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ABOUT FACE
Season three, episode six.
(3x6)
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LUCY HAD A KNACK FOR PRETENDING. She'd developed an old state of mind, one which stated: she didn't need anybody. And although Lucy quite literally studied human behaviour, and saw first hand what abandonment and complete isolation could do to a person, the thought remained like that stubborn coffee stain that she couldn't remove from what had been her favourite blouse. Lucy had always been stubborn. And she found it hard not to be adamant that she was in the right.
To feel the way she did. After all, feelings couldn't be helped.
But in the night, when she should be recuperating from the long hours this tasking job stole from her, when honesty wasn't all too hard to come by, she couldn't help but feel she was sleeping in something closely mirroring. . .guilt. The thought lingered, that she had some sort of ulterior motive regarding her secrecy. She had never denied being a little bit selfish.
But she also found room to cut herself some slack. Because, as far as she was concerned, she had gotten through most of her life abandoned and isolated. Being labelled a loser on your first week of freshman year would do that to a girl. That, alongside the abomination that was her family tree, she didn't exactly have it easy growing up.
The team needn't know that. They needn't know anything. And she never believed she would ever feel any urge to tell them about her upbringing, under any circumstances. In her mind, she had burnt that noose from her neck the second she stepped foot on the doorstep of the FBI, and she had cut herself free from that life.
No loose ends. No unfinished business.
It was done.
Marianne Byrne was dead. And in Lucy's opinion, it was desirable she stayed buried.
Lucy knew how she was perceived. Heck, it was in her job description that she could read people. And, although that didn't exactly make her a mind reader, she was pretty darn close. She knew she was hard to read. And she knew that left her coworkers feeling frustrated, and questioning their own skills. But it was for her greater good. She had vowed, 'they will never need to know.'
But she had seen a ghost.
And now all that was in jeopardy, with him lingering in the office, suited and all knowing. Lucy hadn't seen David Rossi in a very, very long time. But here he was, at her work, on her team. Lucy had been sending betrayed daggers Hotch's way ever since she had learned the news. David Rossi was out of retirement and picking up where he left off.
Everything David Rossi needed to stay buried with the rest of it. But, here he was, clawing his way out from the sunken soil, ruining Lucy's morning. Even her CD labelled 'please take a fucking chill pill' hadn't eased her nerves.
She regretted the coffee she had drunk that morning. Fitting, the week of Halloween, she couldn't help but let her stoic, 'I'm fine' mask from sliding off. Her red painted nails tapped at her desk, and her knee bounced in wait. She had never gotten good at remaining patient.
"Candy?"
She startled from her void of thoughts, to see an out stretched hand, a wrapped candy punched between two fingers. And still she didn't take the hint. "What?"
Suddenly, Spencer Reid felt flustered. Having to repeat himself had that effect on him. "I, uh, brought some candy. I-In my bag. You know, for, uh, for hallow—"
Lucy finished his sentence with a sort of embarrassed chuckle, sitting up straighter in her seat. "For Halloween. Uh, yeah, sorry. I was just. . .sorry," she sighed, running hand through her hair.
"So," Spencer drawled on.
"So?"
Spencer chuckled, "you want one or not?"
"Oh, right! Sorry. Yes! Yes, I will take some," Lucy nodded, that embarrassed smile still lingering, as she tucked a hair behind her ear with one hand and held out the other to Spencer. Their fingers brushed, and the butterflies that erupted in her stomach were a momentary sweet haven, eliminating those pesky bees that had been gnawing at her insides all morning. "The whole 'getting free candy' thing is just about the only good thing about Halloween. Well, that and the movies."
"You've gotta be kidding! Halloweens, like, the best day of the whole year," Spencer disagreed, and Lucy couldn't help but beam as he leant against her desk. The motions he made with his hands indicated that he was about to head on a rant. "But, actually, the whole 'trick-or-treating' thing is actually a relatively new staple. It first became popular in the 1920's, but it became more major in the 50's, apples and nuts being the common treats on offer." He then began fishing into his satchel, "I have more in her if you'd like—"
"I'll take whatever you're offering. I'm actually in the middle of debunking a scientific theory, and splurging on candy just happens to be very necessary for my research," Lucy said nonchalantly, unwrapping a cube of fudge and popping it in her mouth. Spencer paused for a split second, confused by Lucy's sudden interest in scientific research (as far as he knew, he was the science guy around here).
