#it would be in the morgue as a forensic medic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

winedarkthoughts · 7 months ago

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house of addams (3)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— ��️ word count: 4k

— 🍄 summary: the coroner of Farrow's End finally invites you into his kingdom, and you can feel more than one set of watching eyes as you continue your investigation.

— ☕ content warnings: coroner!taehyung, assistant!jungkook, mentions of murder/death/suicide

— 🕸️ a/n: meeting more of the boys!!

previous chapter ← series m.list → next chapter

chpt. 3: into the morgue

"Have her come in," Taehyung says over dinner.

There's a collective clang as several sets of silverware are put down.

"I don't know if that's a good idea, hyung," Jungkook replies. He's nervous around you, especially because you can see more than you let on.

"We're going to have to eventually," Namjoon adds, and Jimin sends him a mischievous, knowing look. He knows how Joon likes to watch you in the bookshop, offering his assistance at his earliest convenience, asking if you need help finding anything specific.

"It's obvious she was hired by the mayor," Yoongi says. "Though, I'm not entirely sure why."

They all know that Mayor Summerbee runs in some of the same circles that they do, but they wonder if you're aware of that fact too. How much did she tell you?

"At the very least, it'll tell us what she already knows," Yoongi says.

"And if she scares easily," Taehyung adds, suppressing a smirk.

What kind of private investigator are you? Are you motivated by self interests? Are you just here to get the job done, bare minimum? Or are you the morbidly curious type? The kind that can't stop until a mystery is solved, even if it leads you to dangerous places.

Yoongi and Namjoon already have a guess at which type you are.

"She has some kind of sight," Jungkook says, biting his nails. The real question is how sharp is that sight?

"I don't think she knows that she has it," Jin pipes in.

They exchange glances, thinking.

"Well," Hoseok says, and they all turn to look at him. "I suppose we'll just have to test it."

september 27, 2004

You've seen your fair share of coroners. Good ones, even excellent ones, and the ones who never should've been appointed to the job in the first place. Most people aren't aware that there is no national standard for coroners, some don't even have medical training.

You remember a case not too long ago when a family mourning the loss of their son hired you to investigate the circumstances of his death, which was ruled "accidental" at the time. The coroner had not had any prior forensic training, he was an OBGYN turned politician. Elected by the small-town voters (nearly 80% of coroners in the U.S. are elected, by the way), he was cushy with the local police force.

And being your naturally suspicious self, or maybe it's a side effect of your job, you pressed for a second autopsy by an examiner actually worth his salt.

The external examination alone proved that it was far from accidental. His wounds suggested severe beating, and his cause of death was suffocation from being choked, homicide not accident.

Further investigation revealed police brutality. You pushed and pushed and pushed, and after being enough of a pain in the ass (and threatening several lawsuits), they finally convicted the officers responsible.

The family still sends you a Christmas card every year, and it more than makes up for being a pain in the ass for living.

So yeah, you don't trust coroners, or their reports, until you get the chance to evaluate their level of competence for yourself. And the fact that the coroner of Farrow's End has been so resistant to your attempts to contact him doesn't bode well.

But today, the Monday following your little expedition up to the Addam's House, he's finally available to see you. Last night you received a call at around midnight, seemingly from the same young man you saw on the other side of the gate the other day.

Of course you were awake, but you wondered why the coroner's office would be up and running at such an hour. Maybe a late night emergency autopsy? It wasn't unheard of, sometimes a Sheriff will request an autopsy to be completed as soon as possible when the press are particularly bothersome and the cause of death is unclear.

You didn't get the chance to ask, because the man started rattling off about how the coroner would be able to see you tomorrow morning, and he advised that you bring any notes you might have.

Good sign, it suggests that the coroner is willing to work with you.

It's early, maybe a little too early. The fog is blanket-thick and the clouds are sprinkling down a fine mist of rain.

You take your car as far as the rocky dirt road allows, park it at the base of the hill, and trudge on through the mud, the umbrella over your head immediately collecting dew.

You reach the gate, closed like last time. When you reach for it, you're expecting to find it locked, but just as your fingers are about to touch the cold metal, the gate swings open with a long creak.

You stand there for a moment, searching for some kind of mechanism that would make it open by itself, but you find nothing but old iron forged in intricate patterns.

