#Criminal Minds Spencer Reid Rewrite | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gryfflepuffinthetardis · 2 months

Text

Valentía: Extreme Aggressor

Summary: SSA Jason Gideon is called in from his six month medical leave to return to the BAU to go to Seattle to profile a rapist and killer and save his latest victim after she goes missing.

Warning: Typical Criminal Minds warnings; UnSub is a rapist-killer; References to rape; References to murder; Descriptions of PTSD; Mention of real-life serial killer, Countess Elizabeth Báthory; "Supernatural" References

“PTSD: It’s not the person refusing to let go of the past, but the past refusing to let go of the person.”

September 21, 2005

"Zoe Valdez", as she was known around the office, wrote in her crime book, writing her own profile on the killer of Countess Elizabeth Báthory when her phone rang.

"Hello..." She mumbled.

"We have a case and we need Gideon."

Zoe fell off the couch, "Gideon's coming back?" She grinned.

"Don't worry, he knows how you want to be known around the office."

——————————————————————————————————

BAU — Behavior Analysis Training

FBI, Quantico, Virginia

One of the founders of the BAU, Jason Gideon, six months after leaving the BAU on medical leave, was teaching a class of those who may be FBI agents one day.

He clicked through the faces of the victims of the recently caught Footpath Killer (as of six and a half months ago), the victims were always the least known part of serial killer stories

"Anyone recognize these faces?" Gideon asked.

"Victims of the Footpath Killer." A student answered.

"That's what Virginia newspapers are calling him. We refer to him as the Unknown Subject or Unsub. I told Virginia P.D. they're looking for a white male in his twenties, who owns an American made truck in disrepair. Works a menial job. I told 'em, when you find him, don't be surprised if he speaks with a severe stutter." He explained.

A girl raised her pencil-holding hand and voiced, "Not to sound skeptical, but come on... a stutter?"

"Where'd the murders occur?" Gideon asked and realization slowly occurred to the girl as he continued to explain what a young genius he had known since birth had suggested, "Hiking paths. Isolated. If I'm a killer who has to use an immediate application of overpowering force, even out in the middle of nowhere, I lack confidence. I can't charm them into my car like Ted Bundy did. I can't because I am ashamed of something."

Gideon's serial killer class was interrupted when a quite pretty twenty-three-year-old boy with gelled down brown hair and brown-hazel eyes, held up a case file and tapped it. Gideon's protege, Doctor Spencer Reid, the smartest guy Gideon had ever met.

"Excuse me." He told the class and walked out with Spencer, "They're calling him the 'Seattle Strangler'. Four victims in four months. He keeps 'em alive seven days. The handle serves as a crank." He and Gideon looked at a photo of a recent victim.

"Allowing him to control the rate of suffocation." Gideon deduced.

"To prolong it?" Spencer asked.

"To enjoy it." Gideon corrected, "Seattle's hit a wall?"

"Physical evidence is nonexistent. There are no tangible leads."

"And another girl is missing." Gideon said and he entered an office, looking over the case, "I looked the case file over. I'll get some thoughts to you ASAP."

Aaron "Hotch" Hotchner and Derek Morgan entered with the former saying, "you're gonna be with us in Seattle ASAP."

Gideon looked up at the man who now held his former job title of Unit Chief and he took off his glasses.

Morgan held out a picture of a young girl with red hair, "Twenty-two-year-old Heather Woodland."

"Before she left for lunch, she downloaded an email with a time-delayed virus attached. The killer's virus wiped her hard drive and left this on the screen." Hotch said and handed Gideon a printed screenshot with a familiar messy colored hand-writing at the bottom.

"For heaven's sake catch me before I kill more. I cannot control myself."

The hand written note scrawled out the words: William Heirens (Lipstick Killer) December 10, 1945, the second victim, Frances Brown's apartment.

"Uh, Valdez, the new girl that Hotch hired wrote that." Spencer said, gesturing.

Gideon looked at Hotch and knew that meant Zoe.

"He never keeps them for more than seven days which means we have fewer than thirty-six hours to find her." Hotch said.

"They want you back in the saddle. You ready?" Morgan asked.

"Looks like medical leave's over, boss." Spencer said.

"They sure, they want me? You guys have Alexander and… Valdez." He, like Hotch, knew Zoe’s real identity as Alexander’s daughter, having been the second person to hold her after the stressful event that was her birth.

They all looked at him, they all knew, Alexander... well, he was about as crazy as the UnSubs they caught.

"The order came from the director." Hotch nodded

Gideon turned, dramatically, "Then we'd better get started."

——————————————————————————————————

Gideon got out of the car with his go bag and walked towards the BAU jet as Alexander, a forty-year-old man with messy brown hair, stuck his head out, "Ah, Jason. Welcome back."

"Alexander."

Gideon entered the jet to see what he should've expected, Zoe Noble-Valdez had notes all around her and stuck on the walls and there were several stuck in her hair that was streaked with light green and headphones over her ears.

"Of course." Gideon said as Zoe wrote rapidly, having always been an over-achiever due to her brilliant mind and constant need to be doing something especially in the past four years.

Spencer, Morgan, and Hotch got on the jet.

"Jason Gideon, meet our newest recruit, Doctor Zoe Valdez." It hurt the father, only referring to his daughter by his late girlfriend's name but this was what Zoe wanted.

"Zoe." Spencer said, passing her and pulling her headphones off, letting the distant sound of her audiobook be heard.

Zoe looked up, pausing the audiobook and smiled, widely.

"SSA Jason Gideon, nice to see you again." She said, acting as if he hadn't known her since before she was born, as if he hadn't mentored and worked with her mother.

"You know, Agent Valdez." He said, playing along and shaking her hand.

"You two have already met?" Morgan asked.

Zoe looked at him, keeping her cool and said, "Yes." She sat back down, "That is technically true."

Truth was Gideon was like a second father to her along with retired Agent David Rossi but Gideon had more of a healthy idea on what's appropriate to read to a three-year-old child before bed rather than a grisly unsolved crime case as Rossi had gotten bored of children books with no twists or plots and Zoe had annoyed Alexander into doing it.

"How did you get all this done? We were gone for half an hour." Morgan said.

"It's not my fault that you're ordinary and your thoughts go at a normal speed." She smiled.

"How's she doing so far?" Gideon asked Hotch and Alexander.

"Pretty good for a nineteen-year-old." Hotch admitted, "Other than her being, reckless, rebellious, a little violent, refuses to oblige the dress code. Pretty much everything I predicted.”

"Pretty good? My angel is the best agent since her mother." Alexander whispered, proudly as he watched Zoe and Spencer compare notes.

——————————————————————————————————

"His first victim was twenty-six-year-old Melissa Kirsh." Zoe said, "Stab wounds. Strangulation."

“Wait, wait. Back up. Back up.” Morgan interrupted the young medical doctor.

Holding his hands out in front of him, stopping her from continuing.

“He stabbed her, and then he strangled her to finish her off?”

“No.” Zoe deadpanned.

“Other way around.” Gideon corrected and he turned to his two proteges, "Why do you think he started using the belt with the second murder?"

“Strangulation with your bare hands is not as easy as one would believe.” Zoe said, "About four-point-four to eleven pounds of pressure."

"He tried, probably realized it took too long..." Spencer speculated.

"So he stabbed her instead." Morgan finished.

“And realized it would be hours cleaning up the blood.” Hotch said.

“Next time, our boy’s got a method—the belt.” Derek said.

“He’s learning, perfecting his scenario. He's learning from his mistakes like the Reaper," Hotch shifted and Alexander flinched, giving Zoe an unreadable glance, "did when his call to 911 actually led to his only surviving victim's survival.” Zoe said, “becoming a better killer.

——————————————————————————————————

They arrived at the FBI Northwest Field Office in Seattle, Washington. They were held back due to Zoe having more weapons than most would think possible on her person at the security check.

"What's wrong with you? Why do you have so many weapons?" Morgan asked as Zoe finally made it through and looked at him.

He never stands with his back to a window and was reholstering most of her weapons. She looked at Morgan with a guarded look in her eyes, "My dad was an overprotective and paranoid guy." She said, vaguely. She never said much about her parents but plenty about her terrifying family which seemed to mostly consist of badass women and valued a variety of Zoe's attributes and feminism.

Zoe walked with Morgan and Spencer when Morgan nudged the older genius, "He never stands with his back to the window. When I was between him and a doorway, he asked me to move."

"That's hyper vigilance. It's not uncommon in post traumatic stress disorder.

"Also paranoia; trust issues; vivid flashbacks; intrusive thoughts and/or images; nightmares; intense distress; physical sensations such as pain, sweating, nausea, or trembling. There's also categories of the different types of symptoms and the symptoms those symptoms have."

"I know what symptoms PTSD causes, Zoe!" Morgan snapped.

"I don't think you do. You most likely had been ignoring yours for years, more than a decade I bet." She said, blankly.

"Don't profile me." Morgan pointed a finger at Zoe who looked at him with a bored deadpan expression. "Just how much disorder are we talking about?"

"Morgan, it's been six months." Hotch said, "Everything's okay."

"Yeah, fuck off, Morgan." Zoe said.

"That's not what I said." Hotch said.

"Essentially it was." She said and Hotch just continued onwards with Spencer, being painfully awkward. “Just because you ignored the trauma your past caused you, doesn't mean Gideon will heal just as quickly." Zoe said.

Morgan was trained not to react when surprised but being off-guard, his eyes widened only briefly before his face went back to neutral but with panic, confusion, and mild curiosity in his eyes. "What trauma?" He asked, defensively which only further confirmed her profile she had unwilling been making over the past six months.

"You're guarded, unwilling to trust that people’ve got your back as well as you've got yours, and protective. You grew up with an absent father and given that he was a officer too, it's likely he was killed in the line of duty. Your compassion for the wounded tells me that maybe you witnessed it. And I'm sorry for that. You were then betrayed by a father issue not too long after." Zoe said and she noticed Morgan stiffen in fear and anger for said father figure and the idea of this nineteen-year-old that he wasn't sure if he fully trusted yet finding out, "I can't quite and am unwilling to deduce the specifics because that's personal and I am already overstepping, I'm aware of that. But you got out and you moved on to make sure that as few people as possible experience what you did." Zoe said with absolutely no effort whatsoever. "Not many people are that strong. They let it control their life. Not you though. Not only did you get out but you're making a difference."

She gave him a hesitant, small smile that only lasted about a second or two with a semi-warmth to it which was more than he had gotten from her in six months and then she walked after Hotch and Spencer.

Alexander walked past Morgan, pretending to have not heard anything with a small, proud smile on his face for his daughter's kindness, even if she tried to hide it.

Hotch introduced the team as they walked, "This is special agent Gideon, special agent Morgan, our expert on obsessional crimes, special agent Noble, special agent Reid..."

"Doctor Reid." Gideon and Alexander corrected.

Doctor Reid, our expert on well, everything, and special agent—Doctor Valdez, our expert on missing persons and medical knowledge and pretty much everything Reid may not know. And after two years busting my butt in this office, I hope you all remember me."

And people laughed. His systems must've malfunctioned.

They looked at the murder board and Gideon observed, "He's willing to travel with the body."

"Then he drives a vehicle capable of concealing one." Hotch added.

"One in seven-point-four drivers in Seattle own an SUV." Spencer reasoned.

"Explorer with tinted windows." Morgan suggested.

"Explorers rate higher with women."

But how do we know it's his car?" Morgan asked.

Ted Bundy drove a VW Bug."

"A what?" Zoe asked. She was more of a motorcycle girl than a car girl. She had a Marine Turbine Technology Y2K motorcycle that she had modified, it went above the average speed of one and was silent due to her modifications, she rode it when they were racing to an UnSub’s location and was usually able to stall or even take down the UnSub.

"Volswagen Beetle." Alexander clarified as Zoe, despite being such a tomboy she considered herself to count as a boy in the boy's club of the team (apart from J.J. and Penelope Garcia, the latter rarely ever traveling with them).

"What about a Jeep Cherokee?

"Jeeps are more masculine." Reid said.

"Yeah, doesn't mean he has one." Zoe said.

"We all know how an unsub feels about asserting his masculinity." Alexander said.

"That's a good point." Zoe muttered before turning to the closest detective, "Most male rapists are insecure about their masculinity and feel the need to assert their dominance as men over women—they also tend to have insulting and distorted views on women—or feel the need to be reassured in their masculinity by raping women, because men are the worst, meaning their insecurities are often present in their behavior."

Zoe raised her eyebrows as if asking anyone to question her but no one dared do so.

"When did the bureau become involved in the case?" Hotch said, ignoring her.

"After the fourth body." The ASAC (Assistant Special Agent in Charge) said.

"Sondra Watts, taken August sixth, killed and dumped August thirteenth." Zoe said, humanizing the deceased victim as she tended to do.

"He dumped that one out of state.”

"On purpose." Hotch added.

"If so, knowledge of law enforcement does suggest a criminal record.”

"Or that he watches television."

"Television usually is widely inaccurate and is based on assumptions and beliefs caused by television. He'd have slipped up by now. Maybe he's law enforcement..." Zoe mused.

"Are you accusing the local police?" Someone asked accusingly.

"There are other law enforcement jobs than police, you know." Alexander snapped, barely restraining himself. How dare someone speak to his little girl like that.

Zoe gave her father a side look and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, or maybe he's associated with law enforcement but not necessarily law enforcement." Zoe suggested.

"Like a prison guard or something." Alexander said with a bitter undertone.

"May I?" Morgan asked.

"So you wanna see our suspect list?" The ASAC asked.

"No, we won't look at a suspect list until after we come up with a profile. It keeps our perspective unbiased." Hotch explained.

"When do we sit down with your task force?" Gideon asked.

"Four o'clock." Another agent said.

“An accurate profile by four o'clock today?" Morgan asked.

"That's not a problem." Gideon said and walked to another board.

"Agent Gideon, where would you like to start?" Hotch asked, still used to taking orders from him.

Gideon pointed at a picture, "Let's start at the site of the last murder."

"Do we have a list of those Heather Woodland is related and close to?" Zoe asked.

"Yes," A detective said and produced a list.

Zoe looked over it, "David Woodland, who's that?"

"Her brother. He was the one to report her missing. He's at her house, watching her dog."

"Alright, I'm going to go interview the brother." Zoe declared.

"Uh, not alone you're not!" Alexander scolded, with more emotion than a supervisor would to a new agent. Zoe turned around and gave him a deadpan look that only someone who knew her longer than six months could detect the hint of a glare she was giving him like, don't fucking treat me like a child. I'm a big girl, Dad. “You’re around the same age as the victims.”

“I can take care of myself.” Zoe said, stubbornly.

"Reid and I'll go with her." Hotch said before Alexander did any more damage to Zoe's request that their relationship as father and daughter remain secret for now.

"As long as he doesn't drive." Zoe said, jabbing her thumb at Spencer.

"Deal." Hotch agreed in his usual deadpan, walking past her.

"What's wrong with the way I drive?" Spencer asked, genuinely.

Morgan made a sound between a scoff of disbelief and a snort of amusement.

