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Chapter Text

“No! No! No! No! No!” A man shouted, banging his fists on the table in front of him, increasingly becoming more violent as his frustration and anger grew for the young man sitting opposite to him. “You have to do it right! If you don’t get it right, then I can’t practice! And if I can’t practice then how can I hope to get it right when it’s the real deal!” The man yelled hysterically as he paced in front of the table, simultaneously rubbed his temple hoping to rid himself of a growing headache with the butt of his handgun.

The surroundings weren’t much to mention, mainly consisting of four blank concrete walls with numerous boxes and shelves lining them, as well as a single drain in the center of the room. Each shelf contained piles of unorganized clutter made up entirely by random pieces of junk, scrap metal and mismatching pieces of old car parts. In the center of the small room sat a card table, a slightly stained but white tablecloth draped over it. The table was set for two with the theme being that of a more romantic dining experience then casual; complete with a couple of battery powered candles, a clear plastic bottle filled with fake roses, and a cheap matching dinning set. What was being served for dinner was a poor rendition of the British dish, Bangers and Mash, which was accompanied by a cheap, red box wine.

On one end of the table was an ajar wooden chair and a frantic man pacing behind it; on the other end, a different wooden chair was occupied by the slight, lean frame of a young adult male.

The man was bound tightly to the arms and legs of the chair by a few layers of duct tape. He had ear length dark brown almost black hair, pale skin, and a pair of dark green eyes. Resting on his nose was a pair of old circular wire frame glasses with the lenses popped out. On his forehead, was a still bleeding wound, having just recently been carved into the skin. It had the appearance of a lightning bolt and stood predominantly to the right side of his forehead. His heart was beating wildly in his chest; his eyes blown wide with fear and anxiety.

“We have to try again! We must get it perfect this time! Once we get it right, we can finally move on from dinner and get to the main event already.” The man growled, stopping his wild pacing to face the other man. “We must get it perfect if we want it to work on the real deal! And not some weak doppelgänger.” The man scowled whilst locking eyes with his victim, his expression half crazed half cold steel.

With a quick haste, he bent at the waist to pick the wooden chair back up before promptly sitting back down again. “Now let’s try this again.” He growled, “And for your sake, I hope you get it right this time.” Resting his right hand on the table, holding the handgun steady as he pointed it at the other individual with his finger held firmly against the trigger, a glare in his cold eyes. The young man whimpered slightly as he grasped the arms of the wooden chair he was strapped too as if it were a lifeline. He briefly scrunched his eyes closed and lowered his head as he was trying and failing to keep his breathing even and his tears at bay. He wanted to be brave, he really did; he didn’t want to be seen vulnerable in front of his kidnapper but being in a situation like this in real life is a whole lot different than how it is in movies or your imagination. He quickly raised his head again and locked eyes with his kidnapper before starting out in a weak and shaky voice, poorly trying to imitate a British accent.

“Thank you for inviting me to dinner. I’m afraid that I must warn you that I haven’t gone out like this in quite some time, so you must forgive me if I make a fool of myself.” The young man whimpered.

“Hush now, I’m sure you’ll do just fine. Just be yourself and I’m sure that nothing could ever go wrong.” The crazed man cooed calmly, almost friendly in nature with a warm smile on his face, completely contrasted by the handgun that was still aimed at the young man in front of him. “Now, why don’t we get started with our dinner.”

•

The time was close to midnight and the surrounding area was a mix of quiet apartment buildings, empty businesses, and the occasional car driving down the streetlight lit road. In one studio apartment, tossed a sweat ridden lean figure, rolling around in a pathetic attempt to run from the individuals dreams or rather their nightmares.

Every night it always started the same, the agonizingly silence and long-drawn-out walk that he took to his death. The same deep breath in and the shaky breath out before the forbidden forest materialized before him. Not long after starting the long walk to his next great adventure. He could feel every pebble that bit into the bottoms of his feet through the soles of his worn sneakers. He could still hear the sound that every twig made when they snapped under foot. He could feel the sting of the bitter fall winds as they brushed against the exterior of his invisibility cloak, it didn’t do much in keeping out the cold and the growing chill that was incapsulating his soul.

He could still remember the way that the shadows in between the trees made him jump with nerves at the promise of Death Eaters and the slight fear that they suddenly gained the ability to see through the protection that his father’s cloak gave him. He could still hear and feel his heart beating against his chest. For the longest time the only sound that he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat and the rush of blood in his ears.

He was so nervous for what was to come next, but as he got closer his resolve became more solid and he unexplainably became calm in what would undoubtedly be his last peaceful moments that he’ll ever have while alive.

But then in a rush of maddening moments, came the insidious voice that still haunted his dreams and lurked deep in his mind, “Harry Potter. The boy-who-lived. Come to die?” Then all that came was darkness, a never-ending blackness, inky and infinite in its reaches; the very same darkness that he saw before he awoke in the pure white train station. In his dreams, however, he never reaches the station, instead he is visited by the faces of those that died and even from some that were still alive.

They blamed him for their untimely deaths, for their futures cut short, for the pain that he caused their loved ones, and for the trouble that he caused them when they were alive. Then came those that still lived. They blamed him for the pain, for the unnecessary deaths, for what could have been, and for the broken apart families. It was always so suffocating, but the worst part was when he’d wake up to his small cupboard at the Dursley’s and not knowing if it was part of the dream or if it always was just a dream. He’d work his way through the day like he always did before he received his letter from Hogwarts. The constant chores and berating from his Aunt and Uncle, the chases from his cousin and his gang. Then when he was at the peak of his almost nightly beatings from his Uncle, he would finally wake up. Always covered in sweat, the bed drenched with it and the sheets thrown about the room with a thick heavy exhaustion that followed him for hours after and the inability to go back to sleep and rest his weariness away.

