Chapter Text
"It means a great deal to those who are oppressed to know that they are not alone. Never let anyone tell you that what you are doing is insignificant." –Desmond Tutu
When she wished for a distraction that morning, as she walked down 42nd Street, this she hadn’t imagined this. Bianca just wanted something, anything to take her mind off of the flurry of thoughts that kept her from falling asleep last night, and had overstayed their welcome into dawn. Like the way she felt so out of place at Sarah-Jane and Rishi’s engagement party, or how she really needed to figure out what she wanted to do after the funding for her fellowship ran out this year, or the fact that she knew her parents would most definitely not be calling her on her birthday in just a few days and that she was still, somehow, going to be disappointed about it.
That distraction would come in the form of files to review or memos to write or some new search that needed to be run on the United Nations databases, or so she had thought. But when she walked into the office on the 29th floor, Marcus was waiting by her desk.
“Grab your stuff and meet in the conference room,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “We’ve got an update on Okello.” The name immediately captured her attention. How could it not, when she’d spent the better part of the last year learning as much as she could about the genocidal warlord and his reign of terror in Sudan? Writing countless reports, speaking to the General Assembly about the ongoing crisis, keeping in touch with their colleagues who were on the ground in Sudan. If there was news that required a meeting first thing in the morning, it had to be urgent.
“Found Bianca,” Marcus announced as she followed him into the room where the rest of the taskforce was gathered.
Dr. Baker sat at the head of the table, passing a handful of papers around, and she nodded in acknowledgment. “Wonderful. Now that we’re all here, I’d like to get right into it. Abdul called last night from Khartoum. He has inside information that Wilson Okello is planning to flee the country and come here, to New York, by boat. As he’s wanted by the International Criminal Court, both the UN and the CIA think this could be the best chance to apprehend him. They want us to help make that happen.”
Discontent rolled through the room. What are we supposed to do? They want us to work with the CIA? Why would Okello come here?
Dr. Baker raised her hand to quiet them, the ever-collected and always prepared leader of their team. “Our expertise when it comes to Okello means they think we’re in the best position to figure out where he might go once he arrives in the city. And we won’t be working with the CIA. We’ve been referred to the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit. A team of profilers will help us find him and, hopefully, arrest him once we do.”
Bianca glanced around at her coworkers, all of them sitting in various states of stunned silence. It was a lot to take in. The man they’d spent months monitoring and studying from afar was coming here, and now they were expected to help catch him. It was closer contact than she had ever imagined to someone whose horrors and war crimes she was intimately acquainted with.
Marcus was the first to speak as they surfaced from their silent processing. “When is this happening?”
“According to Abdul, he’s coming before the week is over. So the FBI team will be here tomorrow. I need all hands on deck preparing what we have for them.” Dr. Baker glanced around the table, meeting their eyes. “You all know what the stakes are here – we can’t let him get away.”
As she let her words sink in, Bianca reached for the coffee cup in front of her, raising it to her lips in a daze. This was certainly a distraction that would keep her busy, one that wouldn’t even give her time to fret about job applications or perceived loneliness or her family’s disregard for her. She had an assignment. And by this time tomorrow, she be working on it with a handful of strangers from the FBI.
[ || ]
"Thank you for coming on such short notice," the red-haired man before them said, leading the team up a flight of stairs.
"Oh, believe me, we've had shorter," Rossi replied. "And more urgent as well."
"Either way, we're glad to have you here." He pushed open glass double-doors into a conference room not all that unlike their own in Quantico.
A small group sat around a table full of file folders, and as they entered, the woman in the center of them stood in greeting. She was tall and serious-looking, with brown skin and black hair streaked with gray.
"You must be the team from the BAU," she said. "Thank you for coming. My name is Dr. Josephine Baker. I'm a legal advisor at the New York Office of the United Nations. Allow me to introduce you to my own team." She gestured around the circle to each person in turn, moving from her left to her right. "You've already met Jonathan Turner." The red-haired man took his seat at the table. "He and Marcus Marius are both attorneys." Marius was bald, with thick glasses. "Judge Kana Mogami is here from the International Criminal Court." A middle-aged Japanese woman looked up from the notes she was taking. "Yousra Salah is a Sudanese organizer and political analyst." The Black woman wearing a green hijab nodded. "And Bianca Brown is a research fellow here at the UN's human rights office." A young white woman with short, dark hair gave a quick wave.