Whatever, you've seen weirder. You slip through the parted gates and close them behind you.

Gigantic trees, pines it looks like, envelop the perimeter of the surrounding gates, with twisting, leafless trees in abundance nearer to the house, even though fall is just beginning to dawn and most leaves haven't even begun to change color yet.

You didn't notice it before, but these leafless trees are full of crows, black tufts perched on the reaching branches. No, crows and ravens. They call out as you pass by, and you get the odd sense that every single one of them is looking at you.

The cobblestone path leading up to the front door is overgrown with weeds. The exterior of the house, now that you can see it up close, is almost decrepit. The wood is rotting, the roof is sagging, the windows are dirty and smudged.

They rent this place out?

"Ma'am!" a voice calls out.

You search for the owner of the voice, finally finding it at the side of the house. It's the young man from the other day, peeking around a brick corner. He gestures you over and swiftly disappears again.

When you turn the corner, the man is standing by a double hatch door in the ground. Not a good sign for a supposed "morgue."

He seems to read as much on your face, because then he's saying, "I would take you down the elevator inside, but everyone is still asleep."

There's a childish nervousness in his voice, and it makes you send an uncharacteristic smile his way as you step through the door and down a spiral staircase.

Distracted, you don't see the curtains twitch, and the several faces in the windows above, watching.

The passage runs deep. You emerge in a wide hallway, lined with carved wooden walls and old portraits. The foundation is clearly old, but there are newly installed fluorescent lights that don't do the original craftsmanship justice.

"How old is this house?" you blurt out, and the young man can't suppress a high, boyish laugh.

"I'm not sure, around a century, I think," he says.

Wow hard to believe it's gone untouched for so long, you think as he leads you down the extensive hallway, passing several branching doorways.

Your eyes drink everything in, curious and scrutinous. Again, the man seems to read your mind.

"It might not look it, but we have a state of the art facility here," he begins.

"Crematorium," he gestures to one door. "Viewing room. Embalming room. Autopsy room. And the largest refrigeration unit in five counties."

This place is extensive, and the further you go, the cleaner and more modern it gets.

You notice that the man is wearing similar clothing from before: a large coat (broad shoulders) and big, thick boots. Black, laced up over his ankles it appears, it makes the thud of his footsteps echo against the walls.

You wonder if they are corpse-handling boots, or merely a style choice.

"Here's the office," he says, leading you into a small but cozy room fit with a cluttered desk and a few dusty but comfortable-looking armchairs.

"You can have a seat if you like," he says, nervousness creeping back into his voice.

You take him up on the offer, sinking into one of the armchairs despite the fact that you're a little damp from the rain. But judging by the state of the chairs, you doubt it would bother them.

It's then than you realize how chilly it is down here, in this basement maze tucked under an ancient house. Damn, you're so—

"Cold?" the man says suddenly. "I'm sorry, we get quite the chill down here. Would you like some coffee or tea?"

You perk up almost instantly.

"Coffee, please," you reply maybe a little too perkily, because it makes him smile at you, exposing those bunny teeth again. Very cute.

He disappears through another doorway, into some sort of kitchenette judging by the sounds coming from it (metal banging, water running, porcelain clanking).

You take a look around. The office walls are lined with framed photos and plaques all boasting the same name: Kim Taehyung. Bachelor of Science in Biology, Bachelor of Science in Chemistry, Master of Forensic Science, Embalmer's License, Medical Examiner Certification, Doctor of Medicine.

Got it, this man is learned. Good sign.

The young man returns with a silver tray in his hands. He sets it down on the ottoman between the two armchairs, grasping the black teapot and pouring fresh steaming coffee into a matching black teacup. You notice that the sugar cubes are in the shape of skulls and bones, and a part of you admires the dedication to the aesthetic.

You prepare your cup and sip greedily. The coffee is rich and strongly-brewed. Another good sign. It may not contribute to your investigation, but at least you can respect him as a person.

The young man takes the seat next to you and prepares his own cup.

For the first time since you arrived, you aren't distracted by your surroundings, and you're realizing just how strange this young man looks.