"Because you drive like a grandma." Zoe quipped, "Come on, Boy Genius."

——————————————————————————————————

At the dumping site, Gideon walked off, observing the crime scene as an officer asked the group, consisting of other officers, Morgan, and Alexander, "so that's Gideon? The Gideon. The one who caught that guy, Adrian Baal, in Boston.

"Yep. That's him. But catching him cost us six agents." Morgan said.

"Gideon, he... he's always been haunted by those he can't save so that hit him pretty hard." Alexander said.

"You co-founded the BAU with him, right?"

"Yeah."

"You, him, and that famous writer, Rossi, and someone else. A woman."

"Zelena." Alexander said, "yeah."

"Didn't you marry her or something?"

"No. No. We never married. Never had the chance. I fell in love with her immediately... when she judo-flipped me. then straddled me, and pressed her forearm against my throat. She took a while, given my... my Bipolar and ADHD but she did and in January of 1985, we learned she was pregnant, then found out it was twins—both girls..."

For a lot of fathers, the day of their child's birth are the happiest days of their lives, even better than their wedding days. Alexander's father didn't see that for Alexander or his younger sister. Alexander's oldest twin daughter, Zarah had been born normally but then... the job really did wreak havoc on his life and Zoe had been born with a number of complications from the circumstances to her health.

"How are they?"

"Oh, they're-they're good.” Alexander mumbled, knowing only where one was as he walked out where Gideon was.

"Twenty-two-year-old Anne Cushing was found right here. Nails clipped just like the others." Alexander said and handed Gideon a picture, "He wants them to fight back."

"But not enough to hurt him. And he left the belt around her neck." Gideon stated as Morgan joined them, "He's probably in his early twenties."

"What's your reasoning?" Morgan asked.

"Youthful arrogance." Was all Gideon said as according to Zoe applied to Morgan.

Morgan sighed, "He clothed the body before dumping it."

"That's a sign of remorse." Gideon said.

"It's not consistent. Look where we are. His opinion of women is pretty clear, don't you think?" Morgan opinionized.

"They're disposable." Alexander scowled, every time the killer's M.O. was even vaguely associated with his girls—he couldn't help but fear and imagine that they were the next victim. Zoe was technically half-Caucasian-Scottish but also half Hispanic but that didn't matter to a single parent of two girls both with childhoods filled with trauma and danger.

"Why show remorse by taking the time to dress her but then dump her here?" Morgan asked.

——————————————————————————————————

Hotch, Spencer, and Zoe were in Heather Woodland's house, let in by her brother, David.

Heather's labrador barked up at Spencer who flinched back.

"Sandy, no, no, no." David scolded the dog and apologized to the agents, "I'm so sorry."

"No, it's okay. It's what we call the Reid effect. Happens with children, too." Zoe snarked, Spencer gave her an unamused look.

"I'm Agent Hotchner. This is special agent Doctor Reid and this is special agent Valdez."

"You both look too young to have gone to medical school." David noted.

"They're PhD's. Three of them." Spencer replied.

"Are you a genius or something?" David asked.

"I-I-I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified—but I do have an I.Q. of one-eighty-seven and an eidetic memory and can read twenty thousand words per minute." Spencer said and David stared at him, “Yes, I'm a genius.”

"Actually, I'm the medical doctor." Zoe said as she wandered around the room.

"Are you a genius too?" David asked and triggered Zoe to go on an absent-minded unintentional brag.

"Well, I never took an official IQ test because I believe tests are bias towards only two kinds of intelligences but it's been estimated to be quite high as I have an auditory memory, I finished high school when I was sixteen, could've done so when I was nine or ten but... circumstances. I was seventeen when I finished medical school." Zoe babbled.

"Seventeen?"

"Yeah, I started getting college degrees when I was six, technically graduated from Princeton, Yale, CalTech, MIT, etc. before age twelve."

"How many degrees do you have?"

"Twenty-four."

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen. I turn twenty next month.”

“But—how-how…”

“I was fully able to comprehend basic language and things like death before six months old, I was fluent in Spanish and English by twelve months. I started taking college classes along with normal kindergarten classes at age five..."

"Zoe, you're doing it again." Hotch interrupted.

"Oh." Zoe blushed, "I'm sorry. I'm ADHD and Cyclothymic, mildly Bipolar, I tend to get distracted and it's a bit difficult to filter my constant thoughts. Uh, May I?" Zoe asked, referring to Sandy.

"Oh, yeah." David nodded.

Zoe crouched down and petted the dog, "You know my family back in Mexico breed Xoloitzcuintle dogs.”

“Is that a breed?”

“Yeah, they’re the national dog of Mexico.”

“I thought that was chihuahuas.”

Zoe ignored this comment. “Xoloitzcuintle are rare nowadays and Mexicans believe they have spiritual abilities.” She went back to petting Sandy, “Sandy, you get a lot of attention, don't you?"

"Yeah, Heather loves this dog. I feed her when Heather's away. Usually, she's fine, but lately, she won't eat. It's almost like she can sense something's wrong." David worried.

"Not sense. Smell. Our apocrine sweat gland releases secretions in response to emotional stress." Spencer explained.

"Uh, translation: Sandy's worried because she knows you are." Zoe said, standing up.

"David, does your sister drive a Datsun Z?" Spencer asked.

"No, but she's in the market for one. How'd you know?" David asked and Spencer showed him a magazine displaying that car, then Sandy barked, "Come on, Sandy." He took Sandy out.

Hotch and Zoe joined Spencer, "There's an immediate relationship established between a buyer and a seller, a level of trust. If I want to coax a young woman into my car..." Spencer theorized.

"Offer her a test drive." Zoe finished, "That's really smart, Spence."

——————————————————————————————————

Back at the field office, Morgan was pacing, Spencer and Zoe were spinning in their swivel chairs as Zoe sucked on an apple-flavored dum-dum.

"Okay, then how about the fact that on one hand, we have paranoid psychosis... but the autopsy protocol says what?" Morgan asked.

"Adhesive residue shows he put layer after layer of duct tape over his victims' eyes." Zoe recited after pulling the dum-dum out of her mouth with a pop!

"He knows he wants to kill them, but he still covers their eyes. He doesn't want 'em looking at him, apparently. Okay, but then he takes the body and dumps it right out in the open, murder weapon nearby."

Zoe turned to Gideon, noting his tense posture and being ADHD, she had hypersensitivity, also known as being a "highly sensitive person" (HSP), which meant she was more empathetic than the average neurotypical person and being raised around profilers plus her own studying and intuition meant she could pick up on what others didn’t and completely missed what everyone else did.

"Not the M.O. of a paranoid convinced he's being watched or surveilled." Spencer said. Twelve minutes in and we're already foreshadowing.

"Paranoid psychosis, but behavior that's not paranoid." Morgan argued.

"Maybe he's schizophrenic." Hotch asked.

"Gideon?" Zoe asked but got no response, "Gideon?"

"Maybe we just don't have enough for a complete profile." Morgan said, pessimistically, as always.

"We have enough to narrow our list of suspects." Hotch said. "You know, we're looking at less than twelve hours to find this woman. We don't know exactly what..."

"Hotch, we don't know anything!" Morgan shouted.

"Gideon!?" Zoe said, loudly.

"All right, enough." Gideon said, quieting the room and Zoe put the dum-dum back into her mouth and started to half spin her chair before using her feet to make her go the other way, never fully spinning around. "Let's tell them we're ready." Then he walked off as Alexander entered with the coffee (and in Zoe's case highly caffeinated Mexican hot chocolate) orders.

"We're ready?" Morgan asked in disbelief as Alexander placed the cup holder tray on the table—Zoe and Spencer taking their respective cups at once—and Alexander followed Hotch after Gideon.

Zoe took a big sip of her hot chocolate and then leaned onto the table to write down a copy of the profile they never really discussed.

"Reid. Zoe. You're good with this? We've got a woman who's only got a few hours left to live, an incomplete profile, and a unit chief on the verge of a nervous breakdown." Morgan complained.

Gideon came in and picked up something as he said the same thing as Zoe, "They don't call them nervous breakdowns anymore."

"Grandma Morgan." Zoe had added, snarkily as Gideon left.

"It's called a major depressive episode." Spencer said, getting back to writing.

"I know, Reid." Morgan snapped.

"Are you sure? Do you know what year it is, gramps?"

"Okay." Morgan said and walked out.

Zoe’s phone rang and she saw her caller ID, reading, MD.

She brought the phone up to her ear as she spoke to her friend, “Hey. MD, seriously, I’m fine. We’re just about to deliver the profile. Well, you’re not a profiler. I know. I know, you are. Alright, I’ll call you back later.”

——————————————————————————————————

Gideon stood in the middle of the room before getting to the profile.

"The unidentified subject is white and in his late twenties. He's someone you wouldn't notice at first. He's someone who'd blend into any crowd. The violent nature of the crime suggests a previous criminal record—petty crimes. Maybe auto theft. We've classified him as an organized killer—careful. Psychopathic as opposed to psychotic. He follows the news, has good hygiene. He's smart. 'Cause he's smart, the only physical evidence you'll find is what he wants you to find. He's mobile, car in good condition. Our guess—Jeep Cherokee, tinted windows. The murders have all involved rapes. But rape without penetration is a form of piquerism, and that tells us he's sexually inadequate. Psychiatric evaluations will show a history of paranoia stemming from a childhood trauma—death of a parent or family member. And now he feels persecuted and watched. Murder gives him a sense of power. Organized killers have a fascination with law enforcement. They will inject themselves into the investigation. They will even come forward as witnesses to see just how much the police really know. That makes them feel powerful, in control. Which is why I also think—in fact, I know—you have already interviewed him."

——————————————————————————————————

They had an officer with the Seattle FBI agent lure a suspect named Richard Slessman into a nearby house where they tackled him to the ground.

Slessman looked like a near-incompetent monster hunter with a lame catchphrase that was just their first name as a verb that would get bitten by a werewolf with dead eyes. As in Slessman had dead eyes, not the werewolf.

They searched Slessman's house as others spoke to the woman who had opened the door for the previously mentioned agent.

"There's no sign of Heather here." Zoe said after jumping over the banister to make room for the agents

"We can arrest him with probable cause, but we won't be able to hold him. Slessman's been at the top of the suspect list." Spencer added.

“Is that the mother?" Gideon asked.

The agent came up to them, "Grandmother. The mother died in a fire when he was thirteen."

“Probably not the only fire in his childhood.” Zoe said.

She looked to Spencer and Zoe, "Hi, Agent Elle Greenaway."

"Special Agent Doctor Zoe Valdez. I prefer Zoe." Zoe shook her hand while Spencer awkwardly and clumsily shifted past them, trying to not make any physical contact with them. "That's Special Agent Doctor Spencer Reid. He doesn't understand social interactions while I understand them a little better but despise them."

Elle chuckled and they walked with Gideon and Spencer as

“Before his Son of Sam murders, David Berkowitz set a multitude of fires.” Spencer said.

"Exactly how much is a multitude?" Morgan asked.

"A multitude." Zoe sassed. Morgan wasn't amused. "A multitude is a multitude many. More than one."

"Zoe's the second snarker on the team. The first is Alexander Noble." Gideon told Elle.

"According to his diary, one thousand-four hundred and..." He trailed off, trying to search through his memories.

"Eighty-eight." Elle and Zoe said.

"Luring him out was your idea, right? Greenway? " Gideon asked.

"Elle. I don't send a SWAT team into a house with children." Elle stated.

"Hotch says your background is in sex offender cases. What can you tell us?" Gideon asked.

"The last four murders show he's an anger-excitation rapist. He'll keep a victim for a couple of days. He probably records or videotapes them so that he can keep reliving the fantasy."

Zoe balled her fists, her fingernails digging in her palms.

"You ok with Hotch being in on the interview?" Gideon continued.

"I'd like him to lead, actually." Elle said.

"Fine. But hold off. Slessman's done time, and he knows the process. And all you will get now is a demand for a lawyer." Gideon said. "Hotch, let's check the garage, then show me what you got.

"Next time, show a little leg." Morgan flirted.

"Spence, you wanna go check out... not here." Zoe said, deadpan.

"Yeah, that-that sounds like a good idea." Spencer said and they went up the stairs at a quicker pace than Morgan and Elle and went to a room at the end of the hall.

"Morgan, the only time you're gonna see a little leg from me is when I'm about to kick your ass." Elle said.

"I still teach hand-to-hand over at Quantico if you need a little brush-up training."

"Yeah, because I passed up so I can humiliate him when Hotch asks me to join. He loses every time." Zoe called to them, much to Morgan's chagrin. "It infuriates him to be beaten by someone who's only been in the FBI less than two years and has only been at the BAU six months and is thirteen years his junior."

"Don't you have a room to search, Doogie Howser?" Morgan asked, irritably.

"Okay, first off, I'm a woman. You'll need to find a girl name, Chicago. Second of all, Doogie Howser is improbable, the youngest people to graduate from medical school were the same age. Balamurali Ambati and me. They'd never have a ten-year-old start medical school, even if he was the legen-dary Neil Patrick Harris."

Spencer appeared next to Zoe to add his criticism to the legendary Neil Patrick Harris' breakout role. "Even if he knew all the information since his emotional development would be taken into account."

"You two ruin everything." Morgan said.

"Elle, you think you're ready for it?" Zoe asked, "the job. You'd have to deal with all of us all day. And we got Garcia who flirts with Morgan even less shame than him."

Zoe moved back into the room with Spencer before Elle strode over, "Zoe, wait. You're the newest member, also somehow only nineteen. The cut off is twenty-three."

"Well, for geniuses, we were given exceptions. I joined the BAU when I was twenty-two." Spencer said.

"I trained with Maze Valdez, no relation,” Absolutely relation, “for a year and a half before..." Her mouth was about to form one word but then she changed, "The BAU requested my transfer. But I'm fully qualified." Like most people Elle assumed Zoe had said that due to her age and not her blood relation to two of the founding members of the BAU.

"Zoe, seriously I want that opening at BAU. You got any advice?" Elle asked.

"My advice? Just trust your instincts. Be intuitive. Be empathetic. Restrain your impulses. At all times, try to understand the Unsub's point of view, including their backstory, their mentality, their family, everything. Put yourself in their shoes as horrible as it is. Be perceptive. Be observant. But most of all, trust your instincts. They're telling you something for a reason."

——————————————————————————————————

Elle found Spencer, Gideon, Zoe, and Alexander upstairs; Alexander seemed to be fussing at Zoe about something in a manner that Elle hadn't experienced in twenty years; Spencer in thirteen.

Zoe irritably snatched a bottle of water and reached into her side satchel that carried her ADHD fidget toys and her antidepressant, ADHD, PTSD, and Cyclothymia (a combination of a variety of pills) pill bottles and she took out only a few of the bottles to take and washed them down with the water.

Elle didn't comment on this as she had figured Zoe had some kind of mental illness due to her constant fidgeting, oral fixation, distractibility, hyperactivity, forgetfulness, and her bag of fidget toys.

Then she spotted a game on a wooden platform with white and black markers.