•

“Come now, don’t be like that. You’ll like it I promise.” The man smirked, leering into the eyes of his prey that laid bound tightly below him. The young man had his arms tied behind him with a combination of zip-ties and duct tape. His dark green eyes wide with fear as he slowly came out of his drug fueled haze and realized his situation. His vulnerability at being bound, unclothed, gagged and weak from the sedative that he had been force fed after finally getting whatever his crazed kidnapper wanted right.

He was in the same room as before, the set up was different however, he could still see the card table and chairs at the other side of the room, and what appeared to be his clothes as well. But now it appeared that the man had pulled out an old plastic wrapped mattress – the kind that belonged to a small folding cot for when one had guests over – which they were now situated on. The man was shirtless now, but still retained some dignity as his jeans were merely pushed down a bit whilst also being unbuttoned and unzipped, allowing his semi-hard length to freely hang. All that the young man had were the same beat-up and old circular wireframe glasses from before.

“If not ... well, good thing I have you to practice on. After all I have a young Lord to impress.” The man stated sinisterly before prying open the young man’s legs with little difficulty. He drunk up the pale unblemished and toned skin beneath him, racking his fingers up from the young man’s belly to his chest, enjoying the racing pulse under his fingertips and the breath that hitched in fear because of his touch. He chose to imagine it as the young man being simply just as excited as he was instead of seeing it as it was.

The man firmly held his preys’ legs apart as he leaned in. The young man flinched away, turning his head to the side trying with all his might to escape his grasp and move away, whimpering as the man pressed his lips into the skin of his exposed neck, gently kissing him. He cringed with a weak cry as he heard his kidnapper take in a deep sniff, his nose pressed into the crook of his neck. The man let out a low moan before breathing in deeply once more. “Hmmm. Harry, you smell so good.” He groaned, not even really minding that it wasn’t quite Harry’s scent or that this body below him wasn’t even Harry’s to begin with.

The man eventually pulled away to kneel between his preys’ legs and ended up sitting on his haunches with his thumbs rubbing the skin of the young man’s inner thighs. This, however, did not mean that his grip was anything but painfully tight.

“Don’t be so nervous Harry, you’re in good hands. I’ve done this plenty of times before now.” The gentle smile that appeared across the man’s face did nothing to ease the growing fear in the young man’s stomach, if anything it caused him to become even more worried. That man was completely delusional now, and the growing erection between the man’s legs, as well as the lust in his eyes, didn’t spell anything good. “And I’m sure that if you don’t enjoy it this time, I’ll make sure to get it right next time.”

‘Next time?’ The young man thought, he wasn’t even sure if he could survive this time. But the look in his kidnapper’s eyes had his stomach twist itself into knots because something told him that when the man mentioned a ‘next time’ that he didn’t necessarily mean a next time with him, but rather with someone else that looked like him. Or rather someone who looks like this Harry guy that the man kept mistaking him as and making him pretend to be.

The young man was broken from his anxieties when a finger was driven into him knuckle deep with one fluid motion. It hurt and burned, for the most part it was uncomfortable and just felt weird, but most importantly, it felt like violation. Along with it came whole new levels of wrongness that had him feeling nauseous, and more scared than ever before. He couldn’t help but rear up and try to move away, to escape its menstruations. Then with little time to acclimate came the second finger, pushing in just as fast and increasing the burning sensation and pain tenfold. The young man curled his feet and arched his back trying to move away from the unwanted intrusion, unrestrained tears fell from his eyes and countless cries tried to escape his throat but were muffled into small whines.

The predator only saw these actions as incentive to continue, he saw his curled toes and arched back as actions of pleasure, and the tears and whines as the products of pure ecstasy. So, with a wide grin, lust filled eyes, and a clouded mind, he decided it was about time that he got to chase his own pleasure at the cost of using little to no lube to aid in his actions.

So, the man withdrew his fingers and shifted his stance before steadying the head of his penis at the pink puckered gates of his prey. Without any warning, he thrusted his full length in, which elicited a muffled but still loud scream from the young man he was now deeply connected with. The man shuddered in ecstasy at the hot tight sensation that captured him, the smell of copper filling the air. A thin layer of blood coating their connection was all that was needed for evidence should there ever be a need to explain the sudden smell of sour metal.

With little hesitance, the man began thrusting in and out of his prey. At first moderately slow but quickly picking up pace and becoming more violent with his thrusts, as he was now simply just chasing his own pleasure. Caring little for the mess and more so taking advantage of the free-flowing blood as lubricant than anything else.

The young man’s whole world at that moment was consumed by pain and a harsh burning sensation. It felt like he was being ripped in two whilst his insides were being brutally rubbed raw and pounded into. All he could do was scream and cry as pain incapsulated his mind, the painful grip of fingernails digging into his thighs felt like nothing now. His mind not even capable of hearing and understanding the load moans that were coming from above him. All that he could concentrate on was the pain and the hope/need for it all to be over soon.

When the man finally did come to the end of his rope, he shamelessly pumped his prey full of his seed and grunted as he ground his hips into the young mans as he rode out the end of his orgasm. When his brain finally did catch up to the current moment, it caused him to be feel a teeth-mashing kind of frustration at noticing that yet again his practice doppelgänger didn’t cum, let alone become at least semi-hard. In that anger fueled state, he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out an older switch blade. With little thought and no hesitation, he grabbed a hold of his preys’ face, steadying them before half hazardously slicing their throat wide open and watching them chock on their own blood, struggling to breathe and making muffled gargling noises which caused air bubbles to form in the blood that seeped out of the deep and fatal wound.

