Chapter Text
Reid spun in his chair, watching the news. He hadn’t seen Piper since that early morning, hadn’t been able to ask if she was okay. Derek had gotten back after breakfast, his arm in a sling that now hung off his chair. Rossi was the epitome of calmness, just scribbling in his notebook. Hotch hadn’t left the captain’s office since he got back from the hospital.
On the screen, JJ was wrapping up a brief and handing the lectern over to Piper. Emily had done her best, but she couldn’t hide the fatigue in Piper’s eyes. Otherwise, she was the picture of health. Her shoulders weren’t slumped, a casual expression on her face as she delivered a dumbed-down version of a medical presentation. For anyone who hadn’t watched Piper present a lecture before, it was decent.
Spencer chewed on his lower lip, his spinning slowing down as he listened to everything that wasn’t in her presentation. Her flair and excitement and vitality. Everything that made her an excellent professor. Everything that instilled an innate love of psychology. It just seemed absent.
Emily burst through the door into the room, clearly frustrated and surprising Derek. She tried to slam the door but it wouldn’t work, the glass door simply slowing down before closing. “I’m gonna kill her,” Emily said, anger in her chilled voice. “I’m gonna kill Strauss.”
“What’s she done now?” Rossi asked, as though the sentiment was nothing new.
“She’s pressuring Hotch to fire her,” Emily said, whirling around to face Rossi, clearly agitated.
“On what grounds?” Derek asked in outrage, looking up from his file.
“Because she won’t shoot people,” Emily shot back, “It’s fucking ridiculous.”
“She’s not going to fire her,” Rossi said patiently, “Erin’s too political to just let a valuable asset go.”
“She’s a person, Rossi,” Emily said, “Not an ‘asset’!” Rossi flipped the notebook shut, taking his shoes off the table and looking directly at Emily.
“If she isn’t in the field, she’s of no value to this team,” Rossi explained calmly, “If Bishop wants to stay on the team, she should suck it up and take her goddamn gun back.”
Spencer interrupted before Emily broke Rossi’s nose. “But she wasn’t always a field agent,” Spencer reasoned, “Strauss was fine with that before.”
“She wasn’t an actual agent before,” Derek said hollowly, “She was just a consultant then. She wasn’t in the field until…” He trailed off, glancing at Spencer instinctively. Rossi could sense the tension in the room, the three of them privy to something he couldn’t be trusted with.
“None of that matters,” Emily said, her voice much calmer than before, “Her experience directly translates to applied fieldwork. What’s Strauss gonna do, have her teach trainees?” Emily looked for a response, but everyone’s attention was directed behind her. Aaron stood with the door still open and Spencer lowered his head, Derek returning to his file.
“We’ve got a caller. Press room, now.”
It was completely empty of reporters by the time Hotch and the others walked through the door. JJ kept her eyes on the door while Piper leaned on the lectern. It struck Spencer how she still looked pale and completely exhausted. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” Piper said softly, “I promise you, I’ll take good care of him.” If she wasn’t looking at him, Spencer would have almost thought she was speaking to him.
She scribbled out an address on the back of JJ’s speech, a blend of uniform and cursive handwriting that Spencer noticed her thrust into Aaron’s hand. “No, you don’t have to be there if you don’t feel comfortable. Especially if you two aren’t on good terms right now. I should warn you, he’ll probably lash out at you.”
Piper listened intently to Johnny’s friend, glancing at Aaron absently. “I understand the sentiment, but I think you’d be safer at the police station instead.” Piper paused, wetting her lips before speaking again. “Of course. He’ll be in good hands with me.” With that, Piper flipped the phone shut, ending the call and giving the team her full attention.
“That’s John McHale’s address, he’s a comic book writer and his pregnant fiancée…” Piper’s eyes cast downwards for a moment before she dragged them up to meet their gazes. “A couple gangbangers attacked them at night. He survived. She didn’t.”
“Oh, God,” JJ breathed out but Aaron remained stoic.
“JJ, get Penelope to put together a report,” Aaron ordered, “I want medical records, pictures, everything. Prentiss, Rossi, you’re both with me and I want the building surrounded. Morgan, Reid, you’re both on inventory and JJ can join you when she’s done with the file. Bishop—” Aaron paused, glancing at her with a heavy heart.
“Don’t worry, I can handle an interview,” Piper said, speaking to their unit chief with the same tenderness she used with the unsub’s friend.