"I'm Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. These are SSAs Morgan, Rossi, Prentiss, and Jareau, and our own Dr. Reid. What exactly would you like us to do?"
"Wilson Okello has been on the list of every human rights group for the last decade. He's a Sudanese warlord, charged with murder, genocide, and recruiting child soldiers, among other things. We've spent almost two years tracking his movements, but he's continued to evade capture. Yesterday, we received a credible tip that he's made plans to flee to the US by a ship that will reach port in New York City. I'm told that your team is the best in the world when it comes to finding suspects, and our window of opportunity to catch Okello is closing fast. We need your help."
"Usually, we're looking for unknown subjects based on the nature of their crimes," Morgan interjected. "You already know who you're looking for."
While her colleagues exchanged nervous glances with one another, Dr. Baker was entirely unfazed. "Which is why this mission should be far easier than most. We can tell you everything about Okello. Who he trusts, what his hobbies are. What his crimes are like, what his victims are like; we can even tell you about his childhood and his favorite foods," she assured them. "Please. If he's not found, countless more people are going to die. And countless more children will be forced to kill for him."
After a long pause, Hotch finally asked, "Where would you like us to start?"
Dr. Baker gave a small smile. "I presume you'd prefer to divide and conquer. Marius and Judge Mogami can inform you about the criminal case against him. Turner and I can help show you the ports of the city and possible hideouts. Miss Salah has a list of allies and associates, and Miss Brown will remain here to assist with any research. If you'll assign your team, we can get to work."
Hotch nodded. "Prentiss and I will check out the criminal case."
"I'll go with Turner and Dr. Baker to map out the ports," Rossi volunteered.
"Great," Hotch said. "JJ, go with Salah and start working on a press release we can put out to the city. All the possible names and faces. And Morgan, call up Garcia. You and Reid stay here and let us know what you find out."
[ || ]
The view from the office window looked out over the New York skyline. The towering silhouettes of the Empire State Building and Chrysler Building stood out against a late-afternoon sky that was just beginning to glow with the beginnings of a sunset. He’d never given much thought to a view before, but staring out over the city Spencer Reid wondered if it wasn’t so much that he hadn’t been paying attention, but that he had never had the opportunity to look at a place from somewhere like this – somewhere that forced him to notice the things he overlooked when he was too lost in the details on the ground.
“Sorry for the wait! I’ve got another set of files for you.” An unfamiliar voice stole his attention away from the window and he turned to see Bianca Brown pushing her way through the office door with a large cardboard box in her arms. The size of the box seemed to overwhelm her but she managed to carry it to the table. “These are the most recent communications we have from Okello.”
While the woman began pulling papers and folders out of the box, Reid couldn’t help but profile her. Her dark hair was cropped pixie cut, shorter than most women wore their hair, and she had a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. The clothes she wore were professional, but her blazer and shoes were clearly older and worn which suggested she was frugal, or perhaps on a tighter budget. Non-profit and advocacy work typically didn’t pay as well as corporate positions and the field was often populated by those who either those who were so passionate about their work that they made do with the lower salary, or those who came from such a wealthy background that the pay didn’t matter. The fact that Bianca Brown carried backpack rather than a leather briefcase and seemed nervous around the agents even in her own office suggested the former.
After glancing at the sets of files she sorted them into three stacks and handed one to Morgan and then one to Reid. As he reached for it, their fingers brushed. Her hand was cold and she offered him a shy smile before averting her gaze. She appeared almost intimidated by them.
"So why have we never heard of this guy?" Morgan asked.
"Well, the FBI is mostly interior. This is international," Reid responded, sifting through the piles of paperwork before him.
"I know that," Morgan rolled his eyes as he opened up his laptop. "I meant we as in the general public. I mean, people like Putin and Castro are all over the news, but this guy? Nothing."