His skin is a dull shade of gray, with slight red blemishes and spots of dark purple flesh that look like deep bruises. His lips are simultaneously pale yet also tinged red, like there's blood inside his mouth. And his eyes, they look like—

The man seems to notice you staring at him, because he shifts uncomfortably in his chair and coughs awkwardly.

You blink, and his form seems to blur at the edges, becoming fuzzier and harder to latch onto. Maybe he has some sort of skin condition. But that wouldn't explain the feeling that something isn't quite right about him, something uncanny.

"I'll go see if Dr. Kim is ready for you," he says, practically sprinting out of his seat and out of the room. You hear his footsteps pounding through the halls, then hushed voices.

You being you, the debate over whether to slip through the hall to eavesdrop on their conversation does cross your mind. But you figured that even with your silent feet, they would probably still hear you rustling around in the quiet of the morgue.

A few moments later, and you hear one set of footsteps returning to the office. The young man pops his head into the doorway.

"He'll see you now," he says, vanishing just as fast. The way he appears and disappears like a ghost is starting to give you whiplash.

You follow him down the hall, entering a fluorescent-lit room fit with chrome features. The walls are lined with little doors, drawer openings, and there are several gurneys scattered throughout the room. The chill is even stronger here, this must be part of that state of the art refrigeration system.

The man standing in the center of it all is wearing a white medical gown and black latex gloves. He looks up as you enter, and—

Oh. He's young, startlingly young, early thirties max. His skin is golden tan over strong, handsome features. Dark tiger eyes, sharp and perceptive. The only indicator of his age is several tendrils of silver hair growing from the crown of his head.

"Good morning," he greets in a deep, charming voice. "Miss ______?"

"Yes, Dr. Kim?" you reply, holding out a hand.

"Just Taehyung, please," he says, taking off his gloves to shake your hand firmly, and jesus his hands are large and very pretty.

Ah, so he's not a pretentious asshole who insists on being addressed as "doctor" constantly. Another good sign. Though, judging from his extensive education, in this case it would be justified.

"I'm so sorry we couldn't see you sooner. It can get quite busy with just the two of us down here," Taehyung says.

You can't help but take another glance around the room. Only two people running this whole facility?

"I understand that you're working with the mayor?" Taehyung inquires, his casual voice good at hiding his burning curiosity.

You, in turn, are good at hiding the slight suspicion from hearing the mayor mentioned yet again. You're not sure who you're suspicious of though, him or the mayor herself.

"Yes, I was hoping I could get copies of the autopsy reports for Michael Bradley, Jarvis Laplan, and Sharon Mason."

You say it matter-of-factly, curious if they will bend at the slight flex of authority in your voice. Or, if being associated with the mayor yields certain results.

The two of them glance at each other.

"Access to Laplan and Mason aren't a problem, but Mary Bradley has requested that no further information on her husband's death be released," Dr. Kim replies, cool as a cucumber.

Your eyes widen just a bit, unable to hide your surprise. Wait...what? He would just give you the reports for Laplan and Mason, just like that? No request for credentials? No questions asked?

Truth be told, you've never gotten hold of an autopsy report after the first ask. You've always had to jump through hoops to get the right permissions and authorizations, as is the case for private investigators since they are not real police. And rightly so, the fine details of people's violent deaths is not something to be made light of, in your opinion.

Clearly your confusion is evident on your face, because then Taehyung is saying, "Laplan's wife and Sharon Mason's parents are quite eager for further investigation."

Ah, so they suspect something unusual too. Hopefully they'll be more than willing for an interview.

"And Bradley...?" your voice trails off with the question.

Taehyung furrows his brows like he isn't sure how exactly to put it.

"Mrs. Bradley has had a bad experience with the press," is all he says.

You can feel your eyebrow raise.

"Is she still a suspect?" you ask, deadpan.

Taehyung is quick to correct himself.

"No, god no!" he says, eyes wide and head shaking. "His death was purely accidental, a tragedy that could've been avoided."

Your attention catches on that last part like a snagged thread on a nailhead.

"Oh? Why do you say that?" you ask, unconsciously taking a step forward.

Jungkook, who's silently watching the whole exchange, can't help but think it makes you look predatory, a hunter locked onto their target with frightening accuracy.

But Dr. Kim doesn't bend. He tilts his head ever so slightly as the corner of his mouth curves up, like he respects your drive.