They had moved the board into the room behind the interrogation table. Piper was taking down certain pictures and placing them in order into a manila file. The first thing she needed to do was figure out what he could remember and what he couldn’t. Obviously, anything that didn’t match the story in his head was thrown out and she sincerely doubted he could remember anything he did as the rooftop samurai. She was so enthused in her work, she didn’t notice the door open and close beside her until Spencer cleared his throat. “Are they here yet?”
“Uh, no. Hotch is en route with the unsub but the inventory hasn’t arrived yet,” Spencer said, taking a seat. Piper bobbed her head in understanding, resuming her file. “Is Hotch really gonna make you leave?” She faltered, caught off guard by the question.
“I-” Piper didn’t know what to say. “He gave me a choice, I made it.” She returned to her files, determined to concentrate.
“Piper, you didn’t have a choice then,” Spencer reasoned, “Whatever happened that day isn’t on you.” His voice was soft and pleading, like he didn’t want her to leave. Even though that had been his first wish when she had joined.
“I had a choice,” Piper said firmly, “I could have walked in there and tried to talk him down.”
“He would have shot everyone in the room,” Spencer claimed, shaking his head as though Piper was just being stubborn.
Piper sighed, running a hand through her hair. “NPD is one of the easiest disorders to treat. If I had convinced him to—”
“You can’t force people to go to therapy, Piper. He’d have been completely resistant to it,” Spencer interrupted, “You were completely justified to kill him.” Piper looked at him defeatedly, the same tired ache in her bones.
“I don’t want to feel justified,” Piper said exasperatedly, “I didn’t come here to hurt anyone. But every time we arrest someone or… I don’t know if I’m helping or hurting anymore. And if I can’t make that distinction, I can’t keep working here.”
Whatever Spencer was going to say next, she didn’t get to hear because Rossi and Hotch were dragging John McHale into the interrogation room, yelling that he hadn’t done anything. “There’s been some kind of mistake here, I’m not a killer. I just draw comic books, please!” Piper’s shoulders sagged as she picked up the file.
“I’ll see you later, Reid,” Piper said, her voice devastated, before walking out the door. She entered the other one, letting Hotch and Rossi walk out before taking a seat in front of John.
“Look, I don’t need a doctor or a referral or anything!” John exclaimed, remembering her. “That guy out there, Bobby, I fired him, okay? He’s probably just pissed off at me.”
“Trust me, he isn’t,” Piper said quietly. “John, just relax, please. I’ll answer all your questions in a minute okay?” She watched him settle, crossing his arms and slumping in the chair. “First things first. You have the right to talk to a lawyer before you talk to anyone else. Do you have someone I can call?”
“No, I don’t want a lawyer, I just want someone to tell me what’s happening!” John cried.
“John, look at me,” Piper urged, “Are you sure you don’t want a lawyer present before we start?”
“No, I don’t want a lawyer, okay, I’m not an idiot! I haven’t done anything!” Piper let out a deep breath, pulling out the first picture and slid it towards him.
“Can you tell me who’s in this picture?” Piper asked, watching him pick up the selfie.
“That’s me and Vicky, why?”
“When’s the last time you saw her?” She watched him try to remember.
“A…A couple months ago. She’s mad at me, she won’t pick up my calls,” John said quickly, “Oh, God, has something happened to her? Is that why the FBI are here? Has she been kidnapped or something?”
“John, I’m so sorry,” Piper said, watching him closely, “Vicky died 6 months ago.” She paused for a moment, unsure of how to phrase the next part. “John, you were there that night.”
“No, that’s not… You- You’re lying. I would know, I would remember!” Piper pulled out six headshots from her file, a miracle Penelope had pulled from cross-checking DNA and tattoos with gang affiliations. She laid them out in a row.
“Do you remember them?” She watched him shake his head slowly, sitting upright. “They attacked you and Vicky 6 months ago. John, you were in surgery.”
“No, no, this is crazy, I would remember all of this!” John exclaimed, standing up and Piper closed her eyes, regretting what she was about to do next.
“I think you’re suffering from some form of PTSD,” Piper explained, “In some cases, it can block out certain memories that are too traumatising to cope with. It’s not uncommon with victims of violent crimes.”
“I’m not a victim!” John yelled and Piper stood up, carefully stepping towards him.