"Unless you're from the region, an oil baron, or involved in human rights, Sudan doesn’t exactly come up in casual conversation," Bianca said. "Particularly among Americans, there's this misconception that Africa is full of problems. That people there die all the time, and it doesn’t matter if it's hunger or AIDS or a civil war. It still seems worlds away to them. When's the last time you remember hearing about someone like Okello?"
"There was the campaign against Joseph Kony," Reid volunteered.
"Yeah, and we all know how well that went," Garcia chimed in, the screen on Morgan's computer blinking to life.
Morgan grinned "Hey baby girl. Welcome to the party. What can you tell me about a Sudanese warlord?"
"I'm guessing this isn't going to be my kind of party," Garcia grumbled.
And so the four fell into a steady pace of work. Morgan would stop from time to time to toss an idea to Garcia or ask her to look something up, while Bianca explained the history of the case to Reid. It was fascinating, flipping through files compiled by a team. There were six sets of handwriting, six different points of view. Reid enjoyed trying to guess which of Dr. Baker's team had written which entries in the stacks of notes.
Though none of the self-made fonts would help him to profile the warlord they were after, he couldn't help but analyze them. Some had been written in neat and thick block letters, every last one capitalized, the mark of an impulsive person who craved recognition. Other pages were annotated with curling cursive that slanted far to the right, someone who was methodical and sentimental. He was most intrigued though, by the evenly-spaced, looping letters. Whoever had written those notes was intuitive and optimistic, the long curve of each "y" indicating someone who loved to travel, and the cheerful dots of the lowercase "i" signifying an artistic, playful nature. They seemed so out of place, describing such horrors, and he found the juxtaposition intriguing. It was a rare thing to see that kind of optimism in their work.
"Do you handwrite all your reports?" he asked.
"Not all of them. We don't always have the opportunity to sit down at a computer, depending on where we're doing our research. Most of them get transcribed by an intern later on, but with the sensitivity of this case at the moment, we've tried to keep it as confidential as possible," Bianca said.
He wanted to pay closer attention to the gallery of graphology in those files, but he forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. Garcia's voice drifted in and out all evening, accented by a flurry of typing. Morgan was amused, watching Bianca react to the flirtatious banter coming through the laptop speakers. The young woman was first startled, then confused, but she seemed to accept it with a smile. She herself was spirited, almost animated in the passionate stories she told to the agents, explaining their arduous search for Okello and his army. She told stories with her hands, wild gestures that drew a laugh from Reid.
"You know most of this by heart," he remarked to her, as she finished telling him about the beginning of Okello's reign. "How long have you been here?"
"Well, officially, only about ten months," she said. "But I interned here in grad school. After I finished my program, I started my fellowship here and Dr. Baker brought me onto the team officially." The sun was sinking lower over the city, and she glanced out the window at the gold-tinged skyline. "It's funny. When I was younger, I never thought I'd end up in New York, but something about it just feels right. Anyways, I know I'm throwing at lot at you here," she said, spreading her arms wide. "So please feel free to make copies to take with you, or ask me anything. I can ask the rest of our team if they'd mind keeping all of today's files out in case you want to go through them again."
"No worries, we'll be good," Morgan said. "Pretty boy here has a perfect memory."
"Well, not perfect," Reid clarified. "Eidetic. I can remember almost everything I read and see."
"Everything?" Bianca glanced at the many folders and notes strewn over the table, then back at him. "Wow. I'm sorry I'm giving you such awful things to read about. I wish I could give you happier memories than this." Reid blinked, her words taking him by surprise. When his memory was brought up, people were often surprised, but they'd always talked about it like a gift. A useful tool. But nobody seemed to understand that in this line of work, it meant countless horrors were imprinted in his mind. And certainly nobody had ever wished to give him something happier to focus on. Her words carried an unexpected warmth, softening some spot in his chest and melting the tension he carried.
As the day drew to dusk, Hotch called his team back to the hotel to float ideas and get some rest. It was only a short walk from the office to the hotel, for which Reid was grateful when he noticed the bookstore. The watch on his wrist told him there would be enough time to run in and pick up a few things – he wanted to read up on South Sudan and Wilson Okello, so he would feel more prepared tomorrow. It was odd, not being the expert in the room.
