Disclaimer: I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.

Warnings: This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers. Please exercise understanding of personal sensitivities before and while reading.

Author's Note(s): So, I have tons of fics that need to be done within the next week, and I get sucked back into this fic series. Shout out to Jetainia for totally being to blame.

Series Note(s): This fic take place within the continuum of The Quiet Calm. Specifically, it follows the oneshot The Final Anchor. While care has been taken so that this story can stand on its own, reading the preceding fics will increase one's understanding and enjoyment of things. Since this series is being written out of order, I recommend going by the series order given on my profile.

Story Summary (Air on Fire): Harry needed information in order to help Spencer in the wake of Revelations. Pressing Spencer for it was likely to trigger another flashback, so Harry goes to a different source: the team. Hopefully, no one would stab him.

Song Recommendation: "Power" by Bastille

Competition/Challenge Block:

Fill Number: 05
Representation(s): BAU team
Bonus Challenge(s): Found Family
Word Count: 4479 (Story Only); 4506 (Story & Epigraph)

-= LP =-
Air on Fire
-= LP =-
Whoa, you're squeezing my heart
Too hard in your bare hands, they hold too tight
And whoa, the air is on fire
– Bastille, "Power"
-= LP =-

The man was impossible to miss. The BAU bullpen was one of the most secured floors of the FBI building and since the unit was small compared to other units, new faces tended to be noticed even when other teams were present. This was especially true when the stranger was sitting at a spot which already had an assigned occupant. Since they had just barely got the rightful owner of the desk back from his capture by a deranged murderer, the sight of the man leaning back in Reid's chair examining the ceiling—well, it had them on the defensive immediately. That the man was there early enough that the floor was empty just increased the feeling of foreboding. Even Hotch's office was still dark, and Emily was willing to bet that Gideon also wasn't in yet. Atlanta had been hard on all of them.

Emily hummed appreciatively as her eyes moved over the unknown man even as she slipped into analyzing his details. He was in his mid-twenties, Caucasian, and just over five feet. His black hair was longish, as if he had forgotten to cut it or was trying to grow it out. While his hair appeared to be fighting gravity to stick out in every direction (even with the length), it didn't curl like Reid's hair tended to do. She couldn't tell which designer because he was seated, but his dark suit was expensive enough to have been tailored. Something about the color of his purple tie nagged at her, but she couldn't pinpoint what exactly.

Overall, he looked very nice, just the type she would consider going after if she saw him anywhere other than the office, in the chair of a recently traumatized coworker who no one had heard from since the mission debrief.

Then Morgan was stalking across the empty bullpen with clear intent to oust the invader etched into his frame. The man dropped his gaze from the ceiling to watch the approach. The glasses perched on his nose had black rectangle rims that added to the intensity of his emerald eyes. His expression never wavered from its blank state, not even when Morgan was able to loom over his still-seated form. A shiver went up her spine as she recognized the look in those green eyes.

Only fighters—survivors—had that dead flatness in their eyes. She didn't need to know what he had survived to know that it had been bad.

The man's hands twitched where they were folded together on his stomach, as if they wanted to reach for something, most likely a weapon of some sort. Emily noted the odd calluses on his fingers that were barely visible at this angle, but most of her attention was caught by the scars on the back of the man's right hand. The letters were delicate but obviously someone's personal script. The paleness of untannable tissue stood out among the goldish-tan of the surrounding skin. That kind of scarring could only happen over an extended period of time. After everything Emily had witnessed in her life, she was actually surprised that she could still become sick at the thought of torture.

Maybe Atlanta had been harder on her than she had realized.

Beside her, JJ stilled like a rabbit in the sights of a fox. Emily had a bad feeling about the confrontation that was quickly brewing. JJ was still twitchy from losing Reid in Atlanta (a weekend of drunken cuddling wouldn't have solved that) and Morgan was prone towards hotheadedness at the best of times (which this definitely was not). As their youngest member, Reid was their de facto kid brother, so the tension was bound to be running high. This had to be defused—and quickly because Garcia was due to walk in at any moment.

The next-to-last thing they needed was their quirky technical analyst in the middle of a potential fight. The last thing would be Reid himself getting involved.