“Why do his doppelgängers always have to be so defective?” The frustration was clear on the man’s face as he stared straight into the eyes of the dying young man that he was still connected to. When the spark of life eventually left the young man’s eyes, the man was suddenly pelted with the feeling of guilt for killing yet another doppelgänger. Now he’d have to find another one, so that he could continue practicing before he could try it out on the real deal. He doesn’t mean to keep killing them, he just got so frustrated when they don’t do things right, especially when they turned out to be defective in the end. Maybe he should start going back to using escorts for practice, they always did do a better job in the end. The downside of the idea however was in how much harder it always was to find one that looked even a little bit like his Harry. It was so much easier when he could look for one out of the whole rather than looking at just a small portion. Before that though, it was about time to get cleaned up and get rid of the body, after all he didn’t want to fall behind schedule and risk missing his daily dose of Harry.

Chapter Text

Harry had long since learned that it was easier to get over his nightmares by working it out of his system rather than to try and work around it. But when you lived in a small studio apartment with a nosy land lady, you couldn’t exactly go around using magic to expand the interior, let alone even have enough space to use/store a damn muggle exercising machine with everything else in the small flat. Another issue was that Harry was trying to keep his use of magic on the down low, he would hate it if some nut job decided to track his magical signature and either enact revenge or try and get him to come back to his old life. Working out the tension of his dreams was especially difficult when accounting for the fact that he preferred to work out at an ungodly hour of the morning, when mostly everyone else was asleep.

So, what did Harry do when he found himself in this situation, well he made a deal with a gym owner of course. Free drinks and heavily discounted pastries from his café – Lily’s & Co. – in exchange for unlimited workout time whenever the need should strike him. It also helped that the owner was closely related to a witch who knew of his background.

That’s how Harry found himself working out alone in a gym at 4 o’clock in the morning. Occasionally he used the weights that were offered, but for the most part he just stuck to the treadmill and the punching bag. He supposed that it was because he wasn’t looking to stay in shape or build up muscle, but because he just needed to burn off some negative energy and a need to keep things loose and fluid. So that he was always ready for when an enemy popped up again, whether it be to take revenge for their loved ones or for their fallen Lord.

Harry knew that it was silly to still be worried about being attacked by some dark side sympathizers or angry and upset family members after he finished cleaning up all the left-over Death Eaters that remained after the Battle of Hogwarts, but he couldn’t help it. It’s been like that his entire life, he’s just use to it by now; always having to look over his shoulders, ready for enemies to appear and attack him. Some called it paranoia, but others called it PTSD and trust issues from a lack of a loving family whilst he was growing up. To be honest, Harry didn’t know who to believe anymore, but he supposed that it technically wasn’t paranoia if they really were after you.

Sometimes he even had to worry about the light side coming to either drag him back to Britain to fix their problems once again or to throw him away for life in Azkaban for being the next Dark Lord. Hardly anyone believed him when he said that he just wanted to relax and have a normal life after he quit his job at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, he was offered a position in the Department to help track down all the remaining Death Eaters, even though he wasn’t finished with his magical education. He accepted after the pushing of his friends and the Weasley family. In between criminals for the next four years, he finished his magical education at the insistence of Hermione. It was a slow-going progress at first, as there was a need to arrest them all in the first year, but after that things slowed down, which made things a lot more manageable for him.

Toward the final stretch, Harry began thinking about the future and what he wanted to do with his life. If he were completely honest, he would say that it was almost strange to think of what he wanted for his future. His whole life had always already been planned out for him – sometimes even years in advance – or it simply just seemed like he might not even have a future to look forward too. But when he finally did think about it, all he ever wanted was to just be Harry, not the boy-who-lived or the man-who-conquered or even the freak that lived in no.4 Privet Drive. So, when he retired from being a hit wizard, it shocked a lot of people.

Everyone had expected him to marry young, have a large family, and climb the ranks before dying of old age. But that wasn’t what he wanted for himself, and it was because of this reaction that he quickly realized that he couldn’t be Just Harry in Britain, the country that was supposed to be his home.

What was a home if it didn’t feel like home or accept him for who he was and respected his decisions?

Not a home that he wanted to be a part of.

So, he assigned a proxy for his Wizengamot seats – one Neville Longbottom – and had all his assets in the UK liquified by Gringotts – he did however ask to keep being the silent partner to the twins’ joke shop, Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes (WWW). Half his money was then exchanged for the muggle equivalent before it all was transferred to a French branch that specialized in bridging the gap between the Wizarding World and the Muggle World for wizards that wanted to enjoy the pleasures of both worlds. The French branch was also a lot more modernized to help blend in better with the Muggle World. They also offered services for falsifying muggle legal documents and records such as birth certificates, diplomas, and passports, which were important when you have to go around masquerading as a muggle.

He tried to leave peacefully and without a fuss, he really did, but if he’s learned anything over the years it was that it never turns out like he hopes. Multiple light families pelted his home with letters of aggression, for turning his back on his country or for supposedly turning dark. So, he took refuge with the Weasley’s but was only met with questions as to why he was leaving, why he wasn’t marrying Ginny, why he quit such an amazing job when it was all that he ever wanted to do.

Harry was shocked, sure he had expected questions, but not of the latter. Sure, he dated Ginny briefly, but it never turned into anything or what he and they were hoping for. Mostly he was surprised that they didn’t understand his need to be Just Harry, to not continue fighting, and just relax. They should have known that he never desired to be an Auror like his father, and when he explained this the only ones that understood him were Arthur, Bill, Fleur, Charlie, George and Hermione. Everyone else – Molly and Ginny especially – were frustrated with him or felt betrayed as he wasn’t living up to what the whole Wizarding World expected of him.

