#The Road Trip to Harvard

[notes-in-the-margins]

2x04 / 2x05

Foreshadowing Jess Mariano ✨

New York from space poster / Lorelai’s New York T-shirt and The Photograph™️

[filmbook21]

[definitely-maybe-perhaps]

[deadpoets]

GILMORE GIRLS 02.04 | The Road Trip to Harvard

[usergilmore]

gilmore girls: the road trip to harvard

[panharmonium]

GILMORE GIRLS 2.04: the road trip to harvard || seeing rory there, in a dorm room, in a classroom...she fit. she was right at home. so how you taking that? taking what? seeing her "fit"? i Ioved it. and i hated it.

[lumosinlove]

Last minute decision to do @oknutzyweek2023 because FUN!! Decided to add a little twist.

So: O’Knutzy Week (Taylor’s Version)

Day One: Summer Vacation (all that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing)

Two times Logan had a cold and was a BABY about it.

Harvard

There was a flood warning. The whole locker room’s phones blared to attention at once. Finn saw the coaches frowning. Someone flipped the news on. The roads were gone, frigid wind rising from the spray of cars passing through puddles that were as good as small lakes. Blurry red lights and reporters barely hanging onto their umbrellas, sleet stinging their eyes.

Finn caught Percy’s eye and could almost taste it in the wink Percy dropped him. There was no way they were making it to this game.

Max slapped him on the back, short light brown hair sticking up in every direction from his post-practice shower. “Looks like we won’t be line mates after all, Captain.”

Finn sent him a half-smile. “Hm? Oh, yeah, man. Another time.”

It wasn’t good. It wasn’t healthy. It wasn’t anything he was proud of, but the idea of going on a roadie without Logan had been enough to get Finn down for days. A strange ache huddled in his chest, confusing him until he remembered the sight of Logan, feverish and red-nosed in his bed. Max was great. They would have been great on a line together. He was fast and he kept bodies away from Finn. But Max wasn’t Logan.

“All right, boys, you called it,” Coach sighed, hanging up his phone. “Game’s off. Let’s all get home safe now. Keep a close eye on these roads, it’s a river out there.”

At least the guys had the good sense not to cheer, but Finn knew they were all glad for the break. Exams were coming up fast and called for late nights in the library. Finn was exhausted. The games had been hard. They’d been missing Logan on the ice more than any of them cared to admit. He filled gaps that Finn never even thought to look for.

And it wasn’t good. It wasn’t healthy. But Finn felt stretched thin, brittle and sullen, when Logan wasn’t near.

Among the rustle of guys packing up and leaving, Finn hid a small smile, shoved his earbuds in, and pressed call.

The five rings it took for Logan to answer felt like the distance laughing in Finn’s face.

“Hm,” came from the line.

“Did I wake you?” Finn asked.

“Non,” Logan rasped, but Finn could hear it in his voice. He looked down at the call-screen, brushing a thumb over Logan’s contact picture: Grinning, half rolling his eyes maybe. From one of the boys’ pre-season road trips. Finn could just see his bare shoulders, and maybe no one else knew, but Finn had memorized the way his body had looked that day. Golden and strong. Hidden curves of muscles that Finn had mapped out with his thumbs, that one time. Once.

“Finn?” Logan’s voice asked, accompanied by a harsh cough.

“Oh, sorry, hi.” Finn rubbed his eyes. “Hi, I’m here. Just calling to say game’s cancelled.”

“You’re coming home?”

Finn laughed softly. The hope in Logan’s voice was unmistakable. “You’re such a baby when you’re sick.”

“Bring me soup.” 

“I will, I will.”

Finn wished he could make Logan soup, the real kind that his dad got from the deli around the corner when he and Alex were sick. Slight crunch of carrots, soft celery, thick egg noodles, bayleaf and rosemary. He wanted Logan to be better.

Finn zipped up his backpack. “Can you get better already?”

All he got in return was a disgruntled scoff. “I’m trying.” Then, after a moment, “You miss me?”

Finn smiled. He didn’t care who saw. It was Logan’s voice in his ears and his ears alone. “You know it.”

“Yo,” Percy said when the door to OKN slammed behind them. They were all freezing, knuckles tucked under the straps of their backpacks. “You going to check on the gremlin?”

“Yeah,” Finn said. “Kitchen first though. Gotta heat up some chicken noodle.”

Percy snorted. “He knows the stairs still work the same, right?”

Finn dropped his bags and laughed. “Oh, he knows.”

He went to the cupboard and found the cans of chicken noodle he’d picked up. The sink was a mess but he scrubbed a pan clean then stood close to the hot burner while it boiled. The rain was turning to snow outside and he, honestly, couldn’t remember the last time he’d been actually warm. He held his palms over the soup, beginning to bubble, and tried to rub some of the rawness out of his knuckles. He put it in a mug, easier for Logan to hold. Silver, Percy’s dog, came in and sniffed at his ankles, whining until Finn fished a piece of carrot out with the spoon and gave it to her.

How long did this storm give him to relax? A day or two. He still had to finish his Romanticism paper. He needed that book from Kelsey in his theory class. Logan’s soup was getting cold, Logan was sick, Logan was falling behind on his reading and there was only so much Finn could do to help. Logan, maybe, would let Finn spoon up against his back again while he shivered through his fever.

When he opened Logan’s door, he was hit with—well, the only word Finn’s brain supplied was summer. Logan had the heat in his room high, blankets wrapped tight around his shoulders. He was a half-visible lump in the bed, the darkness as good as humidity.

“Jesus,” Finn said as warmth began to seep back into his fingers. “Lo?”

No reply. Finn shut the door softly, then sat on the edge of Logan’s bed, setting the soup down. He put a hand on Logan’s back.

“Got your soup, baby,” he said—and then snapped his mouth shut. He’d meant it as—no, he’d meant—He’d meant here’s your soup. You big baby. But he hadn’t—had he? Baby. I just want to take care of you, and read all of your books to you and I want you to feel better, I miss you, I don’t know how to play without you—

Slowly, Logan rolled onto his back and blinked up at him. Finn stared back and had no idea if he’d heard or not. Baby.

“Raining?” Logan asked.

“Snow,” Finn said. He tapped a fingernail on the mug, making a soft clinking sound. “Soup.”

“We have to study.” Logan groaned and turned into his pillow before pushing himself up on one elbow. His hair was a mess. Needed a wash, too. When the blankets fell down, Finn swore he felt another wave of heat roll off of Logan’s bare chest and sink into his very bones.

“Don’t worry about that now,” Finn said. “Little vacation first, maybe.”

After a moment, one green eye peaked out at him. “Vacation?”

“Feels like the Bahamas in here, that’s good enough for me.”

Logan groaned. “I feel like the Bahamas.”

“So you are feeling better.”

“Non, ugh.”

Finn laughed, but at the frown that settled between Logan’s eyebrows, he quieted. It was a small risk, but he didn’t think Logan would call him on it—He pushed Logan’s sweaty hair off of his forehead. “I know, Lo. I’m sorry.”

Logan closed his eyes. “Oh, your hand is so cold.”

“Oh, sorry.” Finn made to pull back, but Logan gripped his wrist and kept him there.

“Non. Non, it feels good.” Logan dragged Finn’s hand to his cheek and let out a breath. “Fuck.”

Finn could only watched, lips parted, as Logan pressed Finn’s hands against his own neck, his chest, his forehead and cheeks. Finn didn’t dare move on his own. He let Logan put him where he wanted.

After what felt like an hour of Finn holding his breath and trying not to enjoy this too much, Logan let him go and sat up for his mug. He made a face that was something between relieved and dissatisfied.

“This soup is terrible.” He gave a shiver and sank back down into his blankets.

“I know,” Finn said, still caught on the soft roll of the R in Logan’s mouth. His lips were red, chapped. His eyes were vividly green against his fever-bright cheeks.

“What can I do?” Finn said softly. He needed to do something.

Logan looked at him for a long moment. Finn wanted him to say get in. Pull those heated, Logan-filled blankets back for him and let Finn sink into his favorite universe. The one where they might be each other’s.

“Nothing,” Logan whispered.

Nothing. That word out of Logan’s mouth could send him any which way. What could Finn do? Nothing. Nothing is what this seemed, sometimes. But it was everything. Finn was hopelessly trying, pushing and pushing himself to keep up with Logan. To try and figure out what Logan wanted from him. What more could he do?

Logan reached out and grabbed Finn’s hand again, bringing it back to his forehead. It startled a small laugh out of Finn.

“I’m glad you’re home,” Logan said. “D��accord?”

Finn sighed, but nodded. “Okay.”

Present Day

“My poor baby,” Finn said, trying to hide his laugh as he pushed the hair off of Logan’s clammy forehead. “Poor baby boy.”

Logan just tucked his nose up against Finn’s neck and grabbed at his hand until Finn was holding him even tighter around his waist, rubbing cool fingers up and down his spine.