"What kind of game is it?" Elle asked.

"In China, it's called wei-chi. Here we call it 'Go'." Spencer said.

"It's considered to be the most difficult board game ever conceived." Zoe said, having mastered the game by two and a half.

"Chairman Mao required his generals to learn it." Gideon said.

"It also looks like he's playing himself." Zoe observed, kneeling down beside the game board, nearly knocking it over with her knees, making Spencer's hand fly near it before pulling them back. "Sorry."

"How can you tell?" Elle asked.

Zoe gently pushed the board into a spin, revealing that it was on some kind of rotator wheel.

"My uncle taught me how to build these, I've got a few at home." Zoe said.

"I will come back to that later." Spencer promised her, "This might provide an advantage, actually."

"Yeah, Go is considered to be a particularly psychologically revealing game. There are profiles for every player—the conservative point counter, the aggressor, the finesser. And with what little psychological research that has been done of 'Go' against other games. In Go the large search tree, knowledge, and pattern recognition is more important than in other strategy games, it's theorized playing this reduces the risk of Alzheimer's and dementia and I can already tell I'm doing the off-topic thing again..." Zoe said and saw Elle looking at her, wondering how she knew so much about the psychology of a game Elle didn't know existed five minutes ago, "My, uh, one of my cousins introduced me to it when I was a year and a half." She pursed her lips together, recalling a brief memory where her thirteen-year-old cousin had been pinned to the floor by mental institution security officers and forced into a straightjacket in Las Vegas when she was about three years old.

"A year and a half?" Elle asked, certain she must've heard that wrong.

"What kind of player is Slessman?" Hotch asked, noting Zoe's discomfort which told him it was either one of her criminal relatives or mentally ill relatives.

Zoe stood back up once again, carelessly, bumping against the board game, making the markers jump but no real damage done. "Sorry. Sorry. Need a few angles." Zoe tilted her head as visualizations only she could see formed rather cinematically, putting mental notes on the different players. Her eyes darted up to meet Alexander's first, before darting to the next person's eyes and so on, "Extreme aggressor."

——————————————————————————————————

Elle, Gideon, and Zoe walked into the boy room where Morgan was with the laptop.

"Oh, fake password?" Zoe asked.

"How'd you guess?" Morgan asked.

"Garcia's not the only hacker, I just prefer the field." Zoe shrugged.

"Well, ladies first." Morgan said, pulling the chair out.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" She sassed. Spencer snorted in amusement behind them as Zoe sat down, flipping her streaked dark brown hair.

"Well, then what's the number six at the bottom of the screen?" Elle asked.

"Number of password attempts before the program wipes the hard drive." Morgan said.

"There could be an email, or a journal in the computer, something that tells us where Heather is." Elle said and looked at Zoe, "Do you think you can break in?"

"In six tries?" Morgan asked, skeptically.

Zoe tilted her head back and looked at Elle and the others upside down, Zoe asked, "I don't know if there's any other viruses on the laptop if I try to hack into it which would wipe the hard drive.”

"Try again. Fail again. Fail better." Gideon quoted and Elle, Zoe, and Morgan just stared at him.

"Samuel Beckett." Spencer recalled.

"Try not. Do or do not." Morgan said.

Gideon looked at him confused before Spencer turned to him, "Yoda."

Zoe was hesitant; while she may be reckless when it came to her own safety; she was so filled with self-loathing and utter conviction that people wouldn't care all that much if she died; but they only had six tries.

"I'm all for taking risks but not when it holds the life of another person. Zoe Valdez." Zoe sassed. "The password likely means something to him. Our best chance is to either get it out of him or to profile him.”

Gideon turned around and spotted a familiar book spine on the shelf that was written in 1984, he pulled it out and Spencer read the title aloud, "Journal of Applied Criminal Psychology..." Zoe cut herself off from her conversation with Morgan when she heard Spencer say the title and turned to look at them, "Co-written by David Rossi, Jason Gideon, Zelena Valdez, and Alexander Noble."

Her eyes landed on the book and Zoe stood up from the chair and made her way over, Gideon glanced at her as he started to flip through the book before it landed on a newspaper article about the incident from six months ago.

Shrapnel Blast Kills Six

"I wanna talk to him." Gideon said and walked off.

Zoe took the book and a slip of paper fell out, landing on the floor Zoe picked it up and read it. Her eyes grew dark and she stormed out of the room, slamming it into Alexander's chest. He looked at it and his eyes also grew dark.

Zelena V.

Alexander N.

Zarah N. V.

Xiomara N. V.

Zelena and Zarah were crossed out.

——————————————————————————————————

Gideon approached Slessman and placed the book down on the makeshift interrogation table which was really the cheap dinner table.

"You read my paper. Learn anything?" Zoe and Alexander ran down the stairs, Gideon turned and held out a hand out, making Zoe stop and turned back to Slessman, "go on."

"Heirens said a man living inside of his head was the one who committed the murders. You said he was lying, that there'd never been an actual case of multiple personalities." Gideon gestured for Alexander and Zoe to come in and Slessman's eyebrow raised when he saw them, his eye glued to Zoe.

"I assume you know who these two are?"

"Alexander Noble, co-founder of the BAU in 1983, you were nineteen. Same age as your daughter here, Xiomara Noble-Valdez."

"No one calls me Xiomara and don't call me Noble-Valdez either."

"What? You rather go by the surname of the mother you killed?"

"What did my mother say on Heirenz?" Zoe asked.

"She disagreed. Saying that it was more than likely many serial killers had multiple personality disorder. What do you think, Xiomara?"

"About what?"

"Heirens' diagnosis."

Zoe sat back in her seat, sensing the test and she looked down as she shifted through her thoughts

"Nothing was ever confirmed but it's been theorized that he could've had some sort of personality and/or schizophrenic disorder. Hysterical Personality Disorder. Dissociative Personality disorder. Dissociative Schizophrenic. His mother however, had hysterical paralysis and conversion disorder, formerly known as hysteria, is genetic so most likely HPD but still possible he had DID." Zoe shrugged.

"You have an academic interest in dissociative identity disorder, or you just planning your defense?" Gideon asked and Slessman just chuckled/scoffed. Gideon pulled out the article he found in the book and placed it in front of him. "You a fan of Adrian Baal's work?"

"No. I'm a fan of yours." Slessman said. "You know they never give you the real facts about CPR that outside of a hospital, it's only effective seven percent of the time." Slessman mocked but Zoe had already found that he was arrogant in his intelligence but he wasn't as smart as he thought he was. "Your friend had a ninety-three certainty of dying, but you kept trying even after you'd broken his ribs, even after his blood was all over your hands.

"How are you still alive? Are you learning medical knowledge off of a sitcom or the back of a cereal box? That was deeply inaccurate." Zoe deadpanned. "So you can't figure out how to get into the laptop to Google it either?"

A flash of irritation flickered upon Slessman's face and leaned forwards on the table, "I've heard about you. The daughter of the Scottish FBI agent, never afraid, always mocking others. I bet you're afraid deep down."

Zoe leaned on the table too until her nose was only an inch from Slessman's nose and she spoke in a soft but rather tauntingly intimidating tone but also so a certain nearby agent wouldn't hear, "I once looked a well-known serial killer who derived sexual pleasure off of the fear he inflicted up all twenty victims before brutally killing them, likely he couldn't perform otherwise. I stared him right in the eyes and I knew I was the only one to ever show him no fear and I was twelve years old. I am nineteen years old now and you look like a dentist turned supernatural monster hunter who was so incompetent at his job that he turned into a not-at-all-scary werewolf. I made my first kill when I was thirteen and he was a family member and I never regretted it because he hunted me like an animal for nearly two weeks. So, you don't scare me, so why don't you tell us where Heather Woodland is?"

He tried to cover up the fact he was unnerved and shaken now and he sat back in his chair.

"Woodland?" He feigned vague recognition at the name, "isn't she the girl that went missing a couple days ago?"

Zoe smirked, confusing Slessman and she got up, spinning on her heel dramatically out of her chair and strode out.

Gideon's eyes darted around the kitchen, noting a recurring theme in the kitchen. Good boys. Growing up in an environment like that wasn't exactly likely to mold a dominant criminal; but the kind to mold... a submissive.

"Get him out of here." Gideon said and he left.

——————————————————————————————————

Hotch found Gideon, Alexander, and Zoe, Gideon wasn't speaking while Alexander once again was fussing over Zoe to put on her sunglasses.

"I'm not putting my sunglasses on. It's fucking dark out here. You know who wears sunglasses at night? Blind people and no-talent douchebags!" She hissed at him

"Hey." Hotch said.

Gideon turned to him, "He said 'isn't she the girl’. If he'd already killed her, he would have said—"

"'Wasn't she the girl'."

"She's alive. We don't know for how long." Gideon said.

"Is it true what he said about CPR? I mean, I didn't know." Hotch said, gently.

"You want statistics on CPR, ask Reid or Zoe. She's the medical doctor. Zoe, what's the real statistics on CPR?"

"Forty-three percent survive." Zoe said, "Fifty-seven don't."

"I wanna know if you're okay." Hotch told Gideon.

"I'm fine."

"Are you?"

"Think I can't do the job?" Gideon asked.

"I think you can't be two different people at once." Hotch said and Zoe flinched.

"Conflicts in the profile." Zoe said.

"What?"

"Slessman's behavior fits a submissive of a duo. Part of the profile but another part conflicts it.

"Two different behaviors." Hotch said.

"Two different people." Zoe added.

"There's a second killer."

——————————————————————————————————

Apparently, the only friend Slessman had was his ex-cell mate, Charlie Linder. Alexander had refused to let Zoe go to the prison and for once she didn't fight him too hard on it. He told Hotch to make sure she didn't sneak off. Zoe was messing with a cube puzzle, sitting in a chair next to Spencer who was on his phone when Hotch approached.

"We get an address on Linder?"

"It's coming right now." Spencer said and turned to Hotch when he went past him, "Does senior management want a field assessment on Gideon? "

Hotch stepped towards the boy genius, "Don't worry about it."

"It's Morgan who's been worrying." Zoe muttered, still doing the cube.

"Are they nervous about him being in charge? Aren't you two on your way back to Slessman's house to help Morgan?" Hotch said and Zoe left to get the keys since Spencer drove so slowly.

"Do you know why he always introduces me as Doctor Reid?" Spencer asked.

"Because he knows that people see you as a kid, and he wants to make sure that they respect you." Hotch told him.

"But he never corrects people for Zoe and she's four years younger than me." Spencer said.

"You're about to be in a car alone with her for ten minutes. Ask her then." Hotch said as Zoe came back.

"It's here." She said.

"What's the address?" Hotch said as Zoe held the paper so they all could read it.

"Don't think it matters anymore." Spencer said.

——————————————————————————————————

Winston Churchill said, "the farther backward you can look, the farther forward you will see.

"I heard you ask Hotch why I never insist on being called Doctor and Gideon or Alexander never correct people when they call me 'Agent'." Zoe said and Spencer looked at her as he clutched his seat, tightly with her reckless driving, "It's because I know they see me as a kid and I want them to. I have always had the element of surprise. I have twenty-four degrees. I finished a four-year medical school in two years. I finished the FBI training in six weeks. I'm a five foot two, nineteen-year-old girl with dyed hair and I refuse to dress as professionally as everyone else. I want them to underestimate me. I prefer to show them up, you don't because you're better. You're... honestly, you're one-of-a-kind, Doctor Reid, I've never met anyone like you. And you should be respected for that." Spencer smiled, warmly at her. She glanced at him, "What?"

"You finished your FBI training in six weeks? That's a twenty-week program." Spencer asked in amused bewilderment.

——————————————————————————————————

Spencer sat on Slessman's bed, spinning a CD while Zoe tried listening to the music with his CD player to get into his headspace. She pulled off the headphones.

"Ugh, this is much too loud."

"I'd think rock was your style." Spencer said, in an attempt of conversation. Something he was terrible at. But Zoe had always been easy to talk to while simultaneously terrifying. She never judged him for being awkward or different. She never interrupted him when he went off on one of his rants like literally everyone else but his mother had but Zoe often had her own inputs of her own knowledge.

"Alternative rock is. Very rarely in the metal section. The only Black Sabbath song I ever heard is Iron Man. What music do you like? School House Rock?" Zoe asked as she took the CD out of the CD player.

"I like Beethoven."

"Ugh. I'll never understand how people can stand classical music." Zoe rolled her eyes as she picked up the nearest CD case. "It's boring and old and there's no story..."

"You gave me the CD case." Spencer reminded her,

Zoe looked at the case she was trying to put the CD in, "Oh, yeah, this isn't the right case..." An idea came to her. "He already had a case empty."

"Like he was using it. Nothing was in the CD player..." Spencer came to the same conclusion.

——————————————————————————————————

Morgan was pacing in the attic, "Oh, come on! I need a password. I need a password. What am I looking for? What could I possibly be looking for?"

"Zoe and I've been thinking about the CD's." Spencer said as he and Zoe entered as he turned a stretched-out paperclip in his hands.

"Oh, guys, come on. We tried the CD's. We searched, sifted, and sorted through every one of this guy's head-banging heavy metal collection. We gotta find something, or this girl is dead."

"Think we may have missed the obvious." Spencer said, using a paperclip to eject the CD holder.

"What are you doing?" Morgan asked and the ejector popped out, revealing a Metallica CD. Morgan picked it up, "Reid, Zoe, what made you think of this?"

"If you're putting this kind of protection on your computer, then you probably use it a lot, it's easier to use the laptop and listen to music on it at the same time." Zoe said.

"And it was the only empty case." Spencer added, handing Morgan the case.

"All right. I'm an insomniac who listens to Metallica to go to sleep at night. What song could possibly speak to me?

"Enter Sandman." Zoe said so at once. "Trust me, I come from a family of sociopathic and violent insomniacs." Morgan put the password in as she added, "Or as we call ourselves 'independent women'." The home screen popped up, "Morgan, let me. I can find anything relating to Heather fastest."

Zoe pushed Morgan out of his chair and started to type at lightning speed, sticking a bit of her tongue out. Until a box popped up saying: "Are you sure you want to connect to T. Vogel's live camera?"

Yes.

Their eyes widened at what they saw. "Morgan, get the cops. The cops! Get the cops!" Morgan ran out, shouting for them. "Phone, where's my phone!"

She pulled it out of her pocket but dropped it. Spencer grabbed it, fumbling and handed it to her and she called Gideon, "Gideon, Heather's alive."

"How do you know?

"'Cause we're watching her right now."

——————————————————————————————————

They still didn't know where Heather was.

"Zoe, did you see that?" Spencer asked.

"Yeah."

"What?" Morgan asked.

"Zoe, can you show me the last twelve images lined up next to each other?"

"Yep." She said, popping the 'p', typing a few keys and bringing up the twelve.

"What?"

Zoe spoke just a fraction of a second before Spencer, "Right there."

"Right there." Spencer said, "You see that? The light bulb hanging from the wire? Yeah, what about it? It's shifting positions like it's swaying like the Earth is tilting."

"Not the Earth, doc." Zoe said, "The ocean."