After that Harry left, with a promise to those that understood him that he’d keep in touch but would most likely never return without good reason. He boarded a muggle train to Dover then a ferry to France. Once landing on French soil he purchased a ticket for an airplane to Brazil. From there he was on a boat to Mexico and finally a plane ticket to America’s capital, Washington D.C. He made sure to be erratic and to only use muggle transportation, as well as to stay far away from any Magical areas to ensure his invisibility to the British Ministry. After all he didn’t want to be followed or tracked by good or bad guys.

Although his final destination was in America, he never felt any real need to rush there, instead he casually wandered through taking in the sites whilst still heading in the general direction of his travels. Once he finally reached D.C. six months had already passed and Harry could honestly say that he’s never felt more refreshed, relaxed, and satisfied in all his life. After arriving in D.C., he wasted no time in finding a flat to live in, he didn’t want something big or even a house until he was sure that he wanted to really settle down in the states.

Through Gringotts, he had already notified the Magical Congress of the United States of America (MACUSA) of his plans to move and had already applied for a visa through them before his six-month journey to the colonies even begun. Of course, with the record that he has, they understandably felt both apprehensive over his presence and honored. Though hesitant, they did eventually accept his application and sternly warned him against doing anything that was against the law, he maybe privileged back in Britain, but he wasn’t about to be babied here in the states.

After acquiring a small flat, he chose to study at a nearby college and get a business degree. In a little over 18 months, he received a bachelor’s degree using a fast-track program and was on his way to owning his very own business. A small café a few blocks away from the flat that he was renting, it took just under a year to get it all the paperwork settled and the café ready for business. It may have taken longer than he would have liked but wasn’t upset about the results of all his hard work.

At 24 years old he had his own café and he loved it! He loved the spontaneity of it and the freedom that he had, no one telling him what to do or how to do it. It was honestly amazing.

It was a small shop, painted an eggshell white with both baby blues and soft violets accenting the place. Each table in the seating area were decorated with a blue or violet ceramic vase filled with the classic white lily flowers. The metal chairs were made of a beautiful woven design and fitted with soft cushions, the color always matching the color of the ceramic vase. The tables were also made with a matching woven steel design. The checkout counter was like any other except for the gorgeous glass viewing cabinet that showed of all the pastries and meal items that he sold – the café specialized on more British style dishes but did have some American style meals as well. The kitchen was all a modern steel grey, still shiny with how new the appliances were.

Harry wanted to name the café after his mother, but couldn’t leave the Marauders out, so his café was officially christened Lily’s & Co. The Company was represented by the designs on the walls and the business’ logo. The walls were decorated with the soft grey shadows of several animals: a stag, a wolf, and a dog. The upper half of the logo was the silhouettes of the Marauders animagus forms, whilst the lower half was of a single white lily flower with the cafés name proudly written in a fancy cursive font below its beautiful petals.

Within the next few months after the grand opening of his café, business was good and so was life, for the first time in his life he was able to do as he wished and wasn’t in some kind of fight for his life. He had an easy life filled with opportunities for him to explore life without the threat of death over his head and a steady flow of customers, even a few regulars. Life was great, he even got to see and take care of Teddy every now and again when Andromeda needed/wanted a break.

If Harry was being completely honest, life had been going too great and too perfect for far too long, it almost made him ask what was going to happen next.

•

He always looked so good when he was running, all sweaty and oblivious to the world around him when he’s working out.

If only he could have a taste.

The man was certain that he would taste absolutely divine. He briefly wondered if he would taste like he smelled, sweet yet smoky chocolate citrus and a heavy dose of a heady, manly musk that always left the man dizzy with desire. He found it fascinating how his Harry was able to smell so good when he only used scentless products. The man sometimes wondered why that was that he only ever used odorless products. But it was no matter, after all it would only cover up his intoxicating aroma anyway.

It was always so mesmerizing the way that he ran on the treadmill or needlessly fought the punching bag. The way that his lean muscles moved under glistening skin or simply how his hair bounced with each stride and sudden movement. The way that his loose grey tank top always clung to his back and chest when it was soaked through with sweat. The way that his mouth hung open in slight pants, releasing mind tingling puffs of hot air. The sight never failed to send a lustful shiver up his spine.

Moreover, today was extra special in the eyes of the man, after all it wasn’t often that his Harry wore his grey sweatpants to the gym. They always did accent his lower half more effectively than the old basketball shorts he usually wore whilst working out. Clingy yet loose on his athletic runners build. Every time Harry wore them, the man only became more certain in his knowledge of how well hung his Harry was.

‘Always so arousing.’ The man thought as began to palm himself through the fabric of his jeans. With the growing nature of his arousal, it brought forth increasingly hotter breathes that had him clouding up the driver side car window. Messily with jerky rushed movements, the man undid his jeans and began to furiously tug at his member. The man’s eyes never leaving the panting frame of his jogging love. He would give anything to see Harry pant like that when he was making love to him or even hear his no doubt delicious moans and grunts. Oh, the mere thought of it did incredible things to him. In due time, he will experience those things. He does still have to woo his Harry after all.

The man was almost to his completion when he was spooked by the turning off of the nearby streetlights. Sparing a glance at the time, it was nearing 5 am and the sun was beginning to color the sky. The man grumbled, his Harry would be leaving soon, which meant that he would have to finish later and get a move on. The man always made an effort to arrive before Harry and hide in the back seat of his electric blue 1969 Dodge Charger R/T, then leave before he left the gym. The man didn’t want to be see just quite yet after all.

Begrudgingly, the man tucked his still hard erection back into his jeans, before driving off to get rid of the body that was in the trunk of his car. Leaving Harry none the wiser of the individual that was watching him just across the street from the gym.