“You are such,” Leo said from the doorway, where he had appeared with a tray of soup and ginger beer. “a baby when you’re sick.”

“Non.”

“Yon,” Finn said. “Always have been.”

Leo set the tray down on the other side of the bed and picked up the mug. He propped himself up against the headboards and Logan, slowly, rolled over and into his arms instead. Leo wrapped his arm around Logan’s shoulders so he could still reach the spoon. “Am I feeding you, is that what’s happening?”

“Yep,” Finn said. “Looks like it.”

Leo just shook his head, but let Logan lean up for a spoonful of broth.

“Merde,” Logan swallowed, his cheek smushing back against Leo’s t-shirt. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life.”

Finn met Leo’s eyes to catch his grin. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Logan accepted a few more spoonfuls before sitting up himself and taking more eager sips. His eyes flashed disgruntled. “I just want to get better.” He looked wistfully out the window. “It’s summer, we’re supposed to be on vacation.”

“Hey,” Finn held up a hand. “What more would I rather be doing on my vacation that stay holed up with you two?” 

“Same,” Leo said. “Lo, you’ll feel so much better in a few days.”

“I know but…Yeah. I know. Just ugh.” He took another long sip. “This soup is really the best thing I’ve ever had.”

Leo laughed. “I’ll get you some more.”

Finn watched Logan’s eyes follow Leo out through the doorway. He had that same feverish flush to his cheeks. Glassy green eyes, red nose.

“Remember the snow storm?” Logan asked suddenly.

Finn nodded. “Mhm.”

“Me too,” Logan said.

When they smiled at each other, it wasn’t all that sad.

“What do you need, baby?” Finn asked, rubbing a hand over his bare chest. “What can I do?”

“Be here,” Logan said. He pressed a kiss to Finn’s neck. “I need you two.” He smiled, eyes darting towards the kitchen. “Do you need anything?”

Finn shook his head, watching as Logan brought up his hand to cradle against his own cheek. “Just you two.”

After Logan fell asleep again, Finn found Leo in the kitchen, humming softly to himself. He was stirring the big pot on the stove and Finn settled his hands on his hips.

“Smells so good, Le.”

“You want some, too?” Leo asked, holding the spoon up for Finn to taste. “Need anything?”

Finn accepted it gratefully, but he turned his head and kissed the corner of Leo’s mouth. “No, nothing.” Nothing. It was the fullest word he’d ever used. “Just you humming in the kitchen.”

[emmafallsinlove]

Or’s favorite Gilmore Girls episodes: 2.04 | The Road Trip to Harvard

[weepynymph]

I have a new favourite pet theory

That this photo that Jess picks up

Is actually this photo from Road Trip to Harvard

Bonus gif because he's so deranged for this:

He really just went 'Oh, hello! Pretty girl alert!' 😂

[lyrakanefanatic]

Okay so I’ve been seeing @hathorneheiress do tig family hcs and I wanted to try that as well

but with my own!

- Grayson and phone girl (maybe 😜) would have one daughter

- Libby and Nash would have two girls

- Xander and max would have a boy and a girl, exactly the amount max wanted

- Avery and Jameson weren’t gonna have too many kids, but then Avery got pregnant with twins so they just left it at that 💀

- Avery’s daughter and Graysons daughter are 4lifers, and they hang out all the time

- they’re also super close with Xander’s daughter

- Nash and Libby’s daughters are polar opppsites. One’s quiet and shy and the other is popular and loud, but they both are best friends

- Graysons daughter is Rory Gilmore smart, and it’s her dream to go to Harvard like her dad (yes, like Rory and yes, I know Grayson dropped out 💀)

- jameson’s son and Graysons daughter have eternal beef for absolutely no reason, but they’re also very close. Also, Graysons daughter has definitely chased him around the house with a knife before.

- maxs son is super into books like his mom, and practically lives in the Hawthorne house libraries

-jameson’s daughter is super theatric and leads the school plays at her school

- and max’s daughter is smart, and more outgoing and extroverted than her brother

- she also loves board games and puzzles, and loves chess just like her mom

- Graysons daughter is TERRIFIED of sports. Like if she sees a ball coming towards her she will run away screaming, which kind of shocked Grayson since he was so athletic and into those kind of things

-but jameson’s daughter (and son) LOVES sports, and will take any chance she can get to do them

- all of the kids (except Graysons daughter) were terrified of Grayson till the age of 5, when they finally realized he’s nice and wont kill them in their sleep 💀

- Xander’s daughter uses big words even though she doesn’t know what they mean, like machiavellian

- Graysons daughter and Savannah are besties and hang out every chance they get

- all the kids love gigi and hug her every time they see her (🥺💖💖)

- the kids (except graysons daughter) were even more scared of Savannah then they were of Grayson, and Xander’s son would even cry everytime she would try to talk to him till he was like 7

-Nash and libby have a million holes in their backyard because their daughters wanted fish and they all died, and even though the fish kept dying after two days nash would still buy them even more 😭😭

- one time they rented a huge van/trailer and tried to do cute family road trip with all of them, and it did NOT go well

- graysons daughter and Avery’s son were both beefing (again, bc whose surprised) for absolutely no reason

-Xander’s daughter was throwing up on the side of the road because she has motion sickness

- jameson’s daughter was blasting Hamilton songs and was pissing everybody off, especially her brother, because apparently Hamilton songs “make his ears bleed”

- that started another argument

- xanders son kept asking Nash “are we there yet” every 5 minutes

- Nash’s daughter (the eldest and louder one) kept singing along to her music despite having headphones in, and then ANOTHER argument broke out between her and her sister

- Nash had finally had enough and yelled at all of them saying, “stop arguing! Can’t we all have fun as a family for once?”

- all the kids felt guilty but Jameson’s daughter and graysons daughter we’re trying so hard not to laugh

- anyways they finally made it to their place and never went on a road trip again

Okay I’m finally done, sorry it’s so long I have way too many ideas 😭😭

Again, thank you @hathorneheiress for giving me the idea 🫶🫶

[mikereads]

Swan-Mills family college scouting.

Henry has to decide which school to go to. While Regina is leaning more towards Harvard or Princeton. Emma just wants him to choose what will make him happy. When the three of them can’t come to a conclusion they decide to go on one last road trip yo decide what to do. Before Henry is officially an adult and leaves home for the first time. While driving around half the state Regina and Emma have many of there own decisions to make about there own futures and what that will entail when Henry is gone.

[gotham-ruaidh]

(new) haven - a 7x04 story

“Do you recognize anything here from your own time?”

Claire slowly sipped her stew. “Maybe if we were closer to the university. Frank took Brianna here quite often – he so enjoyed the Harvard and Yale football games, and it was always difficult for me to take time off from the hospital. But I remember the oldest section of the university was constructed well before the Revolution.”

Jamie fidgeted with the spoon beside his own untouched bowl of stew, watching the entrance to the tavern. “So the university still stands.”

“Yes – it’s considered one of the best in the country. The city grew, too. After the Revolution, New Haven became an important port for whaling ships. Lots of money. Then the United States industrialized and…well. Its fortunes still hadn’t turned by the time Bree came here on a solo trip, not too long before we came to Scotland and met Roger.”

The lieutenant they had gotten to know on the ship from Wilmington – a kind and excessively cheery fellow – ducked into the tavern, scanning the crowd.

“I could say something about you allowing our daughter to travel here alone,” Jamie whispered, eyes fixed in the lieutenant.

Claire smiled wistfully. “She was visiting a friend from high school. They ate white clam pizza.”

He turned to her, brow furrowed. “Peet-zuh?”

“Ah!”

Jamie and Claire turned – and Lieutenant Hubbard sat himself at their table.

“So delightful to see you both without the ship heaving beneath us!”

Jamie pushed away his bowl of stew. “Eat this. My stomach still hasnae caught up to my legs being on land.”

The lieutenant heartily tucked in. “If you insist. I never much cared for tavern fare at home, but compared to the absolute slop on the ship…”

Jamie tensed. Beneath the table, Claire lay a comforting hand on his thigh.

“Tell me, Lieutenant – now that we’re here, do you think it really will be two weeks before we set out for Ticonderoga?”

“One week, two weeks, three weeks,” he shrugged, slurping the stew with gusto. “We need to re-supply, and wait for another company of men to join us from Georgia. Messengers can get their dispatches through, but with the roads as they are…”

Beneath the table, Jamie’s hand settled atop Claire’s. “There must be an apothecary here in New Haven. My wife will have need of medical supplies.”

Hubbard nodded. “Not too far away from the inn where we’ve been billeted. I suppose being an officer does have benefits every now and again. The rooms are a bit small, but it’s the last privacy I’ll have for a while. It’s two hundred miles – with all the men and animals and equipment, perhaps fifteen days?”

Claire twined their fingers together. “Sounds about right.”

