warning: mild case description
My phone rang not one minute after we finished. I hurried across the room, still naked, to answer it. It was Hotch. It would've been wrong on so many levels to answer this call – from my boss – while naked, so I snatched a blanket from the couch nearby and wrapped it around myself.
"Hey, Hotch," I answered.
"We have a case. Can you be here in an hour?" His serious tone filled my ear.
"Yeah, see you soon," I hung up and shuffled back over to Spencer. He received the same call seconds later. "Can we stop by my place so I can change?" I asked as I tried not to show my disappointment.
"No." His arms wrapped around me so tightly I thought he might crush a rib.
"No?" I looked up at him, confused by his refusal to such a reasonable request.
"I don't want to go. I just want to stay here and go to sleep," he pouted. He didn't need to convince me; the last thing I wanted to do right now was go into work and ruin this moment.
"I'm sure we can sleep on the jet. I really don't wanna go either, but we have to. C'mon, if we leave now I can change, and then maybe I'll sit next to you on the flight there." I gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and he begrudgingly released his grip on me.
----
The jet touched down at the local municipal airport early the next morning. All we knew is that a bomb exploded in a house, killing a father and daughter. When two cops arrived on the scene, they were shot and killed with an automatic weapon. Due to the town's proximity to the border, a terror alert was sent out to the surrounding areas.
We split up between two SUVs that were at the airport waiting for us, all headed to the crime scene. Once we arrived, JJ introduced the team to the Sheriff, and Hotch began asking him questions about the victims. In a town this small, there were no secrets – everyone knows everything about each other.
Rossi, Prentiss, and I carefully treaded around what was left of the house. The unsub had placed canisters of gunpowder in the kitchen by the front door and broken the oven's pilot light. The combination of the gas filled room and the gunpowder caused the destruction we stood in the middle of. "So then what was the trigger?" I asked.
"The victim smoked." Prentiss held up a carton of cigarettes, blackened by the fire. "And they probably knew he would be smoking when he entered the door."
We reasoned that these killings weren't an act of terrorism – the unsub knew the father personally.
Rossi soon got a call from Hotch telling us there was another victim, and that we needed to go check it out. I didn't even know Hotch and Morgan had left, Spencer along with them.
Spencer and I didn't talk much over the next couple of days. I was sharing a room with Emily, and as much as I loved her, she wasn't the one I wanted to spend my nights with right now.
The unsub was a student at the high school in town. He was likely very gifted intellectually, but struggled with reading and spatial reasoning, causing his poor grades and dislike for sports.
Emotional abuse experienced at home by his father and at school by his peers led him to commit these acts of violence. He was what we termed an "injustice collector;" someone who killed out of revenge, thereby collecting the lives of the people who wronged them in any way. All of this isn't to say that everyone who's bullied kills people, but it can happen under the right conditions.
We believed him to be hiding out at a ranch just outside of town, but when Hotch, Morgan, and I pulled up with the Sheriff, he wasn't there.
The unsub was cornered, and he probably knew he was running out of time. The profile told us that he would go visit his mother's grave one last time, but when we arrived, he wasn't there either.
Out of plans, the three of us, closely followed by the Sheriff and some of the local PD, went back to the station. Upon arriving, I saw Spencer standing in the middle of the street, hands raised in the air, with no bulletproof vest on. Slightly confused, my eyes flicked 15 feet to the left to see the unsub aiming a semi-automatic rifle straight at Spencer's chest.
I jumped out of the SUV and raised my gun. What the fuck are you doing, Spencer? I felt bile rise in my throat and tears prick the corner of my eyes. I needed to pull it together, so I shook the tears from my eyes and watched Spencer's back, completely unable to help the situation. My inability to help was compounded when he glanced back at us, guns raised, and adjusted his stance to block our shots.
Much to all of our astonishments, the unsub eventually lowered his gun and carefully placed it on the ground between them. My heart filled with relief as I ran over to them. I yanked his raised hands behind his back and cuffed him.
----
"Can you read to me?" Spencer whispered to me.
We had just reached cruising altitude on the jet, on our way back to Virginia. Spencer and I were sitting on the couch, close enough to touch but not close enough to draw attention.
My knees were pulled into my chest under the blanket we were sharing, one arm wrapped around my legs, the other resting on Spencer's thigh. It was getting chillier outside by the day, and they always kept the plane ice cold, so I started packing a fuzzy blanket just for these late-night moments.
I chuckled, leaning my head against my knees so I could get a better look at him. "Why? You can read many thousands of words more than me per minute."
"I just... don't want to think for a while." The sadness creeped through his voice as he mumbled that last line. This case had taken a particularly large piece of him.
I know I shouldn't profile my coworkers – especially the ones I'm sleeping with – but based on how he acted throughout this case, I suspect Spencer was bullied growing up. Kids and teenagers typically don't take too kindly to the smart, nerdy kids, and that was all he knew how to be.
But let's be honest, who wasn't bullied at some point in their life? Based on my experiences as the shy girl who didn't really do much, I was still pushed around. The girls in preschool pulled my hair, in middle school they made me feel ugly for not looking how they did, in high school... okay I really don't know why I was bullied in high school, but let's just say my sophomore year was Dante's forgotten 10th circle of hell.
"O-Okay. What do you want me to read?"
"Whatever book I know you have in your bag," the corners of his lips turned upwards as he gestured towards my go bag on the floor next to me.
I reached inside and pulled out my beaten-up copy of Anna Karenina. I hadn't read it in years but got the urge to start it over again after visiting my family. I flipped open to the pages divided by my bookmark and continued where I left off.
"All the girls in the world were divided into two classes: one class included all the girls in the world except her, and they had all the usual human feelings and were very ordinary girls; while the other class – herself alone – had no weaknesses and was superior to all humanity."
Spencer laid his head on my shoulder and closed his eyes. "Spencer-" I started.
"I don't care," he stated simply.
That was that. This public display would surely raise some eyebrows from the team, but Spencer said he didn't care, and honestly, I really didn't either. They already knew something was up, and this would only slightly confirm that.
The words continued to flow in hushed tones from my mouth until I realized that he was asleep. Reading at night was never my thing because it always made me fall asleep instantly, regardless of how interested I was in the content of the book. I placed the bookmark between the pages and gently tossed it to the floor.
"Y/n, wake up, we're about to land." Emily tapped my shoulder lightly, not wanting to startle me. Guess the reading did its job by making me sleep so quickly that I don't even remember doing it.
My eyes fluttered open. "Mhm, okay, I'm awake." She returned to her seat and I looked down to see Spencer curled up into a ball with his head resting on my lap. He had the audacity to steal the entire blanket while we were asleep. Normally I was the one who did that.
I ran my fingers through his chaotic brown hair until I woke him. He rolled onto his back and looked at me through half-lidded eyes. At this point, I didn't give a shit who saw. I trailed my hand down from his hair to the side of his face and ran my thumb along his cheek.
In the boldest display of public affection I could've imagined from Spencer at this point in time, he grabbed my hand and placed one chaste kiss on each knuckle before laying it to rest on his chest. My heart warmed, and what felt like all of the blood in my entire body rushed to my cheeks.
Out of habit, I nervously glanced around the jet to make sure no one saw his actions. We could make up plenty of excuses for the lunches, always arriving/leaving together, and the accidental sleeping together on the jet, but there was no excuse for what either of us just did.
It was in these moments of violent shaking as the jet landed that I knew. I knew for sure. There wasn't an "I think" at the beginning this time. As much as I tried to fight it, Spencer Reid had broken down that last wall and worked his way into my heart.
I was in love with him.