•

Panting from the effects of a good run, Harry took a large gulp of cool water before checking the time, 4:57 AM. It was about time to get back to his apartment and get ready for the day at the café. Grabbing his things and slinging the small duffle bag across his back, he made his way out of the gym, locking up as he went before coming to a stop at the side of Sirius’s old motorcycle. A black Triumph 650 T120 Bonneville, it was willed to him by Sirius; he only found out about it after the Battle of Hogwarts.

The drive to his flat was a short one, only a handful of blocks away, but was in the opposite direction of the café. Harry didn’t wait to start his morning routine once home and was ready to go a quarter ‘til 6. Back on his motorcycle he went with a mental checklist of what he needed to do and get finished before opening up the shop.

Dressed in a white button up with black jeans and a pair of sleek black leather shoes, Harry buzzed around the store whilst welcoming in one of his two employees. Rolling up his sleeves he began baking whilst Stephine worked on restoking the display case with items that had been made the previous night. By 7 o’clock they had opened, welcoming in a few regulars already at the door.

By 7:45 AM, Harry had stocked his industrial ovens full and was making a few sandwiches when he was called up front to help, and that was when he spotted him. An old friend that he never forgot, but simply pushed to the side of his mind. He looked different now, and yet the exact same as he did 19 years ago. His eyes were locked with the chalk written menu mounted to the wall behind the cash register and a brown leather satchel slung across his chest. His brown hair messily tousled like he just got out of bed, and if Harry still knew him then he knew that he had been awake for hours, just like him. Wearing the clothes that you expected a college professor to wear and a geeky aura around him, Harry had no doubt that he was just as awkwardly charming was he was over a decade ago.

“I can’t believe my eyes. Spencer Reid. It’s been a long time. I’d ask you if you remember me, but if I remember correctly you can’t forget.” Harry called out as he made his approach to the cash register, making Reid’s eyes snap from the menu down to his face. There was a brief moment of surprise in his eyes and then an instant spark of recognition before a wide grin appeared on his slim face.

Chapter Text

Spencer awoke like every day at 5 o’clock before indulging in a bit of light reading – well, light reading to him – to more-or-less ease into getting up for the day. Like every morning, he did a bit of work before leaving his apartment at 6:56. Then something different occurred that fateful day, he was a little ahead of schedule. That only happened every so often, but like every time that it did, he resolved to do or see something interesting, something new. Thinking of what was on route that he could invest his time in, he immediately thought of the new café that opened not too long ago. It wasn’t that far away and looked interesting enough. Not only had he seen it in passing, but he had also gotten an advertising slip for it in the mail one day. Thus, he decided that it wouldn’t hurt to try it.

When he arrived, he was mildly impressed by the interior. There was only one employee that was visible, and she was busy filling orders. He gave her no mind when she called out to another that he assumed to be in the back and focused on the menu. It seemed that they were more focused on British cuisine rather than American, which he supposed was a good change from the norm.

“I can’t believe my eyes. Spencer Reid. It’s been a long time. I’d ask you if you remember me, but if I remember correctly you can’t forget.” Said an unknown male. Reid quickly located the owner of the voice. Directly in front of him was a young man, about his age. At first, he couldn’t place who the face belonged to, but that was quick to changed when he catalogued all of the male’s facial features and ran it against everyone that he had ever met. To someone else it would have taken a few minutes to remember, but he was a certified genius and thus, far more difficult mental process’ only took a minute or less of his time.

The lean athletic man in front of him was undeniably the same individual that still lived in some of his fondest memories from when he was a child. What use to be a small, beaten up and emaciated five-year-old, was now a strong healthy man who appeared to be happy as well.

“Harry.” Spencer spoke the young man’s name fondly. “It has been a long time, 19 years to be exact. What are you doing back here in America? Not to say that I’m not happy to see that you’re here because I am happy. That you are here that is. How have you been?” His words, though calm at first, were rushed and awkward by the end. Harry chuckled; it was a deep resonating sound that had his stomach feeling like they had the metaphorical butterflies fluttering around inside. Spencer’s smile widened at the sound, slightly embarrassed as he anxiously rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, like some anxious teenager that you’d see on TV.

“I’ve been good. The best actually. I was feeling really suffocated and stuffed back in England, so I decided that it was about time to move someplace else and do everything that I’ve been wanting to do.” Harry said, looking Spencer right in the eyes and never losing his amazing smile. “So, how have you been? What has the young Einstein that I knew gotten up to whilst I was gone? Oh, and your mother, how is she? I know that when we left back to England that she wasn’t doing too well.” He asked.

“I’ve been good too. I grew up to earn several BA’s and PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering. And I’m currently working at the FBI in the Behavioral Analysis Unit, so I travel a lot.” For some unknown reason, he felt the need to impress the man in from of him; he couldn’t even begin to understand why that was. “My mom’s doing good. She’s at a facility now, she’s well cared for and taking a medication that seems to be helping her a lot.”

“That’s good to hear. She was such a nice woman to me when we were in Las Vegas. I’m glad that she’s doing better.” Harry spoke honestly. “So, what will it be?”

“I’m sorry. What?”

Harry chuckled again before explaining, “What is your order? I assume you have one.”

“Yes, well I’ll have a black hot coffee with a blueberry scone to go.” Spencer said, embarrassed again. He couldn’t understand why he was so … so … scatter brained, but he had an inkling that it was due to the way that his stomach was doing backflips whilst his heart lightly fluttered against his chest.

“Here you go.” Harry said when he handed him his order. He took the bag and disposable coffee cup dumbly, “But I didn’t pay yet.”