Hubbard set down his spoon, wiping his mouth with the back of one sleeve. Surprised. “You’ve marched with an army before, mistress?”

Jamie squeezed her hand.

“I have. More than once.”

They waited –

“Well then. You won’t faint at the sight of blood. All the more reason to have you with us, even though you’re a woman.”

“She’s fixed me and my men more times than I can count.” Jamie’s voice was calm, but Claire felt anger in the grip of his hand. “There’s no one else I’d trust wi’ my life.”

Hubbard stood. “Good. Fraser – we’ve a council meeting to attend. The quartermaster is providing his report.”

Not caring one whit about Hubbard or any of the other men in the room, Jamie Fraser kissed his wife goodbye, long and proper.

“I’ll see you at the inn, Sassenach.”

She smiled, and bent to gather her basket as they both stood. “I’ll be waiting.”

--

“Well, I guess your appetite is back.”

Jamie swallowed another mouthful of bread, and cut a hunk of cheese with Claire’s knife. “Did you get greens for me to eat as well? I dinnae want the scurvy.”

Claire unscrewed the canteen and set it next to her husband on the small table. “Not tonight. But you’ll need to eat whatever I give you when we’re on the road. We don’t know what’s ahead.”

He picked up the canteen and sniffed. Face lighting up with joy.

“Whisky?”

She smiled. “The innkeeper’s wife. Her daughter suffered a nasty burn while cooking yesterday. I examined it and made her a poultice. And asked for a canteen of whisky as payment.”

He took a sip. “You’ve always been a canny one.” He held out the canteen to her. “Drink up now. I ken you want to.”

She smiled, taking the canteen from him, deliberately sliding her fingers over his. Watching him watch her take a sip.

He cut another hunk of cheese. “How much have you been thinking about Charles Stuart’s army these past few days?”

She took another sip of whisky. “Too much. I see their faces.”

“Aye, I do too. Though this army is much better supplied. And we know victory is sure.”

She rose and stepped around the table to stand in front of him. Without a word, he began undoing her laces.

“The French will come though this time, Jamie.” She untied his neck cloth.

“Aye, Hubbard was speaking today of it. Ships have come with gold, and men, and money.”

Her bodice fell to the ground. “A good thing you speak French so well. What about the other men?”

He stood and pulled her closer, hands warm on the bare skin of her chest. “Just one colonel at the council today. Perhaps some of the soldiers.”

He ducked down, leaving slow, open-mouthed kisses along her neck and clavicle. She shivered, pulled him closer with her left hand, her right hand undoing the laces of his breeches.

“Why do you taste so good?” he breathed.

“Maybe it’s the whisky,” she smiled, untucking his shirt, grazing her fingertips over the plane of his belly and the thick hair below.

He skimmed his nose up her jawline, meeting her lips in a searing kiss.

“It wasnae like this when you came back to me,” he gasped, cupping her breasts as she teased the root of him with her thumb. “Only – ”

“Only at the very beginning.” Her breath was short and shallow now, eyes closed, picturing him laughing above her in the heather. “When we couldn’t stop.”

He stole her breath in another kiss. “I cannae stop now, Claire. Are you willing?”

She pulled away. Met his shining eyes, surrounded by the lines and creases of joy and sorrow and so many incredible years together.

“S'il vous plait.”

He slid off her shift, and she pulled off his shirt. He stepped out of his breeches, and bent to pick her up. Her legs wrapped around him, and they crossed the room as they kissed and kissed and kissed.

“Je t’aime,” he breathed, setting her so gently on the bed she thought she might cry.

“Je t’aime,” she replied, over and over and over again.

[fairiegardens]

Tell me why Luke and Lorelei wed in an Alice in wonderland themed wedding when in season 2 episode 4 “the road trip to Harvard” Lorelei is horrified at an Alice in wonderland named b&b and calls it her worst nightmare

[cozygilmorehollow]

the road trip to harvard

[gryfflepuffinthetardis]

Prologue Part Two: May 1-3, 2005— Zoe’s First Case: The Boston Poisoner

Season One Masterlist

Previous Post in Series: Prologue Part One

Next Post in Series: Extreme Aggressor

Summary: It’s Zoe’s first case with the BAU, going to Boston which she hates more than any other place, stopping a serial poisoner and Zoe shows hints of having a constant darkness looming around her.

Warning: Mentions of Suicide; Blood; Pain; Slight insight in the thinking of a suicidal person; Possibly incorrect pharmacology; Hints at past trauma; Hint at a stalker; Description of COPD; Slight unethical behavior; Possible slight inconsistency at some point I think

"There is nothing more dangerous than a smart woman who is focused and unimpressed."

"Boston's got a serial poisoner." JJ said, Zoe refrained from making a face, she hated Boston more than any other city in the world. She had a guttural instinct to get the hell away from Boston—despite her going to Harvard—thinking about Boston made her want to vomit and she knew why but… it was complicated. Alexander could’ve lost his job if she told and she had no wish to revisit that particular area of Boston sooner than necessary and one day it would be necessary. "There have been twelve bodies in the past six months."

"Twelve bodies? Why is this the first we're hearing about it?" Spencer asked.

"Because up until the last victim they were deemed suicides. The last victim was found with defense wounds before he punched the floorboards until his hands were bloodied and he died." JJ explained.

"Why'd he bloody his hands?" Morgan asked.

"They don't know but he had the same poison that the last eleven victims had so they've deemed all of them as possible murders."

"When do we leave?" Alexander said.

"Wheels up in thirty. Alexander, you help Valdez with her go bag." Hotch said and they all left the father and daughter.

"I know what goes in a go bag, Dad." Zoe said. "This was like a second home to me."

“Zoe. Make sure—” He started to list to his daughter who listened anyways. “Several packs of clothes, your medicine, your guns, your self-defense tools, your stimulation toys, your inhaler…”

“Dad, I don’t need an inhaler.” She sighed, irritatedly.

“You had cardiac asthma. It relieves the acute symptoms!” He said, loudly, speaking over her irritation.

“Dad, I’m a medical doctor. I have an MD attached to my name. I know what an inhaler does to cardiac asthma and it’s not very effective against fluid buildup in the left side of my Frankenstein heart.” Alexander went to protest against this description of her heart but she continued to speak. “And I only had it when I was a baby and toddler. I haven’t needed it in thirteen years. My heart got stronger as I grew.”

“And remember to also bring your notes, bring some of your mum’s books…”

“Dad, please. I’ve been on the jet more times than I stepped into my high school homeroom, and it’s better than when it was road trips.”

She faltered, images flashing back of being in the car with… with Zarah.

“Dad, I’m fine. Go. And don’t tell anyone!” She hissed.

She kept her body language ambiguous, she could feel other members looking at her. Ten minutes in and she had already had an argument with the only co-founder currently not on medical leave, granted Alexander tended to argue with people. It was no secret that he wasn’t as mentally stable as most of the other FBI agents. Alexander had been considered for the Unit Chief when Gideon went on medical leave by the section chief, a haughty, arrogant, and rather unpleasant lady named Erin Strauss who Zoe despised deeply since the Amerithrax case in 2001 when Strauss blamed Alexander Noble, Alex Blake, and some other agent when the wrong suspect was arrested in order to save her career. There had been a huge trial and Zoe, barley two months from escaping an eight-month torture she largely couldn’t remember had to fly from Harvard back to Quantico to vouch for her father some weeks after the ordeal.

The only reason this hadn’t hurt Alexander’s career was the fact that since February of that year, both his children had gone missing and only one showed back up, clearly traumatized from the experience and not the same. Zoe had always been stoic and violent but after she came back, she rarely showed signs of her other personality traits. She had gotten better but now it was happening again with her recent trauma again.

Alex Blake hadn’t been so lucky, she and the other agent had been demoted, their reputation damaged while Strauss’ remained “clean”.

Alexander wasn’t deemed mentally suited for the job. Strauss claimed it had nothing to do with his bipolar disorder even though no one had said anything about that until she brought it up but it was also due to the fact that the BAU was aware that Zoe intended to join and she had helped before as a child. So if that came true, that would be a conflict of interest as anything remotely concerning his daughters, always was.

——————————————————————————————————

Zoe stepped onto the jet, fifteen minutes later, she hadn’t stepped onto this plane since she was found four years ago. Her memory flickered back to the car rides. While the car rides had been longer than the very fast jet, they had been wonderful family moments. Zarah would be reading the books Zelena had left behind while Zoe sometimes would stick her head out of the top of the car so she could feel like she was flying.

“Trouble flying?” Asked a voice and she turned to see Spencer Reid, smiling politely at her.

“No. Just remembering something.” She shook her head and got on board.

——————————————————————————————————

"What I don't understand is why he kept punching the floorboards if the poison was only mildly painful." Morgan said as Zoe stared at the picture of the dead boy with bloodied hands, he was around fifteen or sixteen with red hair.

