Chapter Text
For someone with the classic type-A way of thinking, Francesca DiMarco was a hot mess. Her normally organized desk, usually a testament to her meticulous nature, now resembled a tornado that had passed through it. Papers—client files, case notes, and psychology journals—were strewn across her workspace in chaotic disarray. In her frantic rush to collect them, she knocked over her cup of tea, the warm liquid spilling across the papers like an unforgiving tide.
"Shit," she muttered under her breath, watching helplessly as the tea soaked into the corners of an important report.
Anxiety coursed through her veins, tightening her chest. She was already running late, and she hadn’t even left her apartment yet. The clock on the wall seemed to tick louder with every passing second, each tick a reminder that today was no ordinary day. Today was her first day consulting for the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. She could barely wrap her mind around the fact that she was standing on the precipice of something so much bigger than anything she’d experienced before. She had spent three years in the Crimes Against Children Unit, honing her skills, working with victims and offenders alike, but this—this was different. Consulting for the BAU was an entirely new level, and the weight of that responsibility felt like an anchor around her neck.
Her hands trembled as she wiped up the mess, her mind running a mile a minute. She’d spent the whole night awake, tossing and turning, the weight of the call from Aaron Hotchner still echoing in her mind. Hotchner, the Unit Chief of the BAU, had been clear on one thing: He needed someone with her specific skills. The CACU had worked tirelessly with minors in the past, but this case was different—a string of child victims in a North Carolina suburb. Three children were missing, their lives shattered, their psychological well-being compromised in ways she knew all too well. Hotchner had called, and suddenly, Francesca was thrust into a role she had only dreamed of. She was the specialist. Her Unit Chief had told him she was the best, but as she looked at the tea-soaked papers and the mess of her desk, she wasn’t so sure she felt it.
Her gaze drifted to the clock again. She was running out of time. She grabbed her jacket off the back of the chair and pulled it on with a sigh. No more time to second-guess herself. This was it—time to face the team, and to dive into a case that would challenge everything she knew about her work. As she glanced around the apartment, she forced herself to take a deep breath, centering herself. No turning back now.
She grabbed her bag and, with one last glance in the mirror, exited the apartment, stepping into the unknown world of the BAU.
——————————
As she stepped off the elevator, Francesca’s breath caught in her throat. The floors below her had been sleek, but nothing prepared her for the sterile efficiency of the BAU’s headquarters. Everything about this place screamed professionalism—bright, clean, efficient, cold. The walls of the building seemed to exude competence.. The BAU had been the gold standard in criminal profiling for years, and now she was a part of it. Her heart raced as she walked down the stark hallways, passing doors that likely housed some of the most brilliant minds in criminal profiling.
She adjusted her bag on her shoulder, feeling a strange mix of pride and imposter syndrome. She belonged here, didn’t she? She had been handpicked for this. She took another deep breath and reminded herself that she wasn’t here by accident. Hotchner had reached out to her for a reason. He needed her expertise with children, and she had a track record that spoke for itself. But as she walked toward the conference room, she couldn’t shake the nervous flutter in her chest.
When she reached the conference room, she paused for a moment, adjusting her posture, taking one final deep breath. She tugged at her ponytail, attempting to smooth her curls into a semblance of neatness, but it was a futile effort. The light scent of tea still lingered on her clothes, a small reminder of the frantic morning, but she was here now. She had to be ready.
The door swung open, and she stepped inside.
Aaron Hotchner greeted her with a firm handshake. His presence was commanding, and Francesca felt instantly aware of the weight of his expectations. His gaze was steady, professional, his sharp jawline set in a way that suggested he wasn’t one to tolerate anything less than excellence. “Dr. Francesca DiMarco, this is the BAU team,” he introduced her, his tone steady, with just the hint of something more—respect, perhaps? “Everyone, this is our new consultant.”
Francesca smiled, though her nerves made her feel like she was about to tumble headfirst into the floor. "It’s nice to meet you all,," she managed to say, her voice warm but slightly shaky.
“You can just call me Francesca, Doctor is too formal for me,” she awkwardly laughed. She turned to face the team, assessing them one by one.
Derek Morgan was the first to extend his hand. He gave her a warm smile, the kind of smile that could make anyone feel like they were welcome, like they belonged. But behind that smile, Francesca noticed the edge of something else—curiosity, maybe even a little protectiveness. She shook his hand, her palm slightly clammy, but he didn’t seem to mind. His energy was confident, bordering on fatherly.
Jennifer Jareau, or JJ as the team called her, smiled too—professional but warm. There was an ease in her demeanor that made Francesca feel like JJ was someone she could lean on. She felt relieved that there was another girl present, making her feel more comfortable.