“It’s on the house. Consider it a gift from an old friend.” Harry grinned as he leaned into the counter. “We should get together some time and hang out. I’d love to reconnect after so many years.”

“Yeah, I’d like that.” He was probably smiling so stupidly, for what he couldn’t quite understand. Spencer could admit to himself that Harry had grown up to be quite handsome. He couldn’t, however, understand why that fact would matter to him.

“Do you have a phone? I still remember how you got with technology when we were kids.” Harry asked.

“Yeah, I’ve got a phone.”

“Here,” Harry grabbed the coffee cup back and with a black sharpie wrote down his phone number. “Call me when you get off work.”

“I usually work late and stay up even later.” Spencer confessed.

“How convenient, so do I.”

He didn’t realize that café employees work so late, but he speculated that he didn’t know everything about the industry and didn’t want to assume that this was all Harry did for work. Almost as if Harry read his mind, he spoke up without any hostile feelings towards his assumptions. “I own the café, so I often stay late to clean house, bake some more, restock, and pack the leftover products to give to the aid shelters in the D.C. area. Even before the café, I was used to working late. So, I don’t mind if you call at a late hour.”

“Very well, I’ll make sure to call you then. I hope you have a nice day.”

“Thanks, and I hope you have a nice day as well.” Harry said with a wave. “See you later Spencer.”

“See you later.” Spencer said, clumsily waved with his hands full as he exited the establishment. It was after that that he noticed the time, 7:35. He hadn’t realized that he had been talking to Harry for that long, he was behind schedule.

Rushing into the bull pen, Spencer was quick to put his disposable coffee cup down and take a seat. “Sorry I’m late.” Reid apologized needlessly to his team, ready to get to work and a little bit frazzled from his unexpected interaction with Harry, so you can see why he was somewhat caught off guard when Morgan spoke.

“No worries, pretty boy. Now are you going to tell us when your date is?” Morgan said smugly with a wide smirk on his lips.

“What?” Spencer said, not quite catching up to the sudden topic change.

“Come on now, pretty boy. I know that you’re not that dense, and I also know for a fact that the phone number on the side of your coffee cup is not yours. So, who’s the pretty lady that’s been captured by your good looks?”

“There is no date. I ran into an old friend; he didn’t have anything else to write on.” Spencer replied, unaffected by his friend’s assumptions. Morgan simply hummed back as a response, rubbing his chin as he looked at Spence intensely with a critical eye. Then when a sudden spark of something unidentifiable entered his eyes, his grin widens and he simply chuckled, shaking his head as he turned away to get back to work.

“I know that laugh, what juicy goodness do you have for Mama my Chocolate Six-Pack?” Penelope says as she exits the elevator.

“Nothing much Sweetness. Just that pretty boy here has a crush.” Morgan answers.

Penelope gasped before rushing over to them, “Nothing much! Nothing Much! That’s so much! Who is it? I want to look them up!” She ranted.

“I don’t have a crush on Harry.” Spencer loudly proclaims.

“Does this Harry have a last name?” Penelope questioned, not even pausing for a second when it became known to her that his supposed “crush” was in fact a he and not a she.

“Not to you he doesn’t.” Spencer said confidently.

“Why? Are you hoping to give him yours?” Morgan chuckled

“NO!” Spencer cried mortified at the turn of the conversation; his conversation with Harry really had him messed up. This caused both Penelope and Morgan to laugh at his expense.

“Woah! What did I miss?” JJ asked when she walked in from the copying room.

“Reid has a crush.” Penelope squealed with excitement.

“Really now?” JJ said intrigued and giving him a glance, a smug smile on her face.

“I do not have a crush on Harry! We are just friends.” He restated, this time with more emphasis.

“Ah, to be young and in love again.” Rossi reminisced from his desk.

“You know, the more you deny it to more guilty you look.” Alex spoke up for the first time. He wanted to groan in agony at the whole situation.

It was then that Hotch waltzed into the room from his office and the playful air that was there before was gone, replaced by a grim seriousness that always came when they got a new case. With the look that was on Hotch’s face he didn’t even have to say it, but he did anyway. “We have a case.” Hotch said before walking away to the debriefing room, not even waiting for a response, though Spencer did suppose that a response wasn’t needed.

Without hesitation everyone moved to the debriefing room and taking their seats, watching Hotch with trepidation for what was surely to come.

Chapter Text

“Our next case is one here, in our very own backyard.” Hotch started. Somehow it always seemed more personal when a case took place in their area. “We were asked to step in by D.C. police when the fourth body was found just a few hours ago. The first victim was 23-year-old, Oscar Walsh, he was found in a ditch off of the Richmond Highway two months ago.”

The first picture that was pulled up was of a young male fully dressed and carefully laid to rest. His throat was slit, but clean and so where his clothes. There was no blood on the body, indicated that the body was cleaned and dressed after he was already dead. There also appeared to be some kind of wound on his forehead, Spencer couldn’t really tell what it was from a distance. Possible head trauma maybe? Then came the ID picture of the victim from back when he was still alive. Short black hair, deep green-blue eyes, slightly tanned skin, and a pair of tortoiseshell glasses.

“Victim number two, is Richard Macy, 25. He was discovered in a shallow grave at Mason Neck State Park six weeks ago.” Hotch continued.

The second crime scene photo depicted a barely covered body; only a few handfuls of dirt and leaves were thrown onto the body, most likely to just camouflage it rather than to actually hide the body. Gently set to rest it seemed, just like the first. Fully clothed, the same wound on the forehead, and a single slash to the throat; it was clean with no blood in sight. The second ID picture showed a young male with short dark brown hair, green-hazel eyes, and pale skin.