"Maybe so it would look less like a suicide." Zoe suggested, softly.

"What was that?" Hotch asked her.

All the attention was on Zoe now.

Zoe sat up and explained her theory. "Maybe he was trying to make it look less like a suicide as possible. Maybe he realized that the other eleven weren't suicides either and knew unless he proved otherwise his death would be considered a suicide as well so he went all out. People never listen to words until dramatic actions are taken, then they ask why no one said anything. That's the mindset of most suicidal people. So he had to take dramatic action to prove this wasn't a suicide. He fought his killer, giving himself defensive wounds and then bloodied his fists to prove that he wasn't trying to commit suicide."

"How would you prove it?"

"The poison is relatively painless. At most, it feels like an overdose."

"How do you know that?" Morgan asked.

"I have a degree in toxicology." Zoe said, like it was no big deal, "You would take this if you wanted a relatively painless death, so why put yourself through the pain of punching the floor until your fists split open and the last bit of life drained from you? It's true. People don't listen unless dramatic actions are taken; only then do people start asking questions. Some people don’t listen when suicidal people try to explain things to them but they still ask why they didn’t say something when they were alive. Only in this case, it's to explain why it's not suicide." 

——————————————————————————————————

The Boston police department was familiar with Hotch and Alexander from a case in the late nineties; Zoe, to avoid being recognized had held back.

“You okay?” Spencer asked, noticing Zoe staring at a Wanted poster for the aforementioned serial killer.

“Yeah.” She lied, “Just not a fan of Boston.”

Understatement of the year.

“They never caught him, you know. You know, according to his biography, the reason he stopped killing was because he was either dead or in prison for an unrelated charge” Spencer rambled.

“That’s bullshit.” Zoe said, sharply shook her head.

“What?”

“He’s not dead and he’s not in prison.” She shook her head, still staring at the poster with what Spencer deduced was almost personal distaste, “He’s too methodical for that.” 

“Then why’d he stop killing if he’s not dead?” Spencer asked.

“Maybe someone made a deal with the devil.” She said, darkly.

Spencer was about to ask what she meant when Hotch called them over.

“Valdez. Reid…”

“Please, Zoe.” She said.

“Zoe, you have a degree in toxicology and pharmacology, you check the coroner's reports, Reid, you go with her.” Hotch said and Alexander looked like he wanted to protest but withheld himself from doing so.

——————————————————————————————————

"Are you okay?" Spencer asked Zoe during the cab ride. She looked at him from her six-minute stare out the window. "I know I don't really know you and something tells me you're..." He changed his wording, "Something tells me that that's not going to change soon and not because Garcia tried to snoop in your file and couldn't find anything."

"I'm fine, Reid." She said, "Just... the last time I was in Boston... wasn't exactly a positive experience."

"When was this?" Spencer asked.

"Oh, about eight weeks during January and February in 1998."

"This didn't by any chance happen to be during..."

"Oh, about." Zoe cut him off.

"Yeah, how old were you then?"

"Twelve." She said.

She considered telling him what else happened but due to circumstances she held back. She would surely be questioned about what she saw and why she never said anything. It was too risky, it’d get her dad in trouble and could get people killed.

——————————————————————————————————

The coroner showed them the body of the last victim.

"Richie Rousseau, age seventeen. Shame. Kid had four-point-zero GPA, full-ride scholarship to Harvard. He had an IQ of 165."

"Impressive." Zoe said, "did you determine what drugs were in his system?"

"Toxicology report should be back within the hour."

Zoe examined the broken fists of the dead teenager with a gentle and professional touch. "Wow. He shattered his bones. His bone must've fractured at least a full minute before he died. He kept on punching. And I thought I was persistent.”

"Could he have been hallucinating?" Spencer asked.

"They emailed me the toxicology report but the network is down. We're waiting for the computer specialist."

"Well, I have a degree in computer science, I could take a look.”

"No need. He's here." The coroner said, waving the specialist in which neither young genius paid much attention to.

"You have a toxicology degree, a pharmacology degree, and a computer science degree along with the degrees needed to become a profiler?" Spencer asked.

"Yeah, I have twenty-four degrees." She said as if this were perfectly normal.

The former twelve-year-old high school graduate's jaw dropped. "No way. You're only nineteen years, six months, and one day old."

Zoe quirked an eyebrow at him.

"I, uh, I... I time things. I didn't mean for that to come off as creepy but Garcia did send me a few things about you like that your birthday is on Halloween. My birthday's that month too. The twelfth. How do you have so many, by the way?" Spencer rambled, awkwardly.

Zoe just smiled at him, finding his quirk of rambling rather endearing, she was always happy to meet another social outcast or at least someone who felt like one.

"I, uh, I started college classes when I was five. A… the daughter of a family friend helped." She shrugged. "I'm a bit of a genius, in everything except math really."

"You don't like math?" Spencer said as if he couldn't understand that. Statistics were his life.

"I despise math, but I was apparently qualified to be a genius in most types of intelligence." She said, rolling her eyes, she would rather be tortured than do math.

"Did you ever take an IQ test?" Spencer asked, he wouldn't be surprised if she was as smart as he was at the very least.

Zoe's eyes went past Spencer and to the specialist—a guy in his late thirties who looked familiar.

She walked past Spencer and to him, "Hi. I'm sorry but you look really familiar."

His eyes went to her and she resisted the urge to shiver. She didn’t know why but…

"Oh, I think we met once or twice, little one."

This time she did shiver as a voice that haunted her dreams came back to her. "Pequeño".

"I don't..." She started when she spotted a horrible scar peeking out from under his collar and it clicked. She refrained from having her body language change.

"You know, I think we have..." She looked at the nametag, "Kevin Baskin." 

"There you go, the network should be up and running." The man told the coroner and went to leave, giving Zoe a knowing smile that unnerved her. It wasn't one she'd expect from him, it had more confidence and arrogance to it, like how some people (usually feminists) metaphorize the big bad wolf's relationship towards Little Red Riding Hood. "Have a nice day, Zoe." He said in an undertone.

"How'd he know your..." Spencer started.

"Are these the tox reports? Do you have any for any of the other victims?" Zoe cut him off.

"The drugs were all the same." The coroner said, handing over the report.

Zoe raised her eyebrows at the paper, "Alright. Wow. That's a lot. Uh..."

Zoe fumbled with the pockets of her black leather duster coat and pulled out a small notebook and reached into her satchel, searching for something before pulling out a steel pen with a sort of handle before she started writing down all the drug names, ignoring the odd look from the coroner and the scrutinizing look from Spencer.

"Are you neurodivergent?" Spencer asked bluntly once they left.

Zoe looked at him with a deadpan look and asked, "Are you?"

——————————————————————————————————

"Did you determine what kind of drugs poisoned the victims?" Hotch asked once they returned and Zoe immediately flopped into an office chair with wheels.

"Yeah, but to my knowledge no drug has all these effects. There's Benzodiazepine which is in anxiety pills like Xanax which explains why only the last victim died in stress, I looked into Richie, the last victim's medical history, he had severe anxiety and insomnia and he may have built up a tolerance for it which is why he freaked out. There's both fluticasone and beclomethasone, both of which belong in the Corticosteroids class of drugs or more simply Inhaled Steroids, this mostly causes hoarseness of the voice and possibly even voice loss, making it a bit difficult to scream for help. Ketamine..." Everyone had noticed how she had started with a chain fidget thing.

Morgan looked at Spencer, still skeptical of Zoe who pursed his lips.

"Why does that sound familiar?" Morgan asked.

"Because it's a date rape drug. Most likely in this, it's used to weaken and/or disorientate the victims so they can't run off for help.” Zoe responded “And... cyanide."

"But then Richie wouldn't have time to bloody his fists like that."

"It's... it's a different kind of cyanide I've ever seen. It's slow-acting but painful. No single drug has these effects and there's only evidence of one pill being taken.”

"So the UnSub has been making their own drug out of other drugs." Hotch summed up.

"Yeah, basically..." Zoe said and she took the notebook from Spencer who was accidently reading the profile she wrote.

——————————————————————————————————

They had mapped out the locations the victims were last seen before being found dead and where they had gone missing but there was no apparent connection other than "random spots in Boston."

Zoe had been paired up with Hotch, Spencer, and Morgan. With Hotch, it was a time that could only be described as "deadpan". He often had to remind her to be professional due to her impulsiveness and natural instinct to rebel.

She conflicted the most with Morgan, who had trust issues with even those he’s worked with for years. Despite working with Alexander for six years, he only knew that Alexander had two grown up daughters and there was a situation with them four years ago, where they went missing but only one came back just a month or two before Morgan joined the BAU.

