"For right now, we have to assume that he was," Gideon replied, fingering through Hansen's day planner. "We have to exhaust every lead; our victim might not have very long."
Hotch stiffened slightly. The house and surrounding woods had been searched from top to bottom, but there had been no sign of Tyler Fibbs. The previous victims had shown signs of exposure, and with Hansen dead there was no way to be sure Tyler had access to a viable food source. Every second was precious.
Reid stood near the kitchen table, sifting through papers. "He certainly wasn't very organized. It'll take hours to go through all of this."
"Somewhere in here is a clue as to where he was keeping them." Hotch stated as he inspected a nearby bookshelf. "We just have to get inside his head."
Officer Martin stepped into the room. "CSU just found a pair of knives in the garage. They're clean, but we found some blood on the rags they were wrapped in. I just sent it to be processed."
JJ glanced up at the officer, moving to help Reid sift through the papers. "Good. With any luck, it'll match one of the first two victims."
She glanced sideways at Spencer, whose face had darkened. He ignored her questioning look and picked up another pile of papers, rapidly reading through them.
"Garcia just sent over the bio on Leonard Hansen," Morgan informed them, earning the attention of the profilers. "He used to run a carpentry shop downtown. It went under about a year ago. His wife, Tanya, filed for divorce three months later. It was finalized at the beginning of November. Get this - the couple also has a son - seven years old - named Joseph. The judge asked Joseph who he'd prefer to live with, and he chose the mother."
Hotch frowned, his eyes on something behind Morgan. He walked towards the filing cabinet that lay there, picking up the framed photograph that sat atop it, inspecting it for a moment. Turning back to the curious team, he held the picture up for them to see.
"Look familiar?"
The photo showed Lenny standing next to a young, sandy-haired boy, the pair of them standing in front of a run-down stretch of buildings. Lenny was smiling; the boy was not.
Hotch pulled the back of the frame off, reading the caption scribbled on the backside of the photo paper. "'Leonard and Joey, 2005.'"
"So he was kidnapping kids that looked like his son?" There was more than a hint of disgust in JJ's voice as she eyed the photograph. Beside her, Reid's grip on the papers in his hands intensified.
Gideon sighed tiredly, picking up an address book. "Well, we know why he did it. We just have to figure out where he did it."
The mood in the small workroom at the police station was gloomy. The blood on the rags had been a match to Jason Daley - the second victim. Now absolutely certain that Leonard Hansen was their unsub, they'd intensified their efforts. They had carted most of Hansen's papers and pictures back to the station the previous day, still searching for a clue as to where he'd kept his victims. The stables he'd used to repair carriages had been cleared, as had a storage unit rented in his name. Tyler Fibbs had been missing for six days, and they had hit a dead end.
"Just got off the horn with the ex-wife," Gideon informed them sullenly as he entered the room and took a seat next to Hotch. "Aside from some colorful comments about her ex-husband's business skills, she had nothing useful. She said she hasn't even talked to Hansen in over a month. He never showed up to take Joey on his last visitation weekend."
The other profilers resumed their reading, each of them despondently absorbing the information. The case had been one frustrating disappointment after another. Every time they thought they were getting somewhere, there was another setback. With Christmas only a day away, and the thought of not being able to save Tyler Fibbs looming over each of their heads, the misery in the room was palpable.
Morgan sighed angrily, breaking the renewed silence.
"This is ridiculous. We've got no leads, and Tyler could be anywhere."
JJ looked up from the file she was reviewing, a pitifully hopeful expression on her face.
"We can still find him, though, right? I mean - there's still a chance?" There was a hint of desperation in her voice as she searched her team for reassurance.
In the corner of the room, Reid scoffed in a decidedly uncharacteristic way.
"Yeah, we'll definitely find him. We'll get him back to his family, he'll be perfectly fine, and nothing bad will happen to any of them ever again."
