pepper

“Roni? Have you seen my - what are you wearing?” He walked in the bathroom to me brushing my teeth, one of his sweater vests tucked loosely into a pair of ripped skinny jeans. I spit out my toothpaste, looking at him with a quizzical look.

“A sweater vest? Thought it looked cute with these jeans, what do you think?”

“A - that’s my sweater vest!” He accused, an incredulous look on his face. I just cocked my head, looking at him cluelessly.

“What are you talking about?” I continued my morning routine casually, brushing out my hair as he flapped his jaw, trying to figure out what was going on.

I knew it was his sweater vest, of course. I grabbed it out of his side of the closet this morning, putting it on before he even woke up. But the look on his face when I denied everything was far too funny to make me admit that.

“I had all of them organized - they’re numbered! Look at the tag!” He protested with a laugh. For a second, I thought he was joking. But he was dead serious, and I pulled the tag around to look at the writing on the inside.

A8.

I stifled a laugh, trying not to reveal that I absolutely knew that this was his sweater. The idea of him having a system for his clothes was adorably endearing, and I readjusted the sweater, shrugging.

“A8. Obviously. I… I got this on August 8th last year.”

“Why in the world would you write down what date you got your clothes?”

“... Memories, I guess?” I was floundering, running out of ways to respond. He knew it too, because he grabbed my hand, pulling me towards the closet in the apartment we shared.

“Look,” He gestured to his row of sweater vests, prompting me to look at the tags on the inside. Each of them had a letter and a number on them, and this time I couldn’t resist letting out a small laugh. I turned back to him, an innocent smile still on my face.

I was going to play this act for as long as I could.

“I didn’t know you numbered your clothes! How very organized of you, Spence.”

“But - that’s my shirt!” He protested again, and I tried to keep the mischievous smile off my face, not really sure how much longer I was going to be able to keep this up. At this point, I could tell that he knew I was faking it, but he couldn’t figure out how to prove it. So he just rolled his eyes.

“Fine; it looks cuter on you anyway,” He smiled, pulling me in for a kiss before heading out the door to go to work. I huffed, slightly pissed that he gave in, but I didn’t have too much time to dwell on it before I had to take off as well.

So, he organizes his clothes. But there’s one area of his closet that I know for a fact is a complete disaster.

And that’s the thought that led to me rooting through his sock drawer in the middle of the night, trying to find his favorite pair. He wore mismatched socks every day, and because of that, none of his socks were folded; they were simply thrown into the drawer and grabbed every morning. I finally found what I was looking for, pulling out a soft pair of socks that were decorated with small leaves and pumpkins.

I grinned when I found them, slipping them on before climbing back into bed, feeling him roll over and wrap his arm around my waist.

“You ok baby?” He asked, his voice raspy from sleep. I nodded, curling in closer to him and tucking my head against his chest, feeling him gently kiss the top of my head.

“Just had to use the restroom.”

“Mmm,” He hummed his understanding, already clearly about to fall back asleep, “Love you.”

“I love you too, Spence,” I pressed a soft kiss to his lips, and he gave me a sleepy smile before passing out again, chest rising and falling under my head with each breath. He subconsciously pulled me a bit closer, holding me as I drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

“Love? Are you awake?”

“No,” I said, not opening my eyes as he laughed quietly.

“I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be responding if you were asleep…” He said dubiously.

“You talk in your sleep,” I argued.

“I - wait, I do? Hang on, what do I say?”

I laughed, finally opening my eyes to see him lying next to me, head propped up on one arm as he looked at me curiously.

“Nothing really coherent, just mumbling. Random words, that kind of thing.”

“You do too, you know?”

“I’ve been told before,” I laughed.

“Alright, now that I know you’re awake - we have to go to work soon.”

“I don’t want to,” I groaned, pulling the blankets up over my head before he pulled them off, immediately kissing me softly. I kissed him back, and he pulled away with a grin.

“Will you get up now?” He bargained. I rolled my eyes before nodding.

“Fine,” I pulled the covers off of me, momentarily forgetting that I had stolen Spencer’s socks last night.

He noticed immediately though, huffing out a sigh.

“Roni.”

I cocked my head innocently, turning back to him. “Yes?”

“Are those my socks?”

“Now Spencer, why would I be wearing your socks?”

“I should be asking you!”

“I just found these in the closet, I thought they were cute! I don’t remember where I got them, but they’re really soft,” I started going on about how comfortable the socks were, and he lunged for my feet, trying to pull them off of me but just succeeding in making me shriek out a laugh.

“Spencer what the fuck!” I grinned, and he just shook his head.

“I’m getting my socks back!”

“You’re tickling me!”

“Small price to pay.”

“Spencer!”

I pulled my foot back, making his arm slip out from under him and causing him to fall on top of me, both of us breathless with laughter.

“You’re such a dork,” I leaned in and gave him a soft kiss, and he just smiled against my lips.

“You love me,” He said. I grinned.

“You know I do,” I replied before glancing at my phone sitting on the bedside table, “But you are right about needing to get up. I’m gonna be late for work.”

“That’s what you get for stealing my clothes.”

“I think I remember something about you thinking it’s cute?” I teased. He opened his mouth to protest before laughing.

“So you admit that you stole my sweater vest yesterday!”

“I never said that!” I protested. He just shook his head.

“Nope. You definitely admitted it.”

“I would never,” I acted scandalized at the accusation, and he just kissed me again, pulling away and looking at me for a moment, a small smile overtaking his face.

“God, I love you,” He said, a moment of sincerity in the teasing conversation. I smiled back at him, admiring the way he looked in the morning, sunlight streaming in through the window, catching on his messy bedhead and bathing his body in an ethereal glow. I softly ran a hand along his chest before cupping his face, my fingertips teasing his curls.

“I love you too,” I kissed him again, cupping his face in my hands as his rested on my waist, holding me close as he kissed me back, taking our time despite the fact that we were both definitely going to be late for work. When we finally pulled away from each other, I grinned at him.

“But I still never stole your clothes.” I said.

“I know you did it Roni!”

I darted out of bed, running for the kitchen laughing as he chased me around the house.

Today was full of firsts for me.

For example: I never imagined that I would be awaiting an FBI agent to come interview me in a police interrogation room.

I was saved from my inevitable breakdown by Agent Hotchner entering, swinging the door shut behind him.

“Dahlia Silvers, I presume?” He asked.

It was a bit of a ridiculous question, but I nodded anyway. He took a seat in front of me, his hands clasped together on the table.

“You know you’re here by your own free will, and you’re free to leave at any time, correct?”

I nodded, unable to process what was going on well enough to speak.

“Alright. Why don’t you start from the beginning: what did you see?”

I sucked in a deep breath before speaking, telling Hotch pretty much the same thing that I told the police officer who’d asked me at the crime scene. He listened attentively the entire time, not speaking until I sat back in my chair, finished.

“Ok. So you didn’t see anybody else in the area?” He asked. I shook my head.

“It was raining, the streets were empty. I’m sure I saw some cars drive by, but I can’t remember off the top of my head anyone looking suspicious.”

“Alright. I wanted to walk you through something called a ‘cognitive interview.’ It’s essentially a mental exercise that’ll take you back to the scene of the crime, and allow you to notice things that you might not remember.”

I’d heard of this before, but I’d never done one. Honestly, I was curious to know what it was, so I nodded. He encouraged me to think back to the event, allowing me to get into that headspace before he began asking questions.

“So, the first thing you saw was the purse, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Ok - do you see the woman’s body?”

Mentally, I turned to look down the alley, seeing the gruesome scene I’d witnessed only an hour ago.

“Yes.”

“Ok. Now, I need you to look around the area. Do you see any cameras?”

“Cameras?”

“Yes. Possibly security cameras on the walls, or something more discreet, like a camera in one of the nearby windows.”

I was confused, but I looked around, seeing nothing like what he described.

“No, I don’t see any cameras.”

“Ok. How about the street? Look at the cars driving by. Are any of them driving slower than the rest, or do any of them look suspicious in any way?”

I looked towards the street, taking note of the cars that I saw. For a second, I was about to say no, before I noticed a black SUV driving down the street significantly slower than the rest of the passing cars.

“Wait - yeah, there’s a SUV. It’s black, it’s in the lane nearest to me and driving way slower than the speed limit; maybe they wanted to stop and help?”

“Did you see the license plate on the car?”

I focused on the memory, but when I tried to see any details, it was just blurry. “No, I can’t tell. I guess I didn’t really notice it earlier.”

“Ok. You can open your eyes now.”

I did so, momentarily blinded by the fluorescent lights of the interrogation room. When my eyes adjusted, Hotch was looking at me with a grim expression.

“So, why’d you want to know the car license plate?”

He sighed, contemplating something for a moment before he spoke.

“Since the first murder, we’ve been able to pick up on the unsub’s pattern.”

“Wait, that’s good, right? It means it’ll be easier to catch them?”

“It should. Whoever is doing this, though… they’re good. They’ve managed to commit three murders without leaving any trace at all.”

“What’s their pattern? If you don’t mind me asking.”

I had relaxed a bit after the interview, knowing that I wasn’t in here as anything but a witness.

That relaxation ended after I heard what he had to say, though.

“The pattern we’ve noticed is related to who they kill. Dahlia… they’re targeting the people who discover their crime scenes.”

For a second, I thought I might’ve misheard him.

“What?” I stuttered out, too in shock to process what he’d said.

“Every time after the first, the victim was the person who’d discovered the crime scene.

You’re the first person to call it in, actually. That’s why we didn’t figure it out until just now… Prentiss called me when they arrived, confirming that the most recent victim was the woman that discovered the last crime scene - Kate Johnson. She didn’t call it in, but her friend came in last night to inform us that Kate had told her what she witnessed. Her friend thought she should tell us, but Kate refused. So she came herself.”