"I'll call, Hotch." Morgan said.

——————————————————————————————————

"According to Zoe, he wouldn't be able to transmit the webcam image from the middle of the ocean. It's the best we got, Hotch. Even if we're right, getting the exact location's on you, my friend. To work me a little magic."

——————————————————————————————————

Zoe sat in front of laptop and she messed with a glow in the dark spinning pen while Spencer absentmindedly messed with a puzzle box of hers.

"Zoe, would you knock that off, I feel like I'm going to have an epileptic seizure." Morgan complained.

"Technically, an epileptic seizure is caused by flashing lights." Spencer corrected.

Morgan snatched the pen from Zoe and she pulled out a shape-shifting fidget cube.

"Guys, look." She said, "he's inside." They saw Vogel unlocking the cage, "get Elle on the phone, Morgan!" She snatched her spinning pen back as he walked off to make the phone call. On the screen, Vogel started to pull Heather out of the cage when she kicked him in the face.

"Ooh." Spencer and Zoe said as they were getting their things together to leave.

"Good instincts, girl. But she won't get far, he's been starving her and raping her with various objects on a boat." Zoe said, "Let's just hope Gideon and Elle get to her in time. I'd better drive."

——————————————————————————————————

Gideon had angered Vogel until he threw Heather aside to shoot him, allowing Elle to get a shot in, killing Vogel. Zoe had rushed over to check on Heather's condition at once, comforting her with Elle in hushed whispers, doing what she could with her portable mini-medical kit until the ambulance arrived.

Morgan sat with Hotch when the impulsive former cop asked, "So what kind of report do they want on him?"

"I suppose whether he's fit to be a field agent." Hotch said.

"Same one they wanted on Zoe?" Morgan asked.

"Same one they want monthly on Zoe." Hotch corrected.

"Think he'll pass?" Morgan asked after a chuckle at the jab towards the department's wild card.

"You know, Haley and I were looking at a baby names book. Guess what Gideon means in Hebrew." Hotch said as Spencer and Zoe walked up behind them.

"Mighty warrior." Spencer said and walked off before turning back to them, "Appropriate."

"Also, 'great destroyer'; 'great warrior', 'woodsman', 'one who cuts down'." Zoe said, "But apparently in the bible, Gideon was the name of a judge in the Bible and the angels called him a 'mighty warrior' or as Spencer explained to me for five full minutes, so indeed spot on."

Morgan rolled his eyes at the two geniuses.

"So what are you gonna tell them?"

"About Gideon's report?" Zoe questioned.

"What would you say?" Hotch asked Morgan.

"Gideon saved her life. That's good enough for me." Morgan said and walked off.

"Seemed not to be good enough for him when we got here." Zoe murmured with a hint of teasing sarcasm in her tone.

"What do you think?" Hotch asked.

"I think... there may be setbacks due to the whole Adrian Bale situation, we may have a bomber eventually and he'll have to deal with that. But... he's the best and unless Rossi comes out of retirement or as I call it 'hiding from his dozen ex-wives', we could use a founder of the team who is not constantly worried about his daughter's safety and keeping the fact that the newest member of the team is his daughter a secret and the stress that his other daughter has been missing for four years now." Zoe sighed, "It's been four years since I escaped and I still have nightmares of the stuff I allowed myself to remember but eventually, I'm going to have nightmares of the stuff we see again, cases that don't end as well. He can't wait until the guilt stops because then he'll be waiting forever. The only way to stop feeling so guilty is by helping others, he can't do that on medical leave."

"You know you're too wise for nineteen."

"Yeah, the graduations from Yale, Harvard, MiT, and CalTech before I even graduated high school kind of tipped me off to that." She sassed, playfully, though she had an embarrassed blush on her cheeks.

——————————————————————————————————

On the plane back, Morgan was asleep in a chair, still clutching the file. Spencer was asleep on a couch, rather adorably which Zoe definitely did not think or care about and if she were awake she would not think his turning in his sleep was adorable either, nor would she care.

Only Alexander, Gideon, and Hotch were awake, Gideon sat in a seat on a laptop while Alexander sat on a couch diagonal to the older founder with Zoe asleep on the other side of the couch with her head laying on her balled up leather jacket in his lap, making the occasional noise in her sleep, usually it was incoherent mumbles or soft groans or moans but every once in a while, she muttered something.

"Mary... Mary Bell, ten years old... Scotswood... Newcastle... Tyne... nineteen-sixty-eight..." She muttered, apparently dreaming about one of the youngest female serial killers.

Alexander couldn't help but chuckle, having long since lost his concern of her growing up to be what he hunted.

"She still sleeps like she did as a toddler." Gideon remarked as Hotch sat in the seat across the aisle from Gideon.

"Hey."

Zoe suddenly stirred, her groans rising before she rolled over and hit the floor. She woke up, smacking her lips as she saw the three men looking down at her, all rather amused at how she could be both the definition of innocent and the antonym.

"Hey, guys. Uh... you and Haley pick the baby's name yet?" She ignored what happened as she lifted herself back onto the couch. Alexander wrapped his daughter into a fatherly one-armed hug, pulling her against him, kissing the top of her head.

Hotch smiled briefly before saying, "It's funny Haley liked the name Charles—but, you know all I could think of..."

"Manson." Gideon chuckled.

"Then there was Henry." Hotch said.

"Lee Lucas." Alexander supplied.

"Uh... Jeffrey."

"Dahmer." Zoe filled in the blank, sleepily.

"There's just too many of them."

"That was the problem when Zelena and I were coming up with names for this one and..." His eldest daughter's name died on his lips, "you know, luckily they both turned out to be girls and there's not as many girl serial killers."

"You wanna bet?" Zoe tilted her head up, giving him a challenging look. “Plus, you and mom picked the most bizarre names ever. Zarah and Xiomara.”

"Kind of hard to feel good about catching one when you know there are fifty more still out there." Gideon said.

Hotch looked away for a moment and the father and daughter exchanged looks, having a feeling he was thinking about that one serial killer who got away seven years prior.

"How's your report going?" Gideon said, having not been on the case due to his son Stephen having his appendix removed but knowing it weighed heavily on Hotch's shoulders. Hotch chuckled at Gideon, knowing this, "Didn't think you could hide that from an old profiler, now, did ya?"

"Oh, Gideon, you're not old. Not compared to Rossi, he's always been a cranky sixty-year-old man at heart." Zoe teased.

"You know, you saved that girl today. You can feel good about that." Hotch told Gideon.

"It is good. It's a good thing." Gideon said.

"Zoe, you need to go get some sleep. Go." Alexander said and pushed his daughter off the couch and towards the side of the plane where Spencer and Morgan were.

"Or else what? I'll turn into an UnSub?" She muttered, sarcastically before toppling herself in a couch beside Spencer's.

"She's good." Gideon said,

——————————————————————————————————

Late February to Early March, 2005

Dumfries, Virginia

Nietzsche once said, "when you look long into an abyss, the abyss looks into you."

Soon before the Boston bombing case, Gideon was driving back to Quantico, talking to Zoe Noble-Valdez on the phone as a test run to see if she could get an interview was to create a profile for the Footpath Killer, theorizing a white man in his twenties, most likely an American van, a menial job that was most likely isolated containing few visitors and little to no possibility for witnesses, and a possible stutter.

He had already made the profile but she was doing it on her own which turned out to be a bit more detailed than his.

Zoe had been through a recent traumatic event just a few weeks before but Zoe had always been better at compartmentalizing and dealing with trauma better than others.

He hung up on the young girl he had helped his co-founder raise when he stopped at a gas station in the middle of nowhere to get gas. He filled up his car tank and went inside the gas station for some unnecessities.

He took a single candy bar and placed it at the counter, "I'll take this."

As the gas station clerk rang up the purchase, Gideon's eyes wandered behind him to the wall of photos, noticing several but not all were of the Footpath Killer's known victims, they were up-close and personal.

Gideon turned to see the cashier's truck, it was an old, dingy American truck, maybe a Chevy, looking like it could use some repairs.

The cashier's gas station was in the middle of nowhere, isolated enough for the occasional customer with little to no risk of a witness.

He turned back to the cashier, a white man who seemed to be in his mid-twenties. Only one characteristic remained.

"Have a n-n—a n-n-n-nice day." He stuttered. He had a stutter. He fit the profile to a "T"

Gideon looked at the clerk for a long time and then the clerk glanced down to see Gideon's holster. He was law enforcement but he didn't react with Gideon watching him.

Gideon took the money and left the store as the clerk moved quickly inside the shop and reappeared behind him with a shotgun. Gideon spotted him in the reflection of a sign, pointing the gun at him, ready to fire.

8 notes · View notes

dr-spencer-reids-queen · 4 months

Text

Reckoner: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: Your world is turned upside down when you get in trouble for something you didn't even do. The entire team is in uproar over this but Hotch says he will take care of it. Can he? Or are you doomed to live out the rest of your days in misery?

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

"Justice without force is powerless; force without justice is tyrannical." - Blaise Pascal

"How is your knee feeling?" you ask Spencer when you walk out of the elevator.

"Still hurts, but the brace you have around it is helping. I'm not moving it too much."

"I might not be a doctor in medicine but I know a thing or two."

You two walk into the bullpen where the rest of the team is. Derek, Emily, and Penelope are huddled around JJ who is showing them pictures on her phone.

"What are you guys looking at?" you ask and set your things on your desk.

"Pictures of Henry."

"My Godson? Let me see!" You and Spencer head over to her and admire the pictures of her son. "Look at his chubby cheeks. He's so cute. You guys are still bringing him over this weekend, right?"

"Yes. Will and I are very excited to go out of town."

"Well, don't worry. Spencer might be crippled but we can take care of him," you joke.

"Hey!"

You look up and see Hotch and Rossi in Hotch's office with an agent sent from the Witness Protection Program. Everyone knows it's Jack's birthday so it's especially hard on Hotch right now. The agent leaves promptly, leaving both older men to talk alone.

"How he is doing?" you ask and nod to your boss.

"How do you think?" Derek sighs. "That agent came by earlier to show him a video of Jack. It sucks but that's about as much as Hotch is gonna get for it."

"We're gonna catch Foyet before something bad happens," you promise.

"We should get to the briefing room," JJ announces and puts her phone away.

You're about to follow everyone when you see several Virginia police officers walk into the bullpen.

"Excuse me, where can I find SSA Y/N?"

"Right here. What can I do for you?" you ask and step forward.

"You're under arrest for the murders of Juan Lopez, John Dimateo, Chase Williams, Eric Price, Jeffrey--"

As the officer is speaking, he turns you around and handcuffs your wrists behind your back. Your gun and badge are still on your person which he also removes. He says two more names which makes a total of seven people he thinks you're responsible for. The entire bullpen is in chaos as Spencer and JJ protest against your involvement, Penelope is just confused and asking why, and Derek immediately gets Hotch and Rossi involved.

"Hotch! Rossi!" Derek yells.

Hotch looks through the window and sees you in handcuffs. He and Rossi are out of their seats and out of the office in record time.

"Excuse me, what is going on?"

"Who are you?" the officer who handcuffed you asks.

"I'm her superior. What is going on here?"

"She's being arrested for the murders of seven men."

"Hotch! I didn't do it!" you say but they're already pulling you away.

"Wait, where are you taking her?"

"Virginia Police Department for questioning."

"Hotch! Spencer!" you say as they practically drag you away.

For five seconds, no one can say anything. No one can believe what they just witnessed. You? Murder? You dedicate your life to helping others, not to end their lives. You've had so many bad things happen to you and by doing good, you think you're making up for the bad. Why would you go out and murder seven people? When would you have the time to? If you're not at work, you're at home with Spencer.

After those shocking five seconds, all hell breaks loose. Everyone starts talking over each other. What is going on? Who are these victims? There has to be some kind of mistake. Y/N would never murder anyone. They've got the wrong woman. Even people who are not on the team start whispering to each other.

"Everyone calm down," Hotch says loudly. He turns to Rossi who is trying to keep a confident face on. "Take the team with you to Long Island." He addresses the team. "Listen, I'm going to go down there and figure out what's going on. In the meantime, there is still a case going on that needs our attention. JJ and Rossi will brief you on the case. When I'm done, I'll fly up there on my own."

"Let me go with you," Spencer says.

"Spencer, I know how hard it is for you right now, but I need you with the team. I'm going to take care of it."

Everyone hates that they can't be there for you right now but they understand where Hotch is coming from. When Hotch was released from the hospital, they all wanted to take care of him but stayed with the team and worked on other cases. However, Hotch was bedridden. You're in fucking jail.

After Hotch leaves and the rest of the team is getting ready to fly to New York, Spencer is still stuck in his spot. He can't seem to move from it because all he is thinking about is you. He wants to cry. He wants to break down at the thought of you being all alone in that interrogation room. Derek does a double take and walks over to Spencer.

"She's going to be okay, man. They have the wrong person. We both know this."

Spencer has to believe this otherwise he doesn't know what he is going to do. Everyone piles into the briefing room but it's like they are zombies. No one knows how to act because your chair is empty. Spencer won't be able to concentrate on a word JJ says much less anyone else, but she begins the briefing.

"Last night, Ben Vanderwaal was killed in Commack, Long Island. He was shot at close range once in the heart, once in the head with a .22 caliber. They found hair and blood trances from Ben's wife, Heather."

"Not Heather?" Rossi asks.

"No, she's still missing and presumed dead. The caliber and placement of the bullets match that of two previous victims. The first is Rita Haslat. Eight months ago, she went missing from her home in New Jersey. Four weeks later, she was found in a trash bin."

JJ puts pictures of what Rita looked like before and after being found.

"She went from that to this in under three weeks? She's totally emaciated," Emily says.

"Ligature marks on her wrists and ankles indicate she was constrained." Derek looks over at Spencer to see him staring at the desk. "One in the heart, one in the head like Ben."

"It sounds more like an execution," Rossi says. "What about the third victim?"

"His name is Bill Levington. His appearance was certainly altered."

JJ allows the others to read about what happened to Bill. There's no way she's going to put those pictures on the screen. Spencer grabs the file and flips through it but he's not really reading it. He's only doing this so he doesn't get in trouble for not paying attention.

"His genitals are missing. Though the method of mutilation is different in each crime, there is clearly a signature. The question is, what?"

"In Ben's case, his hands were taken. Bill's genitals were taken. Rita was completely different. She was starved, tortured, and executed. There's no sign of postmortem mutilation," JJ says.

"Why would he take Heather and not simply kill her?"

"Maybe he hasn't and she's still alive," Derek says.

"The only thing concrete is the MO which depicts an efficient no-nonsense murder. We need to figure out what each act of mutilation means to the unsub or to the victim. Wheels up in twenty," Rossi announces.

He gets up, takes out a file from his inner jacket pocket, and places it in front of Spencer. The noise of the paper slapping the desk is enough to break Spencer out of his trance. He looks at the file and then up at Rossi.

"What's this?"

"You told us you were cleared to fly. You lied."

"Naughty boy," Emily chuckles.