Morgan though he had to admit he liked her. She was observant, quirky, sarcastic, funny, and highly intelligent. She had a tendency for rebellion which he had to warn her against. They had similarities in their background too, what with being born the child of law enforcement, Zoe claiming that most of her family were law enforcement but she didn't specify which parent was in law enforcement and what kind of law enforcement or that most of the other half of her family were criminals. She too had a parent die when she was young, all she said was her mother had been murdered when shew as a baby. Little did they know, they had even more similarities in their childhood trauma-wise than they thought, both determined to never let the team ever know and pretend it never happened.

She got along the most with Spencer which was an unusual occurrence to both of them, due to their neurodivergence, socially awkward antisocial introvertedness, rather geeky interests like science or science fiction or even philosophy, and their high genius-level. Their personalities clashed at the same time, Spencer was shy and never spoke up when he was interrupted (which was a common occurrence), he was also quite modest with his intelligence, his showing off being more habitual and accidental than on purpose, he was obedient and followed the rules. He was often serious, seldomly making jokes, and quite kind to everyone, even those who were being rude to them.

Zoe, while being shy and having insecurities of her own, she masked it with sarcasm, smiles, jokes, and false apathy, she snarked when people interrupted her which was often since she was short, young, and a girl. Zoe often showed off her superior intelligence (occasionally after playing dumb) to embarrass those she felt deserved it but she was clearly also modest with it as she didn’t boast or show off about it for no reason, she seemed to be allergic to obedience and rebellion seemed to run through her veins but Spencer could see she was kind to those who were kind, she was empathetic, especially to those she could see were struggling or in pain or hiding something.

It became clear to Morgan and Spencer that had ADHD—hence her constant need to be doing something and difficulty at paying attention and focusing—and having Cyclothymia Bipolar which was essentially a mild version of Bipolar disorder.

Alexander walked into the evidence room where Zoe was putting copies of the profile into a box to transport them.

"What are you doing?" Alexander asked, handing his daughter a highly caffeinated hot chocolate with extra chocolate and her pill bottles for her ADHD, Cyclothymia, PTSD, anxiety, and depression.

"I thought we could visit Tom Shaunessy, you remember him?"

"Do I remember him? You're joking right?" Alexander asked his daughter, sarcastically.

"He retired in 2000 but you know, we're not Hotch." Zoe said.

——————————————————————————————————

The father/daughter duo knocked on Shaunessy's house door and a woman opened it.

"Hello, may I help you?"

"Hi, I'm an old colleague of Tom Shaunessy and I was wondering if we could use his help on this new case."

"What are your names?"

"I'm Special Agent Alexander Noble and this is Special Agent Doctor Zoe Valdez." 

"Oh, yes. He's mentioned you two a few times."

"How is Shaunessy?" Alexander asked as they were let inside.

Zoe heard a soft sound behind her and trained to always be on high alert, Zoe glanced behind her at a bush that was moving slightly. It could've just been the wind but she could swear she saw a dark mass moving behind the bush before it stilled.

Uneasily, she tore her eyes away and she went inside.

"His health started to worsened at the end of 1998, he had to retire in 2000, since then it's been steadily getting worse." Shaunessy's nurse explained.

"What is it?" Zoe asked.

"COPD."

COPD was short for Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease; it was a chronic inflammatory lung disease that obstructed airflow from the lungs.

People diagnosed with this may be able to live up to ten or even twenty years after the diagnosis, but that was only with mild COPD and if well managed. Zoe knew that Shaunessy had had a fit at work in 2000 which resulted in him collapsing and being rushed the the hospital and being diagnosed. She didn't think he would make it twenty years after diagnosis as much as she hoped so.

"Oh." Zoe said.

Alexander and Zoe entered his room to see Tom Shaunessy, an elderly man in around his late sixties to early seventies. The room was decorated with awards that had been presented to him—a Service award in 1996, newspaper clippings of his cases, and an Outstanding Service Award.

"Detective Tom." Zoe greeted.

"As I live and breathe, little Zoe." He smiled, his hand shook as he gripped his can. Zoe could feel his overly sympathetic look that made Zoe feel like a victim—she hated that feeling, she trained her whole life to not feel that feeling.

"I told you..." She deflected, "smoking kills. COPD's most common cause is cigarette smoking and the risk increases with the amount and duration of smoking. Passive smoking or breathing in secondhand smoke can also contribute."

"Still as smart as you were." Shaunessy said. “What are you two doing here?”

“There’s a poisoner in Boston.” Zoe said

They showed him the files and everything they figured out as they consulted the retired detective but eventually they had to leave, Zoe felt like something was just on the tip of her tongue but she couldn't figure out what it was, she was distracted in the car from her father's theorizing but an absent-minded recognition that she didn't fully process was that the taxi driver had been the same every time she took a cab.

——————————————————————————————————

Zoe looked over the files while she messed with an ADHD fidget hand massage ball.

She dropped her head on the table in frustrated laughter, "I had graduated from the best colleges in the world with Master degrees before I even started having my monthlies and wearing bras and I can't figure this out..." She picked her head up and slumped back in her seat. "I blame Boston. It's distracting me too much." Then she grabbed a chocolate from the L.A. Burdick Chocolates that Alexander had bought and Spencer and Zoe had eaten the majority off.

"What's wrong with Boston?" Spencer asked.

"Boston's shit!" Alexander said, walking past them.

Then her comment before that came back to her. Colleges.

She rifled through the files of the victims, the youngest victims from fourteen to eighteen, all had high GPAs, most had full-ride scholarships. The young adults from ages eighteen to early twenties went to the best schools. Zoe knew, she had graduated from the majority of them. The older ones had graduated from them too. 

"It's... it's about intelligence." She realized.

"What?" Spencer asked.

"Look. Richie had a full ride to Harvard," She rattled off the rest of the colleges of the other victim.

"The UnSub wants to be clever. Prove that he's cleverer than them."

"I'll run this by Hotch." Spencer said and went off to give a longer explanation of this to their Unit Chief.

She watered the chocolate down with her highly-caffeinated Mexican hot chocolate, letting the hot cinnamony beverage burn her mouth as she thought, the world melting around her as she got lost in her thoughts.

The killer likely interacted with all of the victims but it's likely the UnSub was someone no one would've noticed. They had found footage of them all getting into taxis but none where they were seen afterwards... the taxi driver... of course, no one pays attention to taxi drivers. Her phone beeped and she checked it to see a message.

Unknown Number: He said you'd be the one to figure it out. That you were smarter than everyone else. I'd like to meet face-to-face and see it for myself.

Her eyes darted about the station, no one was paying attention to her, so she stood up and walked to the window, moving the blinds with her fingers to see a taxi in front of the station.

She texted back: Who's he?

She got a call instead...

Her eyes flicked up to the rest of the police station and she answered. "Hello, taxi driver from hell?" She quipped.

"He said you were a snarker too."

"Who is he?" She repeated her text.

"You know who."

She clenched her jaw. "Yeah, so he's still alive? Not in prison or dead?" Her tone had a sardonic mocking bite to it.

"You know he's too good not to."

"I wouldn’t use the word ‘good’.” She growled. “What's to stop me from telling everyone here that you're the killer?"

"I can drive off, you can't see me, you don't know my taxi number and I'll kill more people. Maybe I'll sneak some poison into the coffee your team loves so much."

She turned looking at her team, fear mingling in her eyes.

"Don't you dare touch them." She growled.

"Then come out, little one."

Her nose scrunched up at the nickname and her eye twitched. He hung up and she looked at the team and she made a call to Quantico as she collected her things, casually, stoic even to a profiler.

"The All-Knowing Penelope here." Garcia quipped.

"Garcia, I need a favor but don't tell the others yet." She said as she picked up Spencer’s rather nineties-like phone. Her phone had protection, she was a talented hacker with secrets that she didn’t want people to know but Spencer wasn’t. His phone was easier to track.

"Why?"

"Because I'm about to be the killer's next victim. They can follow me, this is the only way he'll confess, if he’s bragging about his plan to his next victim to show how much smarter he is than me. I need you to tell them in a few minutes and to track Spencer’s phone which I just stole."

"What are you going to do? He'll kill you." Penelope panicked.

"No, he wants to be smart. He thinks I won't be able to figure out his trick. He thinks I want to prove I'm smarter. I just need to stall while he confesses." Zoe said, "If I fail... I'm going to send you a picture of either a license or an ID."

"Wait, Zoe..."

"Goodbye Garcia." Zoe said and hung up.

She started to leave, "Zoe, where are you going?" Alexander asked, concern for his daughter.

"Going out for a bit of air. I'll be fine." She lied, her tone steady as can be. That what happens when you’re the daughter to two of the young co-founder/profilers of the BAU and are raised by one of them and the others—Alexander Noble, Jason Gideon, David Rossi, and to a less extent, Max Ryan. (And David Rossi, practically being compulsively unable to take a break from the life, read criminal profiles to her instead of bedtime stories, and then she begged the others to do it—only Gideon refused). She was able to profile since she was a toddler and knew how to keep from people knowing she was lying.