Emily Prentiss was the next to step forward, her gaze sharp yet welcoming. She gave Francesca a small, knowing smile, one that suggested she had already sized her up and approved. Prentiss' handshake was firm and confident, her grip leaving a sense of quiet strength.The subtle tilt of her head and the way she studied Francesca’s reaction told her that she wasn’t one to judge hastily, but she’d be quick to protect those she considered her own.
David Rossi stood a little apart from the rest of the team, his posture relaxed yet commanding. When he offered his hand, it was with the weight of years of experience—both professional and personal. His grip was strong, but his eyes—those deep, experienced eyes—gave off the feeling of a man who had seen it all. Francesca could sense a quiet wisdom behind his calm demeanor, a man who had learned to pick his battles, yet still carried the weight of his past in the small lines around his eyes.
Penelope Garcia bounced into the room with all the exuberance and energy of a whirlwind, her colorful attire and the bright spark in her eyes impossible to ignore. The contrast between her and the rest of the team was striking, but it was also instantly comforting.
"I’m Penelope, but you can call me Garcia—or whatever you want, darling, I’m flexible!" Garcia said with a grin, her voice like a splash of sunshine.
And then there was Spencer Reid.
He was standing by the window, hands tucked into his pockets, his posture a little standoffish. His greeting was polite but distant, and Francesca couldn’t help but notice the way he assessed her, his sharp, intelligent eyes studying her every move. His thin frame seemed impossibly tall in comparison to her petite stature, and she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was trying to figure her out. His gaze lingered just a second too long, and for some reason, she felt the weight of that look more than she should. She quickly turned her attention back to the others.
Hotchner moved to the front of the room, his voice steady and businesslike as he began. “We’ve got a string of child disappearances in the suburbs of Raleigh, North Carolina,” he said, breaking the tension that had settled over the room. “Three children, all between the ages of 9 and 12, have gone missing in the last three months. They were found—alive, but something’s off. They’ve been psychologically manipulated. No signs of physical trauma, but their behavior is... strange. Francesca, we need you to consult on this.”
Francesca’s mind immediately started running through the possibilities. She’d seen this before. She nodded, her voice sharp and clear as she addressed Hotchner. “These children were targeted, right? Someone specifically chose them. This wasn’t random.”
Spencer, who had remained quiet up until now, nodded slightly, his eyes narrowing in agreement. “They’re not just victims. They’re subjects. Whoever did this knows how to break down a child’s defenses—without leaving a mark.”
His words hung in the air like an unsaid challenge, and Francesca caught his eye. There was an intensity to his gaze, something guarded and calculating beneath the surface. For a brief moment, she wondered what he was really thinking.
——————————
After the meeting, everyone slowly began to filter out, returning to their desks or preparing for the next step in the investigation. Francesca gathered her papers, still processing everything that had been discussed. It was a lot to take in, but there was no time to waste. As she stuffed the last file into her bag, she noticed Spencer lingering near the door. His gaze was fixed on a stack of case files on the table, his expression unreadable.
“You’re the child psychologist?” His voice was soft but carried a note of curiosity, a subtle undertone of something more.
“Yeah,” Francesca replied, offering a small laugh. “Not quite what you were expecting, huh?” She couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious under his intense scrutiny.
Spencer’s mouth twitched, as if he might smile, but it never quite reached his eyes. “You’ve been working with minors for a while, right? That kind of work requires... sensitivity,” he said, his words a little more personal than she expected.
Francesca raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. I guess. You work with a lot of victims, too, huh?” She tilted her head, wondering if there was more to Spencer Reid than just his sharp intellect.
Spencer’s eyes flickered toward the window, his jaw tightening slightly. “The work’s not the issue. It’s what happens to them after.”
The weight of his words hung in the air between them. Francesca studied him, noticing the shift in his posture, the way his gaze seemed to distance itself. She couldn't help but wonder if there was something in his past—something he wasn’t sharing. There was a rawness beneath his calm exterior, but he wasn’t about to open up, not yet. Not to her.
The silence stretched out, and Francesca felt an inexplicable pull toward him, though she couldn’t quite place why. Finally, she spoke, her voice quiet but steady. “I guess we’ll figure it out together.”
Spencer gave her a fleeting look, his eyes meeting hers for just a moment longer than usual. Then he nodded once, turning to leave the room, his steps silent against the floor. But that brief moment—those quiet, unspoken words—left a mark on her.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that this case, and this team, would change everything.
——————————
Francesca twirled her hair around her fingers, studying the case file in her lap. The faces of the missing children seemed to stare back at her, their haunting eyes too familiar. They were traveling by jet, though they could have just driven, she thought. It would be a short plane ride, but the faster they could get there, the better. She sat on her own, trying not to intrude on the already established dynamic of the team. She could feel the subtle tension in the air, the unspoken bond between them, and though she had a role to play, it was hard not to feel like an outsider.