Everyone looked up at his sarcastic and bitter tone, so out-of-character for their youngest profiler. Reid's eyes remained glued to the pages before him, a dark expression on his face; completely oblivious to the attention he'd drawn from his teammates. JJ, for her part, looked stung, confusion and pain evident in her crystal blue eyes.
Gideon's face was full of concern as he watched the genius turn another page. The case was hitting them all, but none more so than Spencer. His mood had been growing steadily worse over the course of the week. He'd been more brooding and depressed with each piece of bad news they'd received, so much so that even Morgan was regretting his earlier words to the young profiler. Gideon noted with disappointment that the genius had lost the spark of joy and faith he'd displayed so readily only six days before. Every member of the team had cases that affected them adversely, but this one seemed to shake Reid's naïveté to the core.
Hotch carefully observed the youngest profiler, coming to a decision. He cleared his throat, his voice distinctly casual.
"Reid, why don't you go down the street and get some coffee for everyone? We're going to be at this all night," the unit chief commented, ignoring the way the rest of the team glanced up once more, all anxious to see how the genius would react to being sent out.
Spencer closed the file he'd been reading, making no eye contact as he stood silently and walked to the door, grabbing his coat on the way. Four pairs of eyes followed him through the glass as he made his way to the front of the precinct and disappeared from sight.
Reid pushed the café door open with his free hand, absentmindedly balancing the tray of coffees with his other one as he stepped out into the night once more. The sidewalks were mostly shoveled, and in full use, as last-minute shoppers tried their hardest to find open stores.
The precinct was a ways to his right, but Reid felt himself drawn in the opposite direction, his eyes glued to the large and brightly lit Christmas tree in the center of the square. Numbly, he walked towards it, his mind on the bittersweet decorations that had filled the Fibbs’ home. He felt as if he was seeing the world for the first time, all of the town's former cheeriness having been ripped away. Nearby, a young girl in an expensive dress coat whined as her mother dragged her away from an overpriced toy store’s window; an elderly man, poorly dressed for the weather, sat near the entrance of an alleyway, a hat before him, as countless shoppers passed him by without so much as a glance; a group of teenage boys harassed a Salvation Army Santa, jeering and throwing cigarette butts in his collection pot. Was this the goodness of people that Christmas brought?
The tree shone brightly through it all, mocking him as he drew nearer. He stood at the base, staring up at the once-comforting image, an inexplicable mixture of anger and sadness filling him. Tyler Fibbs' family was going to celebrate Christmas without their son, and it wasn't fair. They would wake up Christmas morning to the sight of that empty stocking, haunted by the knowledge that their seven-year-old was scared and alone, if he was even still alive. What had the boy done to deserve that? He should be at home, anxiously counting down the hours until Santa's arrival, not slowly dying in some unknown locale.
Christmas had always been special to Spencer. No matter how difficult some aspects of his youth had been, Christmas had granted him the freedom to feel like a normal child. Even after his father left, Reid's mother had strived to make it as enjoyable as she could. In her lucid moments, she had read him stories next to their small plastic tree, her voice unwavering as he drifted to sleep beneath its branches, visions of snowy wonderlands dancing before his eyelids. At Christmas, it had always seemed like anything was possible.
But Morgan was right - the world was still full of the same evil they dealt with day in and day out, no matter how much snow lay on the ground. How could there be peace on earth when Tyler was out there somewhere, starving to death? How could Reid believe in the goodness of people when men like Hansen stole innocent children away from their families?
"Do you have the time?"
Reid jumped, whirling around to face the man next to him. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn't seen him approach.
"Uh...yeah," he stumbled, juggling the tray of coffees as he glanced down to read his watch in the glimmer of the Christmas lights. "It's 7:13."
"Thanks," the man smiled. "I love this time of year, don't you?"
Reid made a noncommittal noise, glancing back in the direction of the police station. How long had he been gone?
"Seeing all of the old buildings covered in snow; all the decorations everywhere," the dark-haired man continued, his eyes boring into Spencer. "Everything just seems better, doesn't it?"