"Well, Michael Bradley exhibited signs of extreme mental distress, many of them suggestive of suicide."

"But you don't think it was suicide, do you?" you say, before you can help it really, because your mind is running a hundred miles a minute right now.

Jungkook can sense it too, his eyes Bambi-wide and watching in fascination as the cogs turn in your analytical brain.

"No, I don't." It comes from Taehyung's mouth like a sigh. You don't see it (Jungkook does), but he's impressed.

"That's all I can say really," Taehyung says suddenly, sounding apologetic. "You'll have to speak with Mrs. Bradley about getting access, but talking about her husband is painful for her. And she's been through enough."

He cares about people, the ones he works on are not just bodies to him. Very good sign. You're coming to the conclusion than Dr. Kim is definitely a coroner worth his salt.

"I'll be sure to proceed delicately, then," you reply softly. You're trying to say it back. I care about these victims, this isn't just a case to me. Everyone has a story.

He seems to get it, nodding his head with a gentle smile. Something very small, almost ghostly, clicks between you.

Jungkook observes it all in a slight state of awe. He can already tell that the rest of them, his "family," are going to like you.

Taehyung gives you the copies of the autopsy reports, a sizable stack of folders and papers and photos. He even gives you a copy of the autopsy transcript.

You realize that he was prepared to give you this information before you even got here. Either Mayor Summerbee is a very persuasive person, or Dr. Kim is eager to work with you. Maybe both.

Your point is proven seconds later when Taehyung hands you a business card (with his personal number scrawled on the back), as he tells you that you're free to contact him with any questions you might have.

You profess your thanks with an armful of documents, making a point to shake Dr. Kim's and Jungkook's hand firmly.

Jungkook leads you back, his boots softly thudding with every step, and you can feel Taehyung's eyes on your back as you walk through down the long hallway.

Jungkook is kind. He offers to help you with the massive stack of documents in your arms, but you politely refuse. You've got liquid gold in your possession.

He holds the gate open for you, even offering to walk you to your car, but again, you decline and thank him for his offer.

The gate shuts behind you with a resonate clang. As you turn away from the house to begin the trek down the muddy hill, you feel an odd sensation, like tingling insects down your back.

Looking over your shoulder, you see the curtains of several windows suddenly fall back into place. Someone, several someone's, are watching you.

You can't find it in you to be creeped out, though. Something about this house, despite its run-down appearance, is welcoming. Beckoning, even.

It's dark and old and practically falling apart, but many things that you love also happen to have those same traits.

A slight smile tugs at your lips as you turn and make your way down the path. You'll have to find out more about this place.

"Again. She saw through my glamour again," Jungkook announces to the room, sounding slightly defeated.

"Don't worry, Kook. It's a solid spell, I checked it myself," Yoongi replies as he waters one of the endless houseplants adorning their home. Thanks to Yoongi himself, of course.

"She saw through mine too," Taehyung says, resolute. He's staring at the black and white checkered floor, deep in thought.

Everyone looks up at that.

"That proves it then," Namjoon says. "She has a heightened degree of sight."

"I wanna know why though," Yoongi interrupts in a sudden bout of passion. "She's human. Why is she able to see everything?"

"Not the house though," Jungkook blurts out. "The glamour on the house held up."

"Of course it did, the house magick is stronger than any of us," Jin quips from the kitchen, standing over a sizzling stove.

"Lots of humans have the sight," Jimin says lazily, sprawled out in one of the lounge chairs.

"Yeah, but it's the type of humans who turn it into a cheap gimmick," Jungkook replies, pacing around the room now.

Taehyung crosses the distance between them in a few strides, putting a large hand on Jungkook's shoulder. The younger man looks up at him, then lets out a breath and returns the smile.

"You're safe, Kook," Taehyung says softly. "No one's gonna put up a fuss."

Jimin chuckles. "She might."

Taehyung throws a scolding glance over his shoulder. "A real fuss, I mean. Everything's been kept under wraps so far."

"And she's not a phony, or a leech. The mayor made sure of that," Yoongi says.

"In any case," Jin begins, an authoritative edge to his voice. "Hoseok said to keep an eye on her, so that's just what we'll do."

september 28, 2004

You may be a damn good investigator, but you're no med student. So the next day you set out to the bookstore, determined to understand every last term and phrase in the autopsy reports.

