Under Control

Benjamin Kinnevan was clearly not keen on being held by the FBI, but until he answered some questions, Emily Prentiss wasn't about to let him go anywhere.

"When was the last time you saw Isabeau Marcure?" Emily asked.

Ben shrugged. "Almost two months ago, now. Around June thirteenth, I think it was."

"Where did you see her?"

"My place. She had been hanging out with some mutual friends at a bar. Isabeau and I see each other privately every now and then. She came over that night, got mad at something I said, and left. That was the last time I saw her."

Emily didn't miss a beat. "Tell me about that argument. What did you say that made her so angry?"

"I told her we needed to think about stopping our little 'meetings'. Told her that if she wanted to give it another try, I was willing to do that, but I wasn't going to keep this on-the-side business going. She seemed possibly willing to give that a try. After I told her that I wanted her to move back to Quantico if we were going to give it a fair shot this time, that's when she went off. Told me I was selfish, then went on about how she didn't want to see me or anyone else in our circle of friends. Said she would just go back home."

"What if I told you I knew you were lying?" Emily countered. "What if I told you that Isabeau specifically remembers that she didn't make it to your place that night? She was picked up in the cab right outside the bar and her kidnapper was waiting in that cab."

Ben shook his head adamantly. "No. Absolutely not. I saw her that night!"

"Don't lie to me, Ben. It won't end well for you," Emily warned.

"Think about it," Ben replied through clenched teeth. "She's been gone for almost two months, right?"

As far as the public knew that was correct, so Emily nodded.

"They said she was beaten and raped and all that – couldn't that affect her memory?" Ben sighed. "Look, ma'am, I'm just as anxious as the next person for them to find whoever did this to her. There's no reason for me to lie."

"I'm going to have to ask you to prove that. You up for a polygraph?"

"Absolutely."

Emily nodded. "Sit tight, Ben."

She made sure to lock the door behind her and shrugged when she saw Spencer and Hotch on the other side of the two-way mirror. "Can't say in all honesty that I don't believe him."

"I worried about that," Hotch confessed. "She went through a lot of trauma. For whatever reason, her brain is choosing not remember the part about seeing Ben."

Emily glanced at Spencer; just from the look on his face, she could plainly see his thoughts were in line with theirs. "Do you want to talk to her about it?"

"I might as well. She isn't going to be happy hearing it from anyone, but maybe she'll believe it coming from me."

It hadn't even been twenty-four hours since he had kissed her, so Spencer's mind was still reeling from that event. After her claim that it was simply transference that caused her to allow the kiss to happen, he had tried to keep his distance. Isabeau seemed to deal with it by simply acting as though it had never happened.

"I can't believe you can do all of that from here. I'm amazed," Isabeau was telling Penelope when Spencer checked in on her.

Of everyone except for Spencer, Isabeau seemed to be most comfortable being around Penelope Garcia, so when they were in the office, Isabeau usually chose to sit with Penelope. The director had made a very detailed confidentiality statement, under the circumstances, and after Isabeau signed that, Penelope was grateful for the company.

"If it's out there, Penelope Garcia will find it," Spencer commented. Both women turned to look at him.

"Our resident genius," Penelope smiled. "I'm guessing you've come to steal away my company?"

"Sadly, I have. Just for a few minutes, though."

Isabeau actually smiled at him. She reached for her crutches and followed him out into the hallway.

"I wish you were less stubborn about using those crutches. You could hurt your arm."

"And once I can walk, I'll be less concerned about having just one bum limb," Isabeau replied. She stopped a few doors down from Garcia's office. "Out with it, Spencer."

Spencer took a deep breath and spoke quietly. "Emily just finished questioning Ben. We're going to put him through a lie detector test, but he is very adamant that you saw him the night you disappeared."

Isabeau shook her head. "No, absolutely not."

"We're going to see what the lie detector says," Spencer started slowly. "But it is possible that the trauma you went through, and the injuries you sustained caused some sort of memory loss. Sometimes to cope with a trauma, our brains will re-construct –"

"You don't have to tell me that," Isabeau snapped. "I know exactly what our brains will do."

Penelope stood up from her chair. "You know what, I'm just going to go see if there's … anything else I could possibly be doing right now."

Spencer waited for her to scuffle out of the room. "Isabeau, listen to me. I'm not saying that what you remember happening didn't happen. I believe that your brain remembers being picked up in the cab and that your kidnapper was there …"

"Just stop right there," Isabeau spoke up over him. "You can break it down any way you want, but it isn't going to change the way I see things now."

"And how is that?" Spencer asked, frustrated with her for the first time ever.

His tone caught her off-guard. She lowered her volume. "You're the only person I have really trusted since I got out of that apartment. You're the only one I believed didn't think I was a basketcase. You treated me like I was stronger than I believe I really am. I don't know what it is about what Ben said that made you doubt me. What I do know is that the one person I had any faith left in just took the other guy's side, and it feels like a betrayal. Excuse me, Dr. Reid."

Spencer stepped out of her way, allowing her to pass through the door and out into the main room of the office. He chastised himself for not approaching the subject with more sensitivity. What was it about Ben that made him think that maybe Isabeau's mind had re-structured her memory?

The fact that everything in his book learning and knowledge told him that Ben's proposition of the truth was realistic. It could be proved and held logical, while Isabeau's still mending mind and memory had only stories with holes and memories that didn't make sense. Did that make her wrong, though?

"Not necessarily," Spencer mumbled to himself. He knew he would have to apologize to her.