"Sure," Reid replied hesitantly, frowning in confusion at the man's peculiar forwardness.
The man smiled, rubbing his gloved hands together for warmth. "I mean, when you think of all the people without jobs or families, it really makes you appreciate what you have. You know?"
Reid's eyes widened as something inside his brain clicked. His mouth moved, forming and reforming the words as he thought, a sense of certainty falling upon him unlike any he'd ever experienced before. He began to walk again, the wheels in his head continuing to turn at lightning speed, all thoughts of the strange man forgotten.
"Merry Christmas!" The dark-haired man called out, unnoticed behind the departing genius as he disappeared into the crowd of pedestrians.
Spencer began to pick up speed, walking faster and faster, his thoughts everywhere but on his actions. A detached feeling of purpose filled him as walking became sprinting, the tray of coffees falling from his hands without a second thought as his pace quickened again into a run. Clumsily, he pulled his cell phone from the outer pocket of his coat, unwilling to slow for even a second as he hit the speed dial. The phone rang once, and then was answered.
"Hotchner."
Reid darted around a pair of women loaded down with shopping bags and presents.
"The commercial district." He panted, forgoing any preamble, the crisp winter air biting his lungs. "It makes sense."
"...Reid?" Hotch's confused reply went almost unheard by the young profiler over the sound of carolers singing on the sidewalk, a small crowd of people listening to them. Reid pushed his way through.
"The picture with his son, in front of a building downtown," he continued as he rounded a corner, narrowly avoiding a collision with a young couple as he skidded on an icy patch. "It was his old carpentry shop. All the buildings are abandoned now."
Hotch paused as he finally caught the meaning behind Reid's disjointed ramblings.
"Where are you?"
"Corner of King and Weeber."
"We'll be right there."
The call was disconnected just as Spencer ran out onto the crosswalk, hardly noticing as a car slammed on its breaks to avoid hitting him. He braced his hands on the vehicle's hood for an instant, regaining his balance, ignoring the angry driver's honking as he took off running once more.
He was nearing the abandoned district, the number of fellow pedestrians dwindling and being replaced by increasingly run-down buildings. His eyes scanned the streets for the building from the picture, his eidetic memory working overtime as he recalled the layout of the region from the city map. The lights shone less brightly there, no dazzling Christmas decorations or colorful shop fronts to guide his way down the street of decrepit buildings.
By the time he reached Cedar Street, his lungs felt like they were ready to burst. He coughed, his breath a fine mist before him, the strange sense of purpose keeping his pace steady. He rounded the block, relief flooding him as he spotted a familiar stretch of shops in bad repair. He ran across the street, squinting to read the worn signs in the dim light. Rushing towards the one that said 'Hansen Carpentry' above the boarded-up window, he forced the rickety door open.
The main floor of the shop was shrouded in darkness. Spencer felt his way forward, his eyes slowly adjusting to the absence of light as his pulse continued to race.
"Tyler?" He coughed again, his lungs still worn from his run in the cold winter air. "Tyler Fibbs?"
He strained to hear a reply, but none came. Feeling his way past the counter, he looked around again. "Tyler? If you can hear me, Tyler, please try to make some noise! Tyler?"
A faint rustling noise came from above him and Reid's heart skipped. He turned, spotting a staircase behind him. He jogged up the steps, a heavy door at the top halting his progress. Grabbing the handle, he unsuccessfully to open it.
"Tyler?" He pushed against the door.
The rustling noise was louder this time, and was accompanied by a small cough.
"Just hold on, Tyler. I'm going to get you out of there," Reid promised, using his shoulder as a battering ram. The door was giving bit by bit, the old wood groaning in protest. He shoved again, and this time stumbled forward as the door finally gave in. The room was bitter cold, a draft from the broken window on the far wall chilling the air. He spotted a dirty, blonde-haired boy in the corner of the room, staring up at him with scared eyes.
