"Chief Morris, what can I do for you?" asked Hotch, confused as to why an FBI Section Chief should feel the need to speak to him in person in the middle of a case.
"I'm going to get straight to the point here, Agent Hotchner. I need you and your team to stand down."
Hotch frowned. "Our request for a search warrant wasn't denied was it? It never made it to a judge in the first place." It was more of a statement than a question.
Morris pretended not to hear. "I have spoken with Chief Strauss. She is expecting your team back at Quantico in 4 hours. You leave in 30 minutes."
"With all due respect, Sir, we were invited onto this case by the Boston Homicide Department. Eight people are dead. We will not be returning to Headquarters until the killers are caught or until asked to by the BPD."
"There is more going on here than you realise, Agent. Yes, eight people are dead. But that is just the tip of the iceberg. Unless you cease your investigation, many more will die and months of careful planning and investigating will go to waste. So, I will say it once more: the BAU will drop this case. Immediately. Do I make myself understood?"
Hotch was about to protest, but was distracted by Morgan hurrying towards him from across the bullpen, carrying a laptop. The detectives he left in his wake stared after him with a variety of expressions; bemusement, concern, bewilderment. Morgan himself just looked panicked, not an expression that usually graced his features.
Morgan staggered to a halt in front of him and turned the screen around to face him. "Agent Morgan, what are you-" Hotch stopped himself as he actually looked at the screen in front of him. On it was a distraught, entirely hysterical Garcia.
Hotch was concerned but right now he had more pressing issues than an upset technical analyst. "Garcia, what's wrong?" he demanded.
With the amount she was sobbing, he was surprised she was able to speak at all. "The… the female… unsub…" Garcia managed to choke out.
Hotch felt a bizarre thrill of excitement and dread. "What about the female unsub?" He waited a moment whilst Garcia wheezed in a breath, although it did little good.
"It's…" She sobbed again, "It's JJ" She burst into tears all over again.
Hotch couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. Apparently neither could Morgan; it was Chief Morris who caught the laptop as it fell from Derek's limp hands. They had finally found her, after all almost three years. Hotch felt elated, like he could dance from cloud to cloud and pluck a star from the sky. Because they'd found her.
But then he remembered why Garcia was crying, why his elation carried with it a sickening tinge of dread.
"Show me." He whispered. "Garcia, show me."
Garcia was still sobbing hysterically but had regained enough of herself to put two pictures up onto the screen. On the left hand side was the woman from the boat; the one with close cropped hair, dead eyes and a determined set to her mouth. The one with a terrifying scar that stretched around her eye and across her cheek. On the right was JJ's old FBI ID photo. She was smiling; her long blonde hair only outshone by the vibrancy in her cerulean blue eyes. Hotch had only a moment to feel that familiar pang of grief and guilt before the reality of the situation hit him like a brick wall. There could be no argument that they were one and the same.
He slumped against the desk behind him.
Morgan, realising that Hotch's reaction confirmed the terrible truth of Garcia's words, slid down the wall and sat with his head in his hands.
Hotch just looked around the room listlessly, trying to comprehend how this was even possible. Then his eyes settled on his team, who were still in the conference room, staring in shock and confusion. Oh God, they still didn't know. Prioritise, he told himself, trying to collect his thoughts.
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