He furrowed his brows, "research? Research for what?"
She waved a hand at him, "that whole 'five-a-day' thing, total bull-crap. I mean, the only time I ever ate vegetables was on Christmas. Except for carrot cake, if that counts. But—scratch that—it's my least favourite cake, so I don't really eat it that often anyway."
Spencer spoke a tad quieter than he usually did, due to him not being completely sure where to begin. He found Lucy, albeit amusing to listen to, incredibly hard to hold a conversation with, much due to her unpredictability. "I'm not sure that counts anyway."
"And that whole, "you need 7 hours of sleep to live" mumbo-jumbo. I haven't gotten more than three hours of sleep per night in the last two months, and I feel perfectly able and alive. I mean, maybe I am just a medical miracle, but, you know."
Spencer, having listened intently to Lucy's nonsense, felt obliged to add on his own expert knowledge. "Early signs of sleep deprivation includes anything from feeling lethargic, yawning frequently, difficulty concentrating, frequent changes in mood. A lack of sleep can cause fever by increasing skin temperature but you don't seem to be displaying any of those—"
Spencer didn't know what had came over him. He was sure the second it happened, that this would be one of those things he lay awake at night agonising over. Where the hell the urge to even do something so out of character for him, he didn't know. All he knew was one second, he was joking about with her, and the next second he had the back of his hand touching her forehead, mocking a mother feeling for a temperature in her kid.
He retracted his hand, his impulsive actions seemingly catching up on him. "You're, uh, not displaying any symptoms. You're good."
"I'm good?" He noticed her eyes had widened a little, and he cursed himself.
He cleared his throat, nodding and pursing his lips in that same awkward smile he always had. "Yeah, all good."
She nodded along. "Medical miracle, right?"
Two mantra's rang through her head, one repeating, stay calm, stay calm, stay fucking calm, the other urging her to sprint into Garcia's cave and have a panic attack. From her memory, this was not in their routine. This was not in the script. And usually, Lucy excelled in improv, but she felt covered in glue, stuck.
Spencer felt the words 'I'm sorry' tingling the tip of his tongue, and just as he was about to excuse his abysmal actions, he noticed Lucy's attention seemed to fleet to something behind him. Her face was always pale, but she had a queer look on her face. He almost jokingly commented that she looked like she had spotted a ghost.
If he had've spoke his mind, she may have just replied in agreement. She was looking at a ghost.
"I'm nervous to meet him, too." Once Spencer had successfully deducted what had caught her eye, he looked back to her. She made a face, one which confused him, because it expressed the opposite of agreement, which could only mean his assumption was wrong. "I read all of his books. One particular case—the scarsdale skinner—I found fascinating. His profile of his reading habits led to his capture, which is, I mean. . .I found that interesting."
Spencer's rant were usually continuous and ran smooth, whether the people around him seemed interested or not. But today he seemed riddled with the stutters, which only worsened when the thought struck him that his rambling was not helping improve Lucy's morning blues.
"Yeah, well, he does have that reputation. Fascinating," she rolled her eyes, too tired to refrain her mood. Maybe she did need more than three hours of sleep to get by. Spencer only nodded along with her words, and felt too weary to ask what was wrong with her. She was usually so chipper in the morning—her and Penelope like two peas from the same pod. The only chip she had this morning was on her shoulder. Spencer didn't want to nudge her any harder than he already had. "I've read all of his books too. Makes me wonder why he would come back."
"You like to read?" The question wasn't condescending or surprised, rather just genuine interest.
"Oh, you know, some here and there. Not much," she replied, though she was quick to stand and flatten out her pants as soon as Hotch made his way out of his office, Rossi in tow. "You should ask him about that case you were interested in. I'm sure he'd love to answer any questions you have."
"You think so?"
"Oh, yeah. Break loose, talk and talk and talk," Lucy smiled sweetly, which prompted Spencer to smile back, nodding his head, which silently expressed, 'okay, yeah, I'll do that.' Maybe she was just really petty, but the guy had practically landed on the doorsteps of her life, and with it brought memories that had been buried deep within forgotten corners of her brain. She wanted the adjustment to be as difficult for him as it would be for her.