“Victim number three, is Jackson MacNeil, 23. His body was discovered in Wakefield Park just off of the Capital Beltway 3 weeks ago.” Hotch presented.

The third picture was nearly identical to the second, but instead of a shallow grave the body was found in the bushes. The ID picture revealed the face of a young man with long black hair, light green eyes, and pale skin.

“Victim number four was found just a few hours ago in Walker Mill Regional Park. His name was Baker Corwin, and he was 22.”

The fourth crime scene picture was more like the third crime scene photo than the others as the body was also disposed of in the wooded areas of the parks, hidden in the tall bushes. The fourth and final ID picture showed the face of another young male, with ear-length dark brown hair, pale skin, and dark green eyes.

“All the victims showed signs of sexual assault and had heavy bruising on their arms and legs; suggesting that they were bound and held for at least 24-hours. There have been rape kits used on the first three bodies, and although there were signs of seminal fluid left behind, there hasn’t been any matches yet in the database.” Hotch concluded.

“The neck wound appears jagged and rushed, but not necessarily implying that the Unsub was hesitant. I’m thinking more frustration and anger.” Alex suggested.

“The Unsub shows remorse after he has killed the victims. In the way that he disposes of the bodies, it’s almost like he’s laying them to rest. It’s also possible that he doesn’t try to hide the bodies because he wants them to be found and taken care of but allow him to get away unnoticed.” Rossi advised.

“What’s that wound on their foreheads? It looks to be in the same spot on all of the victims.” JJ asked.

Hotch pulled up a close-up picture of all the victims’ foreheads on the overhead viewing screen. “The same symbol has also been carved into the most recent victim. They all show signs of being alive when it was carved into their foreheads. The police have no idea if it’s a calling card or if it’s from a weapon of some kind.” Hotch replied.

“Perhaps it’s simply a ritualistic process that the Unsub feels the need to complete.” Morgan suggested.

“It’s in the shape of a lightning bolt, which the ancient pagans believed to symbolized protection or was a form of divine message and honoring those chosen by the gods. The Vikings saw it as a sign of the God of Thunder and Lightning, Thor. It also was believed to symbolize sudden illumination and the destruction of ignorance for the ancient Roman’s. In Greece, it represents not only the King of Gods, Zeus, but also a punishment to humans by the gods. Carl Jung saw it as a symbol that meant the liberation of the soul or a sign of phallic relations. Modernly it’s believed to be a symbol of intuition and in dreams it’s been seen as a sign that means sudden and terrible events are about to happen. It could of course also be the Armanen rune – Sowilo. Other names for the same rune include: Sol, Sowulo, and Sigil, but you would be most familiar with the term Sun. The rune has multiple meanings: victory, guidance, mastery, wholeness, and the seat of the soul. The rune also represented extreme strength, as well as being able to embody and channel the power of the sun; it also proclaims the never-ending triumph of light over darkness and was resistant to the negative forces of death and destruction. It illuminated the objectives of man, as a divine being, wanting to reach and achieve.” Spencer analyzed.

“Or it could just be a lightning bolt.” Morgan surmised.

“These all appear to be healthy young men, so how was the Unsub able to subdue them?” JJ inquired.

“It’s possible that we could be looking at an older, stronger male as our Unsub.” Alex indicated.

“That could be, but that wouldn’t explain the evidence of sedatives that were found in the victim’s systems.” Hotch explained.

“It could be that we’re dealing with an older male either with a low level of physical fitness or we’re dealing with an Unsub that is less confidant in their abilities, which could explain why the Unsub felt the need to physically dominate the victims.” JJ theorized.

“Yes, that could be, but that wouldn’t explain the remorse that the Unsub shows when disposing of the victim’s bodies. It’s much more common to find overkill rather than sympathy from those types of Unsubs.” Rossi answered.

“It’s plausible to think that the Unsub perhaps didn’t intend to kill his victims but is angered by something that the victims did wrong to break the Unsub’s fantasy.” Alex speculated.

“The question is what kind of fantasy does our Unsub have that the victims are unable to complete?” Morgan queried.

“It’s probable to theorize that the victims simply just didn’t react or respond to his actions exactly the way that the Unsub had imagined in his head. The only one able to do that is the Unsub himself. It would be impossible for the victims to do so.” Spencer suggested.

“Rossi and JJ, I want you two to go down to the crime scene of our most recent victim. Alex and I will be at the police station, Baker Corwin’s family should be there, as well as the individual that discovered the body. We’ll be interviewing them. Morgan and Reid, I want you two to go down to the morgue. Garcia, I want you to run backgrounds on our four victims, as well as doing a search for any crimes that could be related. If that is all, pack your things, we’re leaving in 30.” Hotch dismissed after checking the time on his watch.

•

This one was perfect.

The man knew this the instant that he laid eyes on him.

He was extremely lucky to spot such a perfect doppelgänger before he was even looking for a replacement. He was driving past Fort Slocum on his way to work and was stopped at a red light when he turned his head. There in the field, was a group of young adult males playing a game of flag football, but one of them stood out immediately from the rest. Black hair, caramel skin, and a lean athletic build. The young man even looked to be the same height and weight as his Harry.

The man was broken from his trance when the honk of a car horn sounded behind him. With little thought of the consequences of being late to work again, he pulled off to the side and parked his car.

Looking out the window, the man could see the young man’s features better and was amazed at the close resemblance. The man’s Harry and this stranger shared a similar nose and chin. He had to get closer. Getting out of the car, the man began to mosey on along the path, making sure to be as inconspicuous as possible.

The game was paused for a moment, they were laughing and having a brief chat before the next round. It was a break for them all to catch a breath and rehydrate it seemed. Carefully taking in everything that the male did, the man noted which bag was his and which were his friends.