She arrived outside and got into the taxi, seeing the man.

"Hello, Zoe."

"Serial Killer." She addressed in an almost pleasant greeting tone as she brought up the camera on her phone and took a silent, subtle picture of the taxi ID in the back, his name was Ian Keller. “So... it's obviously not a money thing since this cab smells like a urine factory." She sent the picture and the snarky comment to Garcia as he started to drive off.

"I'm not a serial killer. I never killed anyone. Those people killed themselves. I simply spoke to them."

"What's stopping me from texting the agents upstairs now or arresting you myself?" Zoe asked as she pressed the recording feature on her phone.

“I won’t run. I’ll sit quietly and they can arrest me.” But she had no evidence. Only circumstantial evidence. And while they dug into his past, someone else could get hurt. "I'll never tell you what I said to make those people kill themselves. You'll just be as stupid as everyone else. What do you really care about?" He asked.

He thought she was arrogant in her intelligence like him, but she wasn't. She knew knowledge was infinite and it was impossible to know everything. If she knew everything, where was the fun in that? She didn’t need to validate her knowledge. She didn’t feel threatened by Doctor Spencer Reid’s knowledge. Like him, she didn’t believe IQ tests could accurately quantify someone’s intelligence. She only showed her intelligence when needed and to tear someone down a peg. She didn’t like bullies, even if they don’t meant it; doesn’t mean their words don’t hurt others.

"But you're going to kill me like the others." She said.

"I didn't kill them. They killed themselves..."

"But you spoke to them. Blah. Blah. Blah. This isn't a TV show. Answer a question like a normal person!" She said with irritated sarcasm, "How'd you know the moment I figured it out."

"He likes you. You know that." Keller said, she speculated that was the only reason he wasn’t lashing out at her sass, she could tell he wanted to, but he was scared. "He's been watching you."

Zoe had moved the phone so the rustling covered his words and she pressed the pause button. "I noticed. I thought he wanted to stalk the other one." Zoe spat out bitterly in a dark undertone.

"Where's he gonna go? He was watching you and I've been following you." She pressed continue.

"Why me? I'm not the only genius on this case." She asked, ignoring the “he” as she had and would for years now.

"But you're the only one who can get into the mindset of a serial killer. He said you'd make a great one. That you’re his other half.”

Zoe’s eyes darted up to him, darkening. It had started to drizzle during their conversation and Zoe took the opportunity to wipe her phone and cover up his words.

“Are we going to stand here all day and talk like high school students or are you going to show me the cabbie’s impressive intelligence?”

The cab driver returned to the driver’s side of the car and opened the passenger’s door and got into the driver’s seat.

As Zoe circled the car, she took a picture of the license plate and sent it to Garcia before she got into the passenger’s seat.

She took a picture of the taxi driver’s ID too and sent it to Garcia.

The car ride was quiet, just full of him, mentioning "him" and Zoe had given up on pausing the recording, if she kept covering it up, it'd be suspicious.

Zoe, however noticed a photo on the dashboard. A worn photograph of two kids and presumably their mother but she was cut out. The kids were about mid-teens, mid to late middle school to early high school, but they'd be around Zoe's age by now based on Zoe's math.

His clothes were out of date and... ah, there is was. Those red dots on his skin. And he was sweating. Her eyes went to the spot in front of the gear shift where people often put things. There were tissues crumpled up and spots of red on them. Zoe leaned to the side and saw on the floor of the front of the car were even bloodier tissues. He was hiding the most obvious signs.

"Not much of a talker, huh?" He asked.

"I tlak when needed. I prefer to observe." She said.

Penelope called Morgan, "Talk to me, baby."

"She... Zoe made me promise not to tell you but she found out the murderer is an Ian Keller, a taxi driver and she got into his cab as it was the only way she could get an actual confession from him." Penelope explained emotionally.

"Zoe went with the killer!?" Morgan asked out loud.

Spencer looked back to see Zoe gone as Alexander grabbed the phone from Morgan and asked loudly, his only heart pounding so hard and quickly, it could be mistaken for two hearts, "What!? Where is she?"

"In the cab, she's recording the conversation, she took Spencer’s phone and I'm tracking his phone as we speak."

"What are we doing sitting in this shitty station! Crappy fluorescent lights and cockroaches and loud cell phones and the smell of urine!" Alexander was raging, his Scottish accent thickening.

This was not exactly out of character for him.

——————————————————————————————————

"Where the hell are we?" Zoe asked as if she were annoyed that they were lost and buddy-buddy, when Keller stopped the cab. It was full-on raining by now.

"A Boston education college." Was all Keller said before getting out, circling the cab and opening the door.

"As opposed to what? Boston baking college? Refrigerator college? Clown college?" Zoe deadpanned before lighting up in a sarcastic way just like her dad does, "I got it! Taxi college. Because you're clearly not great at your job, it felt like it took us an hour to get here while you droned on and on and on and on." She dramatically lulled her head side to side with every “on”

"We're going in." He said, shortly, clearly irritated with her.

"What? You late for class?" She snarked.

He pulled out a gun and pointed it at her, but she just looked at him, annoyed, rather than showing any sign of fear, not even a flicker. The only reaction she had to the gun pointed at her head was a half-eye roll and a soft exasperated sigh.

"As if you're the first to hold a gun to my head." She scoffed and got out, muttering, “It’s honestly starting to get boring…”

She followed him inside the empty college, glancing at a nearby security camera.

——————————————————————————————————

"I'm running facial recognition as we speak." Garcia said after Alexander had nearly shouted at her to hurry her eccentric butt up.

"Why would she just go with him?" Spencer wondered in the backseat between his frequent squeaks and squawks of fear at Alexander's dangerous driving.

"He probably offered her an ultimatum." Hotch said as he clung to the top of the seat belt.

"LOOK OUT FOR THAT PEDESTRIAN!" Spencer screamed.

"Oh, she's on the street. She knows the risk she's taking." Alexander said, dismissively.

——————————————————————————————————

"What do you think?" Keller asked as they entered a math classroom. Zoe's least favorite place to be.

"Umm...” Her tone was already dripping with sarcasm as she looked around as if she hadn’t already realized what kind of classroom it was and hated it as she did with most things associating with math—the most boring of all the shapes. “Well, I'm being held hostage by the most boring serial killer ever, who takes like an hour to finish a sentence and I'm in the math classroom, being forced to socialize with someone I don't know." Zoe deadpanned, "I can't think of a worse place to be." 

After what was actually a fifteen-minute car ride (Zoe’s ADHD and made it feel like an hour) of her making constant snarky, sassy, sarcastic, and sardonic comments, he should’ve expected a reply like this.

"Well, you're the one who's going to die here." He said, making another attempt to take control of the situation but Zoe rarely let people do that.

Zoe tilted her head at him, giving him a calculating look and said, "No, I'm not." She didn't sound cocky or arrogant, just calm as if stating a fact.

"That's what all the victims say."

Victims. She hated being thought of as a victim.

"That's what all the serial killers say." Zoe retorted as if sassing a bully. "So, is this where you bore me to suicide?"

Keller sat down. pressing his lips together and Zoe sat down across from him, sitting casually, if slightly disrespectfully.

"Bit risky, taking me away in front of the Boston police with the FBI?" Zoe asked.

"Nah. This is a risk." He placed a bottle with a pill capsule on the table.

Zoe looked at it for a mere few moments but didn't react in any way, her amber eyes darted back to Keller with no sign of fear in her eyes. Her expression was utterly impossible for him to decipher.

"Ooh, I like this bit. ‘Cause you don’t get it yet, do you?" Perhaps he was trying to convince himself of that.

I have an inkling and by that I'm pretty sure I know your whole—or at least most of—your plan.

"But you’re about to. I just have to do this." He put down another bottle, completely identical to the other.

Zoe still didn't react. In fact, she barely even looked at the second bottle.

"Weren't expecting that, were you?"

"No. That's exactly what I was expecting." Zoe deadpanned.

Keller's eye twitched as he realized Zoe was telling the truth.

"You're a proper genius, aren't you?" Zoe said, her voice dripping with patronizing sarcasm.

"Don't look it, do I?" Keller asked, "Driving a taxi. But you'll understand in a minute.

"I think I understand plenty but clearly it's desperately important for you to think you're the smartest person in the room." She said in deadpan honesty.

"Chances are it'll be the last thing you'll ever know."

"Explain your little game, taxi man, and we'll see what the chances are." She challenged.

"There’s a good bottle and a bad bottle. You take the pill from the good bottle, you live; take the pill from the bad bottle, you die." Keller explained to a still rather unimpressed Zoe.

"Both bottles are of course identical.”

"In every way." Keller confirmed.

Oh? What interesting phrasing.

"And you know which is which." 

"Course I know."

"But you think I don’t."

"Wouldn’t be a game if you knew. You’re the one who chooses."

