Author's Note:

Of course, I don't own any of the characters on Criminal Minds. But I do have a soft spot for our favorite genius, who never seems to catch a break from the writers. So I figured it was time to write him a bright spot in the tangle of darkness the BAU is so often subject to.

While this fic will span across multiple seasons, it begins in Season 5, not long after "100."
Reviews - especially constructive criticism - are always much appreciated.

"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

"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, black, and serious-looking.

"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 lawyers." 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. "Elise VanBuren works for Amnesty International." The pale lady with long blonde hair nodded. "And Bianca Brown does advocacy and outreach work 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. Last month, we received a tip from intelligence agencies 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."

"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," Dr. Baker assured him. "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 VanBuren 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 VanBuren 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."

"So why have we never heard of this guy?" Morgan asked.

"Well, the FBI is mostly interior. This is international," Reid responded, sifting through piles of paperwork.

"I knew that," Morgan rolled his eyes. "I meant we as in the general public. I mean, people like Putin and Castro and Kim Jong-il are all over the news, but this guy? Nothing."

"Unless you're a geographer or involved in human rights, Sudan isn't exactly a well-known country," Bianca Brown said. "There's this idea that Africa is full of problems. People there die all the time, and most Americans don't care 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, 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 round bubbled dots of the lowercase "i" signifying an artistic, playful nature. They seemed so out of place, describing such horrors, and he found the juxtaposition 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 afternoon, accented by a flurry of typing. Morgan was amused, watching Bianca react to the flirtatious banter coming through the laptop speakers. The advocate 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 college. After grad school, Dr. Baker offered me a temporary post-grad position, and after that ended she 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 stepped on someone's foot.

"Oh, man, um..." He glanced down to see whose toes he should be apologizing to, and was surprised to see a face he recognized. "...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 stepped on your foot! 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 a 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 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, 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.

"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.

"If you'd like, I could walk you back?" Reid asked, glancing down the crowded city block. He knew all to well how easy it was for a girl to disappear off of a street, even in a public place like this.

"Oh, no," Bianca assured him. "My apartment is just at the end of the block. Thank you though." She smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow. I hope you can make time for some lighter memories."

Bianca Brown had been in New York for 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. It had been a shift, adjusting to the cold again after two years at Stanford, but Dr. Baker had offered her an incredible opportunity, interning at the New York office for the United Nations. That internship had evolved into a job with Dr. Baker and her group of human rights lawyers, which in turn had earned her a spot on the team hunting Wilson Okello.

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 speakers and foreign ambassadors who 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.

Bianca shut the door to her apartment, 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 book- one she had promised herself she'd wait until next month to buy- solely so she had an excuse to talk to 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.

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. There was no point in getting invested in someone she hardly knew. And besides, it was unlikely he'd take such an interest in her. On the whole, she was unremarkable. At 5'2", she was liable to get lost in the New York crowds. Her brown hair, which she had chopped short on a whim only three months ago, the smattering of freckles across her cheeks, more evident in the summer - what about her was memorable? 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?

Not to mention he seemed to be a certified genius, that much she had gleaned from the conversations between him and the other agents. She'd just gotten her Master's, and had little to her name other than her research articles, and the poetry collection she'd published in college, under a pen name. But that was something she prided on keeping private, now that she'd managed to pay off a portion of her student loans with the profits.

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. Sometimes this city felt cold and lonely. Sometimes, she felt right at home. In a few days, she'd be turning twenty-five, 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 booked the back room of a local diner, 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. The two women watched on, intrigued.

Across the table, Reid and Bianca were trading thoughts on the life of Eleanor Roosevelt, after she had recovered from the shock of hearing he had finished the entire book in a matter of minutes.

"Why do you like her so much?" Reid was asking.

"It's hard to pick just one reason. She was smart. She always stood up for what she believed in, even when it went against her husband's policies. And she did so much for human rights. But still, the UN Human Rights Council has so much opportunity to do good. If only they had the power to enforce decisions the way the FBI does," she said wistfully.

"We're not exactly the most powerful side of the FBI," Reid conceded. The BAU, he explained, always had to be invited in to help with a case. If local law enforcement refused their help, their hands were tied unless state lines were crossed.

"But you make a difference," Bianca insisted. 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?"

"29." 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?"

"25, with no PhDs to my name. Or at least, I'll be 25 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."