcia slaps his chest in reprimand, turning away with blushing cheeks. Hotch grins and shakes his head at their antics, following his team out of the elevator.

“Meet you all at the usual bar in an hour,” he states quickly, before turning to his office.

“Yes, Dad,” Emily says, giggling already underneath her wide grin and Hotch rolls his eyes when the team around him bursts into renewed laughs at his expense, closing the office door behind him.