"No, I didn't. I am a doctor, so technically, it wasn't a lie," Spencer stutters.

"What was it, then?" Penelope asks.

"Second opinion."

"You're my bitch now," she smiles and walks out of the briefing room. Everyone else walks out leaving Spencer alone with his thoughts. He allows his tears to fall now that he's alone. Penelope pauses when she hears him sniffle so she backtracks into the room. "Spence..."

"I'm fine," he sniffles and wipes his eyes.

"No, you're not. We're all not fine. She's going to be okay. Hotch is going to get her out of this."

"Yeah, I know," he whispers.

Hotch arrives at the Virginia Police Department sooner than he thought. He won't let you go down for something you never did. He's known you for around five years. He knows the kind of person you are, especially when you tackled him away from a car bomb and stayed by his side when he was stabbed by Foyet. He's not going to let anything happen to you.

The police department must know he was coming because they are on his ass as soon as he walks through the front door.

"You can't be here. You have no authority. This case isn't Federal," the arresting officer says.

"Like hell, I can't. I am her boss. She has rights."

"Which have been read to her. She hasn't lawyered up."

"There is a big misunderstanding here--"

"There is no misunderstanding. Y/N committed these crimes and didn't try to hide it very well."

"With what evidence?"

"Oh, we got a buttload of evidence and it all points to her. Sorry, but you're not on the case. I can't release that kind of information."

"I need to see her. I have a right to talk to her as her superior and as a lawyer."

The officer knows he's not going to win this argument so he decides to let it become his supervisor's problem.

"Be my guest."

The officer leads Hotch to where you are. They took you to one of the interrogation rooms as soon as you arrived, and you've been sitting here with an incompetent officer asking you questions. You're handcuffed to the desk even though you've shown no signs of being violent. You've complied with all of their rules but you haven't said a word to them. You know how interrogations work. You know how someone can incriminate themselves just by talking. You're going to let them get all their questions out before lawyering up.

"Care to explain to us why we found your DNA on all seven men?" No answer. "All seven men were murdered with different weapons that we traced back to your apartment. Your possession. Care to explain?" No answer. "My question is how did you manage to murder seven very fit and strong men that brutally? You're an FBI agent. You must know how to cover your tracks, no?"

"I want my lawyer."

The officer sighs and closes the file they have on you. He can't ask any more questions until your lawyer arrives. He chooses to leave the file there and exits the interrogation room. You immediately grab the file and look through it to see what they have. All seven men were brutally murdered like he said, but you didn't think it would be this bad. You're a strong woman but not strong enough to do this kind of damage.

Each man was killed with a different murder weapon--all that you recognize. They're items from your and Spencer's apartment. A kitchen knife that JJ gave you as a set for you moving into Spencer's apartment, a worn-down hammer you got from your parent's house to put up more shelves, one of your heels that Spencer got you as a present just because he loves you, the fire extinguisher you keep underneath the sink, the iron you keep in the bathroom, one of your phone chargers, and a box of Spencer's matches.

All of these items can come back to you since you're the one who bought them all besides the heels. Who are these men? Who actually killed them? They were all killed in close proximity to your home and work, so whoever killed them must be local to the area. Why frame you for the murders? What does this person or people get for framing you? There are a whole lot of questions that the police aren't asking.

It seems like all they see is murders, some DNA that belongs to you, so you must be the killer without asking the important questions. The door opens and you quickly close the file and return it to the spot in which you found it. You go back to the stoic look on your face but that drops when you see Hotch at the door.

"Hotch!" He closes the door to give you two some privacy even though you know someone is watching you. "I didn't do it. You have to believe me."

"I know. I believe you," he nods and sits across from you, "but someone did and they really want you to suffer for it."

"I've never even met these men in my life. I don't know who they are. How could I have murdered them? I practically live at the BAU."

"They say they have strong evidence against you but they're not saying what it is. I'm not your lawyer."

"How's Spencer?"

"As much as you'd expect him to be. He wanted to come here but the team is on a case on Long Island."

"Hotch, what do I do?" you sigh with tears in your eyes.

"I'm going to do everything I can to get you out of here. It's just a matter of time. You might be spending a few days with PD."

"Yeah. You should go to Long Island and help the team. Like you said, they're not gonna let me leave anytime soon. I'll probably still be here when you get back."

"I can stay here."

"Hotch, go help the team. People are dying. I'll be fine."

"Okay."

Hotch gets up to leave but you stop him before he can.

"Tell Spencer I am okay. My family has a lawyer I am going to use. Tell him I will be home soon."

"Alright."

As soon as Hotch leaves, your confident shell fades away. You're not sure if you're going to be okay. PD has their suspect in custody. They're not going to let you go easily.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds series rewrite #criminal minds season 5

66 notes · View notes

bedfordxcx · 3 months

Text

Her Last Confession: Masterlist

Moodboard:

Masterlist:

Foreword: Her last secret

Chapter 1

Angelica if she was a playlist (in my mind)

12 notes · View notes

vanteguccir · 8 months

Text

　　　　choose your seat, grap your coffee, and dive in !

✦﹒﹒𝐿𝐸𝐿𝐸´𝑆 𝐵𝑂𝑂𝐾𝑆𝐻𝐸𝐿𝐹﹒◌﹒

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❝ one doesn't need magic if one knows enough stories ❞

── ୨୧ !ㅤ𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗧 𝗦𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗢𝗟𝗢

⠀⠀⠀⠀(　mathew sturniolo | m.s.⠀)

── ୨୧ !⠀𝗖𝗛𝗥𝗜𝗦 𝗦𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗢𝗟𝗢

⠀⠀⠀⠀(　christopher sturniolo | c.s.⠀)

── ୨୧ !⠀𝗖𝗛𝗥𝗜𝗦 & 𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗧 𝗦𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗢𝗟𝗢

⠀⠀⠀⠀(　chratt sturniolo | c.s. + m.s.⠀)

── ୨୧ !ㅤ𝗡𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗦𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗢𝗟𝗢

⠀⠀⠀⠀(　nicolas sturniolo | n.s.⠀)

── ୨୧ !ㅤ𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗡 𝗗𝗢𝗘

⠀⠀⠀⠀(　nate doe | n.d.⠀)

── ୨୧ !ㅤ𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗬 𝗦𝗧𝗬𝗟𝗘𝗦

⠀⠀⠀⠀(　harry edward styles | h.s.⠀)

── ୨୧ !ㅤ𝗧𝗪𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧

⠀⠀⠀⠀(　twilight | movie⠀)

── ୨୧ !ㅤ𝗦𝗨𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗔𝗟

⠀⠀⠀⠀(　supernatural | spn⠀)

── ୨୧ !　𝗦𝗣𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘𝗥 𝗥𝗘𝗜𝗗

⠀⠀⠀⠀(　spencer reid | criminal minds⠀)

#masterlist #x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #matt sturniolo #harry styles #chris evans #chris sturniolo #sturniolo #jurassic world #stranger things #avengers #outer banks #the hunger games #harry potter #marauders #supernatural

1K notes · View notes

sundrop-writes · 8 months

Text

The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader

Summary:

While undercover inside the Separatarian Sect, you and Spencer realize something important: you can’t live without each other.

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Lovers. Fake Dating. Hurt and Comfort. Set during Season 4, Episode 3.

Word Count: 8,200

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

THIS IS A RE-POST. This is a fic from my old blog (a blog that was shadowbanned, forcing me to move). This fic is not stolen, it is completely mine, and I am just re-posting it to help people find my new blog, and to make my masterlist complete when I post new fics for this fandom.

Detailed warnings and author’s notes below the cut.

Warnings: Lots of spoilers for the canon episode - so if you haven’t watched Season 4 of Criminal Minds yet, steer clear of this fic for now (especially because watching the episode provides some context for this fic/makes things make more sense); the reader uses she/her pronouns and has the ability to get pregnant (she is not pregnant during the fic and there’s no smut, but due to discussions in the fic, it’s not unreasonable that she could get pregnant); fake dating in the form of a fake marriage - the reader and Spencer pretend to be married under the Christian religion to ‘appeal’ to Cyrus; because of the fake marriage, Spencer uses the term 'my wife’ to refer to the reader; lots of mentions of religion (Christianity), religious extremism, mentions of pedophilia/child brides (in line with the canon episode); mentions of systemic sexism and gender roles enforced by cultures of organised religion and religious extremism; use of y/n and l/n (in this case meaning 'your last name’); the reader pretends to follow the Christian religion while undercover but I never stated if she believes in a less extreme version of these things or not (the reader’s true religious beliefs are never stated); protective!Spencer, possessive!Spencer; mentions of Spencer being taller than the reader (which, again, I think he would be taller than most people) - the reader’s body/body type is not described in any other way; mentions of guns and gun violence (not described in deep detail) - in line with the canon episode; the reader and Spencer fear for their lives; dangerous/live-threatening situations; the reader and Spencer are threatened with a gun; Cyrus is just generally creepy and sexist toward the reader; Spencer is pistol-whipped and the reader is threatened with sexual assault (it does not happen, Spencer protects her); mentions of pregnancy/the reader being pregnant (she is not pregnant during the course of the fic); mentions of the reader being a mother/having kids (Spencer makes up fake kids to sell their fake marriage story); the reader realizes she might actually want to be a mother because of Spencer’s fake kids story; mentions of an explosion (as in the canon); love confessions; angst with a happy ending. Hopefully that is everything.

A/N: The title for this fic comes from a Fall Out Boy song of the same name. The theme/lyrics of the song don’t really fit the fic, but I love the way that this title fits - how everyone in this fic is lying in some way but Spencer is someone with good intentions while lying. Making him the Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes. I love how it fits. I wrote this while suffering with heat exhaustion so idk if it’s good or even makes sense. I rewatched the canon episode and it doesn’t 100% align with what happened in the episode in terms of the timeline and stuff, and I am too tired to rewrite the whole fic to make it align with the episode. So uh - alternative canon? But I really love the basic concepts and I do really love how it turned out. I hope you guys like it too!

...

You thought it would be an easy day.

Maybe that was foolish on your part. So far, you hadn’t seen a single ‘easy’ day while working with the BAU. Between chasing down scumbags and then reliving every single gory detail while doing the paperwork - none of it was ‘easy’. It was worthy, accomplished work - making the world a safer place to live in. (At least that’s what you told yourself.) But it was never easy.

There was always someone who made the job easier. Someone who made you smile every single day - especially on days when you didn’t think you were even capable of feeling a tiny shred of joy. Someone who made you feel safe, who you always felt had your back no matter what. So you were glad that he was by your side today, along for the ride.

“Tell us about Cyrus.” Reid prompted.

He looked to the woman driving, your new companion for the day - Nancy Lunde, someone who worked with the state department and had set up the interviews with the children at the Separatarian Sect.

“Benjamin Cyrus. No criminal record. In fact, there’s no record of the guy at all.” Nancy explained.

“That’s odd.” You commented. “Usually someone being accused of something like this would have some past offenses. Especially because it would give him a reason to move into isolation to continue the criminal pattern of behavior.”

“Well, I couldn’t find anything on him.” Nancy shrugged.

“What about the 9-1-1 call?” You asked.

“A fifteen year old girl called in saying that a man was ‘laying with her’ and claimed it as ‘God’s will’. I believe the ‘he’ referred to is Cyrus.” Nancy explained. “The age fits with Jessica Evanson, but I’ve managed to negotiate interviews with all the children, just to be sure. It wasn’t easy.”

“They’re incredibly weary of outsiders.” You commented. “Our boss warned you not to identify us as FBI, right?”

Nancy nodded. “I got you some spare credentials, just in case.”

She took one of her hands off the wheel and reached into her pocket.

“You’re going to be using your real names. You’re going in as Child Victim Interview Experts working with Child Protective Services. No association with the FBI.” Nancy explained, handing Reid your fake credentials.

He nodded, inspecting the IDs before handing you yours where you were sitting in the backseat.

“Oh, before I forget.” You noted, reaching into the pocket of your cardigan. “The rings.”

You pulled out a small plastic bag that Hotch had given to you before you left. It was a bag containing a fake diamond ring in your size and a fake golden ‘wedding’ band for Spencer.

Reid reached over the seat to grab his ring from you, and Nancy gave the two of you an odd look.

“Rings?” She questioned.

“Fake wedding bands.” You explained.

“It was our Unit Chief’s idea.” Reid added on. “He believes that presenting us as a ‘godly’ married couple to Cyrus will make him more likely to open up to us. He’s less likely to see us as hostile outsiders if he believes that we share a similar system of beliefs.”

“It could also have a calming effect on the teenagers we have to interview or the kids there who have had more time to go through indoctrination at the Sect.” You continued to explain. “Even if their parents are hesitant to let the kids speak with us, they may be more willing to have their child speak with us or even leave them alone with us if they believe that we’re fellow Christians, rather than hostile atheists there to poison their children’s minds.”

Reid nodded at you through the rearview mirror.

“Make sure you put on the left hand.” He told you. “That’s the position for marriage.”

You nodded at this.

You placed the ring in the appropriate position, and you couldn’t help but to take a moment and stare at it. It was jarring to have a wedding ring on - especially with the thought that it represented you being married to Spencer. But you supposed, of all the people to call your husband, he would be one of the best. He was honest, intelligent, kind, and… if you were pressed, you would definitely say he was handsome.

But you couldn’t get too caught up thinking about all of that. Because it wasn’t real. It was a false projection you were wearing for the benefit of a self inflated sociopath.

Spencer liked the feeling of the ring. He didn’t take too long to stare at it after he had put it on, because he knew his mind would wander if he did. When Hotch had first proposed the idea of the two of you pretending to be married, Spencer had almost tripped over himself to oppose it - mostly because he didn’t think that he would be able to handle simply pretending to be your husband for the day. It was just too cruel.

Having something he wanted so badly dangled right in front of him and knowing that it was all just a farce - it bothered him, but he delighted in the play nonetheless.

When he caught the fake gold glinting in the light, Spencer had to remind himself that it was fake - that you would just be playing his wife for the day. He had to push back any internal glee that he felt at the idea that he got to be ‘taken’ by you while wearing that ring. It wasn’t real. It was just for the day.

“Isn’t that deceptive?” Nancy asked. “Won’t Cyrus be even more angry if he finds out that it’s not true?”

“He won’t find out.” You replied confidently. “And besides, we use deception in interrogations all the time. It’s a very basic tactic: align yourself with the suspect. Make them think you share the same beliefs, that you’re on their side.”

Reid grinned at this. He always loved it when you spoke so confidently.

…

“We’re looking for Mr. Benjamin Cyrus.” Nancy announced as the three of you got out of the car.

“Then you’ve found him.” Cyrus announced confidently.

He was pretty much what you had expected him to be - dressed informally, slouched over, faking meekness, holding a bible near his chest as though it were a shield. He had planted himself there purposefully, wanting to be the first person to interact with the outsiders as three of you came into the Ranch.

You hovered back near Spencer, letting Nancy make the first introduction.

“I’m Nancy Lunde.” She said, giving a small nod toward the man. “We spoke on the phone regarding the allegation.”