"I don't know what you're doing here, but that desk isn't open, man," Morgan declared. He had crossed his arms. Every flex of his muscles made his tee-shirt shift. The man looked unimpressed. He raised an eyebrow in silent question. Emily could have groaned. That was a clear message that the man knew who held the power in the room, and he did not feel it was the FBI agent trying to intimidate him.

"You are correct, Agent Morgan," the man agreed cordially. His accent was distinctively British, heavily influenced by the Cambridge regional tones but underlaid with a different county, one she couldn't pinpoint right away because of how faded it was. The man shifted, rocking slightly in the chair in a manner similar to Reid's thinking motion. That nagged at her as well. "You don't know what I'm doing here. I would appreciate if you stopped this ridiculous attempt to—what? Intimidate me? Trust me when I tell you that I've faced monsters far scarier than a meathead with a gun." The man took a deep breath, visibly calming himself. When he continued, his voice was even, controlled. "That was rude. I apologize. I didn't come here to fight. That is quite literally the last thing I wish right now."

The ding announcing the elevator drew all of their attention to the bosom blonde hurrying into the space. Garcia used her hip to push open the glass door, compensating for the Tupperware container and drink tray in her hands. Her dress was a shocking shade of blue, and she had put her hair into two fuzzy buns on either side of her head. She stopped the moment she caught sight of their visitor, just as shocked as they had been. Yet when Emily moved to usher her up the stairs and out of easy reach, Garcia dodged her and moved closer. She set her burden down on the corner of Reid's desk, freeing her hands to make frantic gestures as she addressed the man.

"Harry—I mean, Dr. Black, what are you doing here? Has something happened to Spencer? Is he okay? He said he was fine—oh, I knew I shouldn't have taken him at his word. I should have insisted that he sleep over. We could have binge-watched Doctor Who or Star Trek and eaten enchiladas—"

"You must be Penelope Garcia," the man interrupted with half a smile. The smile soon faded into a more serious expression. "As far as I am aware, Spencer is currently fine, in all permutations of that term. I left him in good hands. However, he was significantly less fine when he came to me Saturday evening, straight from the debrief of your last case by the state of his messenger bag." Green eyes swept over all of them, pausing on JJ before returning to Garcia. "He's taking the next few weeks off. Dr. Gideon and Agent Hotchner should both have the appropriate emails waiting for them. He'll be staying with me as I help him work through an issue."

"You're Harry," JJ announced, giving special emphasis to the name. She moved forward with her hand outstretched. He didn't reach for it, but he didn't try to offset that lack of motion as Reid typically did. He also didn't attempt to apologize for not shaking her hand. After an awkward moment, JJ dropped her hand. "It is so great to finally meet you. I was beginning to think Spence had made you up."

"Why would he do that?" Harry asked, his confusion bleeding through his previous hardness. "And if you believed that I was fictional, why did you—" He cut himself off with the abruptness of a gunshot. Then he took another deep breath that he let out slowly. "I did not come here to fight any of you, even if I'm a bit miffed that you let Spencer just leave after he had died on a case."

He shook his head and finally stood. Emily had known that he would be short, but with Harry standing so close to Morgan, that was only emphasized. Harry was practically tiny compared to the black man, smaller in both height and build. His body was loose, ready to move at any moment. He was used to being attacked, even in situations that would not logically include that potential. Emily didn't like the conclusions she was making about the kind of life this man had to have led.

Emily reassessed the suit now that she could see it more fully. Her eyes widened when she realized that it had not just been tailored to Harry Black. It was a bespoke, and not just any bespoke either. It was a Tom Baker bespoke. Growing up the way she had, Emily knew how a suit could be used. For all that this man claimed to not be here to fight, he had still worn armor to face them.

The question was, why come to them at all? In the couple months she had been with the BAU, she had never heard anyone mention that Spencer had a friend outside of the team nor had she observed him communicating with anyone not related to a case. The closest she had seen him come was his attempt to impress a couple of other agents at the team outing just prior to their departure for Atlanta. Yet both JJ and Penelope had known who this man was, the former by sight and the latter by name.

