one night stand | spencer reid

seventeen

stella's POV:

i am awoken abruptly to the sound of my work phone receiving a call, most likely from hotch. i let out a groan as i roll over in bed to grab my phone, glancing at the time. it reads 3:02 am.

"hello?" i ask while rubbing my eyes.

"we have a case, get here as soon as you can."

before i can get any more words out, the line cuts. i, quite literally, roll out of bed and just about sleepwalk over to my closet, pulling out a pair of black dress pants and a grey button up sweater. i slip on a pair of nude flats, and just like that, i am grabbing my go bag, credentials, and gun, and walking to my car.

-

i open the big glass doors to enter the bullpen and am face to face with my very tired co-workers. i avoid spencer's eyes as i make my way to my desk, setting down my go bag. i open my drawer, and after checking to see if anyone is watching, i pop 2 pills in followed by a gulp of water. just as i put down my water, i catch spencer looking at me, almost out of disappointment.

i know that i'm not supposed to be taking two. i know that it can lead to complete dependence, and me taking 3 or 4 at a time. i just simply can't resist taking 2. i tried taking one, but it doesn't even help at all. two helps. two makes me feel perfect. besides, how would spencer even know what i'm going through? he wasn't locked up and beat in front of dozens of men. he wasn't raped. his entire family wasn't murdered. he wouldn't understand.

"hello? anybody in there?"

i am snapped out of my thoughts, quite literally, by derek, snapping his fingers. my eyes meet his quickly. "sorry, what do you need?"

"we are meeting in the conference room in 2 minutes."

"okay." i nod as he starts to walk off. i put my head in my hands, before moving my index fingers to my temples, rubbing them in circular motions, waiting for the relief from my pounding headache.

-

"Franklin Park, Des Plaines, yesterday afternoon." garcia begins as she hands us each a file. "3 victims shot at distance. It's the third such shooting in two weeks."

as i open my file, i am faced with crime scene photos. "a sniper?" i ask as a confused look crosses my face.

"we don't use that word." morgan says, looking up from his file.

i look at him, confused. "why not?"

"the public perception is that the FBI doesn't have an exemplary record with snipers." emily chimes from across the brown round table. "besides, a sniper is a professional marksman. these guys aren't snipers."

"what do we call them then?" i ask.

"L.D.S.K. Long Distance Serial Killers." spencer answers, not even looking up from his file.

"how many of these guys have we caught using a profile?" i ask yet again. i wonder if they ever get tired of my questions. i know i'm the newer member to the team, but right now i sound very uneducated.

"none." hotch murmurs. we all turn to him as worried looks cross our faces. this case isn't going to be an easy one. it will definitely be on the harder side.

"2 weeks, 3 shooting incidents, all shot in the abdomen." garcia continues. "first and only fatality, henry sachs. he was married, a father of 3. he was shot in a shopping center parking lot." i shudder at the thought of his loved ones receiving that news. he had kids. a wife. that must be eating them apart, because it surely ate me alive.