"Why?"

"Because I'll kill you."

She leaned forwards, placing her folded elbows on the table, still showing no fear as she spoke with a dark undertone, “You think I fear death? I've accepted the inevitability of death a long time ago. I'm accustomed to accepting my death." 

"I haven’t told you the best bit yet. Whatever bottle you choose, I take the pill from the other one—and then, together, we take our medicine." He said and then placed a water bottle on the table, she look just a moment longer to examine this seemingly ordinary bottle of water—ordinary to any ordinary person but she was not an ordinary person. This water bottle had been open before and sipped from.

"Who said I wanted you to die? Trust me, you deserve it more than any of your victims, you're a by-proxy serial killer. I reckon your victims suffered the effects for about an hour before a slow and painful death."

"It's this or the gun. I won’t cheat. It’s your choice. I’ll take whatever pill you don’t." Liar! "You didn't expect that, did you, Miss Zoe?"

"Yeah, I did actually," She said and she leaned forth, "And it's Doctor Zoe Valdez, to you mister taxi cab man." She leaned back in her chair. "Is this it? This is your master plan? I'm so overwhelmed... at how underwhelming this plan is."

"You think it's just chance?" Keller asked.

"No, I think you cheat. Now I try to use as little math as possible because it hurts my head and I find it numbingly boring. Thirteen bodies from a fifty-fifty chance. It's not probable. There's something you're not telling me here. Something you didn’t tell any of the victims.” She reasoned.

"You tell me. You're the genius. He told me that your IQ is estimated to be in or near the two-hundreds."

Zoe licked her lips, a glint of hatred and resentment flickering in her amber eyes, simultaneously.

"Let's put that to the test, I'm going to profile you." She challenged.

"That's not the game."

"My turn, my game!" She snapped in a tone of slight childish pettiness but still dark sternness.

"Profiling's just intellectual guesswork." He stated.

"Oh, you think so?" Zoe asked with a mocking questioning lilt in her voice as she smirked, loving to prove people wrong and she was born into this lifestyle. "You have kids, I saw a picture of them with the mother cut out, if she were dead, she'd be there, so she got custody, the photo was old, I'd say about five years. And it hurts, not being able to see your kids. Neither wants contact with you. Why should they? You always indicated you were smarter than them; you pushed them and made them feel less than when they didn’t do as well as you thought they should. You're wearing that stupid cabbie hat so clearly you're not in the habit of being around other people. Your other clothes are just as stupid. Your skin is pale and you have petechiae—those tiny red dots on your skin—that only appears when capillaries bleed, leaking blood into the skin. You're sweating despite it being raining, night, and spring, you have some bruising and it's fair to assume that you get out much and you drive a taxi, therefore most likely your skin is sensitive to bruising, I saw bloody tissues in the taxi, they're always there, so nosebleeds and possibly you’re coughing up blood. Your cervical lymph nodes are swollen, and your liver is visibly enlarged. Leukemia. Cancer of the blood. How long do you got? You're in your older years of middle-aged, I'd say sixty and given by the state of you, I'd say you have less than a year?” She changed her mind, shaking her head only half a shake, “No, less than half a year."

"Four and a half months."

"Oh, dearie. And you get off on the fact that you've outlived the people you killed. Not only that but most of them have all either been quite youthful men and women or middle-aged women, so given that your kids don't want to see you, not even now that you're dying. You resent them but you don't want to hurt them. They're intelligent, really intelligent like you, despite the constant criticism you called parenting, so you kill young geniuses. But why, a cabbie? You could be a college administrator? A scientist. But why a cabbie?" She tilted her head, sorting through the possibilities in her head, crossing out the ones that didn’t hit at rapid speed, “You couldn't afford college growing up, did you? Then your wife made you drop out when she was pregnant, didn't she? You've always resented her for that and now you're going to die without having done anything with your life so that resentment has turned into an all-raging hatred—loathing, so you're killing surrogates of your children and your wife.” A small pause. “Do you still think profiling is just intellectual guesswork?"

Instead of admitting he was wrong, he nodded at the bottles, "Time to choose."

She didn't even look at them, just continued to look at him.

"What if I don’t choose either? I could just walk out of here." Zoe said, "They might have realized I'm missing by now."

Her father definitely knew and was most likely freaking out. He was such a drama queen.

Keller just sighed and raised the gun to her head, but she still didn't seem impressed or even fearful.

"You can take your fifty-fifty chance, or I can shoot you in the head. Funnily enough, no one’s ever gone for that option." 

Zoe’s lips curled into a smirk. "I’ll have the gun, please." 

——————————————————————————————————

"What is she doing!?" Hotch demanded Alexander outside as they listened to the recording live due to Garcia's hacking skills into Spencer’s phone.

"She has a plan... I hope." He said, hopefully.

——————————————————————————————————

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely. The gun." She nodded.

"You don’t wanna phone a friend?"

"What friends? I’m a violent antisocial tomboy who could’ve graduated high school by age nine if I wanted." She asked, "The gun.” She put on a mocking tone with a mocking pout, “You do know how to use it, don't you, old timer? They did have guns when you were growing up right?”

He pulled the trigger and a few bubbles came out. Zoe couldn't help but try to catch one like when she was a child but they all popped.

"I know a real gun when I see one." Zoe said.

"None of the others did." 

"Well, they didn't grow up around firearms and violence like I did." Zoe said, sassily.

——————————————————————————————————

The BAU team breathed out a breath of relief.

“Good call. Good call.” Alexander breathed, his hand on his heart. She was going to give him a heart attack.

——————————————————————————————————

"Well, this has been very interesting. I look forward to the court case and hearing what a shitty dad you were to your kids. I rather enjoy seeing the looks on remorseful serial killers' faces when they see the trauma they've inflicted on their families or the looks on the abusive parents' faces when they realize their abuse contributed to their child becoming a serial killer." She said, she thumped her hands against the table in a rhythmic way and pretended like she was going to leave... purely for humiliating him more with her superior intellect.

One may think it’s cockiness and arrogance, but it was just fact and the benefit of constantly being underestimated.

"Just before you go, did you figure it out... which one’s the good bottle?

"Yep." And then she smirked, "Child's play. Noble effort though.” She said her first last name with a bit of an accent between South British and Scottish like her dad’s accent.

——————————————————————————————————

"That's the word. We're going in." Alexander said and was the first through the door.

"Does Noble seem a little off?" Morgan asked Hotch.

"Off?"

"A bit more... neurotic?" Spencer added.

"More off and neurotic than usual?" Hotch deadpanned, as he knew and understood why, and then headed inside after Alexander.

——————————————————————————————————

"Well, which one, then? Which one would you have picked, just so I know whether I could have beaten you?"

Zoe knew what he was doing. Trying to goad her into proving how smart she was. But she wasn't that arrogant. She faked arrogance sometimes but she was rather modest about her intelligence compared to how she could be. She only acted like that to take arrogant people down a peg.

"Come on. Play the game."

Zoe slowly walked back to behind the chair but made no effort to sit back down, not even glancing at the pills.

"Really, what do you think?" He asked, standing up and approaching the young woman, "Can you beat me? Are you clever enough to bet your life? What's the point of being clever, if you can't prove it?"

The door burst open with everyone (minus Spencer who wasn't authorized to have a gun at the moment due to his terrible aim) pointing their guns at Keller.

"Ian Keller! FBI!"

"How?"

"Did it not occur to you that I went missing and no one bothered to call." Zoe asked as she took out her phone and stopped the recording feature.

"What's that?"

"It's a recording feature, old man." She said, "I got your full confession. You wouldn't tell the police but you would tell a victim who you deemed smart enough to rival your intellect."

"But you don't know the answer."

"I'm not some egotistical detective determined to prove that I'm the smartest. I don't need to know everything. I can't. It’s impossible and I’m fine with that. But I do know that neither of those pills are poison. They're placebos. It's improbable that you win a fifty-fifty chance thirteen times but there's one common denominator. The water. You didn't create the drugs, you turned drugs into poison."

"How long did you know?" Keller asked, grimacing.

"I suspected literally the moment you showed me the first pill." She said and turned to the others, “Did y’all have fun storming the castle?”

"Ian Keller, you're under arrest." Hotch said as he handcuffed the man.

BANG! CRASH!

A bullet went through a nearby door window and hit Keller in the shoulder. 

Zoe spun around to catch a glimpse of the shooter, a man dressed in all black except two slits for the eyes.

Her memory flashed back to her childhood. Twelve years old and she had a gun in her face. She glared up at him with no fear in her eyes.

Zoe leapt into action, she opened her mini first aid kit around her waist and pulled out a cloth and pressed it against the wound. 

"Spencer. Spence, come here. Press this against the wound, firmly. I'll be right back."

She bolted to the door with the bullet hole in it and raced after the man, knowing full well who he was, ignoring the screams after her.