"Yeah, see, I don't buy that," Morgan replied, clearly gearing up to continue the argument. "I don't even know how you got into the building, let alone up to this floor. You're here alone, too, when you should have been escorted, and you know our names. All of this smacks of confrontation, man."

"Of course, I know your names," Black replied as he rolled his eyes. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Dr. Black works at Georgetown University," Garcia said before Morgan could dig himself any deeper. The normally cheerful blonde looked irritated with the man that Emily was half-convinced she was dating. (Morgan's alley cat ways made that assessment hard to verify as did Garcia's obvious enjoyment of watching the man with other women. Weirder relationships had existed, though, so anything was possible.) Morgan appeared torn as to who needed watching more, especially when the tech put her fists on her ample hips. "He has for over a year and a half now. Spencer has been hanging out with him for nearly all of that. They're friends and it may have escaped your notice, Cocopuff, but friends talk to each other. And since his security clearance is better than some Cabinet members I could name, he's free to go wherever the hell he wants."

"Baby girl—" Morgan started but cut himself off when Garcia turned her attention to fussing over the doctor. He looked startled as the blonde attempted to arrange his wild hair into some semblance of order with her fingers. He clearly didn't know what to do with the action. The entire time she kept up a litany of conversation.

"I'm so sorry for not thinking of calling you. It might have been super awkward and a little stalkery, but I still should have done it. I should have thought of where he would go once he left for the night. I should have realized that he was lying about being fine. He only managed a single bite of my cookies, and he loves my cookies, so he must have still been upset. And who could blame him, after going through all that—"

"He mentioned that you had to watch? Can you—will you—"

Black seemed to be struggling with how to phrase what he wanted to ask. He also seemed to have forgotten that it wasn't just him and Garcia in the room, which would have been easy enough to do with how the woman was running her hands over him. Strangely, for all that Garcia never hesitated to flirt with any of them, this struck Emily more like a mother assessing the potential injuries of her child than anything else. Emily had been briefed on the hacker's past activities before being drafted to the FBI and the BAU. The idea of the Black Queen being maternal didn't bode well for any of them. Emily was well acquainted with the lengths a mother will go for her child, and she knew that biology did not always play a part in creating that kind of relationship.

"He hasn't said much about what happened, but I've already triggered a flashback and I can't—"

Black paused to do another one of those deep breaths. It hit Emily that Black must be familiar with meditative techniques. For all that he appeared confident in the armor of his Tom Baker suit, Black was nervous enough to have repeatedly centered himself in the brief time they've been talking. She eyed his stance and decided that he was also grounding himself despite how that would leave him less prepared to take a hit should Morgan decide to lash out and he was too slow on dodging. Being at Reid's desk also left him with few directions for said potential dodging, especially with where Garcia and Morgan had positioned themselves.

Harry Black was clearly a fighter used to thinking tactically but had made himself vulnerable, despite how it clearly made him uncomfortable.

Spencer Reid tended to isolate himself from people but had gone to this man for comfort, had stayed and was apparently still staying with him.

Emily was beginning to think that Garcia was off on her assessment of the two men's relationship. People who were just friends rarely had such faith in each other.

Emily analyzed that thought. She sorted through what little intel she had about the man. She thought about Reid curled into a ball in his seat on the jet and how helpless JJ had looked when she had realized that Reid had been taken under her watch. She remembered the sharpness that edged every single word and action while Reid had been captive and while Morgan had been in custody. Yet for all that, it was how the expression on Black's face echoed the one on Gideon's when he had realized that Reid was dead that convinced her to speak up.

"While interviewing a potential witness that turned out to be the unsub, Dr. Reid was taken prisoner." Four sets of eyes snapped towards her in surprise. Garcia shifted to lean on Reid's desk but kept a hand on Black's shoulder. Emily took a deep breath of her own before continuing. It was a struggle to maintain the neutrality of her voice. "He was held for forty-two hours and twenty-six minutes. The first twenty-eight hours were without contact of any sort. After that point, there were video and audio feeds sent directly to us, periodic at first before appearing to be forgotten about and left open. The unsub forced Dr. Reid to choose his next target from a pool of potentials." She steeled herself in order to communicate the next part just as neutrally as she had the rest.

