Wild Nights, Wild Nights || Spencer Reid x Reader

15. Blew Out Itself for Fear

You were surrounded by police cars, standing in front of a one story flat in a small town just outside of Burlington, Vermont. To your left, Rossi and Hotch stood beside the sheriff, who was near tears as he demanded to get inside the house. Rossi shushed him and unmuted the cellphone in his hand.

"Are you still there, John?" Rossi asked.

"I wouldn't be anywhere else, David," the unsub mocked in response. In the background, you could hear muffled cries for help.

As Rossi resumed negotiation tactics, Morgan led the sheriff away and into one of the trucks down the street. You watched them go, looking between them, Rossi, and the house.

On Christmas morning, you had all been called to Vermont to investigate a series of in home murders. All of the victims were brunette teenage girls from the same high school, and all of them had been killed while they were alone in their houses, shot execution style after being restrained for several hours and sexually assaulted.

It took you two days to narrow down your suspect pool to three potential people, but before any of you could chase after those leads at the end of your second day, the sheriff's department had gotten a call. The sheriff's neighbor had seen a tall, disheveled man enter his house after picking the lock for the back door.

The only person home was the sheriff's daughter.

You were in the second hour of negotiation. The unsub in question, John Morris, was a janitor at the local high school, killing girls who resembled the high school crush who rejected and helped viciously bully him for years. Based on the intensity of the ligature marks from past victims, he seemed to have them tied up for three hours before finally shooting them in the head.

So you were running out of time and options.

Hotch approached you on your left. "Rossi isn't making progress. We're going to have to send someone in," he said. "We think he's in the parlor. Sheriff Jackson said the back door would be the best point of entry."

You turned to him, taking your hands out of your pockets as a shiver wracked your body. It had been snowing on and off the entire time you were out there, and there was a thin layer of fresh powder coating the ground. You were freezing.

You rubbed your hands together and said, "Won't he be expecting that now?"

"Rossi's going to keep him distracted on the phone, hopefully long enough for someone to get in there and disarm him. I'm sending you and Morgan in. Cut through the neighbor's backyard so he won't see you from the window."

You thumbed your Glock .19 out of the holster on your hip. "On it."

As Morgan approached you, cocking his own gun, you locked eyes with Spencer, who was going through data with Garcia on the phone. He quickly averted his gaze elsewhere, and you had to stifle the frown that rose to your face.

Spencer had been avoiding you these past few days after Garcia's party, and it bothered you more than you wished it did. It hurt more than you wished it did.

At first you didn't notice, but then you realized that your usual banter across the aisle that separated your desks ceased. He made himself scarce in the bullpen, and when you had tried to talk to him, his answers were short and brief. And you could tell that he wasn't angry or trying to give you the silent treatment; he was just... avoiding you. And you hadn't gotten the chance to really ask him what was up because of the case.

After this takedown, you resolved to confront him.

But in the meantime, you had a job to do, and being distracted by your personal life would only result in getting you killed.