"Tyler," Reid panted, swallowing hard and walking towards him cautiously. "My name's Spencer. I'm here to help you. Are you hurt?"
The boy shook his head, another cough escaping his lungs. He was dressed only in a torn sweater and pants, a thick leather strap tying him to the floor. Reid pulled off his coat and was relieved to hear sirens drawing closer. He knelt next to a small pile of moldy bread scraps, wrapping the jacket around the boy.
"It's okay, Tyler," Reid comforted, gently checking him over for injuries. "We'll get you back to your family. It's over now."
The sirens wailed outside the building, and Spencer could hear voices shouting on the streets below. Help had arrived at last.
"We're up here!" He cried hoarsely, pulling the coat more tightly around Tyler's shoulders. "It's going to be alright, Tyler. It's okay now."
Hotch nodded, thanking the police officer before turning to join the rest of the BAU standing a bit of a distance from the ambulance where Mr. and Mrs. Fibbs were reuniting with their son. Moira was sobbing again, this time tears of overwhelming happiness as she held Tyler's hand.
"He's got mild hypothermia, a few cuts and bruises, and he's a little malnourished, but the paramedics think he'll be alright."
The other profilers smiled thankfully at Hotch for the update, glad to be done with it all.
"Thanks to Spence," JJ commented, beaming at the now-bashful genius shivering next to her. "How did you know where he was?"
Reid shrugged, the relieved smile never leaving his face. "I- I don't know. I was talking to this man- something he said about families and buildings. I just... knew."
The media liaison shook her head, still in mild disbelief. "It was really lucky. I was beginning to think we'd never catch a lead."
Spencer just nodded, his thoughts drifting to the strange encounter.
Morgan patted him on the shoulder, his grin somewhere between playful and proud. "Well, looks like you're the hero of the hour, man." He chuckled lightly. "I still can't believe you ran eleven blocks."
The ambulance started up, and Gideon gestured towards their rental cars.
"Let's get out of here, huh?"
The bullpen was almost empty by the time they got back to Quantico. Even Garcia had left for the night, assured that her services were no longer needed and eager to begin her Christmas festivities. Reid hurried ahead of the group, quickly making his way to his desk and opening his messenger bag, filling it with various papers and files and placing others in neat piles.
Morgan chuckled at his friend's behavior as Hotch and JJ headed up the stairs to their offices.
"Hey, Reid, what's the rush? Forget to mail your letter to Santa?"
Spencer ignored the teasing tone in Derek's voice as he stuffed a few more files in his desk drawer and began re-wrapping his scarf around his neck. He looked up at Morgan, a small smile on his face.
"The plane to Las Vegas leaves in an hour and a half," he said, buttoning his coat and pulling the strap of his messenger bag over his head. "If I hurry, I might still be able to make it."
Gideon smiled from the walkway as he closed the door to his office, proud of Reid for finding that childlike giddiness once more. He waved his goodbyes along with the others as the young genius made his way out the door. Hotch gave a rare smile as he rushed down the steps from his office, a bag thrown over his shoulder and a colorfully wrapped present in his hands.
"Have a good holiday, everyone. I'll see you all on Wednesday morning."
The rest of them wasted no time, gathering their belongings and heading off for a much-needed break.
Morgan turned off the lights in the kitchen, the last of the dishes dried and put back in their place. Sarah had turned in early, and Desiree had gone out to a Christmas party, leaving him with the task of cleaning up. He made his way to the family room where his mother sat, guided only by the dim light of the Christmas tree, which cast a multicolored glow on everything in sight. Fran Morgan cradled a warm cup of coffee, hardly noticing the entrance of her son as she stared out the window into the cold Chicago night.
Moving closer to perch on the armrest of her chair, he followed her captivated gaze. The snow had just begun to fall outside their window, but the Weather Network was predicting six inches by morning. The big fluffy flakes drifted softly to the ground, the lights from the street giving them an almost heavenly glow. Derek felt his mom's hand pat his knee, and he smiled, his eyes never leaving the sight.
