"You know I don't own a computer?"

Reid's been uncharacteristically quiet since they closed the case, and his breaking the silence catches her off guard. JJ glances up from the files she's shuffling together. "Well, after what happened to those women? I'm starting to rethink mine," she answers.

Reid doesn't meet her eyes, just continues to stack folders in the box in front of them. "Approximately 79% of laptops now have built-in cameras." He opens a folder and scans its contents, then shuts it abruptly. "They're practically ubiquitous."

"Spence?" JJ says, slowly putting her own files down, "Are you okay? Your hands are shaking."

"I mean," he continues as if she hadn't said anything, "doesn't it seem dangerous? Anyone can hack into a webcam."

"Spence, the unsub used pinhole cameras, not webcams."

His motions still. "I know," he says, trying for nonchalant. "I know he did, but…"

"Is this-?"

"Is it weird that I don't have a computer?" The question is sudden, his eye contact even more so. JJ startles. For a moment, she is confused as to what could have brought this on.

Then, with all the force of a ten ton truck, it hits her.

Women's last moments distributed online for someone's sick enjoyment. Lucy Masters, crying into a video camera and awaiting certain death. JJ feels as though she's been punched, astonished that she didn't make the connection sooner.

Absently, she notes that Reid is still waiting for an answer, his expression bordering on frantic.

"No," she whispers, blinking hard. She knows if she concentrates hard enough, she'll be able to feel the blood underneath her boot, to see the pile of viscera the dogs had left behind. JJ clears her throat, straightens her posture. "No," she repeats, stronger this time. "It's not weird at all."

He nods once. Bites his lip. Picks up another file, puts it back down. She also knows that if he concentrates hard enough, he'll be able to feel the manacles around his wrists, to see the row of screens streaming unsuspecting victims going about their days.

She reaches out and grabs hold of his arm. He looks up in alarm. "Spence," she says, her voice sharp as she desperately tries to communicate her understanding. "It's not."

He searches her face and seems to find something comforting in it, because he relaxes underneath her grip. She lets go. "Okay," he says, shooting her a quick half smile. "Okay, cool."

She returns it, and together, they close the box of files.

Like so many times before, the meaning behind their words goes unsaid.

It's alright.

They understand each other anyways.