He wandered through the narrow aisles of the shop that seemed so brightly lit as the sky grew dimmer. He was balancing a towering stack in his arms when he turned the corner and ran straight into something. Glancing down he realized it was someone he had run into, and was surprised to see a face he recognized collecting her bag from the ground. "...Bianca?" he asked. They'd parted ways only minutes earlier.
"Dr. Reid, I'm sorry!" she exclaimed, evidently flustered. When she looked up at him, he saw warm brown eyes, and he had never realized that eyes could seem warm, that their color could invite you in, make you want to stay.
"Sorry? I'm the one who should be apologizing, I ran into you! And, I uh, I'm sorry about that," he added.
"It's fine, I'm okay. It happens a lot. People don't always see me." She was small, a fact that was even more obvious by Reid's own height. He had to be almost a foot taller than her. "What are you doing here? I thought your boss called you all back to put some information together?"
"He did, but I've got some time, so I decided to pick up a little reading."
The young woman glanced at the stack of books dubiously. "That's only a little? Is it all for the case?"
"Well, I read about ten books a week when I'm working. And most of them are, yeah. Sudanese histories, human rights law. Others are just for personal interest. Any recommendations?"
"We've got to find something a little brighter to read. But if you want to stay close to the topic human rights, have you ever read Eleanor Roosevelt's autobiography? She was-"
"32nd First Lady of the United States, journalist, Chairperson of the Presidential Commission on the Status of Women, and one of the key writers of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights," he rattled off, the list clear in his mind. Then, realizing that she probably knew all these things, glanced down, a little embarrassed. "But, no I haven't. Read her book, that is."
But she didn't seem to mind his rambling. "Oh you have to! She's one of my favorite people of all time, but she never gets enough credit. I can show you where it is, if you'd like?" He could've said no, bought his books and been on his way back to get work done, but that unspoken invitation in her eyes made him want to linger just a little longer. Surely searching something a bit happier couldn't hurt. She led him through the maze of books and shelves until she found a copy of it. They stood in line together, where he purchased eight books to her one, chatting away about the former first lady, the best books they’d read lately, and the many incredible things New York City had to offer. It was strange to find himself talking to someone he barely knew with such ease, with a sense of comfort that usually took him years to find.
"Have you ever been to the Strand before?" she inquired, pushing open the door onto the street.
"Never," he answered. "Would you believe me if I said I've only ever seen New York when we have a case here?"
"You'd love it. They have eighteen miles of books, on just about every subject imaginable. If you do get the time, you really should see it." Maybe it was time he started visiting places outside of work. There were wonders waiting to be found. “Well,” she added, nodding towards the avenue. “I’m this way, so I suppose this is where I say good night.”
"Should I walk you back to your apartment?" Reid asked, glancing down the crowded city block. If questioned, he would simply say it was a matter of safety, of being thoughtful – but in truth he wasn’t quite ready for that easy conversation to come to a close.
"Oh, no," Bianca assured him. "My place is just at the end of the block. Thank you though." She smiled and he tried to mimic the expression, not wanting to let his disappointment show. "I'll see you tomorrow. I hope you can make time for some lighter memories."
[ || ]
Bianca Brown had been in New York for six years, ten months, two weeks, and five days. In that time, she'd seen various street performers, been accosted by a mime, had her breakfast stolen by a squirrel on two different occasions, and almost - it was the almost that she got caught up on, cursing office hours - met the guy who ran Humans of New York. At the end of her first year at Columbia, Dr. Baker had offered her an incredible opportunity, interning at the New York office for the United Nations. That internship had evolved into full-time job as a research fellow after she graduated to work with Dr. Baker and her group of human rights lawyers, which in turn had earned her a spot on the team hunting Wilson Okello.
In those six years, she’d made friends from across the five boroughs, met attorneys and diplomats from all corners of the globe, and seen small miracles on quiet streets and crowded subways. Yet, in all her time in the city, and all of the people she had met through work, there were very few who stuck in her mind quite like Dr. Spencer Reid. There had been colleagues and foreign ambassadors whom she was inspired by, and people she dreamed of someday working with, but this was different. He wasn't someone in her field, and though she admired his intelligence, she knew that wasn't the whole reason he was still in her thoughts as she turned the corner to her apartment building.
