Retribution, A Spencer Reid/Criminal Minds Fanfic

Chapter 55. Devolving Ducks

Outwardly, Bescardi was quiet and methodical. Inwardly, she was frantic.

Not enough time! Not enough time! Not enough time!

She felt the panic building every waking moment. It seeped into her dreams as well, making them seethe with anxiety, causing her to bolt upright, gasping, bathed in clammy sweat.

First things first, Carol! You’re a scientist. Methodology is everything. And you’re a genius. That in itself gives you permission to take extraordinary measures that lesser beings would fail to understand and would shrink from, mired in their inability to escape their limitations. FIRST THINGS FIRST, CAROL!!

She began to wonder if her time in prison had blunted the fine edge of her intellect. It was difficult to focus on the task at hand. She even began to make mistakes at work, which were brought to her attention, making her lip curl in contempt. Clearly, the job was beneath her. That’s why it didn’t claim her undivided attention. That’s why errors cropped up. If filing and record-keeping had been challenging, then her performance would have been stellar.

FIRST THINGS FIRST, CAROL!!

The primary goal was to procure the test subject. Once in her possession, she had no doubt she’d be able to find a lab space….

Or create one. It wouldn’t take much at first. The blood’s the thing…

So Bescardi began to steal. Breaks and lunchtime would find her wandering about the facility, far beyond the boundaries of the Records Department. Tubing, syringes, needles began to disappear. But Carol wasn’t allowed to carry more than a small purse with her. It was searched at the end of every day when she returned to her prison cell. Luckily, the things she needed were small. And she only took what was necessary to get started.

Once I’ve established myself…once I’ve revealed my findings to the scientific community…I’ll be able to command the respect and resources due such significant discoveries.

Bescardi secreted her stolen goods in plastic bags taped to the bottom of her desk. She could check on their presence each morning simply by extending her leg and prodding at them with the toe of her shoe. When she realized no one was raising an alarm about the thefts, she rearranged her desk drawers, allotting two for her scavenged equipment.

She also began making withdrawals from her still intact bank account. It required she contact her attorney to do so, but he believed her when she said she needed proper clothing for work as well as cash for incidentals like lunches and transportation when she was sent on errands. The attorney didn’t bother to check or he would have found that employees of the Records Department were never sent out of the facility in any official capacity. Nor did they require anything other than the standard issue white coat, provided gratis.

Bescardi hid her growing collection of funds in envelopes, also stashed within the confines of her desk. There was no reason for anyone to inspect her work station, and she was sure that she’d be gone with her booty before any reason to do so arose.

Focus! FOCUS, Carol! Get the test subject and then get it away…someplace where you can begin your work again. Undisturbed.

In one of the largest, noisiest cities in the world, Bescardi was sure she could find a private corner where no one would care about a lone woman who appeared with a baby. And babies that young were so undistinguished when it came to physical features, even if an Amber alert were posted, it would be next to impossible to identify her test subject as the missing child.

Especially since, once in her possession, it wouldn’t be going anywhere.

xxxxxxx

Rossi stirred some of the powdered cream that was one of the Bureau’s cost-cutting measures into his coffee and watched Hotch preparing his own beverage. Tea. Plain. Nothing to spice it up. Nothing to sweeten it or give it tang. Unadorned.

He decided that ‘unadorned’ pretty much described the Unit Chief’s life. Despite spending more time together and Rossi’s occasional, small joke gifts, levity in general just wasn’t a part of the younger man’s existence. It had taken Rossi hours of observation and contemplation to finally come up with a diagnosis of why Hotch was such a solemn man.

He never learned how to play. Not as a child. Not as a man. There was no one to show him that life should be more than just duty and drudgery. Rossi sighed. Even now, with Jack, he participates in his son’s sports out of a sense of duty…not the pure joy of pointless play.

Whenever he thought of Hotch’s childhood, Rossi’s heart would squeeze itself into a giant ache. A combination of sorrow and outrage made it difficult to delve too deeply. Now, in the kitchen area, was no exception. He cleared his throat around the lump that sometimes formed on Hotch’s behalf.

“Aaron?”

“Hmmm?” Dark, unsuspecting eyes flicked up for a split second, but then returned to the all-consuming task of dunking his teabag.

“It occurs to me that I need to teach you some…skills…that may have been neglected during your upbringing.”

That caught the younger man’s attention; his wary attention.

“Skills?” The teabag had stopped its repetitive motion. Hotch’s sharp, job-oriented mind was running over the time Rossi had spent training him, shepherding him into the BAU. Off the top of his head, he couldn’t think of anything that might have been overlooked. Rossi had been, and still was, a thorough, patient, exemplary mentor. “What skills?”

“Well….” He brought his coffee over to where a cautious-looking Aaron stood. Placing an arm around his friend’s shoulders, Rossi gave him a reassuring grin. “…the kind it’s never too late to learn.”

As the two exited the kitchen, they passed Morgan coming in. He was just in time to hear Rossi’s question.

“How d’you feel about kites, Aaron? Ever played with kites?”

A befuddled Unit Chief took refuge in the act of sipping his tea.

A befuddled Morgan spent the rest of the morning trying to get the image of suited Hotch flying a kite out of his mind. Unfortunately, he’d seen a bright pink Barbie kite grasped in a little girl’s hand in the checkout line at the neighborhood grocery store  he frequented.

It figured prominently in the disturbing vision.

xxxxxxx

Melinda Reid was an unusually quiet child.

It didn’t indicate that there was anything developmentally wrong with her. Mute observation was a function of her extraordinarily curious, expanding mental capacity. She was in a stage where all stimuli were absorbed, tested and catalogued.

It gave her parents a few anxious moments when they realized that something that would make an average baby wail its loudest elicited an air of intense inspection from theirs. Only after she had explored source and effect, process and consequences, would their daughter decide on an appropriate reaction.

“How am I supposed to know she’s in pain or in trouble or wants something, if she doesn’t cry or scream or…something?” Ana expressed her concern to her husband.

“I don’t know.” Spencer would again make himself telepathically available to his daughter, but to no avail. “I guess we just have to wait and let her figure it out on her own.”

xxxxxxx

Melinda Reid was an unusually compassionate child.

She sensed her parents’ worry and began to incorporate a few, small, demanding cries in her repertoire of gurgles, coos and other baby communication.

Partly Her and Partly Him had already taught her to love. She wouldn’t hurt either of them for the world.

Not that she knew what the world was or contained…exactly.

But she did wonder where in its vastness Beautiful Him had gone. She could track Beautiful Him sometimes, but she couldn’t touch him.

So Melinda Reid bided her time by cataloguing and exploring and testing…and waiting….