The same man is behind the desk, but this time he's bent over a typewriter, clacking away. You can't help but observe him for a moment, watching as his dark eyes dart over the page, the way his glasses rest at the edge of his nose like a wizened old man.

"Welcome in," he calls out at the chime of the bell on the door, like an instinct.

You take a few steps into the ever-crowded space, your eyes shifting over all the things you missed the last time you were here. Because that's what kind of place this is, somewhere you could go a hundred times and find something new each visit. Places like this are quite dear to you.

You're about to examine a shelf full of perfectly preserved beetles, when you sense the man look up at you.

"Oh," he says, like he's pleasantly surprised. "It's you."

And you would be lying if you said it didn't make your gut feel something warm squirming inside it.

"Need help finding anything?" he asks, like he has every time you've visited this place.

"Yes, please," you reply, barely hiding your smile.

He leads you through the maze of shelves like it's a map of his own brain. Several times you have to hurry to catch up to him in his excitement.

Soon your arms are occupied by an impressive stack. Anatomy, general medical knowledge, crime scene identification, even a few textbooks on post-mortem examinations.

To you, it's more liquid gold. You profess your thanks to the bookshop keeper, dropping a generous tip into the jar when you go to checkout. Again, the books are almost too reasonably priced. Not that it matters, since research purchases are an easy business expense ride-off.

Just as you turn to leave, the man clears his throat awkwardly, like he's building himself up to speak.

"There's plenty of places to sit here," he almost blurts out. "Lots of cozy nooks. Perfect for...research."

You pause at the door to glance back at him. You find him watching you closely, his expression somewhere between innocently curious and suggestive of hidden knowledge on his part.

"I'll keep that in mind," you reply, a little teasing lilt to your voice. Because clearly he enjoys your company too.

Then you turn on your heel and let the door swing shut behind you, leaving him wanting more.

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! i would combust with joy if you'd tell me any of your thoughts :D

NEXT UPDATE: 05/25/24

#bts ot7 #bts x reader #ot7 x reader #bts fanfic #bts mystery #bts x fem!reader #bts series #bts angst #bts fanfiction #bts poly au #bts poly x reader #bts polyamory

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whenanafallsinlove · 5 months ago

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UNDER INVESTIGATION; SHOTO TODOROKI X FEM READER PILOT' || series m.list Summary: As a forensic medical examiner, you are used to working alongside the police, but a concerning case calls for the aid of a pro-hero. When Shoto shows up, the time you spend together makes you realise that the case is not the only thing you would like to solve. Maybe what you start to feel needs to go under investigation too. Warnings: descriptions of autopsies, crime, deceased bodies. Tags: prohero au, fem reader, aged up characters, romance + crime, multichapter.

a/n: (eng is not my first language) omg this is the first update of the fic, i'm so excited! i hope you like it and look forward to the next part! comment what you think! :D

“We hereby conduct this postmortem.”

You are used to saying those words daily, sometimes even more than once per day. It's like a ritual that indicates the beginning of your shift.

As a forensic medical examiner, you have worked on a lot of cases, getting to know many people. You've partnered with policemen, detectives, and some underground heroes.

Today you received a call before dawn. The police found another body that needed a detailed autopsy. You suspect that they have opened an investigation involving the recent corpses you were asked to analyse. This is the third one you've had to examine in a week.

It has been over three hours since you started the autopsy, taking pictures of the small details you found unusual and extracting body fluids and organic matter that needs to be sent to the lab. Every new hint you find, you write it down meticulously.

Once you finish examining the body, you take your gloves off, sanitize your hands, and start writing the mandated report.

Minutes later, the entrance to your lab opens, revealing three men. A detective, your lab supervisor, and whom you recognized to be Pro-Hero Shoto.

"Gentlemen," you say and nod to address them.

"Good morning, Dr. (Y/L/N)" Your supervisor says, "We've come to learn the updates regarding the corpses."

"Please come in; I just finished the autopsy, and I'm currently writing the report. I think I'll have it around noon, as long as you don't bring in another one..." You say the last part with a hint of humor.

"Sorry that we've been keeping you busy, but we suspect there is something suspicious with the bodies that have been recently found. The investigation started around two weeks ago, and well, you see how it's progressing." The detective explains and sighs.