“Then who do you think gave you these?” Piper asked, gently touching his abdomen; the same spot she had plunged a billiards stick into. He winced in pain and she retracted her hand instantly. “Does it hurt on the back of your neck?” Piper asked, swallowing hard, “Or the grazing gunshot wound in your side?”
Recognition warped his blue eyes from pain to unadulterated rage and before she could react, John had wrapped his hands around Piper’s neck, squeezing as she tried to pull back. “You bitch,” John hissed, shoving her back against a wall. Piper squirmed, struggling to breathe, her face turning red as she tried to pull at his hands with one hand and slamming the other palm against the glass window, praying that Reid was still in there.
“You have no idea what’s out there! They’re all animals! Sick animals!” Piper could feel her grip on consciousness slipping and brought her knees up, slamming the heels of her boots into John’s chest. They both went crashing to the floor as Reid ran in, flanked with two uniformed officers. Piper gasped for breath as the two officers tackled John into a pair of handcuffs. Spencer was instantly on his knees beside Piper, an arm cradling her as she racked out a cough, her breath coming out ragged. She barely heard him yell at the officers to get John out of the room.
“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, “Should I get you—” She shook her head urgently, clutching his hand as she tried to breathe, her lungs burning. He sat there, whispering soft murmurations until she could breathe again, her body leaning against his. “Damn it,” she cursed finally, gulping down breaths of air as she sat up straight. She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears as she rested against the wall. “Tell me there was a confession in there,” Piper said, looking at him with a shattered, heartbroken gaze.
“Hotch said we didn’t need it,” Spencer said, watching the relief wash over her. “We found the murder weapon in his apartment and there are detailed depictions of the crime scene. D.A. said that’s enough for a charge.” For a few minutes, Spencer sat there by Piper’s side, just watching her breathe a little easier.
Aaron had kept an eye on her since Gideon had found her in Texas. It had been a joke to himself when he first thought of it. After all, Gideon had always needed some common sense knocked into him. A reminder of what he used to believe in. The next joke had been that Spencer needed someone his own age around the place. And then it hadn’t been a joke. A year ago, when he had asked her to join the team, he thought she would have replaced Elle. But perhaps he hadn’t estimated her appropriately.
“You’re not seriously giving her a desk job,” Aaron exclaimed, pacing in front of Erin.
“You know as well as I do that she’s perfect for the job,” Erin said patiently, “Your unit put together has more Ph.D’s than this entire unit of so-called specialists.”
“She’s never done this kind of thing before!” Aaron added, “I did a background check on her too. She had no experience with—”
“Leading a team of specialists?” Erin asked with intrigue and humour. Her eyebrow was poised mockingly at him.
“She’s led researchers, not FBI agents,” Aaron protested, “And my team needs her.”
“You’d do the job perfectly fine without her on board, you have before,” Erin countered calmly, “This unit needs a completely new staff, one that’s actually specialised in what they do. Name any other employee who could recruit at least 15 rehabilitative specialists.” Erin didn’t bother giving him time to think. “Alright, ten. How about 5?” Aaron wet his lips in apprehension.
“What’s your point?”
“There aren’t many people influential enough to bring a team of elite specialists together in the worst place on Earth. And she isn’t exactly flourishing in your unit right now,” Erin explained, “In the past year alone, she’s almost fallen off a building, she’s gotten shot, stabbed and strangled. Now, this might hurt your feelings , but this is the best thing for her.”
“Shouldn’t she get to decide that, Erin?” Aaron asked, “Shouldn’t she have a choice?”
Erin sighed, leaning against her desk. “Fine. She refuses to fulfill the requirements to be a field agent, you don’t have the capacity for another desk agent and this is the only available position for someone of her qualifications.”
“That’s a hell of a choice to make, Erin,” Aaron said, clenching his jaw while Erin said nothing. Huffing, Aaron left her office, punching the button for the elevator. He came out by the BAU bullpen, almost dark and empty, save for a few agents.
Piper was wearing a dark floral blouse, unbuttoned at the top to reveal a silver chess pendant on her neck. It was tucked into beige slacks and a light brown belt. Glasses hung on her top, her hair unclipped and falling over her ears as she packed up her desk. He approached her, hands in his trouser pockets, and watched her put away a Tim Lincecum bobblehead with a small smile. She only noticed him when he came closer to the divider between her and the next set of desks. “So, where’s she sending me? Floor 12?” Piper joked before checking if she had forgotten anything.