Agitating him with Spencer's rambling would certainly do the trick. And it made Spencer happy.
So, win-win.
*****
Have you seen me?
Lucy had known of many ways to psychologically torture a person, but this was sickening on another level. Michelle Colluci found a missing persons flyer taped to her own front door. Her missing persons flyer. Even despite it being Halloween, Lucy expected Michelle had felt unease, even after a local detective friend assured her that it was most likely a prank.
Now, Michelle was dead.
And, no, no one had seen her captor.
She was found floating in a creek just outside her hometown, Carrolton, and she had been sexually assaulted. "And her face had been removed."
Lucy's eyebrow twitched, as she looked to the screen to see Michelle's lifeless, faceless body. She shifted in her seat, and her lips parted as she intended to ask JJ a question, until—
"Removed? It wasn't animals or fish?"
Right, he's here. Lucy slumped down in her chair, but vowed she would remain focused. She could do her job. There was no reason she should be distracted. "The Dallas County ME said the edges of the wounds were smooth, not torn. A very sharp instrument had been used. He also found water in her lungs."
"Oh, my God! What is that?"
It was common knowledge that Penelope was a force of good. She was sunshine and rainbows, and unicorns and puppies. She was not murder and gore. Very much the opposite. She hid behind in her screens and typed and typed and typed. That was her role, and that was where she thrived. The sight of a woman with her face removed, she wished she hadn't entered the room.
Hotch filled in the silent questions Rossi had, following Penelope's sudden outburst. "Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia, this is SSA David Rossi."
Penelope snuck a peak of Rossi as she shielded herself from the pictures on the board, but she had priorities. "Is it gone, JJ?" Once assured that she was in the clear, she lowered the file and sent the room a shy smile. She handed the file over to Hotch, and spoke rapidly, evidently eager to leave the room. "It's all in there. I'm sorry. Very happy to meet you, Sir. I'll be in my office."
She staggered out, shutting the door behind her, and the room then felt loudly quiet. Derek let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, though not all surprised by the first impression she had made to their new coworker. Lucy snorted, gloriously amused by her good pal.
"She's different," Rossi commented.
Hotch, if it were in his nature to grin, did something that mirrored amusement. "We have a lot of. . .characters around here. You'll get used to it." At his comment, Lucy, of course, assuming his quip was directed at Spencer, turned her head in his direction. Only to find him looking to her with the same intention. She narrowed her eyes at him, tilting her head.
No words said, they both tried to busy themselves by flicking through their case file, shades of pink freckling their cheeks. Emily took the silence as her queue to express her own train of thought. "So, the unsub tells her she's going to go missing to psychologically torture her, then tortured her physically. Textbook sadist."
"A sophisticated one. That's elaborate," Hotch nodded.
Lucy held in her hand a photo from the crime scene, of a mask that had been left, with the word 'one' written in red. She tapped the tip of her pen on her lip, in thought. Derek seemed to be on the same wavelength. "Number one?"
"That particular mask is known as a false face. It's most commonly worn during Halloween and Mardi Gras," Spencer chimed in.
"Creepy. I rest my case."
"False face," Hotch repeated.
"Her face?" Emily spoke up. "He mocks it, then destroys it?"
"Oh, and, Hotch, local media has the story. It broke big," JJ informed him, and Lucy sighed. Things like this were never easy, but they were even more difficult when the media were involved, coming up with theories and conspiracies of their own.
"Tell Carrolton we'll be there first thing in the morning," Hotch ordered her, and she nodded, "let's stop this one at one." He turned to Rossi and gave him the offer to sit this one out, to get situated before being thrown back in a storm.
"I'm not back to get situated, Hotch. I'm here to work."
*****
Lucy had a keen eye. In her opinion, it was the most renowned thing about her. This week, it was trained heavily on a one David Rossi, and the more times she flickered her gaze to land on him, the stronger the urge she had to rip his little pocket notebook from his hands and see inside his mind.
It was hard to work with someone who didn't tell you what they were thinking.