She put up quite the chase, moving with aggression and strength like a bear but also grace and speed like a wolf.

"Stop! You son of a bitch!" She shouted as she cornered him and he turned the gun on the for once in her life unarmed young woman but she showed no fear, just as she had before.

"I see you haven't changed, Hermosa."

This simple Spanish nickname sent chills down her spine and made her freeze up in fear as echoes of various Spanish nicknames of endearment stirred in her head.

"Zoe!" Hotch's voice shouted and she turned to look at him for ten seconds before he entered, "Where'd the shooter go?"

She looked back but he was gone, "He-he was right here."

"Did you get a good look at him or the mask?"

"No." She lied. There wasn’t any point anyways. She ran past him and back to the room with the bleeding body. She was a medical doctor after all.

"Zoe, I know I have the title of doctor, but I am not a medical one." Spencer said, worryingly.

"Yeah, yeah. Move it. Alright, Keller, are you awake? Keller, I’m going to have to pack the wound but, I'm not sure if I can give you dilaudid so this is going to hurt. A lot. Spencer, apply pressure while I get the gauze.”

Spencer did so as she pulled her medical kit out and she pulled out some hemostatic gauze and pulled on some rubber gloves on her hands.

“Have you ever done this before?” Spencer asked.

“Uh, do those blood training dummies count? She asked, “I’ve shot a few people, does that count.”

“No!”

“Hush!” She turned back to Keller. “Ready, on three, one…” Then she plunged her middle and pointer finger into the wound with professional precision.

“AHHH! What happened to three!?” Keller shouted.

“Quiet! No serial killers talking allowed!” Zoe shouted back at him.

She felt from the source of the pulsating of the wound—the area where the wound was bleeding the most from and applied pressure to ease the bleeding as she took the gauze with her other hand and replaced the spot her fingers her at and she continued to feel the gauze into the wound as Keller screamed in pain, she fed it into all corners, switching fingers to act as a guide until it was full and she applied pressure on the excess of gauze against the wound until the ambulance arrived.

——————————————————————————————————

Zoe was sitting on the back of the ambulance as they put the shock blanket around her again, she raised her hands in question as Hotch and Alexander approached.

“Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me.” She asked.

“Yeah, it’s for shock.” Alexander responded.

“I know what it’s for, I’m a medical doctor. I saved that horrible man’s life.” Zoe said. “I’m not in shock.”

“Yeah, but the press wanna take photographs.” Hotch deadpanned and she huffed in annoyance.

"So, the shooter. No sign?"

"No. Must've cleared off before you could get anything to identify him with." Hotch said.

"Sorry." She said and changed the subject, "Are you going to yell at me for going rogue? The profile said he wouldn't talk to the police—he'd want to brag about it when he thought it was on his terms but only to someone he felt was as intelligent as he was and had better luck with their gifts than he did. And he called me and told me he would drive off and kill more people if I refused to go with him or tell anyone, besides when it comes to me, Dad's not exactly... subtle. Besides, unless I got his confession, there was only circumstantial evidence."

“That’s an understatement.” Hotch muttered and he sat next to her on the ambulance platform, "It was... quick-thinking. I'm aware of your impulsiveness."

"I would hope so. You've known me since I was ten and I'm ADHD and Cyclothymic. You'd be a pretty bad profiler." Zoe said.

"And I know especially with what happened four years ago..."

"Four years, two months, and twenty days." She said, her voice broke slightly.

"You were brave to do so. Not a lot of people who were kidnapped for eight months could've let him take you and with what happened a few months ago.”

Zoe huffed again and fidgeted uncomfortably at the mention.

"I'm not a victim. I mean, I am but I don't want to just be just a victim anymore. I want people to see me as what I am. A fighter. A survivor. My fear doesn't matter when others are on the line. Same reason, I'm going by only Valdez for now. I don't want to be seen as the daughter of two of the co-founders of the BAU, I want to be seen for me. I don't want people assuming I only got this part because of my parents. The only reason I'm so successful at nineteen is because of nepotism. I want to prove myself first and then I'll tell Spencer, Garcia, JJ, and Morgan. I promise."

"You grew up a strong woman, Zoe. I didn't know your mother but I think she'd be proud." Hotch said.

"No, I think she'd blame me for not finding Zarah." Zoe muttered.

"Hey, we'll find your sister. Contrary to what Strauss thinks, we never stopped looking. It's the least we could do since you made the BAU the way it is today."

"Thanks. So am I an official member of the team?"

"Considering Spencer won't shut up about how knowledgeable you are and bunch of other words I don’t really understand? I think he and your dad combined would annoy me to death if I didn't."

——————————————————————————————————

Zoe was talking to Spencer and Morgan when a deputy slipped her a folded piece of paper.

"What's this?"

"Some guy requested I give it to you." He said, shrugging.

Zoe unfolded the paper and read it. Her body language didn't give much away but it was clear she was unnerved by this.

"What is it?"

"Uh, nothing." She said, crumbling the note and pocketing it. "Just some stranger's number. Must've been someone with the press. I-I gotta speak with... Agent Noble." 

"Are you sure?" Spencer asked, stopping her as she tried to go to Alexander.

"Yeah."

"You seem... a little unnerved."

"That's just the shock. I'm in shock! Look, I've got a blanket!" Zoe said and brandished the sides of the blanket as if to prove her point and she walked over to Alexander.

"That is one strange little bird." Morgan said to Spencer.

"I like her." Spencer smiled.

Alexander turned to Zoe once he saw her approaching and noticed the somber look on her face, "What happened now?"

She nodded so he would walk with her, she was quiet for a few moments, "He's been watching me."

"Well, you're still in danger while you're in Boston." Alexander fretted. “You’ll always be in danger while you’re in Boston.”

"I’m always in danger period. But he won't hurt me." She sighed.

"How do you know?"

"Because I do." Zoe said, sternly.

"But..."

"Daddy, please. I suppressed those memories for a reason. And one day I will have to uncover them so we can catch him but now's not the time. I just know, okay." Zoe pleaded. "We're leaving tomorrow morning. As far as you're concerned, I'm just a bargaining chip for your cooperation."

"Zoe, angel..."

"Dad, I'm fine." She said but she was lying. She's not sure there was ever a time in her life where she's said that and truly meant it.

——————————————————————————————————

The next morning, as Zoe was packing up the room, she received a package from a delivery man who seemed rattled but left at once.

"Okay." She said, passing that off and she set the package on the bed and opened it and pulled back the paper wrapped around it and she flinched. 

The box had a bouquet of blood-splattered white lilies with a card with the same words as on the note: See you soon, mi belleza.

There was a knock at the door and Hotch's voice called, "Zoe, time to check out."

"Yeah! Yeah, I'm almost done. I'm almost done packing." She called as she wrapped the flowers back up and shoved them into her suitcase.

Translations (Via Google Translate)

"pequeño" — "Little One" — Spanish

"Hermosa" — "Beautiful" — Spanish

"Mi belleza" — "My beauty" — Spanish

Notes:

Inspired by Sherlock pilot episode: “A Study in Pink”

Richie Rousseau’s face claim is KJ Apa with his red hair for Archie Andrews from Riverdale

I hope the foreshadowing wasn’t too heavy in this.

Gif Sources:

Crowley: @wearecrowley

*Any suggestions for songs to attach to this story?*

Extreme Aggressor

[straightlightyagami]

China asserted the right and intent to continue intervening in the Vietnam War where its forces participated in the killing of Americans, South Vietnamese, Laotians and Cambodians. The U.S. side said, “In the absence of a negotiated settlement the United States envisages the ultimate withdrawal of all US forces from the region consistent with the aim of self-determination for each country of Indochina.”

Washington also agreed to curtail its support for the Taiwanese to defend their territorial integrity and independent identity by withdrawing its forces from Taiwan, but China never reciprocated by enabling America’s “graceful exit” from Vietnam.

[…]

To ensure that historians will judge his record as kindly as Xi presently does for the wrong reasons, Kissinger should at least acknowledge the redeeming truth Nixon recognized in Taiwan’s permanent democratic identity. He should demonstrate that enlightened vision by making his first visit to Taiwan and honoring its dedication to democracy.

Such a revelation, though very late, will be good for cross-Strait stability, threatened by four decades of Kissingerian engagement/accommodation policies. It will be good for the cause of change in China that Nixon set out to accomplish and tasked Kissinger to prepare for. And, given the teaching of Kissinger’s Harvard mentor, the late William Yandell Elliott, that all international relations is fundamentally a struggle between good and evil, it will be good for Kissinger’s soul. His road to Damascus goes through Taipei.

Read this article. This is the US establishment’s main criticism of Kissinger… Millions dead bc of imperialist intervention with the involvement of this man and this is what we’re talking about. (And from what this article says, Kissinger is more reasonable about China than most USAmerican politicians.) interesting implication that north vietnam was somehow the bad guy too, “self determination” lol