“‘Savages they call us, because our manners differ from theirs.’” Cyrus rhymed off a quote, obviously positioning himself and his group as martyrs being attacked for having ‘different ways’ that the world simply didn’t understand.

“We didn’t come here to hear you cite scripture, Mr. Cyrus.” Nancy reminded him, hoping to keep the religious zealot on track.

“Actually, it’s Benjamin Franklin.” Reid corrected her, talking about the quote.

That did surprise you, but you didn’t find it surprising that Reid knew this fact right off the top of his head. It was just one of the many amazing things about him - his perfect memory and his ability to use it.

Of course, him saying this immediately drew Cyrus’ attention toward the two of you. So Spencer stepped up to introduce you.

“Hello, I’m Spencer Reid, and this is my wife, Y/N L/N.” He said motioning toward himself and then to you as he introduced the two of you. Hearing him refer to you as his wife - you hated to say it, but it caused a jolt through your system. Almost as if you had been waiting forever to hear him say those words and hadn’t even known it yourself. “We’re Child Victim Interview Experts, here on behalf of Child Protective Services.”

Of course, you couldn’t get too caught up in deciphering how those words made you feel, because you had to focus on the task at hand. The job that you were here to do.

“How far from God’s word must we have strayed for there to be a need to invent a job called ‘Child Victim Interview Expert’.” Cyrus said, his tone even, quiet.

You knew that covertly, it was his way of saying that the two of you didn’t belong there, because he ran the Ranch with God’s word, so nobody had actually been harmed (in his opinion). He believed that he had done nothing wrong. Obviously, he thought your time and resources were better spent with ‘actual’ victims who didn’t have his power wielded over their lives.

“I can assure you, Mr. Cyrus, we try to bring God into our work.” You told him, trying to appeal to him. “The children we visit usually need prayer and God’s light the most.”

Spencer gave you a sideways glance, clearly holding back a grin at how thick you were pouring it on - how much intense, feigned passion you said these words with.

“Well, I can assure you that a lack of prayer and God’s light is certainly not an issue for the children here.” Cyrus said, giving you a clever little grin. He thought that you would simply interview the children, praise him for what a good job he had done, and then leave. “You can go and see the children whenever you like. They are up at the school, as I indicated in our phone call.”

Nancy walked toward the school, and you paused before you followed.

Before you walked off, you looked to Spencer. In a completely silent conversation that only worked so well because the two of you had been in so many tense situations before, thinking around UnSubs and planning miles around them before they could even know it, he gave you a small nod and you instantly knew what it meant. He had established a small bit of trust with Cyrus, so he would stick back and see what else he could get out of the man.

You nodded back, and then - completely surprising yourself, you leaned in and kissed Spencer on the cheek. You were just playing the part, you told yourself. It’s not that it felt entirely instinctive to say goodbye to him with some kind of affection, like the many hugs you had given him before. It’s not that you felt so entirely scrutinized with Cryus’ piercing eyes on you, and you needed the anchor of Spencer’s touch.

You were just playing the part.

Spencer tried not to get caught on being kissed on the cheek like he was some blushing virgin, and instead, focused his attention back on Cyrus instead of watching you walk away. (Even though every single one of his instincts told him that he needed to keep a more careful eye on you because you both had to leave your guns in the car.)

He took a step closer to where Cyrus was leaning on the concrete, and easily picked a topic of conversation.

“Solar panels.” Reid said, motioning to the large devices sitting behind Cyrus on the grass.

“Yes.” Cyrus nodded. “We’re completely self-sufficient here. Food, electricity, water. Benjamin Franklin said ‘God helps those who help themselves’.” He explained. “You look surprised.”

“No, uh, impressed, actually.” Reid easily lied, trying to appeal to his ego.

“Thank you.” Cyrus said. “Most men wouldn’t admit that.”

“Well, I suppose that I’m not like most men.” Reid shrugged in return.

“How long have you been married?” Cyrus asked, motioning toward Reid’s ‘wedding ring’.

Reid panicked slightly, knowing that the two of you likely should have coordinated this story during the plane ride to Colorado so that your answers to these simple questions wouldn’t be different. But he just made up an answer and hoped that nobody else would ask you the same question and find out the deception.

“Three years.” He said. “I’ve been very blessed.”

He used the language purposefully, knowing that the simple phrase could get him on Cyrus’ good side. That, and he hoped it would draw the attention away from any possible signs of his blatant lie.

“Your wife is very beautiful.” Cyrus commented.

He gave a wicked smirk as he said this. It was a simple, fairly ‘innocent’ comment, but it was immediately off-putting to Spencer. It took everything in his body not to glare daggers at Cyrus or throw out some protective comment in return. He could only imagine what was going through Cyrus’ mind as he thought about you, and he hated even imagining it.

Reid knew that it was a basic logical good, the instinct to protect you because you were his partner on this case and he was supposed to have your back. But it was also something more. Something in every fiber of his being that screamed you were his and no man should ever be thinking of you that way except for him.

“Has it been a godly union?”

He was lucky when Cyrus spoke again and distracted him from his mounting rage.

“We try to be as godly as we can be.” Spencer took the simple, diplomatic answer.

“Your wife didn’t take your last name.” Cyrus pointed out.

Nancy had used your name on your false credentials because Hotch had only come up with the fake marriage idea the day before. There hadn’t been time to inform her about it and have ‘Reid’ put on your ID as your ‘married’ name. So he had introduced you by your name to keep everything consistent with the reuse.

It did make Spencer wonder if you would keep your last name if the two of you ever did get married. It made him almost dizzy, thinking about you as ‘Mrs Reid’. Thinking about your kids having his name. Or your name, if that’s what you wanted.

But naturally, he pushed past all those thoughts and formed an excuse.

“Typically, married women aren’t very well perceived in our line of work.” He quickly excused. “She doesn’t even get to wear her ring that often. She couldn’t change her name on paperwork at our office because a working married woman… it’s heavily frowned upon.”

“Well, I’d have to agree.” Cyrus grunted. “A woman shouldn’t be out working. A woman should be at home raising a family.”

“I - I suppose you’re right.” Reid agreed through gritted teeth.

He walked away toward the school before he got too angry again.

…

A few hours later, everything had gone to hell.

Some authority - the police, the military, you didn’t even know - had charged into the Ranch shooting. In response, Cyrus and his followers had come into the school toting large semi-automatics asking you and Spencer if you knew about a raid.

You didn’t. You wish you had known about a raid. You would have warned Hotch and gotten them to call it off. You certainly would not have been there while it was happening.

When they had pointed those guns in your face and forced you into the tunnels - it wasn’t very difficult to pretend to be Spencer’s wife then. Cowering in the bunker, confused and scared, you flung your arms around his waist almost instinctively, and he buried his nose in the top of your hair as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders like a shield, promising you that everything was going to be okay.

Whispered to you like that, coming from him - it was almost easier to believe. Even with the chaos going on around you and the fear pumping through you in response.

Nancy had run off trying to get them to surrender and did not come back. You had a feeling that you knew what that meant.

And now, with the kids from the school ‘evacuated’ into the church, you were being held in the cellar at gunpoint. They had forcefully separated you and Spencer, making you sit in chairs at opposite sides of the room.

Spencer was fidgeting. His eyes kept flickering from the door, to you, to the man standing beside you holding the very large gun.

You knew that you had ugly tear tracks down your face, and oddly enough - you wanted nothing more than to be back in his arms. As you were forced to sit there, just a few feet across the room away from him - you ached for it.

There was a very large possibility that you were going to die today. And you selfishly needed the comfort of being in the arms of someone familiar - someone safe. Someone you knew would never hurt you. Someone who had made you laugh with dumb science jokes and puns for the last five years that you had worked together with him.

When Cyrus charged back into the room with two men flanking his sides, you and Spencer stiffened up once again.

“God will forgive me for what I’m about to do.” Cyrus announced to the room, presenting a handgun from his belt.

Your insides quaked, and Spencer’s eyes grew wide.

You couldn’t contain the fearful whimper that erupted from the back of your throat when he raised that gun and placed it near the middle of Spencer’s forehead. You clasped a hand tightly over your mouth to keep yourself from crying out in protest, knowing that would only make things worse.

“Which one of you is the FBI Agent?” Cyrus asked firmly.

Which ‘one’?

So he knew that you were undercover, that you had lied about your job titles - but he thought that only one of you had done so. Where the hell was he getting his information?

“I - I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Spencer told him quietly, looking him in the eye the entire time.

You hoped that his stutter could be passed off as nervousness from the gun being pointed in his face, and wouldn’t be pointed to as deception.

“Which one of you is it?” Cyrus pressed.

“We are not FBI Agents.” Spencer said, more confidently this time. “We are Child Victim Interview Experts. We were only sent here to ensure the wellbeing of the children. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Well, that last part wasn’t a lie.

“You’re lying.” Cyrus told him, entirely confident in this. “God expells those who lie, devils in sheep’s clothing.”

There was a tense moment, and then Cyrus cocked the gun.

Spencer didn’t flinch. You resisted the urge to scream.

“Proverbs 12:22 says: ‘The Lord detests lying lips, but he delights in those who tell the truth.’” Cyrus said, actually citing scripture this time.

He was giving Spencer one last chance to tell the truth. As if using the bible verse to say that his punishment would be lesser if he simply told the truth now.

Spencer didn’t take the bait.

“I’m not lying.” Spencer said firmly. “What? You think I wouldn’t know if - if my wife was an FBI Agent? This is the woman I wake up next to every single morning, the woman I go to sleep next to every single night, we work together every single day, we-”

Cyrus interrupted Spencer’s ranting with a sharp hit to the face, pistol whipping him across the cheek.

This caused Spencer to go flying off the chair, and you couldn’t help when you let out a wounded cry. It took everything in you not to jump out of your own chair and rush to Spencer where he had collapsed onto the ground, clutching his cheek.

“Someone is going to tell me the truth.” Cyrus said gruffly.

“It must have been Nancy!” You said, the idea finally popping into your head.

You seemed to be more clever with the pressure of Spencer’s life being threatened. Cyrus stared you down, turning his attention fully toward you now. You caught Spencer’s eye for a moment and he gave you a small nod - as if to say ‘yes, keep going with that’.

“The woman we came in with! Nancy!” You reasoned, continuing to point the finger at the woman you had to assume was dead. “We - we just met her today. Our boss introduced us to her, but we had never met before that. If she was FBI, we had no clue. We swear.”

Cyrus turned to you then, and tightly pressed the barrel of his gun into your forehead. You could feel the imprint of it so tight in your skin that it hurt, and you could only lean away so far before threatening to knock the chair backwards.

“It’s very convenient to pin this crime on someone who isn’t here.” He grunted at you.

“It’s the truth.” You sniffled out quietly.

“Hmm.” Cyrus hummed thoughtfully, and then, much to your surprise, he removed the gun barrel from your forehead.

You barely had a moment to breathe in relief before he began skimming the gun down your neck, touching the metal whisper-gentle across your bare skin - clearly taunting you. It was something that made your whole body stiff with alarm, and caused Spencer’s eyes to go wide once again.

“Perhaps I should strip you naked to ensure that you’re not wearing a wire.” Cyrus said, teasing the gun along the buttons at the front of your cardigan.

You held back a sob at the thought of it - at the idea that he could make you do almost anything for the fear of you being shot. Truthfully, you were more afraid of what he might do to Spencer if you didn’t comply, but it was all the same in your mind now. His life was just as valuable as yours, and you would do whatever it took to protect him.

Before Cyrus could take these threats any further, a heroic voice intervened.

“That’s enough!” Spencer yelled.

He gathered himself off the floor and oddly enough, none of the men moved to stop him as he came to stand beside Cyrus. Perhaps they didn’t see him as a threat. Perhaps it was because Cyrus didn’t bark any orders at them to stop him. He was entirely unflinching, keeping his focus on you and keeping his gun held between your breasts as Spencer crowded into his personal space, trying to press himself between you and the awful man.

“We’ve told you everything that we know.” Spencer told him lowly, his voice heaving with well controlled anger. It was something that you had rarely ever heard from him.

Cyrus kept his eyes locked on you, so Spencer continued.

“We don’t know anything about the FBI - we have a simple job advocating for children who have been abused. That is it. We came here to investigate a most likely false claim against someone in your community and we truly didn’t mean to get caught up in all of this.” He said firmly, clearly trying to appeal to Cyrus. “So I suggest you get that gun away from my wife before you and I truly have a problem.”

Spencer’s voice was dark, so thick with rage. More pent up rage than you had ever heard from him when he was talking to any suspect, people who had done the worst of the worst. Something about Cyrus threatening you had truly boiled his insides.

The way he said the words ‘my wife’ - growling it out like he was a feral animal and this threat to you had activated every single one of his protective instincts. Hearing it made something inside of you yearn for him on such a deep level that you didn’t know was possible. You wanted to feel that kind of protection cast over you every single day. It made you feel invincible, having Spencer watch over you like that.

Cyrus lowered the gun then, and Spencer grabbed your arm as you dissolved into hysterical tears. Instinctively, he lifted you up into his arms. You thought that you heard Cyrus mumble out ‘my apologies’ as he left the room - but he was barely on your radar. Your entire world became narrowed down to nothing but Spencer, your safety net as he built a wall of protection around you.

He used his height to block you from seeing anything but him, letting you push your face into his chest as you cried. He wrapped you in his arms once again, letting you feel truly safe for a few moments as you sobbed into the fabric of his sweater. Your arms clutched desperately at his waist, needing to keep a hold on him - needing to ensure that he didn’t leave you.

“Hey, shh. Shh. It’s okay.” He said, leaving gentle kisses on the top of your forehead and your hair, rubbing across your back with one hand, comforting you in the only way he could in those moments. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Of course, he wanted to break down too. But he had to be strong for you.

“Spencer,” You called his name in an utterly wounded voice, pulling away from his chest to look up at him.

When you saw his injury up close - a sharp, purple-red bruise that was blooming across his cheek, it looked so utterly painful. Your insides ached at the thought that he had taken a blow for you. You hated to imagine what more they could have done to him if they had not believed your lies.

You instinctively reached a hand up to touch it and he caught your fingers halfway, instead, gently grasping your hand and laying it on his chest. The intimacy felt so oddly rehearsed - so worn in, so ‘normal’. It felt like you had been married to Spencer for years. Like it wasn’t a play at all.

Your two souls had been calling out to each other for years, just waiting for the dam to break. But you couldn’t quite put it into words - not like that.

“It’s okay.” He said quietly, knowing you were horrified by the injury.

He was so gentle, so comforting, so calm. Everything the men pointing guns at you were not. Unlike Cyrus - Spencer Reid was a true blessing from God.

You couldn’t hold yourself back then.

You surged up and kissed him, fully embracing his mouth with yours in a kiss. Though it was so sudden, it was something he easily returned. The kiss so full of urgency, so needy, so passionate. Like he was trying to tell you that it was okay, that he would protect you no matter what.

He would protect you because you belonged to him.