They had landed in Carrolton, Texas, and got straight to business. And time was tight but, now that they knew of the unsubs next victim, Enid White, who had went missing walking her dog the night before. Hotch sent Lucy with Spencer and Rossi to Micelle's disposal sight, and she was seriously questioning her standings with him. He seriously had to be out to get her.
She'd rather be with Derek. And that spoke volumes.
"You sure you can get down that slope without popping a hip?"
It took Spencer mere seconds to figure out that Lucy and Rossi had. . .history of some sort. Common knowledge, you didn't call someone'Grandpa' unless you had some sort of rapport, no matter how old the person.
"You're a real crabby one, aren't ya?" Rossi retaliated.
Lucy, a tad wobbly, as she made her way down said slope to the disposal sight, glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, you know me, always crabby and smelling like Chanel No.5."
"Oh, yeah? Where was the yard sale?" Rossi quipped, and Lucy, well aware of the fact that his comment was poking fun at her savings (and her inability to afford nice things), carried on.
"I stole it." He rolled his eyes, and for the first time in a while, taking notice of Spencer and sending him a look, one which stated 'this is what you have to work with?' "I always was a minor kleptomaniac growing up."
Spencer never knew if Lucy was being truthful when she made comments such as these. So he took practically everything non-case related that she said with a grain of salt.
"Now, where where we?" Lucy started, suddenly morphing into a mature adult on the clock. "There doesn't seem to be any evidence left."
"I just want to stand where she was," Rossi replied, and Spencer was more confused by their dynamic than ever. Now, they seemed to mirror two civil coworkers, focused and prepared for the job that lay ahead. As opposed to five seconds ago. He didn't know where he fit into this 'team' of sorts.
"Dr. Reid," Rossi addressed him, and he perked up, all ears. "Do we still keep all the old files in the fourth floor storeroom?"
"I think so are up there. You know, most of our informations on computer now," Spencer informed the man. "Have you had a chance to go through any of our data since you've been back?"
"Not yet."
"Oh, you'll be amazed. The original team, I mean, you, interviewed something like 45 serial killers, right?"
Rossi gazed around the site as they neared the exact place Michelle's body had been found. "Something like."
"Today, we have interviews with over a thousand offenders. Serial killers, child abductors, sex offenders. I-I'll go through it with you sometime if you'd like. Answer any questions—" Spencer sprawled on, and possibly may have gone on forever had Lucy not tapped his arm as she overtook him, her eyes on the site, but her focus very much on the fact that Rossi was not all ears to Spencer's words.
"Yeah, sounds good," was all he said.
They all stared into the creek, coated with leaves and branches, before looking to a somber Detective Yarbrough, who was mourning a friend. "Michelle's body was found right here. I really thought it was a prank."
Spencer gulped, recognising the Detective's hurt and regret. "You can't really blame yourself for that."
The Detective pondered, before he spoke up. "She made herself dinner."
"Excuse me?"
"She had time to make herself dinner. That means she was home for a while before he. . .There was time to help her." Lucy pursed her lips, not all too sure what she could say to make Yarbrough feel better. She didn't really think there were words.
"Water," Rossi spoke. "Obliterates a body, destroys evidence. But you weren't in the water that long, we're you, Michelle?"
"She had rocks tied to her, to weigh her down."
Lucy registered the Detective's words and Spencer said, "she floated to the surface before there was any other damage."
"Just what was done to her already."
He didn't want her found, Lucy thought. But why? There was no other logical explanation other than: "Maybe the unsub had a connection of some sort to Michelle. It would explain why he—"
"—didn't want her to be found," Rossi interjected Lucy's theory. "Green River dumped most of the bodies in water. But they weren't weighed down."
"So. . .So, what? You're saying this guy knew Michelle?" Yarbrough questioned, mildly exasperated. He could hardly picture someone who knew his wife's best friend could destroy her like this.
Spencer replied, "it's a possibility."
*****
ENID WHITE HAD BOUGHT A SHOTGUN. And then she had rang the police. And then she had vanished.
It was probable that the unsub had used a cell interceptor to listen in on Enid's phone call to the station. He knew they were coming. But even despite that, the fliers and the mask were tossed around the room carelessly, recklessly.