Hotchner’s voice broke through her thoughts as he leaned across the aisle, his eyes meeting hers. “Francesca,” he said, his tone polite but firm, “I know you’ve worked cases like this before, but I wanted to ask—do you have any insight on this particular case? You’re the expert when it comes to kids.”
She blinked, surprised by the directness of the question. “Well... I’ve seen cases with psychological manipulation before,” she said slowly, considering her words. “But this one is different. There’s something about the ages of the victims that makes me wonder if this isn’t just about the victims themselves. It’s about the perpetrators knowing exactly how to target children at this specific age. It’s almost like they’re looking for vulnerability—kids who can still be influenced, but who also have some understanding of the world around them.”
Hotchner nodded thoughtfully, but before he could respond, Spencer shifted in his seat. Francesca noticed the subtle tension in his posture, how his long fingers tightened around the edge of his own file. It was almost as if he was weighing something in his mind.
“North Carolina’s an interesting choice of location,” he said, his voice calm and measured, but there was an intensity in his gaze as he glanced up from the papers. “Raleigh’s suburban sprawl... These victims specifically from Wake Forest, not exactly a hotspot for this kind of thing. You don’t usually see cases like these in a suburb like this. In fact, the incidence of child abduction is statistically lower in suburban areas than in urban centers. It’s a matter of accessibility. You get more... social visibility in urban settings.”
Francesca tilted her head slightly, intrigued by the way Spencer had phrased it. “I received my PhD in North Carolina,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “UNC Chapel Hill. The university’s not far from Raleigh, actually. There’s a certain quietness about the place. It’s almost the kind of place where bad things are overlooked... or hidden.”
Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed as he processed her words, his expression shifting into one of thoughtfulness. “Chapel Hill,” he repeated, almost absently. “That’s interesting. The university there is renowned for its research in developmental psychology, particularly in areas of childhood trauma and its long-term psychological impact. You’re probably familiar with Dr. Mitchell’s work on attachment theory, right? She’s based there, and her longitudinal studies on childhood abuse are considered some of the best in the field.”
Francesca felt her heart skip a beat at the mention of Dr. Mitchell’s name. She studied her research extensively. “Yes, I know her work. It’s fascinating,” she said, her voice a little softer now. “It was actually one of the things that drew me to Chapel Hill in the first place. Understanding how early childhood trauma can shape the way a person reacts to the world… it’s crucial, especially when working with minors.”
Spencer nodded, his eyes flicking to the file in her lap before looking back at her. “Trauma at that age can be particularly devastating. Not just because of the emotional scars, but because it can interrupt the development of coping mechanisms and emotional regulation. In a case like this, where there are clear signs of manipulation, the perpetrator is likely targeting specific vulnerabilities. It’s not just about the children themselves—it’s about what they represent. Vulnerability is a currency for someone like this.”
Francesca’s lips curved into a small, almost wistful smile. “It’s exactly what I was thinking,” she said softly, her gaze dropping to the case file in her lap. “It’s not just about finding the kids; it’s about understanding how their minds have been altered, how someone has been able to infiltrate their psychological defenses without leaving a physical trace. Whoever did this is well-versed in the complexities of childhood trauma. They know exactly how to break a person down without ever laying a hand on them.”
There was a long silence between them, and for a moment, Francesca could feel Spencer’s analytical mind trying to piece together the same thoughts she had. She glanced over at him, sensing an unexpected connection between them, as if they shared some unspoken understanding about the inner workings of the mind and how people can be shaped, twisted even, by their pasts. But
Spencer’s expression remained unreadable, distant, as though he had already moved on to the next piece of the puzzle.
Hotchner, sensing the lull, cleared his throat and spoke again. “We’ll be landing soon. Let’s make sure we’re all prepared for when we land. We’re meeting with local law enforcement, but we’ll be leading the investigation from here on out.”
Francesca nodded, her mind snapping back to the present. She glanced out the window, watching as the sprawling landscape of North Carolina came into view. Despite the growing sense of unease within her, she found herself strangely comforted by the calm professionalism of the team. Spencer’s words had left an impression on her—not just for their intellectual depth, but for the subtle way in which he seemed to understand the emotional intricacies of the case without saying much at all.
As the plane began its descent, Francesca couldn’t shake the feeling that she was about to embark on something that would challenge her in ways she hadn’t anticipated. The faces of the children, their vulnerability, the psychological manipulation… She knew this case would demand everything she had. And she could only hope the team she had joined would be able to piece together the fragments of what had happened—before it was too late for the next child.