"At approximately thirty-eight and a half hours, Dr. Reid was struck on his face with enough force to knock the chair he was bound to backwards. The force and positioning of the fall caused Dr. Reid to have a severe case of diaphragmic distress, which required resuscitation. It was provided by his captor after six minutes. Following the coded clues given to us by Dr. Reid, we moved into the general vicinity which allowed us to be on the scene immediately after Reid managed to wrestle the unsub's own weapon away and fire a single shot, fatally wounding the suspect. Medical personnel examined Dr. Reid at the scene and cleared him for travel and debrief. Follow up was not mandated."

"How deeply intertwined with his psychosis was the suspect's religious motivation?" The question should have surprised her, because that was something they had tried to not think about, but considering that this man had taken care of Spencer the last few days, she wasn't surprised. Morgan made a sound of disapproval, earning him the stink-eye from Garcia. Black's face stayed set in blankness, even as he offered a reason for his knowledge. "I triggered a flashback by mentioning fish. Apparently, the suspect burnt them as 'protection'. Since fish liver is considered a protection against demonic possession and witchcraft in Abrahamic lore, it stands to reason that the suspect had religious motivations for his actions. I would hazard a guess that the reason Spencer was targeted was a belief that he could somehow read minds."

"How did—"

"Microexpressions," Black interrupted JJ's startled question. He looked tired again as he gave JJ a painful-looking attempt at a smile. "People give away more than they realize, because most people are incapable of controlling their microexpressions. Reading them would seem like telepathy, which is believed to be a side effect of demonic possession. Depending upon the depth of the suspect's religious motivations, I may need to avoid other potential triggers related to cleansing rituals."

"It was everything," JJ confessed. "Everything related back to his religious beliefs—his background, his motivation for killing, the dogs—" The liaison looked like she was going to vomit at the reminder of the dogs that had attacked her. Her voice was dead as she struggled to relay more details. "Spence was barefoot when we found him and missing one of his socks… He was limping and unfocused. He was so thirsty, but…"

"The water would have tasted off," Black murmured. He was looking down at his hands. Emily got the impression that he thought that he was sharing deep personal secrets rather than simple facts that would be helpful for supporting their friend. "Taste and sound are the senses that bother him the most when he is stressed. Taste steals his appetite—makes his stomach so upset that he can't keep anything down, not even water. Aural discordance tends to disrupt his thought processes, but it's also the first thing he shuts out once he's in deep analysis. Instrumental music helps, and Handel is his favorite usually, but he kept flinching at the name and I don't know why."

Black looked up at them. While his face was tightly blank, his eyes betrayed the helplessness he must be feeling. "I realize that this is a less than ideal first meeting and that I am making a horrid first impression, which seems to be my destiny when it comes to Spencer's people. However, Spencer needs my assistance and I am more than willing to do whatever needs to be done, but in order to do that best, I need information. Pushing Spencer for said information is counterintuitive at this time."

"Tobias Hankel," Morgan said. The look that Black gave him made Emily ache with memory. Ian had looked like that when they had discussed Declan the first time, hoping but uncertain. Ian had led a violent life and had gotten used to betrayal. Emily didn't want to imagine how someone so young could have learned those lessons. Morgan's cheek twitched as he clenched his jaw, probably thinking something similar. "The unsub's name was Tobias Hankel. His father was a religious fanatic, no polite way about it. He branded a cross into his own son's forehead. Then he forced that same son to kill him and all of that broke him. Into fucking pieces, which is supposed to be impossible, but somehow it happened, and the kid paid the price of us getting caught with our pants down, which fucking sucks.

"Now I don't know you from Adam, and I've got no reason to trust you any more than any other random guy on the street, but Penelope knows you, recognized you." Morgan took a deep breath. Black tracked the action with the same kind of hyperawareness Emily was still getting used to seeing Reid use on suspects. It was hard to imagine someone with that talent not going into law enforcement, but doctors typically do not work security at universities. Emily didn't even want to start imagining what his doctorates actually were. Morgan deliberately unclenched his fists before continuing. His eyes were dark with memories. "I know my baby girl and the fact that she's willing to trust you says all I really need to know. You say you want to help the kid? That you're willing to do anything? What about if the kid needs more than you can give?"