He was in a rush.
Lucy worried. There was no telling what an unsub would do when under a time pressure.
"To make sure it was the police who found the mask," Emily answered Yarborough's questions. He was agitated, she could tell. So was she, but it wasn't as detectable. It wasn't detectable at all really.
It was high time they gave a profile.
And things were going smoothly—Derek informed the men that the unsub was in fact white, and of medium height and build. Emily described him as sophisticated and patient, stating it suggested a certain level of maturity. She estimated his age to be between mid-30's to 40's. Spencer informed them that, given Michelle had been held for three days, the unsub would need to have a house of some description. Derek labelled him as "fairly tech savvy,", given the fliers had been made on a computer and the probable usage of the cell interceptor.
"There is absolutely nothing remarkable about this man," Lucy said, leaning against a desk, one leg crossing the other. "As was mentioned, average height, average build. This man may feel, in a professional setting, undervalued and under appreciated. Invisible. He doesn't make a mark on his coworkers or anyone around him."
"His lack of distinction is part of his psychopathy," Hotch added on. "Most of us don't pay any attention to being ignored. But, to this kind of unsub, each oversight is intentional. Especially when it comes to the object of his sexual desire. He begins to obsess over her until she's all he can think about. The rage builds until he has to attack."
Yarbrough could hardly believe what he was hearing. Not because he didn't trust the opinion of the team, but because of how outright insane it sounded. "So, he's pissed that nobody notices him?"
The team further went into detail about the fliers and the masks. The unsubs message. Have you seen me? They established that the masks refer to the women, with the understanding that the removal of his victims faces transfers his feelings of being ignored and overlooked into a mission. But the fliers—"the fliers probably refer to him."
"So, how the hell do we catch an invisible man?"
Hotch believed they could get the unsub to contact the station willingly. The masks were for the police and the police only. "He isn't going public with this message. Hopefully, by playing on his anger—" Lucy had started, and all eyes were on her. Until she stopped, something else catching her eye. Her mouth formed an 'O', before her lips pursed and she turned to Hotch for guidance on which step to take next.
The news played on a TV stationed at the back of the room, and, on it, was a photo of the False Face. The mask. Hotch sighed in disappointment. "JJ, how'd they get that?"
JJ defended her corner. "Not from me. Hotch, I called all the local police departments and I stressed withholding the mask."
Rossi entered the room, nonchalant and casual, and Lucy knew just by his walk that he was guilty but feeling guiltless. "I called them."
Hotch was flummoxed. "What?"
Hotch and Rossi went back and forth for a handful of time. But no chitchat would solve this. They were here now, with the news calling the unsub impotent and they needed to figure out their next move. And fast.
Hotch motioned for Rossi to follow him, after saying, "can you come with me, please?" Lucy knew from his tone, that was far from an optional choice. It was an order.
JJ tan a hand through her hair, and turned to Lucy, who was by her side. She through her hands up, "what's this guy doing?"
"You'd think someone big enough would know a thing or two about common sense. Or the decency of informing your team before you act," Emily added on, equally shocked. They had never had this problem before, a team member pulling the hand of his own team, new or not.
"Decency or not, it doesn't matter. We need to figure out our next move," Lucy expressed. "Should we maybe call Penelope? See if she can get us anywhere?"
Like Lucy was a medical miracle, what, with her immunity to sleep deprivation and all that (God, even thinking about that conversation had her drowning in butterfly-like sickness), Garcia was a miracle worker in her own right. She had found a link between the two victims. A company — Techno Communications — where Michelle Colucci had remodelled floor plans for and where Enid White was a former employee.
David Rossi had told Hotch earlier, "the bells and whistles have changed, but an unsub is still and unsub and I know how to deal with an unsub." He said that before proceeding to ridicule and demean said unsub over the phone, before finishing off by calling him a loser. Lucy would have snorted at the absurdity of the sight before her had the stakes not been so high.
But they knew where to find their unsub. And that was worth something.
*****
THEY GOT THEIR UNSUB, a man by the name Max Poole, who unfortunately will not be going to prison as he was shot before things could get that far. Being cornered tends to send men like him into either fight or flight mode. Max chose fight. And he lost.