Only Yousra’s voice calling her name brought her thoughts back to the present moment. She turned to see her colleague jogging towards her. They’d become neighbors during the case when the activist began subletting an apartment on the floor below hers. “Do my eyes deceive me or did I see you looking cozy with Agent Reid a few minutes ago?” Yousra asked.
Bianca unlocked the building door. “I wouldn’t say we were cozy. We were ran into each other at the bookstore after work,” she said. “That’s all.”
“You say cozy like it is a bad thing. I would not judge you – he is handsome, isn’t he?”
“I haven’t really been paying attention,” she lied. “Besides, it would… it would be unprofessional of me to think like that. We’re on a case.”
Yousra shook her head. “It is okay to relax, you know? Turner met his husband when they were opposing counsel in a Supreme Court case and nobody said anything about it. Nobody would think less of you for getting along with another human being. Besides, they are all very good looking. There must be some beauty requirement to be in the FBI.”
Bianca laughed as they stepped into the elevator. “I feel like that would be grounds for a discrimination lawsuit.”
“Not if it is a valid requirement for the job. Don’t you think people would be more willing to confess to a beautiful, charming agent?”
“Now you’re on to something.”
“Of course I’m on to something.” Yousra winked. The doors slid open on her floor but before she stepped out she said, “And Bianca? You are allowed to have a life outside of this case you know. You spend all your days thinking about human rights, but you are allowed to just be human.”
The elevator closed and she rode up another floor alone. Once inside her own apartment, Bianca shut the door, carefully sliding the deadbolt into place. She shrugged out of her backpack, setting it next to the small bookstore bag. Thirteen dollars she spent on a hardcover book – one she had promised herself she'd wait until next month to buy – solely so she had an excuse to stay there with him. Quite literally bumping into him in the store had caught her off guard, but she found that once she started talking to him, she wanted to stay. It seemed odd to walk through the store with nothing to purchase, and so she'd picked up a copy of Behind the Beautiful Forevers anyways, though she'd spent many an evening walking through bookstores alone with no intention of buying something. It must've been the company. Or maybe it was just Dr. Reid.
Yousra was on to something. Her mind kept wandering back to him – brilliant and kind, a little awkward, but in a way that was endearing. He was tall, and there was something striking about his face, that sharp jawline and the way a smile changed his visage entirely.
Slipping into the tiny bathroom to brush her teeth, she tried to shake herself back into reality. It didn’t matter if she thought he was handsome or she got along with him. There was no point in getting invested in someone she hardly knew. Bianca frowned at herself in the bathroom mirror, forcing herself to be realistic. What reason did someone like him have to pay attention to someone like her?
Sighing, Bianca retired to the small window in her bedroom. It faced out across the city, and during her first few weeks she'd often sat on the bed watching the lights, the glow and bustle of a living city. If she peered off to the side, she could see the awning of the hotel where the BAU team was staying. Why was she still thinking about him? FBI agents like that, she thought, probably travel all across the country. It's probably just another case, just a job, something to get done so they can get home to their own places and their own apartments. Or houses. Or spouses.
Her fingers traced the outline of buildings and windows, and she looked down, smiling at the tiny cactus growing in a coffee mug full of soil. Perhaps, she could give herself permission to be human. To feel this. Sometimes this city felt cold and lonely. Sometimes, she felt right at home. In a few days, she'd be turning twenty-four, surrounded by people she spent so many hours "saving the world" with, and a brilliant team who would help them to apprehend a man she'd spent the past year helping to track down. Whatever the reason for the tiny spark of hope she felt, Dr. Spencer Reid was one building over, and she was here, and just outside her window New York City sparkled like stars for miles.
[ || ]
The second day of work passed in a blur. The BAU team worked tirelessly to narrow down possible allies and strategies, while Dr. Baker's team mapped out locations and listed off intelligence tips. They split up after lunch, when Hotchner and his agents went to go meet JJ for the press conference, and reconvened for dinner. Dr. Baker had food ordered to a conference room in the office, having insisted they could save time by working over dinner together.