And there his mind went again, back to that kiss. He could see himself offering and apology, pushing the ever-present stray strand of hair from her face, and kissing her again. Isabeau's lips had been so soft, and her taste …

Spencer shook the thoughts from his head and went back to the conference room to help Emily compose a list of questions for the polygraph administrator to ask Ben.



Isabeau couldn't hide that she was overwhelmed. Despite the brief but significant argument she'd had with Spencer earlier in the day, her parents had arrived in Virginia – a surprise, they told her. Some sort of travel connection had given them the opportunity to get on a plane almost immediately after hearing about their daughter's situation. They showed up at the BAU and accosted her into hugs and tears and questions right when they saw her. Although she was still upset with Spencer at taking Ben's side over her memory, she would be eternally grateful to him for stepping in and letting her parents know that maybe she wasn't ready for so much activity.

Now they were out to supper, the four of them, in a quiet diner. Her mother, Isabeau could tell, was trying not to bombard her with questions. Her father could barely look at her.

"Where are you guys staying?" Isabeau asked.

Mrs. Marcure frowned. "I suppose we just assumed we would stay with you, dear."

She glanced briefly at Spencer. "Actually, that's not possible. I'm in a safe house with Spencer right now until they can find the person who kidnapped me."

"Oh, of course," Mr. Marcure nodded. "We don't want to interfere with that."

"Dr. Reid," Mrs. Marcure asked in a tone that warned Isabeau her mother was about to speak about Isabeau as though she wasn't sitting right there. "When will we be able to take Isabeau home?"

Isabeau frowned. "Home? Mom, don't you think –"

"Now, Isa, your mother is trying to figure out what's best for you. Don't get upset," Mr. Marcure interjected.

She rolled her eyes but listened in as Spencer stuttered and stumbled through a reply. He didn't really answer the question, but told them in no uncertain terms that Isabeau wasn't ready to travel yet.

"Well, that's no problem. We'll stay for a while, and when you're ready, we'll bring you home." Her mother gave her an attempt at a comforting smile, and Isabeau tried to smile back.

By the time she and Spencer were back at the safe house, she was ready to sleep. Her mind was full – full of Tess and Ben and her parents and Spencer. Each of her thoughts played over and over at the same time. It was more than she knew how to process just at that moment.

But even as she lay in the dark bedroom, there was one thing about the day she couldn't get out of her head: the way she had snapped at Spencer. Since they had met, he had been nothing if not accommodating and supportive. He hadn't been malicious or hurtful when he had proposed the information to her; she had reacted irrationally and emotionally. Not without reason, of course, but that didn't mean Spencer deserved it.

Throwing back the covers, Isabeau leaned over to pick up her crutches and headed out for where she knew Spencer would be. Just as she expected, she found him on the couch. Unexpectedly though, the his fingers were still, not tapping away at the keys.

"Aren't you usually elbow deep in notes and profiling about this time?" she asked from the doorway.

Spencer looked up. "Oh, yeah, usually, I guess. I was just reading through some of your notes, actually. Hope that's okay."

She shrugged and took a seat in the recliner opposite him. "That's what I put them there for. If someone as detail-oriented as you can't figure it out, maybe I'm just screwed."

"Don't say that," Spencer told her softly, his eyes full of compassion. "You're just as detailed as I am, really. Your brain is just a little fuzzy."

Isabeau nodded. "About that – I'm sorry about earlier. I overreacted and I shouldn't have snapped at you. I shouldn't have said the things that I did. It wasn't fair."

Spencer set the laptop to the side. "It's all right. You've been under a lot of stress, and I probably could have presented the information differently."

"It is what it is," Isabeau summed up. "And, also, thanks for being so great with my parents. I really wasn't ready for them to be here, I think."

"I noticed that," Spencer smiled. "If it's any consolation, I can see why you would have left home. Don't get me wrong, they're nice, but I think they forget how old you are."

"Yeah, they've always been that way. Spencer?"

Thank goodness she was using his first name again. "Yes?"

"Do you really think I met with Ben that night? I know I went through a lot, but shouldn't I remember something like that?"

Against his better judgment, Spencer moved to sit on the arm of the recliner. "I won't repeat my reasoning from earlier – we both know how that turned out. I do think it's possible, but that doesn't mean it's certain. Isa, you're a strong woman. You lived through something that several other women couldn't survive. You know what happened and how it happened; you just have to get past yourself to the answers."

She nodded, pursing her lips. Then, a small smile. "You called me Isa. My dad used to call me that, before I left home."

"It suits you."

"I know you have work to do, but would you mind if stayed out here and watched a movie or something? I don't really want to be alone."

"Of course. Lean back, I'll get you a blanket and a pillow."

Spencer handed her the remote so she could find something to watch on the television, then returned with the comforter from the bed, as well as one of the pillows. He helped her position the pillow behind her head, then spread out the comforter over her. He tucked her in as best he could, then stood. Isabeau reached for his hand.

"Do you think – is it possible that if my brain is messed up more than I think it is, maybe that kiss wasn't transference. Maybe there's something really here."

"That could be," Spencer replied in a measured tone. He squeezed her hand. "I won't tell you that I haven't thought my side of it is more than a hero complex. Thing is, even if it's not some sort of complex, you're a month out from a serious trauma. Don't look at me like that – I'm trying to think of your well-being. You need to be stable before we even think about exploring what this really means. I have to consider the ethics of it."

Isabeau nodded; he was right. "Fair enough."

"That doesn't mean that I don't want it to be real," he felt the need to add.

"Okay," Isabeau smiled. "Good night, Spencer."

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "Good night, Isa."