Enid was found at Max's home and was brought to the hospital. She should be okay. Lucy was relieved, and, like always, her work-face (or work-mask would be fitting for this case) slid off and on came her more carefree, preppy exterior.
"Ah, Halloween," She exaggerated, stepping between Rossi and Hotch, who had their eyes on the rest of the team, who were giving out candy to the kids on the street. "The third worst special occasion behind weddings and Valentine's Day. Speaking of weddings, you got any coming up? I know you have a thing for marrying people on the fly."
Rossi met eyes with Hotch, who both just held smiles of entertainment. She may be difficult, but in an endearing sort of way. "I mean, it's all anyone wants. To find someone to be with until they drop dead. According to your calculations, I'm nearly there right? What, with me being ancient and all."
"Oh, so you can hear me when I talk to you! I was worried that you were starting to go deaf. Common in old folk," Lucy heaved a huge sigh of relief. Sarcasm was always in her nature. It was truly the first thing that came naturally to her. She then quieted down a bit, "so. . ."
"So. . ?" Rossi spoke with the same tone, dragging on the word.
"I think it's time we had the talk." Both men glanced at each other, understanding what talk she meant, but also aware of how many other ways she could have started it. She looked at Rossi, serious, who held her gaze. She rubbed her hands together. It wasn't common she was nervous. "A bit of a heads up would've been nice."
Rossi nodded. The severity of the situation was noted on both his and Hotch's part, but they also knew Lucy couldn't hold a serious conversation for more than four minutes. Well, she could, she simply refused to. So he took a humorous route. "Oh, I'm sure if you had a heart, it would've been pounding when you first saw me."
"Yeah, well, it was a shock considering I thought you'd be all shacked up in an old folks home by now. What are you? Almost a hundred and they still let you carry a gun?"
Rossi shrugged, "what can I say? I have a good workout regimen."
Lucy suddenly gasped, as if remembering something important. So important, the fate of the world depended on it. She turned to Hotch, "you should ring up Guinness World Records. 'Oldest FBI agent: old fart still hasn't keeled over on the field. An inspiration to all'."
Hotch released the breath he had held onto when she had first startled and reprimanded himself. Of course, she wasn't being serious. "I'll be sure to inform them," he deadpanned.
"You haven't changed much," Rossi followed the silence. The pair stared across the path to where the rest of their team stood, now huddled in their own conversation facing back at them. Her eyes lingered on Spencer for a moment too long, and if Rossi or Hotch had noticed, they didn't say. When Spencer looked up, she immediately fleeted her eyes to her shoes.
"Well," she started, twiddling with her own fingers, "most people don't."
"Since when are you most people?" Rossi asked, before motioning to Hotch with his hand. "What was it you said? 'There are many characters around here.'"
"He was talking about Reid," Lucy nodded to her own words.
"Oh, and he is a character, but," Rossi furrowed his brows in faux-thought. "I think he meant characters plural." They both looked to Hotch for answers, who held his tongue for a moment in anticipation (Lucy brought out the dramatic side in him).
Then he nodded, with a sly smile tracing his face. "Plural."
The two men were chuffed and she could only smile along, no matter how hard she tried to repress it. "All right, look, I just—all I meant to say was, you know, before I started calling you old, was. . ." This was exactly why Lucy didn't get serious. Because when she did, it startled those around her and they held on to every single word. "I hope we're on the same page regarding, you know. . ."
He looked down at her with a softness that made her feel sixteen again. She felt nauseous. "Kid, you mind your business, I'll mind mine. Deal?"
Profilers were known for stopping crime, deducing problems and zeroing in on uncatchable criminals. What they were least commonly known for was their ability to stick their nose into just about anything. And, boy, were they nosy. The three of them watched as Rossi shook hands with Lucy, and the chitter chatter re-commenced.
"So, what's the story there?" Morgan had described himself as relentless before. When he wanted to know something, he generally found out. Lucy was an exception. She was merely a face with a name and no story to him. To all of them, really. He never questioned Penelope about what she knew about Lucy, because he knew she would simply tutt at him in disapproval, assuming he had some ulterior motive.
"Yeah, I don't know," Emily chimed in, "do you think they know each other? Do you think they're close?"