He had to admit - it was pretty damn beautiful.
'...Once again, as in olden days, happy golden days of yore...'
"More cocoa?"
Doris smiled from her seat near the fireplace, her eyes following Gideon's movements about the cabin's kitchen.
"Please."
Gideon carefully picked up the steaming mugs of liquid, handing one to his companion before taking his seat next to her on the couch. The fire crackled as they softly clinked their cups, Doris sighing in contentment as she leaned back against him. Jason's fingers found the stereo remote, turning the volume up slightly before stretching his free arm across Doris' shoulders. The pair watched the flames roar, the sultry tones of Mel Torme luring them into a comfortable ease.
'...But 'till then, we'll have to muddle through somehow. So, have yourself a merry little Christmas now...'
Garcia pierced another kernel with the needle, smiling as it made its way down the string to join the others. Convinced that it was finally long enough, Penelope cut the needle free, tying a knot next to the last piece of popcorn. Standing, she made her way to the colorful tree, looping the finished product around its branches. Her work finally completed, she stood back to admire the technicoloured decorations. The star sat crookedly on the top, adding character to the pine monument.
The blonde-haired tech nestled down into her couch, pulling her laptop onto her lap, completely satisfied with the way things had turned out. She was due to volunteer at the soup kitchen in the morning, but for now the night was hers. She had her tree, her precious computer, and if she listened carefully, she could hear the sounds of carolers making their way through the snowy streets.
"Merry Christmas, you wonderful old Building and Loans! Merry Christmas, Mr. Potter!"
Jennifer Jareau blew lightly on her hot chocolate, pulling the warm blanket more tightly around her shoulders. Curled up on her couch, she smiled as George Bailey kissed the heads of his wife and children, the black and white classic flickering on the walls of her apartment. A small aluminum tree sat in the corner of the room, underneath which lay a carefully wrapped gift from her aunt, no doubt another hand-knitted sweater to add to the collection she only wore when visiting the older woman.
'Auld Lang Syne' filled the air, the credits rolling as she sipped the steaming liquid cheerfully. The night was young, and there was still time for 'Miracle on 34th Street'.
"Hey, buddy," Hotch called playfully, holding his son in his lap. "Do you know who's coming tonight? Is Santa going to bring you presents?"
The toddler smiled openly at his father, still not old enough to appreciate the idea of Santa Claus, but easily finding happiness in his parents' excitement.
"Come on, Jack! Let's get you ready for bed." Jessica scooped her young nephew up into her arms, heading toward the stairs. Haley made to follow them, but Aaron grabbed her wrist, pulling her back into an embrace as her sister rounded the corner.
"What about your present?" Hotch asked quietly, wrapping his arms around hers. He raised his eyes to the ceiling, a barely-contained smile on his lips as she followed his gaze to the sprig of mistletoe above them.
Haley Hotchner smirked coyly.
"So, you planned this, did you?" She drawled, entwining her fingers behind his back to deepen the embrace.
Aaron lowered his head to meet hers, kissing her softly before leaning his head against her forehead, both content just holding each other.
"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Hotchner."
"'There are many things from which I might have derived good, by which I have not profited, I dare say,' returned the nephew. 'Christmas among the rest.'"
Spencer's voice was soft in the quiet of the common room, but more than sufficient for Diana Reid's ears. The two sat across from each other, the dying light from the window guiding Reid's eyes along the pages of the book as he read.
Diana, for her part, seemed captivated, even as the room's other occupants slowly disappeared into their bedrooms, visiting hours drawing close to an end. The meager decorations that surrounded them did little to inspire holiday cheer, but the pair took no notice, both of them transported back to the small living room couch of long ago, when the whispers of their readings had been accompanied by the soft glow of a garland-covered Christmas tree. Diana Reid closed her eyes, her thoughts focused on the sound of her son's voice as he recited the words of the beloved tale.
"'But I am sure I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round, as a good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys...'"