In those moments, the two of you were basically alone. One of Cryus’ men was guarding the door, watching on boredly. But Cyrus was off in the church, funneling people in to prepare for his ‘loyalty’ test. It didn’t matter if he saw you kissing or not - it wouldn’t have sold the reuse of you being married any better.

This was just for the two of you. This was comfort.

When you pulled back from the kiss, Spencer looked stunned, almost as if he couldn’t believe what had happened. You didn’t give him time to question it.

“Thank you.” You said quietly.

It was twofold:

Thank you for protecting me. Thank you for giving me comfort.

Spencer didn’t have too much time to marinate in the meaning of the kiss before Cyrus’ men came back and fetched the two of you, wanting you to observe the loyalty test.

…

After the mock poisoning (which Spencer figured out rather quickly, making you admire his cleverness once again), Cyrus kept you and Spencer in the church with a few of his closest, most loyal followers while all of the low level followers dispersed back to their homes.

You and Spencer were lingering in the back quietly while Cyrus was on the other end of the room, talking to his men about how to proceed. The plans for their ‘final stand’.

“We need to get some kind of signal to the others.” Spencer whispered quietly. “Maybe they’ll take pity on you and let you go if-” He swallowed sharply, cutting himself off abruptly. Oddly enough, he didn’t want to voice whatever was on his mind.

“If what?” You probed. You wondered what the hell you could possibly be thinking.

“If we tell them that you’re pregnant.” He said, whispering so lowly that you almost didn’t catch the words.

You rolled your eyes sharply at this.

You had gotten married and had kids all in one day. What a miracle.

(In those moments, clouded by fear, you couldn’t see it for what it truly was - Spencer blatantly revealing his unconscious desires to have a baby with you.)

“We could convince them to release you. As a show of good faith. A pregnancy would be good leverage in that. You know how religious people are about fetuses-” Spencer reasoned.

“Yeah, and what if they give me a test?” You probed, punching a large hole in his logic. “We don’t know what kind of infirmary they have here. They obviously believe in modern technology. What if they want to give me an ultrasound to check on the fetus after the stress of the day? To prove that they did no harm to the precious unborn child,”

Spencer was easily caught on this point. If they examined you and found that you weren’t pregnant, all the lies would fall apart.

“Well… what if we tell them that you have a baby at home that you need to get back to?” Spencer reasoned, jumping to the next logical conclusion in his mind. “It’ll likely garner the same level of pity.”

“Your imaginary sperm is powerful, isn’t it?” You whispered back sharply. Spencer rolled his eyes this time. But he didn’t redact the plan as unreasonable, so you continued on. “Okay, what do I even do when I get out there? I’m not gonna be of any use to the tactical team. We don’t know what Cyrus’ final play is yet.”

Truthfully, you couldn’t bear to be separated from Spencer. Knowing that he was inside, potentially being beaten up more, potentially being shot and bleeding out from a wound without you knowing - it would kill you with stress. You need to be by his side. You needed to know that he was okay.

“Has God blessed your union with any children?” Cyrus appeared behind you suddenly.

You wondered if he had heard you say the word ‘pregnancy’ or if this was just a random topic that had come up in his mind.

His sudden appearance behind you caused you to whip around and crowd into the comfort of Spencer’s arms again because you were frightened. Naturally, Spencer wrapped his sheltering touch around your shoulders. Your back was gently pressed into Spencer’s front, his arm shielding you protectively as it was wrapped around your chest, holding you with his hand on one of your shoulders, unconsciously stroking his thumb across the fabric of your cardigan. The position had you both facing Cyrus, watching the fan in an offensive way.

And of course, Spencer didn’t miss a beat.

“Yes.” Spencer answered easily. “We have two kids at home. A boy and a girl. Iris and Hugo. Iris is almost three years old and Hugo is eleven months. His first birthday is coming up in June.”

You knew that Spencer could be very good at talking off a suspect’s ear under pressure, but when you heard him rattle off these ‘facts’ so easily, it hit you.

This wasn’t simply statistics or physiological knowledge - this was a very elaborate backstory for your supposedly real marriage. Perhaps he had thought about all of it on the car ride up (which was odd not to share it with you, in case Cyrus asked you a similar question and your answer didn’t match up with Spencer’s).

But if you weren’t mistaken, this wasn’t simply a backstory for your fake marriage during the undercover mission. This was a fantasy of his. Those were names he had lovingly chosen for your imaginary children - kids he had dreamed up in his head and wanted to be real.

Your heart ached at the thought of it. You found yourself missing a set of children that weren’t even real. (And distantly, wanting to jump his bones to make it a reality.)

“Tell me, Mr. Reid, would you find it so shameful for your daughter to marry young?” Cyrus asked.

You found it odd to hear Cyrus call Spencer ‘Mr. Reid’, but you realized that he hadn’t introduced himself as ‘Doctor’ in this setting. You held your tongue when you felt the need to correct him as you had so many other people, wanting Spencer to receive his proper title.

Your mind almost couldn’t focus on the question that Cyrus had asked. Of course, he was trying to get Spencer to stroke his ego once again. Basically admitting that the whole reason the two of you had come here was true - he was being vastly inappropriate with a young member of the church, and getting away with it. And he saw nothing wrong with it.

And he was trying to get an outsider to admit that he saw nothing wrong with it too.

When there was a moment of silence - Reid obviously torn on how to answer the question, Cyrus continued.

“Is there really something so wrong with a blooming young woman marrying a man who will protect her under God’s laws?” He probed, his voice so entirely confident. Clearly confident that he was right.

“Well, I’m not sure if I would let my daughter get married so young.” Reid said, finally speaking up. “I just know that I would want her to marry a man that would protect her, and be the best possible fit for her. Someone who would cherish her and be good to her no matter what.”

His answer made you swoon. You reached up and gently gripped his forearm in response, giving a light squeeze to show your approval. He leaned in and kissed the back of your head - dizzyingly, you were imagining him walking your imaginary daughter down the aisle before you had even gotten married yourself.

Maybe it was being so close to death, being threatened in such dangerous territory that was causing your life to accelerate at light speed in your mind. If you were going to lose everything, you might as well enjoy the escapism of a fake life with a beautiful man in your mind instead of being stuck on the heart pounding terror of being held hostage, right?

Surprisingly, his words drew a smile from Cyrus.

“You’re a protective father, aren’t you?” Cyrus asked.

“Of course.” Reid confirmed.

“I can always admire that in a man.” Cyrus nodded. “A man should always pride himself on protecting his family.”

There was another moment of pause, and you were hoping that the topic had been dropped completely.

“Do you have a picture of your children with you?” Cyrus asked.

You wondered if - in a different version of reality, where you and Spencer really were married, where Hugo and Iris really did exist - if you had a picture of them in your pocket, would Cyrus only be asking this so he could use the picture to taunt the two of you? What other purpose would he have for knowing what your children looked like?

“Unfortunately, no.” You answered. “I keep my family pictures on my desk. In my office. We - we’ve just been praying to get back to them safely.”

Cyrus seemed perturbed at you mentioning that you had an office. Something dark flickered over his features for a moment and then disappeared.

“Well… if it is right, God will grant you that safe passage.” Cyrus said.

Just when you truly thought the conversation was done, he said something to you that entirely grinded under your skin.

“I find it entirely odd that a mother of two young children spends her days working a job where she takes care of other people’s children, rather than staying at home with her own youngins where she belongs.”

He said, using that same entirely confident, righteous tone that he always did. Even though you were not really a working mother, you had a hard time not boiling with anger at the sexism ripe in his statement.

“How much must you be missing of your sweet angels lives to instead partake in the horrors of devils you shouldn’t have to witness.”

Of course.

You had a hard time not rolling your eyes at this or saying something harsh that would set him off. Instead, you reached up to Spencer’s arm around your shoulder, squeezing his fingers, trying to keep your patience.

“I’ll have you know that Y/N is an amazing mother.” Spencer piped up, knowing that Cyrus respected him enough as a man that he wouldn’t beat him simply for speaking up. “Her nurturing and caring makes her infinitely better at her job.”

Again, you knew that there was so much personal truth in Spencer’s words. He thought that you would make an amazing mother to his children - at least theoretically. He was entirely firm in that conviction. And he thought that your natural caring made you amazing at the job you did as a Profiler. He knew this from the quality of work he witnessed you doing every single day.

You didn’t know it - but it was just one of the many things that had caused him to fall in love with you.

Oddly enough, Cyrus’ words prodded at something deep inside of you. It made you imagine a life for yourself where you weren’t spending your days witnessing horrors from unspeakable devils - but instead, at home, looking out for Spencer’s imaginary children.

You would have said it was the fear of the day, clouding your mind. But maybe it was the clarity of being so close to death that made you realize what - and who - you truly wanted out of life.

…

Hours later, after some of the hostages had been released (the ‘non-believers’ who had failed the loyalty test), Cyrus had requested that some food be sent up. Spencer gave you a sharp look when he saw the message written on one of the takeout lids.

The team would be storming in to end the hold-out at 3am. You had to somehow ensure the safety of the hostages by then.

Obviously, the fake pregnancy idea was still warping through Spencer’s mind, but you had come up with some much better.

“Cyrus,” You called out his name gently, getting his attention. “You said that you have a nursery here?”

It had come up, during his long winded bragging about how perfect the Ranch was. Something about how mothers didn’t have to raise their children alone. The children were raised as more of a ‘group effort’ and women took ‘shifts’ in the nursery, allowing the women to rest or get chores done in the interim.

“Yes, we do.” He nodded.

Spencer stared at you with his jaw set, wondering what you were doing but not daring to speak.

“I - I’ve been missing my children dearly. I was wondering if I could go to your nursery and see if they need any help? It would do my soul good to be around young ones right now. After all the commotion of these days.” You spoke meekly, trying to play the part of the shaken up, dainty woman well.

Which was too difficult, seeing as you were playing up the fear you had already experienced.

He grinned. It was a rather menacing smile, and you tried your hardest not to show any further fear, or disgust.

“That sounds like a splendid idea.” He nodded. “Christopher, why don’t you escort her down to the nursery and then come back? We need you here for our final preparations.”

You were finally falling to those gender roles that he had been pushing on you since you had arrived. He didn’t suspect a thing. He simply thought that you were a God fearing woman falling to your natural womanly instincts, needing to care for children lest your womb shrivel up and you die.

Spencer rose from his seat and Cyrus stopped him.

“Just your wife.” He said, putting a hand in front of Spencer’s chest to stop him. “There are still some things you and I need to discuss. Man to man.”

You went over to Spencer and didn’t hesitate to plant a kiss firmly on his mouth, which he returned with vigor. This one lasted only a moment - it was something precious for the two of you. You didn’t need to put on some pointed show for the men in the room.

“It’s okay.” You told Spencer quietly, brushing your fingers gently over his uninjured cheek.

You could tell that he was dying to ask you what your plan was. But he kept the words trapped in his throat, unable to speak in front of the many temperamental villains lurking about.

“Come on.” Christopher grunted.

Spencer gave you a longing look as you left. He didn’t want to think it, but as he watched your figure retreat out the door, he feared that it would be the last time he ever saw you.

…

Your plan worked flawlessly.

Getting to the nursery meant that you had unsupervised access to the women and children, especially away from Cyrus’ prying ears. Because you were a ‘delicate’ woman, nobody suspected you of having ulterior motives. You easily found a crack in Kathy, Jessica’s mother. You spotted her as the one who had made the original 9-1-1 call, wanting to get her daughter away from Cyrus. You convinced her to help you get everyone out, and you felt intense relief when you were met with a familiar face in the cellar as everyone escaped through the tunnels.

“Where’s Reid?” Morgan easily asked you, glancing behind your shoulder as if waiting for him to appear.

“He’s still up at the church.” You told him. “I had to separate off to help get the women and children out-”

“Go on, we have to get you out!” Morgan urged, trying to gently usher you along.

“We have to go get Reid!” You argued, trying to turn around.

“Go, go on, I’ll go get Reid!” He told you.

You were about to argue back, but you were cut off by a scuffle behind you.

Jessica was yelling about Cyrus - how her mother had betrayed her, tricked her.

Morgan pushed Kathy toward you and ran off screaming for Jessica. You took Kathy’s arm, gently convincing her that everything was going to be okay as you guided her the rest of the way out. You had to focus on this, convincing yourself that everything was going to be okay. You had to tell yourself that Derek was going to get Spencer out - that they were both going to be okay.

When you got outside, you were hyper focused on marching away, taking a path away from the church as directed by the officers in charge. You froze in your tracks when you heard it - an earth shattering boom. The ground beneath your feet shook. You felt a puff of hot air swell to touch your back.

You let go of Kathy’s arm and whipped around, and you couldn’t even pay attention to where she went. You almost thought you heard her weeping, but your mind couldn’t process it as your eyes were glossed in bright orange flame.

It was the church.

“Spencer?” You gasped quietly. “Spencer!”

You couldn’t help it, but you began to run toward it. Your feet carried you faster than you could think, and before you got more than a few feet across the ground, you felt a sharp grip on your upper arm.

“L/N!”

Hotch’s voice, sounding far too distant for the position he held right behind you, viciously gripping onto you as you fought against him, trying to get toward the fire - trying to get to Spencer.

“Hey! Hey! Stop it!” Hotch tried to order you around, tried to get you to stand down.

He got a hand around your waist, and you continued to kick like a wild horse, fighting against his grip as hot tears poured down your face.

“He’s in there!” You sobbed. “Spencer is still in there.”

“Calm. Down.” Hotch ordered sharply.

You collapsed back into him sobbing, all of the fight leaving your muscles at once. You couldn’t fake the reality in front of you.

“You running in there and getting hurt isn’t going to change anything.” Hotch told you quietly, a somehow distant murmur into your ear.

Through the blur of your tears and the sharp orange glow, you saw the shape of two bodies. You heard coughing as someone emerged from the blast, hobbling down the stairs at the front of the church. You forced your eyes open wider, trying to see who it was, and then:

“Y/N!” Spencer called out your name gruffly through the smoke he had inhaled, and you easily shucked off Hotch’s grip to race up the stairs to get to him.

He was leaning on Morgan for support and you were worried that he was hurt. But the moment you were close enough, he tore himself away from Morgan and the two of you met in the middle. In a pattern that was easily developing, you fell into the safety of his arms, holding him tight enough to bruise him - never wanting to let go.

“You’re so stupid, you’re so stupid! Why would you do that to me?”

You sobbed out, gripping both sides of his face, staring into his eyes, needing the recognition that he was right there, right in front of you.

He stared back with glassiness - intense fear, adrenaline, and something small that told you he was thankful for you, and needed you now more than ever.

Of course, your words were simple anger at the situation, not at Spencer himself. The terror of thinking that he was dead still pumping through your veins, causing you to shake.

“I know.” He said quietly. “I love you.”

His voice wrapped around the words so tenderly - it was the most sincere declaration you had ever heard from him. As if to say ‘I know how much that scared you. I know what this ordeal has done to us and I only meant it more because of how scared I am’.

“I love you too.” The words flew from your lips so naturally it hurt. You took a moment to recover, entirely shocked by your own lips. And then, you only found the need to say it growing more inside of you. “Spencer, I love you.”