"Then I figure out how to get it for him," Black declared. For all that the words were spoken softly, Emily heard them echo throughout the bullpen as if they had been shouted. She wouldn't have been able to stop the shiver that raced through her if she had tried. The green in Black's eyes seemed to burn with the intensity the man put behind those simple words. His chin leveled out, pride wrapped in defiance. "I protect what is mine, no matter what the cost."

"And you'd know all about that," Morgan said without missing a beat, "wouldn't you?"

The words should have been an accusation. The phrasing certainly lent itself to that. The speed did as well. But the tone went a different direction entirely. Instead of accusation, the words were sympathetic. Morgan was looking at Black with the same expression on his face that he had directed at the first boy who had come forward in the Buford case. Penelope must have seen it as well because she moved carefully into his space. She did not throw her arms around him as she was prone to doing before the Buford case had shone an ugly spotlight on his past. Instead she made herself available for him to pull into a hug, which he did and included a kiss to her hair as silent gratitude. Black's head tipped slightly as he watched the exchange, another gesture that Emily recognized from Reid.

"I don't need details," Black said, a trace of something like fury (except far colder) in his tone, "but can whoever it was still hurt others?"

For a moment, Emily floundered. She had already told Black that the unsub had been fatally wounded. Morgan had mentioned that the unsub's father was dead as well. Black hadn't shown any sign of missing small details like that. She heard JJ suck in a sharp breath and turned to see the blonde pressing her bandaged hand to her lips. The liaison's eyes were wide and staring yet when Emily followed her gaze, it was focused on Morgan, not Black. Like a puzzle piece slotting into place, Emily realized that Black wasn't referring to anything concerning the Atlanta case and Reid's abduction.

"No, man," Morgan choked out. "Not anymore."

"Good," Black stated.

The single word had the feel of poison to Emily's ears. It slid into the silence of the bullpen with the ease of a knife slipping between two ribs. With that single word and how it was uttered, it became very easy to imagine that had Morgan's answer been anything else that Black could have hunted down Carl Buford and destroyed him, all without leaving a trace that he had been there or even needing details to determine who to target. The idea should have been unnerving, but just as Ian had once captivated her, the inference of Black's ruthlessness was not a deterrent.

A tiny, selfish part of her wished that Garcia was correct about the platonic status of the two doctors.

Everyone was allowed to have weaknesses.

A text alert sounded, prompting the entire group to check their phones. Black held his up to indicate that the alert had been for him. As he read whatever message, he paled. Then his stance firmed as he slipped the device back into whatever pocket from which he had pulled it. His emerald eyes swept over the group again.

"The unsub had a history of drug abuse," Black said simply. His eyes moved over them all once more before settling on JJ and herself. "It was something injectable or easily made injectable, and likely a type of analgesic."

"Hankel had a brief stint with a narcotics anonymous group," JJ answered. "His sponsor said it was Dilaudid, but it's likely that there may have been other drugs over the years."

"Hydromorphone fits," Black agreed with a nod. Emily had seen that expression on Hotch's face when the man had made a connection that he would have rather not. It was the look of a man about to head into a battle he knew was going to be bad. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I really need to be getting back."

"Is something the matter with Spencer? That's what that message was, wasn't it? Oh, god," Garcia moaned, leaning heavily against Morgan's side. Black looked undecided and more than a bit lost in the face of the blonde's distress. It was reassuring to see the doctor seeming so helpless over something so simple. His hands clenched around themselves. Almost discreetly enough that Emily missed it, the fingers of his left hand traced over the words on the back of his right. Her nausea returned full force.

"Something is wrong, but I am not certain I should be the one to tell when Spencer has already elected not to do so. However, I can say that I am prepared to do whatever is needed to resolve the situation," Black stated earnestly. His eyes were locked with Garcia's tear-filled ones. "Please don't cry."

When Garcia's response to that request was to let out a sob before pressing her face into Morgan's shoulder, Black looked even more helplessly lost. He glanced over at Emily and JJ, before turning back to Morgan like he held the answers. Morgan shook his head even as he comforted the crying analyst.

"It's a Garcia thing,