Now I was the one listening with rapt attention, desperate for more information. He continued, explaining what they’d done in the last twenty-four hours.

“When her friend came in, we rushed to find Kate, but she’d already disappeared. We had no idea where she was taken, but… well, I guess it doesn’t matter now. The second victim - the man who discovered the first crime scene - was a homeless man, and people who knew him said he didn’t report it because we might’ve thought it was him. So we had our suspicions on the pattern, but they were confirmed with this most recent murder. Which is why I had Prentiss bring you in.”

My hands were shaking, my brain still trying to process everything he’d told me.

“Why - so why did Agent Prentiss say you guys had other questions for me, then? Why didn’t she just tell me the truth?”

“Well, to be honest, we weren’t sure how you’d react. We wanted to tell you in a controlled setting, not when you were standing right next to a crime scene. Plus, we did have more questions for you.”

“I… fuck.”

I knew I probably shouldn’t swear in front of an FBI agent - professionalism, or something - but the weight of the information I’d learned had finally hit me. I didn’t know what else to do. I put my head in my hands, trying to steady my racing heart and force back the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks.

“I understand this has to be shocking - do you want me to give you a minute?” Hotch asked. I shook my head, raising it only after I was sure my emotions were in check.

“No, no, it’s ok. Just… what am I supposed to do now?”

“Well, we thought the best thing for your safety would be for you to stay here until the unsub is apprehended. We’re hoping that by taking away his target, he’s not going to know what to do, and he’ll slip up.”

“You want me to stay here? At the police station?”

“They have an empty office, and there’s a couch, or space to blow up an inflatable bed if you have one. We know it’s not an ideal, and obviously we’re not going to force you to do anything, but we do believe it’s the best way to ensure you’re completely protected. We could send someone to watch your house, but there are a lot more variables in terms of the unsub breaking in, or situations of that nature.”

I nodded my understanding, knowing that he was right. “Ok. Ok - holy shit - would I be able to go get stuff from my apartment?”

“Of course. We’ll have to send someone with you though; as long as she’s not doing anything, I can have Prentiss escort you, since you two have already become acquainted.”

“That’s fine,” I agreed, “How long do you think I’ll have to stay?”

I was scared to hear the answer, and his sigh wasn’t exactly reassuring.

“We’re really not sure. Hopefully not long, but it all depends on the unsub’s next move. It’s all a waiting game at this point.”

My hands were definitely shaking now, and I nodded again, balling them into fists to try and keep them still. Hotch looked sympathetic, albeit deeply uncomfortable. It wasn’t hard to tell he wasn’t really an emotional guy.

“I have a cat,” I mentioned. I figured I knew the answer to my next question, but I asked it anyway, “I’m assuming I can’t bring her here?”

“Unfortunately, I doubt it.”

I nodded, not expecting him to say yes, but figuring I should at least try. “I’ll get one of my friends to watch her.”

“That’s probably a good idea.” He cleared his throat awkwardly before going, “I’m sorry about all of this. But it really is the best way to protect you.”

“I understand. And I really appreciate what you guys are doing,” My voice sounded small, and I knew that I was on the cusp of a complete breakdown, “Can I go now?”

So far, this had definitely taken the cake for the worst day of my entire life.

“Yes; I’ll tell Prentiss to meet you at the front desk.”

I left the room, mind racing. Making my way to the front desk, I plopped down on a nearby bench and tried to force myself to stay calm.

“Dahlia Silvers?” A voice asked. I looked up, expecting to see Agent Prentiss, but instead I saw a man standing above me.

That man was none other than the same Dr. Reid that I was staring at earlier.

“Oh - yes, hi. Sorry, I was expecting to see Agent Prentiss,” I explained my surprise. He gave me a small half smile, gesturing to the seat next to me. I nodded for him to sit down, knowing there was no chance of getting my heart rate back down to normal now.

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, but you can just call me Reid. Or Spencer. Either one, I -” He faltered, clearly trying to get his thoughts in order before speaking again, “Sorry. I just figured that I should introduce myself, given that we’ll likely be seeing more of each other now that you… I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t -”

“No, it’s fine; honestly, I don’t think I’ve processed it yet. I’m supposed to be going with Agent Prentiss to pick up my stuff, and I still have no idea how long I should be packing for.”

He nodded again, “I’m really sorry that you got wrapped up in all of this - you were on your way to work, right? Journalism?”

“Yeah, I work for The Washington Post, I’m a writer.”

“Cool. That’s cool - have you written anything that’s been printed?”

I thought about it for a second, “I’m not completely sure, most of my stuff is published online. I’ve dipped into crime journalism recently though, and I’m pretty sure that my article on Maria Coursetta - she’d been missing for a year up until a month ago, when her body turned up in a river about twenty miles from her home - was published in the print edition of the paper. Why, do you not read online news?”

“Reid is a bit of a technophobe,” Emily Prentiss rounded the corner, smiling as Spencer glared at her.

“Really? Man, we definitely don’t have that in common; I practically live on my phone,” I joked.

“There’s not much to do on my phone,” He said, and I cackled when he pulled out an old Blackberry from his pocket.

“Oh my god, how old is that thing?”

He was laughing along with me when he answered, “Like, ten years, I think? I got it during like, my first year with the BAU, and it’s been working since then.”

“You must take incredible care of your belongings.”

“I try.”

“Speaking of belongings - Dahlia?” Emily spoke from over Spencer’s shoulder, and I nodded, remembering what I was supposed to be doing.

“Right. Well, it was nice to meet you, Spencer - hopefully I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah!” He grinned, and I forced myself to ignore the way my heart fluttered. He took his leave, disappearing into a nearby conference room, and I stood up, following Emily outside.

“Here,” She handed me her phone, with a GPS open, “You can just put your address in there, if you’re ok with it.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” I took it, typing my address in and handing it back to her.

We were crossing the parking lot to the car we’d came here in when I noticed a familiar car drive by.

I stopped dead in my tracks, my gaze following the black SUV that had just grabbed my attention. I don’t think Emily saw me stop, because she kept walking towards the car, but I was transfixed, trying to figure out any little detail that could tell me if it was the same car I saw earlier or not.

Because it’s not like a black SUV was an uncommon car. But in one of the SUV’s in this city, there’s a person who wants to kill me.

Holy shit, someone wants to kill me.

Suddenly all I could hear was my heartbeat in my ears, my breath faltering as the reality of the situation finally set in.

Someone wants to kill me.

White hot fear drove through my body, forcing goosebumps up and down my arms. I tried to continue walking towards the car, but I couldn’t move.

“Dahlia?” Emily had turned around now. I felt her hand on my shoulder, but her voice sounded distant. I was brutally aware of the tears stinging my eyes, and I tried to force them back, tried to keep my composure, but it was useless.

“Dahlia you have to breathe, ok? Just breathe with me, alright?” She moved to stand in front of me, grabbing my shaking hands and squeezing them, trying to bring me back to reality. She took dramatic breaths, modeling a pattern, and I tried my best to follow her, slowly sucking in air and forcing my racing heart to slow down.

After what felt like hours, my heart rate finally returned to something close to normal, and she dropped my hands, still staying nearby to ensure that I was ok. I sniffled, wiping the tears off my cheeks, immediately trying to hide the evidence of my minor breakdown.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know -”

“No, you don’t have any reason to apologize,” She shut me down, but I shook my head.

“I know, but still -”

“Nope. No still. Do you want to talk about anything?” She asked. I shook my head again. I didn’t even think I could put into words what just went through my mind, and honestly, I didn’t really want to try.

“Ok. Are you ok to go to your house?” She asked. I nodded this time, and I followed her on unsteady legs as we crossed the parking lot to the car. I glanced back at the road, but the SUV was gone by that point. I reminded myself that it was probably just an ordinary person, that I couldn’t be scared every time I saw one of the most common cars in the world, but in the back of my mind I knew that I would never look at them the same.

Someone wants to kill me.

“Fuck,” You muttered under your breath, slipping off your shirt to see the skin on your back and arms screaming red. You noticed traces of red spreading across your stomach and chest as well, and you sighed.

“Babe? Everything ok in there?” You heard Spencer’s voice through the bathroom door.

“I’m good. Just got a pretty bad sunburn at the beach today.”

“Can I come in?” He asked. You opened the door, and he rushed in, concern in his eyes. You laughed to yourself, knowing you should’ve expected him to worry about you.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding about it being bad…” He glanced at your body before he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “Lucky for you, you’re dating a genius. While there’s no way to quickly heal a sunburn, we can speed up the process at least. And make it hurt less. Why don’t you take a cold shower, and I’ll put some wet towels in the fridge to get them cold for when you get out?”

You weren’t all that concerned about it, but there was no way you’d deny a chance to get doted on by your boyfriend. So you nodded, and he grabbed a couple of the hotel’s hand towels off of the rack, taking his leave from the bathroom as you turned the shower on.

The cold water was both a relief and a nightmare, soothing the sunburnt parts of your body but leaving the rest of you absolutely freezing. You got out of the shower, grabbing a towel immediately wrapping it around yourself. He must’ve heard the shower turn off, because he called to you through the door.

“Oh, and don’t dry off all the way! At least, don’t dry the sunburn off all the way - pat it dry and put on lotion, so that the moisture from the shower stays on your skin.”

“Got it, Doctor,” You laughed, following his instructions and slipping on your pajamas, wincing a bit when the fabric hit your skin. You stifly headed out into the main room, seeing Spencer sitting on the bed watching TV. He jumped up when he saw you though, his face softening when he saw your pained expression.

“Is your back or stomach burnt worse?” He asked, crossing the room to retrieve the towels from the refrigerator.