You pulled him toward you with the grip you had on his face, and he easily met you in one of the most earth shattering kisses you had ever experienced.

It was no longer a show, it was no longer about displaying the fake marriage for someone else’s benefit - if it had ever been about that in the first place. It was about the two of you. It was about feeling that comfort, that safety. It was about the fact that your two souls were drawn together since the day you had met. The fact that you had always felt safe with each other. You had always been the other person’s shelter from the storm.

And you poured every ounce of those feelings into that kiss.

You combed your fingers through Spencer’s hair, taking a harsh grip on the back of it, holding him there so he couldn’t pull away from your lips. He wrapped his arms around your waist, fisting the back of your sweater. Both of you entirely refused to come up for oxygen, not even caring who saw the epically passionate, public display of your love for each other.

Unbeknownst to you, Morgan and Hotch exchanged a look with raised brows as it happened. You and Spencer didn’t care. You were barely perceiving the world around you as the two of you kissed.

“You know if you’re not careful, people are actually gonna think you two are married.” Morgan said, being his usual sarcastic self.

Rather than pulling away from Spencer’s lips to sass him back - you simply flipped Derek off over Spencer’s shoulder.

On the ride home, JJ handed Derek five dollars. He had the over/under that the two of you would get together before the end of the year. JJ said that it wouldn’t happen for another five years, at least. Derek handed the fiver to Emily when she reminded him that the ‘fake marriage’ bit had actually been her idea.

When Emily and JJ relayed the story to Penelope, she squealed so loudly into the phone that JJ dropped it.

Hotch pulled you aside later and warned you that the fake rings were just cheap costume jewelry that Garcia had gotten and they would tarnish soon if you kept wearing them. He also recommended that you and Spencer put in the paperwork with HR if you were ‘serious’ about the relationship. You knew that it was him wishing the two of you his best.

A few days later when you came into work and found the HR request for an update of relationship status sitting on your desk, already signed by Spencer, you couldn’t help but to smile.

...

A/N: This is a oneshot, so there will not be a continuation or a sequel to it. If you are going to comment, please comment about the body of work that I have written, rather than asking me to write 'more'. If you want to see more things that I have written about Spencer, feel free to check out my Criminal Minds Masterlist.

#sundrop writes #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic

1K notes · View notes

astrophileous · 1 year

Text

Thunderstorm

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Synopsis: Spencer Reid was never a fan of thunderstorms. On one particular night, he woke up to one.

Warning(s): established relationship, mentions and/or depictions of gun violence/injury, protective spencer, parent-child relationships, I think that's it (?) this one is really just fluff wrapped in more fluff 🥰

Word Count: 2400-ish

Author's Note: HELLO! I'm finally back from the dead (yayyy)!! To celebrate, and as we all wait for me to finish rewriting the remaining chapters of love bugs, I'm posting this fic here for you all to enjoy :) I think it's the fluffiest piece I've ever written (srsly, not even a drop of angst!) so I hope you will enjoy! Let me know what you think okkk, don't forget to LIKE+COMMENT+REBLOG if you like this one xx btw I'm pretty sure this can be read as gender neutral reader since I'm positive I didn't use any gender-conforming words, but pls lmk if I'm wrong!

Criminal Minds Masterlist

Spencer hated thunderstorms.

He had many memories of them, not particularly good ones. Most of them involved him being on the field during yet another atrocious case, gun and flashlight in hand, trekking after muddy footsteps that belonged to an UnSub he was chasing.

He had been shot, once, during a thunderstorm. The bullet lodged itself against his bulletproof vest before the perpetrator had received a retaliation shot from Derek's gun. The vest had saved his life that night. The nasty bruise decorating his torso for the following week, though, served as a sufficient reminder in Spencer's mind.

Thunderstorms were a natural enemy whenever he was on the field. Unfortunately for him, the rivalry seemed to continue past the doorstep of his home, too.

Back when sleep was a luxury that he had to scour and cherish, thunderstorms would be the antagonist that kept the two even further apart. The sound of heavy rain against windows was a line of needles prickling into his circadian rhythm, erasing any possibilities of sleep if he was even lucky enough to have them in the first place.

On those nights, Spencer would sit against the headboard with a book in his lap, hoping that the passage detailing the fall of Joseon Dynasty in Korean Peninsula--or the rise or Majapahit Empire in the island of Java, whichever had caught his interest more at that specific moment in time--would be enough distraction to take his mind off the disaster wreaking havoc outside of his apartment.

Thanks to years of therapy, Spencer now had found it easier to chase sleep whenever he needed it. Still, its sweet relief stood no chance against the chaos brought by a raging thunderstorm.

This time, too, was no different.

Spencer had been dreaming. A land of reverie where his tongue had tasted honey, where his nose had recognized the hint of mint and juniper berry before the image was rattled by a high-pitched shriek in the sky.

When Spencer opened his eyes, the bedroom was enveloped in a near state of total darkness.

The sharp cry he heard had come from a lightning that struck momentarily before he woke up. Five seconds later, another one struck again, sending a jolt of adrenaline through Spencer's body as he waited for the imminent thunder to shatter the atmosphere.

Spencer shut his eyes in an attempt to get his racing heart back under control. Once he opened them again, the remnants of sleep had washed away from his pupils, allowing him to take in the empty bed, the chill bedroom, and the opened door right across from where he was sitting.

Frowning, Spencer thought back to a few hours prior. How he had promptly retired to the bedroom after coming home from work. He remembered clearly--courtesy of his eidetic memory--having slammed the door shut before he got ready for bed.

A creak in the floorboards outside his bedroom door compelled Spencer to reach into the bedside drawer, fingers inching nearer to where the secret holster of his gun was located.

Before his hand could wrap around the weapon, the bedroom door was pushed ajar, revealing a familiar figure standing in the doorway, outline cast by a hazy kind of luminance.

Spencer breathed out a sigh of relief. "I thought you were an intruder."

You raised an eyebrow at his statement. A playful smile sweetened by the gentle glow radiating off the flickering candle in your hand.

"It's just me," you assured him, finally stepping into the threshold and placing the candle on top of the dresser.

"I can see that." He watched you approaching, gaze never straying even when you picked up the comforter a tiny bit to slip back into bed. "Where did you go?"

"Went down to check the breaker. Power's out completely, by the way. Looks like the storm took out the whole block."

He made a disapproving face at your response. "You were in the basement? Alone?"

Your forehead furrowed at the tone of Spencer's voice. It wasn't until you glimpsed the telltale sign of worry in his eyes that your shoulders eventually deflated. "I'm okay, Spencer."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"Because," you began, an amused smile threatening to split your face into two, "it's a three flights of stairs walk from our bedroom, darling. I think I can manage it just fine."

"But--"

"Besides," you cut him off, silencing him with a gentle palm pressing on his cheek. Spencer instantly melted at the contact. "I know how you get during nights like this. I wanted to let you have as much sleep as you could before the storm eventually wakes you up."

His hand circled around your wrist, then, bringing it upwards so that he could leave tiny kisses on your palm before he entwined his fingers with yours. "You still should've woken me up."

"Spence--"

"I know, I know. You could've done it yourself, I don't doubt it. I just--" he paused, swallowing a lump before continuing, "--I could've just waited here. In the bedroom. But in case anything happened, I would've been there for you."

The admission was quiet within the four walls of your bedroom. You knew that Spencer's plea had nothing to do with a toxic need to be controlling. Instead, it had stemmed from the vulnerability within. A naked truth that nestled in the deepest corners of Spencer Reid's soul.

The years that you had spent together allowed you to understand Spencer at a level nobody else could. They allowed you to understand that this silly request was nothing more than a fruit of his vigilant bones, forged consistently throughout his years in law enforcement. Spencer Reid, underneath his soft eyes and tender touches, had witnessed all of the gruesome layers of the world, lost far more things than anyone ever should.

It was only logical, now that Spencer had you in his life--a miraculous reprieve to his otherwise ghastly world--he would spend every waking moment to do everything in his power to make sure you were safe.

Always.

With this knowledge in mind, you couldn't, in good conscience, bring yourself to deny Spencer's plea, no matter how foolish it might seem.

What you did, instead, was shifting yourself closer to his body, seeking permission with your eyes before you leaned forward for a quick kiss.

"I'm sorry, darling," you offered sincerely. "I'll keep that in mind for next time, yeah? How does that sound?"

The relief was blinding as it washed over Spencer's whole being. "Thank you," he muttered before kissing your knuckles. "And I'm sorry, too, for being like this."

You shook your head firmly. Not because you didn't accept his apology, but because you didn't need one. Spencer didn't have anything to apologize for.

When you told him as much, Spencer's only reply was to press his lips to yours.

You were rendered pliant underneath his ministrations, your body molding into his as if you were two fabrics cut from the same cloth. Spencer poured all of his emotions into the kiss. Wishing--begging--that you could taste just how consuming the love he harbored for you was. The same way he could taste your heart beneath the hint of honey on your lips.

Once breathing became a chore, Spencer took the heavy decision to pull away, settling for resting his forehead on top of yours instead.

"Do you wanna go back to sleep?" you whispered.

Spencer wanted to nod, feeling a huge load pressing on every inch of muscle in his body. But before he could take you up on the offer, a distant sound between the roaring of thunders caught his attention, stopping his words right in their tracks.

"Did you hear that?" Spencer asked.

"Hear what?" You frowned. "The thunder?"

"No." He rushed to get up from the bed, gaze apologetic as he looked at you from the doorway. "Stay here? I'll be back soon."

Soft footsteps trudged along the landing of your two story house, leading Spencer towards another door located right by the stairs. He knocked slowly on the wooden door, twice, before pushing it open with a gentle nudge of his hip.

The room he entered was smaller than the room he shared with you. During the days, the windows on the far end of the wall would offer a mesmerizing view of the creek that ran along the backside of the neighborhood. During nights like this, however, they merely provided another harsh peek at the tantrum that mother nature was throwing against the world.

Although the room was swallowed in darkness, Spencer could still make out the silhouettes inside. From the haphazardly scattered toys on the floor, the colorful drawings taped on the walls, even to the lavender-colored furniture that seemed to fill every available corner in the entire space.

Amongst them all, the one silhouette that managed to pull at Spencer's heartstrings was the one curled up on the center of the bed. A usually joyous sunshine, reduced to a whimpering ball under a cotton unicorn-themed blanket.

"Princess."

Spencer tugged the blanket down, revealing misty eyes and pouting lips on a face he held dearly. A sob managed to wreck itself out of the little girl's chest, plummeting Spencer's heart further down the abyss of no end.

"Oh, sweetheart."

He gathered the 4-year-old in his arms, feeling her immediately hugging his neck. Her body was still shivering with tiny whimpers and sobs, all of which Spencer tried to subside gently by constant strokes down her back.

"It's okay. You're okay," he shushed quietly, rocking his body to a phantom tune while she clung to his chest. "Do you wanna tell me what's going on?"

The girl sniffled aloud before lifting her head, her tiny hands rubbing rigorously on the tear stains around her eyes.

"The-the thunders," she murmured. "It was so loud. I woke up and everything was d-dark. Daddy, I'm scared!"

She threw her arms around his neck again, crying softly into the collar of his sleeping shirt. Spencer tightened his embrace around his daughter, heart breaking into pieces with every tear shed from her innocent eyes.

"Sshh, it's alright, princess. Everything's alright. Daddy's here now," Spencer cooed. "Do you wanna sleep with us tonight? Hm?"

His daughter started to nod frantically. "Don't forget Mr. Elphie, Daddy."

Chuckling, Spencer quickly grabbed the elephant stuffed animal lying next to her pillow. "Of course not. Mr. Elphie is coming with us, isn't he?"

Spencer began to retreat back in the direction of your bedroom, all the while conversing with his little girl to keep her mind off the storm that was still raging wildly outside.

You were checking something on your phone by the time Spencer finally returned. Immediately, you tossed the device aside once you saw him, eyes widening in concern when you saw your daughter's limbs entangled around Spencer's form.

"What happened?" you asked.

Spencer headed for the bed, slowly putting down the little girl who instantly cuddled your side after he had tucked her under the duvet.

"The thunders are scary," your daughter mumbled into the fabric of your shirt.

Your eyes flicked towards Spencer, who gave a single nod of confirmation before settling back on his side of the bed.

"Oh, honey. I'm so sorry." You brushed back the hair from her face, taking in the sight of your favorite pair of eyes that seemed to have lost their usual sparkles in the wake of her tears. "What do you wanna do, hun? Should I tell you a story? Play a little music?"

"I wanna sleep here with you and Daddy," she said in a shaky voice. "Is that okay?"

Kissing the crown of her head, you answered, "Of course it's okay, sunshine. Come here."

Your daughter fell back into your awaiting arms. Her small frame fitting so easily into the front side of your body. You watched as her tiny fingers clutched Mr. Elphie tighter, breath evening out while her face burrowed even deeper into your chest.

It felt as if hours had passed before you could find the will to rip your gaze away. In all honesty, you could probably have spent an entire eternity staring at the little miracle in your arms had the universe given you the chance. When you lifted your head, your eyes automatically locked with Spencer's, who looked as if he, too, had been entranced by the sight in front of him.

"She's incredible," Spencer confessed into the night, voice fragile with the weight of awe it seemed to carry. "I can't believe she's ours."

You extended your hand towards him, smiling brightly once Spencer secured it in his own.

"Seems like the apple doesn't fall far from the tree," you mused, eyes glinting mischievously from the knowledge that your daughter--just like her beloved Daddy--also had a fear of thunderstorms. "Like father like daughter, huh?"

Spencer rolled his eyes. "I'm not scared of thunderstorms. I'm just... not fond of them"

"Uh-huh."

"Shut up." He bit your knuckles playfully, seemingly pleased with himself when he managed to elicit a laugh out of your chest. "Go get some sleep. You have an early day tomorrow."

"Speak for yourself, Mister." You settled your head back on the pillow, Spencer mirroring your position without breaking his hold around your hand. "Where are you going again?"

"Florida. Miami."

"Damn," you muttered, temporarily panicking about your terrible choice of words before calming back down once you saw your daughter sleeping soundly. "I bet it's nice there this time of year."

"It's Miami. The weather barely changes there all year-round."

"Exactly my point."

"Besides," Spencer added, squeezing your hand once, "it's not a vacation. It doesn't matter where I'm going, I'll only be seeing dead bodies all day long."

"Okay. I really don't need to start seeing corpses in my head right before going to sleep, so thanks for that."

"You started it."

"I most certainly did not." You scoffed. "I'm not liking this conversation. Now, can we please go to sleep?"

Spencer had a retort ready on the tip of his tongue. But once he saw how peaceful you looked with your eyes closed, entangled as one with your daughter, he decided against it.

At last, he opted to shuffle closer on the bed until he could wrap his arm around the two of you, letting the scent of mint from your shampoo and juniper berry from your daughter's body wash to wrap around his whole being.

Spencer was still not a fan of thunderstorms.

But on nights like this, he had to begrudgingly admit that maybe, maybe, they weren't really that bad after all.

771 notes · View notes