Spencer wondered if it was moral to tell them what he had seen first hand—the nicknames, the sarcasm, the jabs at one another. After all, they did do it with his presence being known (even if he did feel like furniture during the whole ordeal). He refrained, withholding the information with no reason other than that he had a peculiar feeling in his stomach that Lucy wouldn't want them to know that. He was sure if she did know Rossi and if she did want the team to know that, she would have told them. "Well, I guess we all have some stories we'd rather keep to ourselves."
Morgan huffed, "she seems to have more than just 'some'."
Emily knew a thing or two about secrets, but she could find herself being selfish through her own curiosities. She narrowed her eyes at Spencer. "Do you know something?" It wasn't an accusation, but a simple assumption that Spencer must know something.
"No? Why would I know something?" Spencer readjusted the strap of his satchel on his shoulder, suddenly feeling eyes on him. When they looked at him expectantly, he was more adamant. "No! I don't know anything! And, I mean, whats— what happened to the unspoken rule? No interteam profiling."
"It's not exactly profiling. It's just. . .showing an interest in your coworker," Derek assured him, and Spencer could read between the lines. He didn't wish to be gullible. And he was then vowing to himself not to be persuaded. He believed he had already overstepped enough boundaries with Lucy for one case.
Emily chimed in, "she'd tell you." Spencer furrowed his brows in confusion, which prompted her to elaborate. "She'd tell you anything, if you only asked."
*****
"OH, I CANNOT WAIT TO GO HOME, get my P-J's on, and cosy on the sofa. I can hear the litre bottle of 'lonely gal margarita mix for one' callin' my name." Lucy relaxed into her seat by her desk, tilting her head back, releasing a sigh, having been up and at it all day.
Derek looked across his desk to her, almost ready to leave himself, "you? Spending the night alone? Can it be it?"
She lifted her eyes to meet him. "Look, I know sarcasm is our love language, but the constant insinuations that I'm a whore are truly hurtful."
Derek rolled his eyes, seeing right through her act. But still, he asked, "really?"
"No, not really," Lucy grinned, a devilish smile that was reserved for him only. "I'm reclaiming the word as one of empowerment. One day, when the timings right, I'm gonna come to work wearing a t-shirt that reads 'maneater'."
"Pretty sure that's violating dress-codes."
"Pretty sure I'm Hotch's favourite, so I'm safe." Derek chuckled, and the conversation seemed finished as he pulled his coat over his shoulders.
"Night, Byrne."
"G' night, baby girl."
"Yeah, yeah."
She smiled lightly to herself. For the first time since right before the case began, she felt as at ease as ever. She rummaged through her bag, and suddenly that ease was put at risk due to her car keys being nowhere to be seen (she had driven Penelope this morning, a rare occurrence as a result of her menacing road rage), until she found them. "God, I really need to clean this thing out," she spoke to herself, coincidentally just as Spencer was walking by.
He mistook her speaking to herself as words directed at him. "What's that?"
"Hmm," she looked up to see him, and laughed lightly in embarrassment. "Nothing, I just realised I'm Mary Poppins. Got just about anything in here," she pointed to the handbag on her lap.
"Oh, right. Anyways," Spencer started, and the word choice of 'anyways' made Lucy think he was set to continue. But he paused, though he still lingered. She prompted him, curious, "mm-hmm?" He started again, "I was just wondering, uh. . .you've been acting quite strange this week. You didn't seem yourself."
"Oh, you mean the constantly calling the very well-respected FBI agent old? He's not really even that old, you know? He says being tied down by three different women did that to him. He is only human, after all."
Spencer chuckled, and leant against the desk, like he had before the case had started. Lucy subtly raised her brows at the action. Maybe they were changing their routine. "No, uh, actually, that's very much in character for you. I just noticed. . .you weren't really speaking up as much as you usually would. Normally you notice things and you mention things. It's normally really useful stuff too. And I know everything worked out and we solved the case and all, I just. . .found it. . ."
"Strange?"
"Yeah, yeah, I did. Is it—" Spencer hesitated, fiddling with his fingers before continuing, "is it because of Agent Rossi? Or. . ?"