“My back, for sure. My shoulders are the worst - my stomach just got a little bit. I think that the ocean protected it,” You laughed, thinking about you and Spencer’s trip to the beach this morning. It’d taken some convincing to get him to get in the water with you - seaweed - but eventually you’d gotten him to swim out, laughing as you two jumped waves. You tried to bodysurf a couple of them, resulting in his cracking up when you just got pummeled with saltwater, but overall it was a perfect afternoon.

Well, near perfect. Seeing as you’d clearly forgotten to put on sunscreen.

“Ok…” He mulled over treatment ideas in his mind, finally instructing you, “Can you take off your shirt and lay on your stomach?”

“Always for you, Spence,” You winked teasingly at him, and his face immediately flushed red.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” He laughed slightly, and you grinned.

“I know… it could be what you meant, though.”

This time, he laughed outright, shaking his head incredulously. “I don’t think that sex is on the list of ways to treat sunburns.”

“Damn. Guess you need to get a new list.”

“Lay down, Y/N,” He tried to act annoyed, but failed fast, smiling as you did what he said. He moved out of your sightline, and you felt something cold hovering above your back.

“Can I put the towel on your back? It was just in the fridge, so it’s gonna be cold.”

“Yeah, go ahead,” You said, flinching a bit when the cold fabric hit your skin.

“You ok?” He asked, his voice slightly panicky. You nodded, laughing a bit.

“I’m good, just shocked me for a second.”

He covered your arms and shoulders with the cold towels as well, turning a movie on the TV before walking towards the door.

“I’m going to run to the store and get a bottle of aloe - are you good to lay like that until I get back?”

“Well, I’m fucked if a murderer breaks in, but as long as that doesn’t happen I’ll be fine,” You laughed. He smiled, pulling the door shut behind him. You laughed to yourself at the position you were in, towels covering your body, but it did do some to soothe the burning that you could already feel building. It didn’t take long for Spencer to come back into the room, and you cheered as he triumphantly held up a green bottle of aloe vera gel.

“Ok, you can sit up - do you care if I put this on you?” He asked. You shook your head, sitting up and laughing when all the towels fell off your back. He grabbed them, sitting them on the kitchen table and squirting a bit of the cold gel into his hand.

“Shit that’s freezing,” You jumped, flinching away from his hand.

“I know baby, I’m sorry - it’ll feel good in a second though,” He said. He was right, of course; once you got used to the cold, it felt heavenly.

He finished putting the aloe on everywhere that got sunburnt, and you grabbed your shirt to slip it back on. He took it from you, insisting on helping you with every step.

“Spence, I can put my own shirt on. I got a sunburn, it’s not like I got shot or something,” You laughed.

“Shh, let me take care of you!” He instructed you to put your arms up, slipping the shirt down over your head. He put on his pajamas before climbing into bed next to you, about to wrap an arm around your shoulders before he moved to wrap it around your waist instead, pulling you close to him. You cuddled against him, pressing a kiss to his lips and pulling away with a smile.

“Thank you, for taking care of me.”

The plan was simple.

We were going to see a new horror movie in the theaters - it seemed similar to a slasher film that Morgan, Garcia, Reid and I had seen like six or seven months ago, so I didn’t think anything of it when we booked the tickets. Morgan and Garcia couldn’t make it tonight, unfortunately, but we still elected to go on our own, thinking it would be a fun little outing. That was, until the film started.

The lights came up on a woman, walking through a back alley alone, at night. Typical. I even glanced over at Spencer and rolled my eyes a bit, and he grinned at the stereotypical horror movie trope.

She died, of course, and for the first half of the movie I genuinely thought it was going to be exactly what we assumed. We were laughing at the ridiculousness of it all, with the stupid special effects and the subpar acting. But everything went off the rails after the first half of the movie.

The killer had revealed his primary target, his endgame, and - much to my horror - he had begun to stalk her.

Scenes of her creating a disguise, moving houses, throwing away her phone, spun a dark web that I didn’t ever want to think about. But I had more pressing things to worry about than my fear at a movie that was literally intended to make you scared.

I glanced over at Spencer, and I could tell that his breathing had picked up. His hands were gripping the arms of the chair, knuckles as white as his face had turned. I put a hand over his, and his attention snapped to me.

“Hey, are you alright?” I asked him. It was a stupid question, and one I already knew the answer to, but it was the first thing I could think to say. He looked like he was weighing his options for a moment before he shook his head.

“Do you want to leave?” I followed. He nodded, eyes wild, and we quickly grabbed our bags and left, just as the stalker had pulled a gun on his victim. Spencer took one last look at the screen, watching with wide eyes as the victim begged for her life. It was like a trainwreck; he couldn’t take his eyes off the movie, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him as the stalker pulled the trigger, and the woman crumpled to the ground. He practically jumped out of his skin when the gunshots fired, and I grabbed his arm to usher him out.

I didn’t realize the full extent of his panic until we made it out of the theater, bursting through the doors into the significantly brighter lights of the hallway. He immediately sat down on the couch near the doors, head in his hands, breathing rapidly.

“Ok, you’ve gotta breathe, Reid. You’ve gotta breathe, alright? In through your nose, out through your mouth, can you do that?” I adjusted my breathing to fit the pattern, and saw that he had started to slow his as well. “Good, ok… we can sit here for as long as you need to, just focus on your breathing.”

He gave me an almost imperceptible nod, continuing to breathe slowly before lifting his head from his hands. His eyes were red, and it was clear he’d been trying to fight off tears.

“Reid, I’m so sorry -”

It was at that moment that he cut me off with a hug, tucking his head in the crook of my neck as I felt his body lightly shake with sobs. After a second I hugged him back, not used to physical affection from him, but not opposed as long as he was ok with it.

“It reminded you too much of Maeve, didn’t it?” I asked, trying to ensure that the story I had in my head was correct. He nodded, his breath coming in short gasps again, and I hugged him a bit tighter. “Reid, I’m so sorry, I never would’ve suggested this movie if I’d known the turn the story was going to take.”

He shook his head, sucking in deep breaths before finally attempting to speak. “No, no, it’s ok, I know that you wouldn’t have done this on purpose. It’s just…”

He trailed off, but I knew what he was trying to say. “I was there that day, Reid. I know how much she meant to you.”

“The girl in the movie kind of looked like her. You know? Same hair, same face shape… when I saw the fear in her eyes, all I could imagine was Maeve, terrified, with a gun to her head. The woman I love - loved. The woman I loved. Scared, and alone.”

“Oh, Reid… you know it’s not your fault, right? You did everything you could to save her.”

“No. No, I didn’t. I should’ve closed my eyes, I should’ve tackled Diane - hell, I should’ve shot that bitch the minute I walked into the room! Instead I stood there. I stood there while the woman I loved died in front of me, and I didn’t do anything to stop it.”

“Spencer.” I put my hands on his shoulders, pulling back from the hug to look into his eyes. “You absolutely cannot blame yourself for this. What happened to Maeve was horrible, but it was not your fault. And you can’t live your life with that on your conscience.”

“Maybe I deserve to.” His voice was soft as he tucked his head back into the crook of my neck, and I put my arms around him, one hand lightly rubbing his back. My heart broke for the man in my arms - my best friend - as he sniffled, a few stray tears still trickling down his face.

“You don’t deserve to live with that kind of guilt, Spencer. Guilt for something you didn’t even do. And I’m so, so sorry that you feel that way. And I’m so sorry about what happened.”

“Sorry doesn’t make it go away,” He argued, his voice muffled by the fabric of my t-shirt, “Sorry doesn’t bring her back.”

I heard his voice hitch when he said it, and I held him a bit tighter. “I know it doesn’t.”

He was silent for a moment before he spoke again, his voice thick with tears begging to be released. “I just wish I could bring her back.”

It was as if saying it broke something in him, and I felt his body shake as he cried again, consumed by grief and guilt unlike anything I could ever imagine. He was usually so closed off about his emotions that having him crying in my arms was a rare occurrence, even after years of friendship. The last time he was like this was after Emily’s… “death,” and even that wasn’t near as intense.

I wasn’t sure how long we sat on that bench, the orange lights of the movie theater hallway creating a strange liminal sensation as I held Spencer, finally releasing the emotions he’d clearly been pushing away since Maeve’s death.

Eventually, he stopped crying, his breathing returning to something close to normal, and he pulled away from me, his eyes red from tears.

“I’m sor -”

“Nope, do not even start to apologize. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

He closed his mouth, contemplating saying something else for a second before nodding, hugging me again.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, Reid. Do you want to go back to my place? We can order a pizza, and watch a movie - something we know this time. If you need to be alone, I understand, but -”

He shook his head. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” I sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady my own breathing after everything that just happened, “Good. Are you ok to walk to the car?”

“Yeah… I’m not sure how talkative I’m going to be tonight though…” He kind of trailed off, clearly drained, but not wanting to be alone.

“I understand; you know there’s no expectations with me, Reid. If you want to just wrap yourself up in a blanket and eat junk food, I get it. I just want to be there, to make sure that you’re ok.”

He gave me a small smile, and I grinned, grabbing his hand to help him off the bench. We made our way out to my car, and I climbed in, starting it before turning on the radio.

Spencer was pretty much silent the entire drive back to my apartment, the noise in the car mostly consisting of the music and my less than stellar singing. When we finally pulled into the complex, we headed upstairs to my place.

“I’m gonna order the food. Do you wanna find something on Netflix you like?” I asked as I unlocked the door. He nodded, and I threw my keys on the kitchen counter, putting in the pizza order on my computer. I saw him grab a blanket from the basket in the living room, wrapping it around his shoulders and plopping down on my couch.

I expected to return to the living room to see whatever movie we were watching cued up on the TV. Instead, I saw Spencer, staring at the wall across from him, remote untouched on the coffee table.

“Hey,” I sat down next to him, gently putting one hand on his shoulder, “Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

He was silent for a moment, and I could see the mental battle he was fighting. Eventually, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m afraid… I’m afraid that if I allow myself to grieve, if I allow myself to think about what happened, I won’t be able to stop. It’s been almost four months, I thought the pain would be gone by now. But it isn’t, it’s… I just miss her. I miss her so much.”

“I know, Reid. I know.”

He leaned into me, and I didn’t hesitate to wrap my arms around him, the thoughts of pizza and a movie completely abandoned in my mind. Instead, all of my attention was on Spencer as he spoke again.

“On the last case, Rossi talked to me. I told him that I wasn’t sleeping because whenever I did, I would dream of her. Of Maeve. And everytime I saw her, I felt nothing but relief flooding my mind. I told him how she would always ask me to dance, and how I always said no. I never even got to hold her when she was alive, and I was scared that if I gave into the fantasy, I would be lost forever,” He took in a shaky breath before he continued, “And he said I should. He said, ‘just let it happen, Spencer.’ So I did. I danced with her, I held her, and when I woke up, she was all I could think about. The way it felt to wrap my arms around her, the way her head fit perfectly into the crook of my neck while we danced. It took another day before I could think about anything but her, before I could stop wallowing in my grief enough to function. And since that night, I haven’t allowed myself to give into the fantasy again, the fantasy of having her back. I think… I think that if I let it happen again, I won’t be able to come back from it. It’ll just consume me.”

“Spencer…” I trailed off, unsure of what to say. He just shook his head, telling me I didn’t need to say anything as we sat there on my couch in silence. He wasn’t crying, he hadn’t cried since we left the theater. He was just… hollow. Everything that he’d been trying to repress - to compartmentalize - had finally caught up to him, in the form of a shitty slasher movie that we’d gotten cheap tickets to see.

I held him tighter, wishing that I could figure out something to say to comfort him, to take away his pain. But I knew there was nothing I could do. Nothing I could do but just be there.

“Have you ever considered talking to someone? Like, not someone from the team - a professional?” I asked.

“I’ve thought about it. But… we’re experts in human behavior, you know? What’s a therapist going to be able to tell me that I can’t already profile myself?”

“Well, it might be helpful to have a licensed professional to talk to about this stuff. Someone who can actually give you advice on how to handle your emotions. Because as much as I am absolutely here for you no matter what, I’m afraid I’m not great at mental health advice.”

“Yeah… maybe.” He sounded dubious about the idea, and while I wanted to encourage him further, I didn’t want to push him today. So I settled for just gently rubbing his back as he laid in my arms, staring at the wall. Eventually, the doorbell rang, and I got up to get the pizza, bringing it back into the living room and setting it down on the coffee table. By now, he’d sat up, the blanket still pulled around his shoulders, but at least a bit more present.

“Thank you,” He said, for the second time that day. I just smiled at him.

“Of course. I love you, Reid. And I’m always here, whatever you need.”

“I love you too,” He gave me a small smile back before turning his attention to the coffee table, “But I also love food - I’m starving.”

The pressure in your head was building, and you knew you had to get out of there soon or you might literally explode.

“Unfortunately I am unable to discuss details of the case at this time, but our team is working incredibly hard to ensure that we catch this man before anyone else gets hurt.” You delivered the blanket statement, hoping to diffuse any further questions or insults. Of course, it didn’t work, as the man in front of you spoke again.

“Well no offense but your team isn’t doing a very good job.”

“Sir, I assure you that my team is doing the best they possibly can with the given circumstances.”

“People are dying! Just standing here and saying that ‘they’re doing the best they can’ isn’t fucking good enough!”

“Please, sir, calm down -”

“You don’t get to tell me to calm down, Agent Y/L/N! You disgusting pigs… when more innocent people are kidnapped, I hope that you see those reports and know that this is all your fucking fault -”

He had leapt from his seat, arms waving as he ranted to you. Another person in the crowd cut him off, shouting with the same fervor.

“My husband was one of the people taken, Agent. And every day, when I check in with your team, I hear ‘we’re working on it’ or ‘ma’am, we’re doing everything we can.’ But from where I’m sitting, I don’t see you doing anything at all! Where are our families? Please, where is my husband?”

More voices rose, families of the abducted people chiming in with their stories, anguish and anger painting their faces. You shut your eyes tightly, trying to force back your headache, before finally you cut everyone off.

“Please!” You spoke loudly into the microphone. A hush fell over the crowd, everyone awaiting what you were going to say.

“First of all: My sincerest condolences to the families of those who have been abducted. What has occured is a tragedy, and the FBI has resources for mental health and wellness if you need someone to speak to. But I assure you, we are working day and night on this case. I cannot speak to the case details at this time, but we’re going to do everything we possibly can to bring everybody back safely. Thank you for your time.”

You turned around and walked away from the podium, hearing a cacophony of voices rise from behind you as tears burned your eyes. You waved security off of you, heading back into the police station and bolting straight for the bathroom.

Emotions swirled through your mind, and you weren’t sure if you were angry or sad as you slammed one of the stall doors.

The victim’s families had every right to be upset. No progress was being made on the case, and every day that passed without a new lead was another day where people could die. The thought made your stomach churn, and you leaned up against the wall, steadying your breathing.

But the team really was doing everything they could to try and solve the case. Hell, you couldn’t remember the last time that Spencer got any sleep! And for people to insist to you that they weren’t doing anything, that people being taken is their fault… it pissed you off, to be honest.

You hadn’t really registered the tears running down your face until you raised your shaky hands to wipe them from your cheeks. You clenched your jaw, trying to check both your anger and sorrow as you stood alone in the police station bathroom.

Or at least, you were alone.

You heard a knock on the main bathroom door, and silence for a moment before a voice called out to you.

“Y/N?”

“Spence?” You asked.

“Are you… you know, using the restroom?”

You laughed a bit. “No, and there’s no one else in here. You can come in.”

You heard the bathroom door open, and his footsteps walk over to the stall you were in. He leaned up against the outside of the stall, silent for a moment as you sniffled, trying to stop yourself from crying.

“Babe? Are you ok?”

“I -” You sighed, frustrated, “I don’t know.”

“What happened?”

“I just had a press conference, and people were understandably upset with the lack of progress on the case. They kept insisting that we weren’t actually working on the case, and then a few of the family members of the victims were - obviously - very angry. And I know that it’s all completely justified, it just…” You balled your fists, “I just needed a minute.”

“... Can you come out here, love? Or is that too much right now?”

You unlocked the door, knowing that your eyes were red from crying. His face softened when he looked at you, and he opened his arms as an invitation for a hug. You accepted gratefully, feeling comforted by his warm embrace.

“What are these tears? Like, what are you feeling right now?”

“So many things,” You let out a shallow laugh, “I’m pissed at the insinuation that you guys aren’t working your asses off on this case, and at everyone shouting at me, but I’m obviously saddened by everything I heard from the victim’s families.”

You and Spencer had established the importance of communicating your feelings early into your relationship. It helped ensure that both of you were on the same page, when your minds were so crowded with other things. And while it was helpful in your relationship, it was especially helpful in times like this. In times where both of your jobs were so overwhelming, that the best thing to do was just to speak candidly about it, and to let someone else help. He wrapped his arms tighter around you, and you clenched his sweater in your fists, trying to stop your hands from shaking.

“I’m sorry, love. But just know that it’s not your fault, and that people have no right to be taking their anger out on you. It makes sense that they would be upset, but they also shouldn’t be shouting at you about it.”

You felt hot tears prick your eyes again, and you sighed.

“I know. And I feel like shit for being upset, because I can’t even imagine the pain that the victim’s families are experiencing right now, but… like I said, I just needed a second.”

He pulled back from his embrace, cupping your face and seeing the barely contained tears in your eyes. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips before hugging you again.

“Let it out, baby. It’s okay.”

That was all you needed to let the tears spill down your face, emotions overwhelming your mind. He lightly played with your hair with one hand, the other holding you close as you tried to get your bearings again. Your tears slowed, and he rubbed your back, trying to ensure you were ok.

“Breathe with me, ok love? In through your nose, out through your mouth,” He changed his breathing pattern so you could copy it, recovering in his arms.

When you were breathing steadily, you pulled away from his embrace, and he kissed you again, gentle and comforting.

“How are you feeling now?” He asked.

You considered it for a moment, taking in another deep breath before nodding. “I think I’m ok now.”

“Are you sure? We don’t have to go back out there until you’re ready.”

“I’m sure. I really just need a second to recuperate.”

He nodded, and this time you gave him a soft kiss before smiling.

“Thank you, baby,” You said.

“Of course; you know I’m always here.”

“And I’m always here too, if you need anything at all.”

He grinned, wiping the tears from your face. “I love you so much, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Spencer.”

“You ready to get back to work?”

You nodded. “Just give me a second to make it look like I wasn’t sobbing.”

He laughed, and you straightened up your appearance in the mirror before you both left the bathroom, returning to the main part of the police station. The whole team had arrived in the time you were gone, and they were working on another theory that Spencer immediately jumped in on. You turned to return to your work before you felt someone tap your shoulder.

You spun around to see JJ standing behind you.

“Hey, I saw the press conference,” She said. You knew that she was the press liaison before you, so it wouldn’t be any surprise to her when you sighed deeply.

“So you saw the nightmare that just occurred?” You joked. She laughed, nodding knowingly.

“I did; you handled it incredibly though, if it’s any consolation.”

“Really? Because it sure didn’t feel like it.”

“No, really. You did great.”

You grinned. “Thank you - honestly, I need some pointers, you’ve got a lot more experience at this than I do.”

“Well, I know how hard it can be, and you’re doing really well for only being a few months into the job.”

“Thanks, JJ. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” She smiled, giving you a comforting hug before returning to the group. You watched your friends for a second, all engrossed in their work, and you were comforted to know that they really were doing the best they possibly could.