Aaron observed her for a moment, the small quirking lip that always managed to crack his sense of humour. “Miami,” Aaron said defeatedly. It was by far the furthest state from D.C. and quite possibly the worst decision Strauss could have made.
Piper looked at him, completely horrified. “Hotch, no, you have to talk her out of Miami. I can handle the midwest, but not Florida, please!”
“I tried, Bishop. She believes it’s what’s best.” He watched her hang her head and groan, just the way Sean would as a kid. It was rumbling and long but not loud and it eventually turned into fake sobbing before they both sucked it up and dealt with it.
“What’s the job?” Piper asked, her brow furrowed in worry.
“She’ll email you a brief but you’d be working with the Rehabilitative Unit in Miami,” Aaron said.
Piper dropped to her seat, head falling into her hands. “Are you kidding me?”
Aaron wrinkled his nose. “It’s not that bad,” he started.
“Hotch,” she said, looking up and leaning her face on her chin, “It doesn’t work. To rehabilitate criminals, you don’t need enforcers, you need doctors and enforcers never listen to doctors.”
“We listen to you and Reid,” Aaron sputtered in protest. Piper leaned back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other with a cynical look. “Well, not everything but—”
“Look, Hotch, here’s the truth about consultants,” Piper explained, folding her hands in her lap, “People only listen to us when we say something useful to them. Otherwise, people don’t give us the time of day.”
“Well, now you have a mandate,” Aaron said, “They’d have to listen to you.”
Piper’s brow wrinkled, her nose scrunched. “What mandate?” She watched Aaron take a deep breath and a seat on her table.
“Strauss wants you to put together a team to replace them,” Aaron said uneasily, “Like you said, the staff’s too inexperienced for the job.”
Piper’s jaw dropped, staring at Aaron speechlessly. “Are… I…” She stumbled over her words before finding the sweet spot between confusion and rage. “Is this a fucking joke?” She searched Aaron’s face for some kind of answer. “She wants me to fire an entire unit?”
Aaron shook his head, hair flopping forward. “It’s a branch of our unit,” he said, trying his best to explain, “But the division can’t afford it much longer. It’s using up too many resources and there’s criticism that they aren’t doing the work right.”
“Jesus,” Piper breathed out, leaning back against the divider between her and Derek’s desk. “So what am I supposed to do?”
“Hire a staff that knows what they’re doing,” Aaron said, shrugging helplessly. His hands were tied. He watched Piper close her eyes as she swept her hair back and clipped them. When she opened them again, they were bloodshot and watery.
“When do I start?” Piper asked, her voice cracking as she bravely attempted at a smile.
“A week,” Aaron said quietly, “They’ve arranged housing and—” He cut himself off, heart breaking into pieces as Piper sniffled, staring at her shoes. “It’ll be okay,” Aaron tried, even though it didn’t feel like it.
She let out a short laugh, blinking the tears out of her eyes as she stared at the ceiling lights. “I feel so stupid,” Piper whispered, mostly to herself, crossing her arms as she let out a shaky breath, “Should never have gotten so attached.”
Aaron glanced down at his hands. He had forgotten, if only for a moment, how similar they both were. Repressed with a dry sense of humour. A need for control at all times. Neither of them were the types to keep their hearts on their sleeves. “For what it’s worth,” Aaron said, slipping off the desk, “I don’t regret any of it.”
Piper narrowed her eyes at him as he started to walk away. “Really? That’s it?” she cried and Aaron swivelled on his heel, a wry smile curving his features.
“You’re not the only one who can make dramatic exits,” Aaron said dryly, shrugging as Piper laughed quietly. She watched him skip up the steps to his office before taking one last long look around the office.
Spencer knew he wasn’t the most socially perceptive person in the BAU, but even he could notice the sombre mood in their corner of the bullpen. He settled down at his desk with his cup of coffee, glancing around at the group. Grant and Gina stood together outside JJ’s office, the latter consoling a teary-eyed Anderson.
JJ was perched on Piper’s desk, Penelope in her chair and blowing her nose. Emily was by far the most normal, reading a beautiful hardcover book; red with intricate black branches spiralling out of the spine and across the book. As for Derek, his chair was empty and his desk covered by an orange sports jersey and a cap on top. None of it made any sense until he remembered Emily’s anger while they were on the case.
“I should’ve known she’d lie about her last day,” Penelope said, finally emerging from the handkerchief with a flushed expression and a red nose.
“Come on, Pen,” JJ reasoned, “You know how she is with big events. She probably didn’t want a spectacle.”
“Where’s Derek?” Spencer asked, trying to ignore the lump in his throat.
“Murdering Hotch, probably,” Emily said, turning a page of her book. “What’d she give you anyway?”
“Give me what?” Spencer asked, glancing at his desk and then at the ladies.
“Her parting gift,” JJ explained, “Everyone got something. Morgan got a Giants jersey and a cap, Pen got a bullet and Emily hasn’t looked up from that book since she opened it.”
“She gave Rossi a bunch of vinyls, and JJ got a Little League trophy,” Emily added, closing the book, “So, spill. What’d you get?”
Spencer looked back at his desk but there was nothing resembling a gift. “I… I didn’t get anything.”
“Really?” JJ asked incredulously, “Not even a letter?”
“You got letters?” Spencer asked, his expression completely heartbroken. Emily cleared her throat awkwardly, swinging her feet off the desk and pretending to be intrigued by her desktop. JJ wet her lips, sliding off the desk.
“You know, I’ve got a bunch of cases to review so, I’m gonna… go,” JJ said haltingly before walking away. Penelope rolled her eyes, standing up and walking over to Reid’s desk as he pursed his lips.
“Look, have some faith, okay?” Penelope said, “There’s no way Piper forgot to give you something. She probably did something super genius like use the New York Times Crossword as a clue to where your gift is.”
“Doesn’t feel like it,” Reid said petulantly as she walked away, pulling a file towards him and clicking his pen aggressively and starting the day’s work.
Unfortunately, his usual quick pace was slowed down every now and then as he lost focus. Usually, he could just look across from his desk and ask something obscure and he’d get a genuine answer instead of a sarcastic comment. Or get a coffee when he was stuck on something and have someone actually listen and be his sounding board instead of making fun of him. Why did everyone get a goodbye except me?
Thankfully, at least Hotch approved his request for a half-day and Spencer trudged towards his apartment dejectedly, keys in hand, until he spotted a familiar dark bike standing outside his building. She was sitting on the front steps of his building, her sling bag on her lap. Brown waves layered over her shoulders, a checkered black and white newsboy cap snug on her head. She was leaning forward, fiddling with her Blackberry, knit grey sleeves stretching down to her wrist. His gaze softened, stopping in his tracks while his keys jingled, drawing Piper’s attention. She stood up with a fragile smile. “Hey,” she said awkwardly, stirring him from his thoughts. Or rather, the lack of them.
Spencer pursed his lips, ignoring her. He skipped up the steps beside her, moving to slide his key into his front door. “Reid!” Piper called after him, her voice almost pleading. He pushed the door open, slamming the door behind him and into Piper’s face. “Fuck,” she swore, shoving the door open and going up after him.
“Come on, Reid, I just— fuck,” Piper swore again, the stairs getting the better of her. Hotch was right, she needed to be fitter. “Reid, just… listen!” She barely made it to the top by the time Reid’s key had made it to the apartment door. “For fuck’s sake,” she breathed out, clambering to her feet and stumbling over them trying to get to the door only for him to slam it before she could stick her foot in between.
Piper rested her forehead against the beige door, pulling her cap off. “I didn’t forget about you, Reid. Would you please just open the door and let me explain?” She heard silence but took the chance he was listening anyway. Piper wet her lips, trying to explain through the door. “I know how upset you were when Gideon left you a letter. And your dad too. I just… I didn’t want you to be mad at me because I just left without a… a proper goodbye.” Piper stared at the beige door, absent-mindedly sticking her phone in her back pocket. “Open the door, Spencer, please,” Piper tried pleadingly until she felt the buzz of her phone.
Spencer’s forehead was pressed to the door, listening intently but without the courage to open the door. He had nothing to say. No-one had ever given him the choice before. Spencer sighed, turning the knob and yanking the door open to a completely empty hallway. A brown paper package sat on the carpet, wrapped in string with a sealed letter and a sticky note stuck on the top. He picked up the package, gently lifting the note free from the top before slamming his front door shut.
Had to leave. Movers are at my place. The letter will explain everything. I’m sorry.