Listening in, the man heard the doppelgängers voice for the first time since he had first spotted him 15 minutes prior. It was incredible, this doppelgänger really was perfect. This individual had a slight British accent, it was possible that he was originally from the UK, or either one or both of his parents were British themselves, giving him the partial accent.

The man was right in his first observations of the young man that he was perfect. Perhaps with such a perfect specimen he’ll finally be able to get things right, so that he can finally start things with the original.

The man stayed for another 45 minutes, before the group of friends finally started to pack things up and get ready to go. He watched from afar as they began to leave. He was about to get up to try and catch which car the doppelgänger got into – so that he could follow them and see where they went – but in a stroke of extreme luck, the young man adjusted his gym bag to aggressively causing his wallet to fall to the ground unnoticed.

It was almost shocking how well the man’s day was going. With little hesitation, the man quickly walked over to retrieve the forgotten item, so giddy at his stroke of luck that he almost forgot to watch for where his prey was going next. The man watched as his prey got into a red Jeep Compass and eventually drove away. Normally, the man would have followed, but since he had the young man’s wallet, he already had all the information that he needed.

Getting into his car the man pulled out a note pad and pen, preparing to write down the young man’s address.

DOB 12/3/1980
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
HGT 5”-08”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
1 Burke
2 Darwin Burke
3 5314 Illinois Ave NW
Washington, DC 20011-2716
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
♥DONOR

‘Oh, Darwin you are perfect.’ The man thought, a wide creepy grin marking his face. ‘So, perfect. He’s even the same height as my Harry. He will do well; I just know it.’

•

‘It has always been eerie to stand over the body of someone so close to his own age.’ Spencer thought solemnly, a grimace firmly pressed upon his face. Spencer’s gaze fully set upon the peaceful visage of the Unsub’s most recent victim.

“Do you have any idea what caused the irritation around the nose and mouth?” Morgan questioned, breaking Spencer from his grievances.

“I sent a swab down to trace, and they identified it as concentrated Petroleum Naphtha. My best guess is that the killer doused a rag with it and held it against the victims face.” The coroner relied.

“Petroleum Naphtha?” Morgan repeated, obviously confused and unfamiliar with the chemical.

“Petroleum Naphtha is a fairly common chemical mixture used in a number of different industries and regions. It’s used in a wide variety of solvents for paints, dry-cleaning, cutback asphalts, a multitude of industrial extraction processes and the rubber industry; as well being used in making varnishes, adhesives, coatings, and a number of other chemicals. It is, however, most commonly associated with being the precursor to gasoline and other liquid fuels. High exposure can cause fatigue, lightheadedness and passing out.” Spencer lectured.

“Okay.” Morgan said, most likely out of his supposed element. “What did the toxicology report come back as?” He asked.

“The victim’s blood showed signs of the victim having had something to drink before their death. As well as having some traces of Triazolam in their system.” The coroner answered.

“It’s a relatively common medication used to treat insomnia, though you do have to get a prescription for it. It typically lasts about 90 minutes to 3 hours in an individual’s system, and can be felt almost immediately after being ingested.” The coroner continued, if only for Morgan’s sake.

“I also took a look at all of our victims stomach contents. It appears that they all ate before they were killed, maybe even just a few hours before hand.” The coroner added.

“Were you able to identify what they ate?” Morgan questioned.

“It looks to be some type of potatoes, pork, and a few pieces of sausage casings. Nothing much more than that though.” The coroner finished.

Morgan nodded his head in acknowledgement before lowering his eyes to the victim’s body that laid still upon the metal examining table. “Did you discover anything unusual about the carving on the victim’s forehead?”

“Hmph.” The coroner hummed in agreement, carrying their glance down towards the unusual incision. “Yes. There were no signs of a struggle and there was some obvious bleeding, so it’s safe to conclude that it was made whilst the victim was unconscious. I was able to discover that it was indeed a carving done by a blade, rather than it being caused by a weapon of some sort. When I examined the first two victims, I discovered small traces of ink still present on the skin.”

“Ink?” Morgan questioned.

“Yes. I assume that the killer took his time in drawing the symbol out first before going in to create the mark.” The coroner explained.

“How odd.” Spencer mumbled; his gaze fixated on the unusual carving.

Something wasn’t right about this case.

Something didn’t sit well with him, which was unusual considering that it had nothing to do with mental health or children – especially those that were bullied – his usual case triggers.

It was only after an image of Harry’s gentle smile from earlier that morning popped into his head, did he realize why this case was so off putting.

Harry fit this Unsub’s type to the ‘T’.

It was stomach wrenching how similar Harry resembled the young man that laid dead in front of him. The mere thought that Harry could end up on the same autopsy table as this victim had his guts tying into metaphorical knots.

Harry had dark hair, just as all the other victims did.

He had the same athletic build and height with the same green eyes that all of the previous victims possessed.

He even had lightly tanned skin; not to pale and not to tan. It was just right.

Hell, he even shared some of the same features as the other victims.

It was frightening how many similarities were shared between his old friend and these corpses.

Then, out of nowhere his heart nearly stopped dead in his chest. It all came rushing back to him in that moment, hitting him like a tidal wave of emotion all at once.

When he remembered Maeve, and how he failed her, it was always like that. He could still see the blood and feel the heartache that it left behind. He could still hear that god awful sound of the gun being fired and her body dropping to the concrete rooftop. Horrifyingly still, never to move again.

He swallowed roughly. His eyes grew hot and the back of his throat became raw.

It will never come to that!

He would make sure of that.

He wouldn’t be able to go on if he lost another friend to an Unsub that he failed to catch.

Never again!

He wouldn’t be able to take it if it happened again.