I planned to call Dr. Spencer Reid in the morning to get an update on the case. He said they were speaking with Brian, and I was far too invested in what that scumbag had to say for himself.

What I hadn’t planned for, though, was to receive a call from the very same Dr. Spencer Reid, around four in the morning.

“Lex? Are you up?”

“What the fuck - Dr. Reid? What time is it?”

“Like four or something, I don’t know; listen, I’m sorry to wake you, but I think you might be right.”

“As much as I love to hear that, I’m gonna need you to be more specific.”

“Right about Brian, about your sister, the murder, all of it. I think you might be right.”

“Well shit.” I was fully awake now, sitting up in my bed as I’m sure he paced in front of a whiteboard somewhere downtown.

“Can you come in? Like, to the police station.”

“Now? Dr. Reid, you are aware that it’s four in the morning?”

“Lex, please just call me Spencer. And I know, I know and I’m sorry, but you’re our best lead on this so far. You saw what your sister’s marriage did to the both of you, and you know what you’re talking about. Like I said, I think you’re right. But we need to prove it.”

“What does the rest of your team think about this?” As much as I was already dying to jump back into this mystery, I really didn’t want the wrath of the FBI on my ass.

“They’re at the hotel right now, I couldn’t sleep - I’ll explain everything to them in the morning, but right now I need your help.”

“Spencer… why is this so urgent? What aren’t you telling me?”

“We had to let Brian go.”

“What? That douchebag killed someone and you let him leave?”

“We didn’t have any cause to keep him in holding! We have to let people go after 24 hours -”

“I know how the criminal justice system works, Spencer. Do you think there’s a chance he’ll kill again?”

“I - there’s a chance. Based on some stuff we found at the crime scene -”

That was all I needed to hear. If there was a chance this asshole could kill someone else, I wasn’t going to go back to sleep. “Fucking hell - I’m on my way.”

As much as my exhausted body protested, I practically jumped out of bed, pulling on a t-shirt and some jean shorts before grabbing a jacket and gym shoes and heading out to my car. It was pitch black outside, the streets of Tallahassee surprisingly quiet for a Saturday night. The hot air hit me the second I left my building, and I internally groaned, speeding up my walk to my car so I could reach the safety of the air conditioning.

I sped out of the parking lot, air conditioning cranked despite the lack of sunlight outside. There was a little voice in the back of my head telling me that I should’ve spent more time on this outfit, or put on a bit of makeup, but I pushed it away, filling my head with thoughts of the case instead. Spencer wouldn’t care if I looked a little bedraggled.

Not that I cared what Spencer thought, of course.

The police station was about twenty minutes from my apartment complex, but I got there in fifteen, swinging into the parking lot and shutting off my car before making my way to the front door. I considered knocking, but I wasn’t sure who else was working this late. So I opted to text Spencer instead.

I still had his number from when he called me earlier, and I shot him a quick text to let him know I was here. No less than a minute later, he was at the front door, opening it up to allow me inside.

“Hey - I’m sorry about this, I really shouldn’t have called you so late. Honestly, if you want to go home, I’d understand; I don’t know what I was thinking, there’s no reason to make you -”

“Spencer. You didn’t ‘make me’ do anything. Trust me, if I didn’t want to help, I would’ve told you as much. I’m not one for secrets.”

He smiled a bit, and I offered him a reassuring one back. “Well, I’m still sorry,” He said, “But the case information is all in here. Follow me.”

He led me back through the main hallway that Penelope Garcia had walked me down yesterday, but instead of turning right at the fork to go to the interrogation rooms, he went left, leading me to a series of empty conference rooms. One of them had multiple large rolling whiteboards up against the farthest wall, most of which were covered in pictures and writing. That was the room that he walked towards, before he turned and blocked me from getting through the doorway.

“Ok. So, I know that you know your sister is dead. And I know you know she was most likely murdered by her husband. But… you haven’t seen the crime scene. You haven’t seen exactly why we were called in. We don’t just get called in for regular homicides. There has to be a specific behavioral element, something that would make the local police believe they’d have more luck solving the case if they had a profile on the killer.”

I knew a bit about criminal justice, and behavioral science, from a couple classes I took my senior year of college. But I didn’t know much about the BAU, and the dead serious look on Spencer’s face was making me uneasy.

“So what you’re saying is… this isn’t gonna be pretty.”

“In layman’s terms, yes, this isn’t gonna be pretty. So I want to make absolutely sure that you want to help, that you’re ok with seeing stuff like that. That you’re ok with seeing your sister like that.”

Yes, I fucking hated my sister. But I was still hesitant to enter that room. Spencer could tell, because he followed up with.

“If you’re not comfortable with that, if you’d rather not have those images in your head, you can go home right now and forget I ever called you in here. We’ll update you on the results of the case, and you don’t have to be involved. It’s up to you.”

I shook my head. As hesitant as I was, there was no way I could leave now. I was far too invested. “No, I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure? 100%?”

“Yes, Spencer. I’ll be ok.”

“Ok.” He nodded, turning around and heading into the room, making a beeline for the boards. I followed him, trying to figure out what could possibly be so bad that he would need to give me that kind of warning.

Now, I consider myself to be a pretty tough person. There wasn’t a lot that could phase me, I generally took a ‘go with the flow,’ nonchalant approach to life. But when I saw the crime scene pictures stuck to that board, I felt my face pale.

“Holy… fuck - you really think Brian is capable of this? I mean, he’s a dick, and I can fully believe he’s capable of murder, but… god -”

The pictures in front of me depicted a brutal scene… honestly, I’d never seen anything like it. They centered around one image: my sister, dead, on the kitchen floor. Her body was slumped up against the island, blood pooling around her. The other pictures also showed most of the blood spattered on the lower cabinets across from her body, but it was still pretty much everywhere around her. She appeared to have been stabbed multiple times, and yet, despite all the blood, there wasn’t a single fingerprint, footprint, hair - nothing that could point to the murderer. Nothing that I could see in the pictures, at least. I felt my heart start to pick up as I studied the scene, and I turned away, steadying my breathing and trying to fight back unexpected tears that pricked the corners of my eyes. When I glanced over at Spencer though, he wasn’t even looking at me. He was reading a file in front of him, responding to my question as he read.

“Well, I know that our prevailing theory is that he killed her in a fit of rage. But based on the overkill at the crime scene, I feel like something inside him might’ve snapped when he committed the murder.”

I regained control of my breathing enough to ask, “Like, a psychotic break?”

“Something like that, yeah. Which is why I’m so concerned. With this level of brutality, there’s a high probability that he’s already mentally devolving, and he could potentially go on to target other women who haven’t been able to follow through with their pregnancies.” He put the file down and finally turned to look at me, noticing my expression as I steadied myself on one of the conference table chairs.

“Lex, are you ok?”

“I’m fine. It’s just more gruesome than I expected it to be. I’ll be ok,” I insisted when his face fell, “It just caught me off guard.”

“I know, that’s why I warned you - are you sure you’re alright? Do you want… a hug? Or water, or something? I don’t know -”

I smiled a bit, my heart warming against my will at his concern. But my mind quickly dipped back into a territory that was a familiar distraction, and I smirked.

“As much as I’d love your hands on my body, I think I’ll have to take you up on that offer another time.”

He blushed, and I laughed, taking in a deep breath before returning my attention to the pictures on the board.

“Ok. So, what all do I need to know? Like, what’s going on here? Because from what I can tell, she was stabbed, and this guy - assuming it’s Brian, of course - fucking knows what he’s doing. No fingerprints, footprints, anything?”

“Nothing. The CSI team searched the entire house. The only noteworthy thing that we found were trace amounts of the victim - Sarah, sorry - her blood in the bathroom sink, in the bathroom across the hall from the kitchen. But there’s nothing at the crime scene that can directly connect the crime to anyone specific.”

“So how the hell are we going to prove it’s him?”

“Well, we always try to come into every case with no suspects in mind, so that it doesn’t impact our profile at all. Brian was the police’s prime suspect, he has been since the beginning - the husband almost always is, in these scenarios, unless they have a really good alibi - and I think he looks good for it now, but we didn’t know that when writing this.”

He handed me the file he’d been reading, open to a page that was a written account of their original profile.

“This is where I feel like you can help us most; I mean, you met Brian, didn’t you? Like, you attended their wedding, at the very least?”

“I met him a grand total of one time, at the wedding. I wasn’t in the wedding party, but I met him when I was talking to Sarah. He pretty much avoided me the whole time, which in retrospect, should’ve been a red flag, but I guess I didn’t really notice. When I did talk to him though, he was really rude. Like, he’d give me curt, one word answers, and then directly after disengaging from conversation with me, he’d turn around and start whispering to some of his buddies that were in the wedding party - the best man and all that shit - and gestured towards me. I still have no idea what he was saying, honestly.”

“Perfect - I mean, not perfect that he treated you like that, of course, that’s awful, and I’m sorry; I said ‘perfect’ because it means you can confirm that he matches up with the profile behaviorally. My mind kind of jumped ahead -”

“Spence, calm down. I understood what you meant.”

I felt a blush creep up the back of my neck at the accidental nickname, and I saw the same thing happen to him as we both came to an unspoken agreement to ignore it.

“Right. Ok. Um, anyway, would you mind reading over the profile and seeing if you think it sounds like a good description of him? Since you have the most experience with him outside of an interrogation room.”

I agreed, turning my direction to the profile I had in my hands.

The unsub is most likely male, and based on the overkill at the crime scene, most likely someone with a personal connection to the victim. Based on the disorganized nature of the kill, he is probably younger - late teens to early twenties - and has probably never killed before. However, there is a high probability that he is someone with deep rooted anger issues, and that may have caused him some problems in his life before this. He may have a history of issues at work or school from lashing out over small frustrations, and it’s most likely gotten him in trouble throughout his lifetime. Sarah was small, so it wouldn’t be hard to overpower her, but based on the blood spatter patterns, we do know that the unsub is right-handed, and slightly taller than the victim.

I skimmed the rest of the paper - which just contained concluding notes and instructions for local police - before looking back up at Spencer, who was staring at me as I read.

“It definitely sounds like him. I mean, based on what I know about him at least. Like I said, he generally avoided me - though there was this one time when they first started dating, before Sarah cut me off entirely,” The memory came rushing back to me, and I was shocked I hadn’t thought of it sooner, “I had already gone to my room for the night when I heard her return from a date with him. She was crying. I was going to go ask her what was wrong, but my mom beat me to it, seeing as both of my parents were in the living room watching TV when she got back. I heard her telling them that her and Brian had gotten into an argument. I can’t remember what they were arguing about, but the gist of it was that it was something completely ridiculous. And yet, she was crying like he had really hurt her. My parents were consoling her, so I just went back to bed, but honestly it sounds like he could’ve been aggressive, and that’s why she was so upset - I don’t know anything for sure, I only know what I overheard. But it would make sense.”

“But you’re immediately making assumptions to make him fit the profile; that’s exactly why we don’t go into cases with any suspects in mind. It’s an interesting conversation, and I’m happy you remembered it, but we can’t assume he was being aggressive just because your sister was upset.”

“That’s true… so where does that leave us?” I plopped down in one of the chairs, throwing my feet up on the table and laughing when Spencer gave my action the same look of disgust that he did when I put my feet up in the interrogation room.

“Do you think that he fits the profile?” He asked. I nodded.

“The age is a bit off - he’s 27, so it’s more late than early twenties - but everything else fits what I know about him perfectly.”

“Age is the hardest thing to profile, so it would make sense if that’s a little bit off.”

“So you really think he killed Sarah?”

“I mean, all signs point to him - I feel like we at least need to find a way to keep tabs on him. If he is the killer, then he’s devolving. Despite the lack of evidence at the crime scene, the crime itself would still be classified as disorganized, and disorganized crime scenes usually point to the unsub being more unpredictable, unstable. Like I said, I think he might’ve snapped when he killed your sister. Which means that other people could be in danger.”

“Well if people are in danger, then why don’t you tell the police chief or something? We need to get Brian back in here, or at the very least we need to get someone to stay up to date on his location. I don’t know what you guys have jurisdiction to do.”

“I’m not sure we’re going to be able to get him back in here without any actual forensic evidence… I’m calling Hotch right now. Give me a second - hey Hotch,” He had his phone up to his ear, and he filled Hotch in on his thoughts about the case. He paused his profiling for a minute to defend why he was still awake and working, but after about five minutes he hung up the call, turning back to me.

“The team’s on their way.”

“And they know I’m here?” I had heard him tell Hotch that I was, but I wasn’t sure if he was going to tell everyone else.

“Yes; I’m assuming Hotch will fill them in, at least. Your confirmation of the profile is what made him agree to come in - having Brian as a confirmed prime suspect gives us grounds to move forward.”

I nodded my understanding before asking, “When do you think they’ll be here?”

“The hotel they’re staying at is only about five minutes away - we always try to stay in hotels near the police stations in the cities that we’re staying in, that way we’re able to move quickly if we need to. I mean, there was one time where the team stayed directly at the unsub’s house, but that was an… exception.” His face slowly fell as he finished the sentence, almost as if he regretted saying it, but I was too intrigued to wonder why.

“Directly at the unsub’s house? Holy shit - what happened on that case?”

“Well, uh, I actually got kidnapped?” He phrased it like a statement, but the way he said it sounded more like a question. Probably questioning whether or not he should even be telling me this.

“Oh my god, Spencer, I am so sorry.”

“No no it’s fine, it was about two years ago at this point,” He was trying to shut down the conversation, but I’d be lying if I said that finding out that the man in front of me had been kidnapped wasn’t concerning information.

“Two years is not that long… are you ok?”

“I’m fine. I mean, I’ve gotten counseling… there are still days where I - you know what? My traumatic past isn’t important right now. You - you don’t need to be worrying about me; I’m sorry that I brought it up, I was just talking and not processing what I was saying and -”

“Spence.” He was rambling now, his hands moving quickly as he spoke, anxiety clearly clouding his mind. I grabbed his hands to still them, stopping him from speaking. “It’s ok. I asked what happened, you don’t need to worry about me worrying about you. Honestly, I just wanted to make sure that you were alright, that sounds fucking awful.”

“It was.” He looked like he was going to say something else, but he glanced down at my hands holding his, and cleared his throat, a blush coloring his features as he pulled his hands from mine. “It was. But I really am ok now. Trust me.”

“Ok,” I nodded, trying to ignore the way that my heart stung when he practically ripped his hands from mine, “I’m glad.”

He gave me an awkward tight-lipped smile, something I’d noticed him do a lot, and I was about to start another conversation when I heard the conference room door open. Both of our heads snapped in the direction of the sound, and we turned to see the team pouring in through the door.

“Lex Raymond, I assume?” Hotch asked. I rose from my seat, nodding and accepting the handshake he offered me. The rest of the team took seats around the table, and I noticed multiple of them desperately chugging coffee out of disposable paper cups. Someone passed one up to Spencer, who was standing in front of the board still. I took my seat again, and a man sitting near the back of his table leaned back a bit in his chair before addressing Spencer.

It was raining.

I knew we were supposed to get a short shower this morning, but I still groaned as I walked out into the disgusting downpour bombarding the streets of DC.

The only positive thing about days like this was the lack of people on the sidewalk. Generally everyone was dashing to the subway before they could get too soaked, but I only lived a few blocks from work. So I elected to walk.

Usually, that was fine. I had my umbrella, and I got into the office in about fifteen minutes, give or take a few. After that I got my writing assignments for that day within ten, and I got to work.

Usually.

The smell hit me first. Initially, I thought it was just rotten fruit, or something similar that someone had thrown out, but the closer I got the more it smelled rancid, impossible to describe.

The next thing I noticed was the bag.

The woman’s purse had been thrown from her hand. Or maybe it had fallen, I had no way of knowing. All I knew was that I saw it sitting on the sidewalk at the mouth of the alleyway I was about to walk past.

One of the greatest regrets of my life was picking up that purse.

Because when I picked it up, I had to turn and see who it belonged to. And that’s when I saw her.

I wasn’t sure how long the blood had been pooled around her body, but it was dried on the concrete. Her head was twisted at an unnatural angle, revealing the deep slash wound across her throat. Her hands were bloodied, and I had no way of knowing if it was her blood or someone else’s. All I knew was that this woman was dead, and there was no way in hell it was due to natural causes.

The combination of the sight in front of me and the smell of decay permeating the air sent a wave of nausea through my body, and my eyes watered as I turned away, vomiting on the sidewalk not far from where the woman laid. I fumbled to pull my phone out of my pocket, my hands shaking as I dialed 911.

“911 what’s your emergency?”

“Someone’s dead. It’s a woman, she - I was on my way to work, and I just found her - holy shit…”

“Ok ma’am, I’m going to need you to calm down please, everything will be ok. Can you tell us where you are right now?”

“Yeah, yes,” I forced myself to breathe, stepping out to the edge of the sidewalk in an attempt to read the street sign in front of me. “Right by the corner of 9th and G Street NW. There’s an alley a few feet away from the intersection. She’s…” I turned back to the woman’s body for a moment before forcing my eyes away again. “I don’t know what happened. It looks bad, I -”

“It’s ok ma’am. What is your name?”

“Dahlia. Dahlia Silvers.”

“Ok Dahlia. Is there anyone else with you? Or around you?”

I scanned my surroundings before responding shakily, “No.”

“Is the woman alive?”

“No.” I don’t know of anybody who could survive their throat being slashed.

“Ok. A team is on their way, but I need you to stay calm for me, ok?”

I nodded, despite the fact that she couldn’t see me. “Alright.”

“Good. Can you stay on the scene so that investigators can speak with you when they arrive?”

My first thought was that I was going to be late for work. It’s actually kind of funny, in retrospect, how unimportant that is compared to the discovery I just made. But the thought was still there.

“I think this would be a valid reason to call in sick.” I replied. The woman on the other end of the phone laughed lightly.

“Yes, I think it would. Would you like me to stay on the phone with you until the team arrives?”

“No, I’m just… I’m going to walk away a bit? Is that ok? I can’t… I mean, I’ve seen pictures and videos of stuff like this, but I didn’t think it would be so -”

“As long as you’re nearby, everything should be fine. It’s understandable that you would need to move away from the body.”

“Ok. Ok,” I took in another deep breath, “I’m ok.”

“A team should be there in a couple of minutes.”

The line went dead, and I sunk down against the wall of the building by the alley, far enough away that the smell of death couldn’t follow me. I felt like it was in my clothes, in my hair; for a second I thought I was going to throw up again, and I put my head in my hands, forcing myself to breathe until the investigators arrived on the scene. I had half a mind to realize that it wasn’t raining anymore, but I couldn’t be bothered to figure out where I’d dropped my umbrella. My clothes were sticking to my skin, and everything on my body felt viscerally wrong.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen images of dead people before; I was a young adult, and I liked movies. Obviously I was used to gore. But the stench… nothing could’ve prepared me for that.

I was surprised at the sheer number of people that showed up: I mean, there was a CSI van, which I expected, but a black car pulled up behind them, as well as two city police cars. Immediately, the CSI team got to work, and the rest of the people began piling out of their cars. The first person to take notice of me was one of the police officers, and he immediately made a beeline for where I was sitting on the sidewalk.

“Are you Dahlia Silvers? The woman who called in the body?” He asked. I nodded, and he held out his hand to me, helping me up on unsteady feet.

“Thank you.”

“‘Course. Now, I’d like to ask you a few questions if that’s ok?”

I nodded again, and he began a surprisingly long tirade of questions. Why was I passing by, where was I going, did I walk this street every day, what did I see first, did I touch anything on the scene, did I know the woman, had I seen anyone else - everything I should’ve expected but didn’t even think about in the wake of everything I’d just witnessed.

I answered accordingly: work, work, yes, the purse, the purse, no, no - I mentioned that the vomit was mine, and that I’d picked the purse up with the intent to return it to whoever dropped it. I mentioned that the first thing I picked up on was the smell, and that I had no idea what happened. Only that my day was perfectly normal, and then -

“Excuse me, officer?” A new voice cut into our conversation, a woman. I turned to look at her, noticing the FBI logo on her jacket immediately. “I’d like to speak with Ms. Silvers for a moment, if you don’t mind?”

“Of course Agent,” He nodded, rejoining the larger group that we were standing a bit away from. I knew he was still watching me, but I couldn’t be bothered to worry about my status on this case’s suspect list right now. I was still trying to process the fact that there was a fucking dead body about five feet away from me.

“Dahlia Silvers?” She asked, as if she didn’t already know. I nodded, and she smiled, introducing herself as well.

“I’m Special Agent Prentiss, I’m with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

Immediately my brow furrowed with confusion. “What are you guys doing here?”

“Well, we study -”

“No, I’m sorry, I should’ve been clearer: I know what the BAU does. What is the BAU doing here, in DC?”

“We’re investigating a string of recent murders, and we believe that this one is most likely connected to the case.”

“... If there have been enough murders here that your team needed to come down, why aren’t any of the news stations covering it? I haven’t heard anything about this.”

“We’ve put a block on most of the press until we can gain a better understanding of the situation. I understand why you might feel betrayed by the media -”

“It’s not like that at all,” I rushed to correct her, not realizing I’d cut her off again, “I’m a journalist. I work for The Washington Post. Our office is like three blocks away, that’s where I was headed when - when I saw her.”

The woman nodded, a sympathetic expression on her face. “I’m sorry that you had to see all of this.”

“Thank you,” I gave her a small smile. I did appreciate it, but honestly, I’d recovered from the sight pretty quickly. I’d started working in crime journalism recently, and that came with it’s fair share of gruesome images and stories of tragedy flooding my computer. Hence the reason why my lack of knowledge on these murders was a concern. “I’m just confused as to why I didn’t hear about the murders, while working for a news site. It would make sense for a few stories to slip through, or for our CEO to announce something to us writers - how the hell did you manage a full media block?”

She laughed a bit at my bluntness, but said, “We got here very shortly after the first murder. We were able to restrict almost all stories about the event immediately.”

“Almost all? No, you guys got all of them - I have a keyword filter set up on Google to email me whenever a seemingly newsworthy event happens in the surrounding area, and I feel like ‘local murder’ would definitely count as newsworthy.”

“That’s… surprising, but it makes sense. Never underestimate the power of Jennifer Jareau - that’s our press liaison, she handles -”

“Oh yeah, I know her! I’ve spoken with her a few times when you guys have had cases in DC.”

“Right! Yeah, she’s great…” She got a sort of far-off look in her eye for a moment before she cleared her throat, “But that’s not what I’m here to talk to you about. I know that you spoke with the local police already, but I was wondering if you’d be willing to return to the station with us so we could interview you a bit further - you’re not under arrest, you’d be free to go at any time, we just have a couple more questions.”

I was hesitant, but at the same time, there was an itch in the back of my mind. An itch to know more. If this was a chance for me to find out what’s been going on, no way in hell I’m saying no to that.

Plus, if I did say no, that would be incredibly suspicious.

So I nodded, allowing Agent Prentiss to lead me back to the black vehicle that arrived with the slew of police cars. She opened the passenger door for me before shouting to someone who I’m assuming was one of her coworkers.

“Reid! Stay here and investigate the scene - I’m going to escort Ms. Silvers back to the station, and I’ll be back to pick you up.”

I heard a faint response before she shut the passenger door, climbing around to the other side and allowing me a glimpse of whoever she was talking to.

He was standing on the pavement, still looking at the car, nodding as I’m assuming Agent Prentiss said something else to him. The blue sweater he had on over his button up presented an interesting contrast between the pantsuit I’d seen Prentiss wearing, and the ridiculous query of the nature of the BAU’s uniforms crossed my mind before I turned my attention back to the matter at hand.

The matter at hand being, of course, discreetly staring at the man in front of me.

His curly hair rested almost at his shoulders, and I was mesmerized as I watched him speak, one hand flying and the other holding onto a thin wooden cane. Finally, he nodded definitively before turning back to the crime scene, and my eyes snapped to the driver’s side door as I heard Agent Prentiss slide into the seat next to me.

“Oh please, don’t let me interrupt your staring at Dr. Reid,” She held up her hands in mock defense, trying to keep herself from laughing, “I’m merely the driver.”

“Sta - what, I wasn’t staring, I -” I immediately started to defend myself (even if I totally was staring at Dr. Reid), but Agent Prentiss laughed again.

“Relax, Ms. Silvers. I’m only teasing. He is quite a good-looking man, isn’t he? Not my type, but I’m not blind.”

I blushed, acknowledging her statement with a nod as she put the car in drive, pulling away from the curb. As we started down the road, the full weight of the events that just occurred finally hit me.

I found a corpse.

I was on my way to a police station.

I might be the main suspect in an ongoing murder case. I hadn’t actually asked about that yet.

It was almost as if Prentiss had noticed the shift in my mood - honestly, there’s a chance she actually had, she was a profiler - because she broke the silence with a question.

“Ms. Silvers? How are you feeling?” She asked. I just shook my head.

“Please, call me Dahlia. And honestly, I have no idea how I’m feeling. I… well, I’m sure I don’t need to say that nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”

“I’d be surprised to hear you say it had,” She laughed. I laughed a bit too, though I couldn’t ignore the anxiety eating at me.

“I’m pretty sure I haven’t processed it yet,” I said honestly.

“You’ve gone through a lot in the last hour,” She agreed, “And I hate to say it, but you’re going to have to go through a little bit more. We’re here.”

We pulled into the police station, and she put the car in park, hoping out. I followed suit, and we both headed up the walkway to the front doors.

I was practically trembling with nerves, but at the same time, excitement coursed through my veins at what I might learn.

You weren’t sure if it was the sun or Spencer’s slight movement that woke you up, but you opened your eyes with a gentle sigh. 

“Good morning love,” He laughed as you covered your eyes from the sun streaming in through the window. 

“No,” You groaned, hiding your head in his chest so that you could attempt to fall back asleep.

“You are aware that we have work today, right?” He asked. His question was met with another groan.

“Can’t we just call in sick? It’s just paperwork, isn’t it?”

Just at that moment, fate decided to play a cruel joke on you as both of your phones buzzed with the sound of a text.

“I swear to god,” You grabbed your phone, still not moving from your place in bed with Spencer, and saw a text from Garcia light up the screen.

Avengers Assemble!

“Fuck my life,” You groaned, flopping your head back onto Spencer’s chest as he laughed. After you didn’t move, he started to try to get up, jostling you off of him.

“Babe we have to go to work -”

“Five more minutes. Just lay with me for five more minutes,” You begged, promptly wrapping your arms and legs around him in a tight embrace. 

“Y/N I don’t really think we have five minutes - what are you doing?” He laughed when he noticed you clinging to him. 

“Haha, now you can’t leave!” You declared triumphantly. 

“Come on,” He tried to get you off of him, but you just held on with a laugh, “You’re like a little koala bear what the hell -”

You snorted a laugh, “Koala bear?”

“That’s what this feels like right now!” He defended, “Like I’ve got a koala bear clinging to me.”

“Oh my god,” You shook your head incredulously, both of you falling into a fit of laughter before quieting again, still laying in bed.

“Ok babe we really do need to get up now,” He said, trying again to get out of bed. You clung to him, and this time you held on as he stood up.

“Nope! Not moving!”

He tried to stand up with you clinging to him, causing both of you to promptly topple back onto the bed. He sighed, trying to look annoyed, but he couldn’t stop laughing. 

“What are we going to tell Hotch when we come into the office with you still clinging to me, since clearly you’re not getting off?”

“Just tell him that you have the most wonderful partner in the world, and that he shouldn’t make us get out of bed before we’ve had our allotted cuddling time.”

“Pretty sure Hotch doesn’t control the serial killers of America.”

“If they saw his death glare he would.”

“The death glare is exactly what he’s going to be giving us if we’re late to work.”

“Hmm,” You contemplated his statement before removing one arm from the embrace to prop yourself up, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Maybe it’s worth it.”

“Maybe it is,” He laughed before kissing you again. You thought you’d won him over, before his hands moved to tickle you. You shrieked and let go of him in reflex, and he broke the kiss, jumping off the bed and holding up his arms triumphantly. 

“Yes!”

“Oh come on, that’s not fair!” You laughed. He just shook his head.

“Let’s go,” He reached out his hands for you to grab them so he could pull you up off the bed, “We need to get ready for work.”

“Fine,” You groaned, standing up in front of him before kissing him again, both of you still smiling, “But I will be filing a complaint with the FBI’s office.”

“Is there a reason you’re lurking out there babe?” Spencer called through the doorway. You jumped, not realizing that he’d even noticed your presence. You opened the bedroom door a bit wider so that you could see him better.

“Not really, I just like watching you read,” You said. You weren’t sure what he was going to think of that, but you were relieved when he just laughed.

“You know you could come in here with me, right?”

“I just - you looked so focused, I didn’t want to distract you.”

“Trust me love, you are the best distraction.” He grinned, opening his arms to invite you to join him in bed.

You crossed the room, slipping under the comforter with him and laying your head on his chest, feeling it rise and fall steadily underneath you. He had one arm wrapped tightly around you, and you placed one hand on his chest by your head as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. 

“So, what are you reading?” You asked when he pulled away from you. His book had fallen abandoned on his lap, but he picked it up, opening to the page he’d bookmarked. 

“Well, the book is a compilation of poems by William Wordsworth, but the poem I’m on right now is called ‘I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud.’ Some people know it under the title ‘Daffodil,’ but either way, it’s widely regarded as Wordsworth’s most famous poem. It was published in 1807, but the actual event that inspired the poem occurred in 1802.” 

“I feel like I remember studying some of his stuff in high school - the Lake Poets, right?”

If it were possible, his face lit up even more, his enthusiasm for the literature clear in his voice. “Exactly! I’ve read most of the published works of the Lake Poets, but I do really enjoy Wordsworth’s lyrical writing style.”

“It sounds beautiful; could you read some to me?” 

“You want me to read to you?” He seemed caught off guard, and while you weren’t sure why, you nodded against his chest.

“If that’s ok? I’ve always heard that the best way to learn literature is having it read to you.” 

When he was quiet for a moment, you glanced up at him, noticing his eyes shining. 

“Spence? Why are you crying - did I do something wrong? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you -”

Your confusion only deepened when he smiled, tears still brimming his eyelids. “No, love, you didn’t do anything wrong; just reminded me of something, that’s all.”

“Oh,” You were relieved, albeit still confused. All you could think to ask was, “Something good, I hope?”

He laughed a bit, nodding. “Yes, something good.”

“Good,” You leaned up to press another quick kiss to his lips before settling back into where you were laying, curled up against him, head on his chest. “We don’t have to read it if you don’t want to, it’s up to you.”

“I’d love to read it - it’s famous for a reason, it’s an incredible piece of writing.”

“Well let’s hear it then,” You smiled, and he began to read.

“I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o’er vales and hills.

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils…”

The writing was beautiful, every word painting an image that you could see so perfectly in your mind’s eye. Yet, what you were truly focused on was Spencer.

Something deep inside him awoke when he was reading, it seemed. His voice glided over the words as if it were caramel, sweet and sticky and absolutely decadent. His lips quirked up at words he found amusing, words like “sprightly” and “jocund.” Other words, he punctuated, his inflection changing to fit the tone of what he was reading. Honestly, reading wasn’t quite the word for it. He was telling a story, enchanting you, even if the words belonged to someone else. It was magnetic, and enthralling, and you wondered to yourself why you’d never asked him to read to you before. Because at that moment, nothing else in the world mattered. All you could see was him.

As he pulled you closer, the hand he had wrapped around you began tracing indistinct patterns along your back, his voice never wavering as he read.

“The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could but not be gay,

In such a jocund company…”

Slowly, you felt your eyes grow heavy. His embrace was warm, and the steady rise and fall of his breathing was a comfort as you let them softly close. You were drifting off when he came to the final stanza, the gentle lilt of his voice like a blanket around you.

“For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills, 

And dances with the daffodils.”

He shut the book, letting out a quiet laugh when he realized you were near sleep. He leaned back a bit so he was laying down flat, and you repositioned yourself to remain curled against him, the two of you holding each other close as he pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“Goodnight, Y/N. I love you.”

You watched from a distance as Spencer taped a photo of the most recent victim to the board, seeing the way his shoulders sagged as he took in the ever-growing collage of innocent people who were murdered. 

“Hey babe,” you crossed the room to him, “You doing ok?”

He sighed deeply, his eyes flicking from you to the board before shaking his head slightly.

“Do you want a hug?” 

He nodded, his voice soft when he said, “A hug would be nice.”

Immediately, you pulled him in, feeling him tuck his head in the crook of your neck as you ran your fingers up and down his back. The two of you stood like that for a few minutes before Spencer broke the hug, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before heading off to the kitchen to get another cup of coffee. 

Now it was your turn to look at the board, taking in the people that had been killed by the monster you were trying to catch. For the hundredth time, you tried desperately to see some sort of rhyme or reason in the unsub’s victim selection, but it was fruitless. As far as the team could tell, he was picking victims completely at random. 

You huffed a sigh before turning back from the board to go hunt down your friends for another brainstorming session. 

----------------------------------

“What about the golden ratio? You know, the whole ‘perfect face’ thing that Henry Grace was obsessed with? Have we cross-referenced all the victims faces with that?” Derek asked before taking another bite of the takeout you’d all gotten.

“Garcia already checked, none of them are matches,” You were standing in front of the board, addressing the team sitting around the table in front of you.

“Damnit,” He muttered under his breath before his eyes flicked to Spencer, who was sitting quietly at the back of the table, gaze laser focused on the board. “You got any ideas, pretty boy?”

Spencer just shook his head, his face expressionless. Derek leaned back in his seat, sighing. 

“We checked their jobs, Reid did a geographical profile, we cross checked all their routines and economic standings… what the hell are we missing?” Emily pinched the bridge of her nose, her face contorted in concentration. Just as she opened her mouth to pose another theory, the local police chief burst into the room. A clearly irritated Hotch followed closely behind him, and everyone’s heads snapped in the direction of the door swinging open.

“Alright, I’ve had it,” He started. Immediately, Hotch cut in.

“Sir, as I’ve told you before, my team is working very diligently to put together a comprehensive profile, but there’s a lot of variables that we just don’t have enough information to fill in yet -”

“People are dying, Agent Hotchner. My people are dying. I don’t have time to just sit around and wait for your team to bullshit their way to an answer. I was against this from the start, and I’m sure as hell against it now that I’ve realized all you people do is sit around and wait to get lucky.”

“Sir, I can assure you that we’ve caught many killers using a profile alone. It’s not merely ‘waiting to get lucky,’ it’s a scientific study of behavior -”

“Bullshit,” He turned to address the rest of you, as well as Hotch, “You’re the FBI’s perfect con-team, funded by our hard-earned tax dollars to sit around and eat takeout while more members of my community are killed every single day. You don’t give a rat’s ass about helping anyone other than yourselves, and I’m not just going to stand around waiting when I could be knocking down doors right now, actually doing something to help someone.”

You all stared at the officer, dumbfounded, and in various degrees of hurt. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard it, but it never stung any less to hear people say that the practice you’d devoted your life to was all a scam.

For a moment, nobody said anything. Until Spencer.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

It was quiet, muttered under his breath. His face was still unreadable as he stared at the table, and you knew the officer’s outburst couldn’t have been easy to hear. He’d been taking the case really hard, and for someone to insinuate that he didn’t care… 

The officer’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts.

“What did you just say to me, boy?”

“I said that you have no idea what you’re talking about,” Spencer repeated, louder this time. He raised his head, looking the man directly in the eye. “We have been working our asses off on this case for the last two weeks, and for you to come in here and call our work a con is completely disrespectful, not to mention -”

“If you’ve been working your asses off, then where is the killer? We’re no closer to catching him than we were before you lot showed up!”

Spencer’s eyes darkened at being cut off, and you were surprised by his assertiveness. He glared daggers at the officer before speaking again.

“I wasn’t finished. Not to mention that saying my team - my friends - and I don’t care about anyone but ourselves is… it’s…” He trailed off, shaking his hands out as he got progressively more overwhelmed with emotion, “I don’t even have a word for how heartbreaking the very notion of that is. We’ve dedicated our lives to helping people. Multiple of us have been shot, or kidnapped, or tortured, because our biggest concern was helping people. So please trust me when I say that we are just as distraught about the lack of progress in this case as you are. And we will continue to do the best we possibly can to catch whoever is endangering the lives of those in your community. But for you to come in here and accuse us of being heartless cons who are merely coasting off luck discounts the work we’ve done both on this case and on hundreds of other cases. We will continue to work just as hard as your team has been, but we’re not going to tolerate being shit on and disrespected just because you don’t understand what we do.”

He sat back in his chair, a look of defiance on his face even as his gaze fell back to the table, the eye contact becoming too much. The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and your heart felt like it was going to explode with pride. The officer looked from the door, to where Spencer was sitting, to us, and then to Hotch, not saying a word. The expression on his face was a mixture of what seemed to be shame and anger, and Hotch was the first one to break the silence.

“We need to have a conversation,” He said to the officer. The man nodded, and he and Hotch left the room yet again, leaving you all sitting there in various states of shock. After a moment, everyone started to speak at once.

“Damn, pretty boy! I didn’t know you had it in you,” Derek said, followed by Emily saying, “Reid you are my new favorite person,” and JJ’s simple, “What just happened,” before you asked, “Spence are you ok?” as Rossi merely chuckled.

He held up his hands, silencing the chorus of people. You could tell he was still a little bit emotionally overwhelmed, but he smiled before addressing everyone.

“I will be right back but I need like five minutes - Y/N come with me? Please?” 

You nodded, following him out of the room and into the police station hallway. Immediately, you looked at him with concern as he clenched and unclenched his hands, his back resting up against the wall.

“Babe? You alright?”

“I’m fine, I just don’t get this angry very often. It’s a lot.”

“I know. But if it’s any consolation, you were an absolute badass back there.”

He looked over at you, a small smile gracing his face. “Really?”

“Really. You’re incredible, Spencer.”

A blush overtook his features, and you laughed. You two hung out in the hallway for a couple more minutes, giving him time to just breathe until he seemed to have calmed down, his emotions more in check.

“You feel better?” You asked. He nodded.

“Much better. Thank you.”

“Of course,” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips before grinning, “Now are you ready to go solve this fucking case?”

“I mean, we kind of have to at this point. There’s no way in hell I’m letting that officer get away with thinking the work we do is ‘merely luck.’”