Both teams arrived, filling in seats one by one. Bianca and Judge Mogami were the last to arrive. The only two seats remaining were in front of the door – between Morgan and Dr. Baker – and one wedged in the corner between Reid and Hotch. Bianca made a beeline for the chair in the corner, sitting down just as the food arrived. There was a flurry of hands grabbing for pizza slices and reaching for drinks before Dr. Baker calmed the crowd, clearing her throat loudly.
"Thank you for that press release Agent Jareau," she said. The matronly legal adviser always spoke in a formal tone, though not unkind or aloof. "If we're lucky we'll start receiving some information tonight. We believe that Okello will be arriving in the next two days, but we still aren't sure how or where."
"He'll likely come by a cargo ship. He won't risk traveling in a typical fashion, so that suggests he'll be in a box or a shipping container. It's possible he'll be wearing a disguise, but unlikely he'll be dressed like a typical New Yorker. If it was any other city, he'd stand out," Rossi advised.
"But this is New York City," Hotch added. "And its diversity and eccentricity makes it perfect for someone who won't fit in. He wouldn't be able to get through customs without being noticed, so he would likely travel by car after arrival. Which means we have to work fast in order to intercept him."
While the two lawyers began throwing out possible ports and places to check, Prentiss leaned over to whisper to JJ. "Did you see her?" The dark-haired agent gestured at the short young woman across the table. There wasn't anything about her that immediately stood out, other than her lack of height. At the moment she was speaking to Reid with animated hand gestures.
"Brown? What about her?" JJ asked.
"There were two seats open when she arrived. Most women her age would take the first open seat, especially since Morgan and her mentor are sitting right there. But she went to the corner seat. Why?"
"I don't know... She's small so she fits easily? She's the kind of person who always takes the worse option for herself?"
"Or it has to do with who she's sitting next to."
JJ glanced at the two men. Hotch was older, he wore a wedding band, so that seemed unlikely. She could see the way Bianca's chair was slightly angled to her left, the way her eyes flickered in that direction to Reid for just a split second, and then back. "You think this about Reid? She barely knows him."
"True, but they spent most of yesterday together – she might just feel comfortable around him. And Morgan was there, too. But she chose to sit by Reid. Doesn't that make you wonder?"
"Maybe they've met before," JJ suggested. Catching the smirk Emily wore, she raised her eyebrows. “And maybe we should look into that.”
Across the table, Bianca was laughing. “So you mean to tell me you just happened to finish the entire book in under three hours?”
“I can read about 20,000 words per minute. It probably would have been faster if Morgan and Emily hadn’t come to my room insisting on raiding my mini-bar last night, but yes. Three hours give or take,” Reid said.
“And what did you think?”
“Well, I wasn’t going to drink anything from the bar, but it was pretty late so I guess I was a little annoyed. But they’re my friends so I–” Noticing the bemused look on her face he trailed off, face red. “Oh, you meant the book. I – I thought it was great. You’ve converted me to an Eleanor Roosevelt fan.”
She grinned. “I knew you’d like it.” There was a pause as a question settled in her mind. "By the way, I've been meaning to ask – what are you a doctor of?"
"Well, I've got PhDs in Chemistry, Engineering, and Mathematics. But my undergrad degrees were in Psychology, Philosophy, and Sociology."
He said it so casually, and to him it had never been a big deal, but Bianca looked dumbfounded, her dark eyes blinking wide and awestruck. "How old are you?"
"28." He glanced over her, trying to estimate her own age. On one hand she was out of school, and she spoke with a particular air of maturity, so she had to be at least in her mid-twenties or early-thirties. On the other hand, her small frame was childlike, making it difficult to surmise her age with any certainty. After settling on a ballpark estimate of 27, give or take a year, he gave in and asked, "How old are you?"
"24, with no PhDs to my name. Or at least, I'll be 24 in two days. All I want is for Wilson Okello to be locked up where he can never hurt another human being."
Spencer gave her a small, sad smile. "We'll do our best to make that happen."