Lucy pondered over her options, although she knew there was only one road she would ever seriously consider. Deflect. "No, no, I've just. . .I've been in a funny mood. Maybe I'm coming down with something," she spoke with a tone of pure seriousness, and placed a palm on her forehead, before bringing it back down. "Maybe you should check my temperature again, just to be sure. You know, it could be serious—"
"Okay, okay, I get it—"
"I could have a fever. An ear infection. Bronchitis. I could be dying!"
Spencer couldn't help but release an embarrassed laugh, but he pinched the bridge of his nose to hide it as well as possible. Not well enough. Suddenly, at the sight, Lucy felt like she'd just received a medal. "Yeah, speaking about things out of character. . ." He spoke lowly, but a smile still lingered. "I'm sorry if that made you feel—"
"Reid," she giggled at his flustered state, and in his consistent rambling, he mustn't have heard her.
"—uncomfortable. I don't know what came over me. Maybe it's some netherworld ghost that possessed me. You know, 'cause it's Halloween. I just—"
She placed her hand on his arm, "Spencer." He stopped, and she grinned, though retracting her hand, making him all the more aware that it had been there in the first place. "It's fine. I. . .I didn't even think much of it."
"I just didn't want to overstep, you know, any boundaries," he said.
She playfully narrowed her eyes at him, "what about me makes you think I understand boundaries? I'm known to cross lines all the time. It's my specialty." They held eyes for a moment, and when she was sure he understood her, she smiled. "It's all good."
Penelope emerged from her Bat-cave, bag in arm and an eagerness for her home. She spotted the pair and met eyes with Lucy, and a telepathic message was shot through the air. 'Please don't act all suspicious and mighty when you get down here."
Lucy stood and tossed her bag over her shoulder, and the clutter within clacked at an alarming volume for a handbag. She seemed indifferent towards it. "I'll see you tomorrow, bright and early. Hopefully with a coffee on my desk. You know, to make up for you overstepping boundaries."
"Of course, yeah, of course," he tried to maintain the serious act, but he wasn't as good at this as she. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Lucy nodded shyly, before looking to Garcia, and suddenly she wasn't shy anymore. She held her arms out to receive her daily dose of affection, which was quickly reciprocated as she was enveloped in a hug. "Oh, my baby, how I've missed you!"
"And you I. You know how much time drags without you by my side?"
Penelope, still in Lucy's arms, peered over her friends shoulder to Spencer. "You okay, my pretty boy genius?"
He was quick to nod, "uh, yeah, I'm, I'm good. Perfect."
"I was just going," Lucy said, with a smile that Penelope was quick to decipher. It screamed 'I have stories to tell'. She smiled at Spencer once more, "Bye, Doc."
Once out of earshot, Penelope could hold her questions no more. "What can I sense?!"
"He makes me want to run over my own head with my car. I've had a great day."
******
Chapter two!!!!
Rossi's in the picture and things are getting all secretive and cryptic. I want to hear some assumptions. How do you think Lucy and Rossi met?
Also why is it I'm giggling and kicking my feet over a story I'm writing. 'Check my tempture pls spencey' like gurl STAWP. Also her and Penelope are just 💞💞💞💞
I actually think the relationships I'm most looking forward to sharing with you is that between Derek and Lucy, because it may seem that they sort of hate each other and all, but it's a lot more complex than that. Lucy's just kind of a dickhead who likes to bicker for fun and Derek doesn't really trust her because she's so secretive and "mysterious". And things will get all the more rocky as her and spence get all buddy buddy, which won't be for a while but still. Protective big brother Derek will come out to shield our pretty boy from this untrustworthy woman.
And don't y'all go hating on him. She's meant to be suspicious, and that js because she is withholding a lot of information from them. But all will be revealed in due course.
Anyway let me know what you think pls and thank you. Comments motivate me to like not give up. So comment if you want this thing to remain published
Chapter 2: sunmarised through memes.
What Reid though Lucy was thinking
What Lucy was really thinking (well, feeling because she wasn't really thinking at all) 💞💞💞💞💞💞
Lucy when Rossi appears:
Lucy to Rossi at any given moment/ also Derek to Lucy (like father-like daughter🥰):
Hotch when Lucy breathes: