A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! For those who have a Valentine, good for you! For those who don't, here's this. Consider it a gift from me to you. Also, I made fortune cookies for the first time. I had to fold them right when they came out of the oven, and I have learned (by the looks of my hands) that I will never make them again.

"Garcia, did you find him?" A tall, angry looking man walked into the room briskly, stopping in front of the desk.

"Yes, sir, I did. Should I call him?" Garcia asked.

"Yes." The tall man then turned his attention to you. "You're Y/N L/N, right?"

"Yes, sir." You replied.

"My name is Aaron Hotchner; I'm with the FBI. Come with me, please." He turned swiftly and walked towards the bulletin room, and you followed on his heels.

He closed the door and gestured for you to sit at the table. He sat across from you and slid you what looked to be a very thick case file.

"Do you know what this is?" He asked, almost gently.

"No, sir."

"This is the file we've gathered on your aunt over the course of just under twenty-four hours." He then pulled out an even thicker case file. "And this is what we managed to gather on your uncle."

You sat, staring at the case files. A/N's file was maybe two centimeters thick, but U/N's... well, let's just say, Cardi B seemed like a twig compared to it.

"Now, if we add in the evidence you brought in," He slid in the large stack of papers Michael had gifted you with. "That's enough evidence to bring him to the high court."

You stayed silent, a nagging feeling telling you where this was going.

"I need to know where you got the papers."

After a minute, you stammered out, "L-lawyer."

"This isn't an interrogation, it's just another person we could have testify against your uncle. Now, where'd you get them?"

You stayed silent still.

"It's a criminal, isn't it?" He asked.

You nodded.

"Did you know that they were compiling this?"

"Not until about two in the morning."

"Well, then, you can't be tried as an accessory. I need the name of the criminal."

"I can't tell you that."

"Why not?"

"You won't ever catch him."

Aaron seemed to hold back a laugh. "We've caught more serial killers than you think. If anyone can find this person, the Behavioral Analysis Unit can. Who is it?"

"Hotchner?" Sherriff Morgan walked into the room, a very afraid look on his face. "One of your criminals just walked in."

"Really?" Aaron stood up. "Who?"

"Michael Myers."

Aaron looked to you, then to the main room (seeing that there was, sure enough, a serial killer named Michael Myers standing there), then back to you.

"It's him, isn't it?"

______________

Michael had gone peacefully into the interrogation room. It's not like he could say anything, but he went anyways. Aaron went back to talk to Michael, and he sent another agent to talk to you.

"Hi, Y/N. My name is Spencer; I'm with the FBI's, Behavioral Analysis Unit. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" A tall, lanky man with uncontrollable, slightly curly hair asked, sitting across from you.

You didn't reply, and he took your silence as a yes.

"I find it slightly ironic that you live in the house that Michael grew up in, and that you claim to be family. Now, I'm not saying I doubt you, we checked DNA and records, but it's just ironic. Now, what I find most ironic out of all of this is that now, you've been communicating with him, and now he's obtained information on your uncle that the public shouldn't be able to access. Do you see what I'm saying?" He asked, folding his hands neatly in front of him.

"Are you accusing me of lying?" You inquired, straightening your posture.

"Oh, no. See, I'm trained to looked for micro-expressions and be able to tell when people are lying, or holding things back. You aren't lying, I know that. But, you are hiding something." Spencer explained, seemingly staring straight into your soul, but not in a malevolent way.

You didn't reply, so Spencer went on. "Now, Y/N, for your safety, we need to know what you aren't telling us."

You still didn't reply.

"How about quid pro quo? If you tell us what you're hiding, we can assure you that you're uncle will never be able to even breathe in your direction again. Deal?"

"I don't care if he breathes in my direction or not. I'll tell you, but I'd like to change the conditions."

"Go on."

"I tell you what I'm hiding, and you make sure that Michael doesn't get the death sentence."

"I can do that. Now, I can't promise the length of his sentence, or what prison he goes to, but he will not be executed. Now, what are you not telling us?"

"Michael said that he was there the night my family died. He was... he was the hitch-hiker that my dad had called hideous. I saw that it made him mad- Michael, I mean- but he didn't say anything. I felt like it was my fault because we had argued, and my parents were mad at me. And ever since they died, he's been following me." You blurted out, tears forming in your eyes at the memory.

Spencer reached over and handed you a box of tissues. You dried your eyes and thanked him before continuing.

"He's only killed people that I didn't like. Except.."

"Except what?" Spencer asked, looking confused.

"My neighbors. He- he killed my neighbors."

"Why?" Spencer asked, tilting his head slightly.

"I don't know." You began to cry again. "I really don't know."

"Why don't we take a break? Maybe get a snack, and some water, and I'll talk to my team." Spencer stood to his full height, and opened the door for you.

You went into the bathroom, hid in a stall, and cried.

______________

"Let go of me! I demand to know why I'm- A/N! A/N, did you do this? Was this your idea? Answer me, you son of a-" You heard U/N screaming furiously.

You had been in the bathroom for nearly twenty minutes. By now, you had stopped crying, but you were just sitting glumly on the toilet. At least two women had come into the bathroom, but not noticing that the same stall had been occupied by a sad teenager both times.

Soon enough, a knock came on the stall door as another woman came in.

"Y/N? My name is Jennifer. I work with Spencer. Can we talk?" She asked.

"What?" You croaked.

"Well, Spencer and Sam were starting to get worried. You'd been in here for so long. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." You got off of your throne of sadness (see what I did there?) and walked out of the stall.

"You certainly don't look fine." Jennifer remarked, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."

She wetted a paper towel and handed it to you. "Here. Clean yourself up, and I'll go get you some water." She left the bathroom briskly.

You cleaned up your face, wishing that your eyes weren't red, and left.

______________

You met Spencer back in the board room about two minutes later.

"Hey," He said. "Jennifer left a bottle of water for you. She's going to talk to you uncle. Why don't we pick up where we left off?"

Spencer pulled the water that Jennifer had left from his pocket and handed it to you. "What had you and your parents argued about?"

"I don't remember... I think it was my grades." You thought.

"Okay, well, we'll go with that. Why was your sister upset?"

"She was pretty sensitive to emotions. She begged me to make up with them, but I was too mad. And she got too preoccupied with her doll and forgot to put on her seatbelt, and-"

"Spence?" Jennifer came into the room with a panicked look on her face.

He got up and shut the door behind him. The two adults spoke for a moment, exchanging worried glances and looking at you occasionally. Soon, Spencer came back into the room and sat down.

He reached out, grabbed your hand (reluctantly), and spoke up.

"I've got some news for you."

You looked at him, eyeing for him to continue.

"And you aren't going to like it."

'Get to the point.' Your eyes said.

"We can't find D/B/F/N."