"That is what I would like to discuss. I see you took your task seriously and brought me a hero." You turn towards Shoto and address him with a grin.

As soon as you got to your lab and started the autopsy, the similarities this body had with the other two caught your eye. You immediately decided to call your supervisor and explain that the recent autopsies would need to be discussed with the police and a hero agency willing to assist. You expected the support of a small agency; never would you have imagined working with the Hero #3.

Shoto makes his way towards you and extends his hand.

"I'm Shoto; it's a pleasure to meet you," he says. You shake his hand and smile.

"Nice to meet you; I'm Dr. (y/n)(Y/L/N)." You hope your enthusiasm doesn't show in the way you are grabbing his hand.

After greeting him, you take your notes and address the other men. "Well, gentlemen, shall I give you a description of what I have found in the bodies?" Your supervisor nods.

"Please walk us through, (Y/L/N)"; you take that as your cue to hand them gloves, face masks, and eye protection. This seemed to catch Shouto off guard, because you notice he looks at you with wonder.

"Have you ever been in a morgue?" you ask him.

"No." He coldly responds.

"Well, don't worry. You won't be touching anything; these are just for sanitary measures." You gesture to the materials you just gave them and offer him a reassuring smile.

Shouto can't help but think that even though you act very professional, you also seem lighthearted for the type of job that you have.

You sigh heavily and start presenting the information that you found.

"As you can see, there are some areas throughout the body that have a different colour. At first, I thought they were indicators of physical trauma, but when examining them closer, I found they were small fungi colonies." Your supervisor hums in agreement, and you continue, "But, according to the police report that I received, this person has been deceased for less than 48 hours, which is yet to be confirmed by the biochemical exams. Although the 'rigor mortis' displayed by the body validates it." You lift your gaze to see if everyone is following, and Shouto is so evidently lost that it makes you giggle.

"Dr. (Y/L/N)?" your supervisor calls.

"Sorry, I forgot that not everyone is accustomed to the scientific terms," you say, chuckling at the hero. "In other words, these marks are not bruises or scrapes. But I fear it's slightly worse, since they are decomposed skin."

Shoto nodded in understanding, but he still had a question.

"Why is it worse if there is no sign of physical violence?"

"Because the time that the body has been lifeless is too short for it to decompose. And even though I'm waiting for the tests that we perform on the body fluids, the stiffness of the body confirms that it hasn't been too long."

You see the three men nod in agreement.

"In addition to this, it is almost winter, so the temperature hasn't been over 19°. Normally, a decomposition like this, with the weather we have, would take around two weeks. And the body would present different necrophagous species." You shift your stare at Shoto. "There would be insects."

He was startled for many reasons: 1. How could you know all that by looking at a body? 2. How do you manage to look at bodies and speak so nonchalantly about them? and 3. How are you not getting nauseus from this information?

"What are you suggesting here, (Y/L/N)?" your supervisor asks.

"Well, I have two theories about this. The three bodies that I have analyzed have been contaminated by the fungi. My first theory is that if the three bodies were found inside the same radius of 100 m, there may be a massive fungi infestation in the environment that is slowly killing people."

"Sounds unlikely," Shoto says.

"Exactly what I thought. Which leads to my second theory: that someone with a decomposition quirk targeted these people."

As the three men process the information, you smile at Shoto. You figured you should get along well if you'd be seeing him often.

TAGS: @miyamoratsumuu, @serxndipity-ipity-blog, @mqshido, @pretty-sparkle-bomb

#↷ under investigation ˊ #shouto todoroki #shoto todoroki #bnha shouto #shoto x reader #shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #mha shouto #shoto torodoki #shouto x you #shouto todoroki x reader #shouto x y/n #shoto x y/n #shoto x you #shouto todoroki au #mha pro heroes #bnha x reader #bnha au #bnha pro heroes

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ameliemaaaee · 2 months ago

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The Silent Witness - Oneshot Series

(3) How You Find Yourself on Probation

Chapter Information: Summary: Your arrival to the BAU isn't exactly well timed, and you find yourself in the throes of one of their most intense cases. Content Warnings: S6/7 Spoilers, Doyle Arc Spoilers, Canon Violence/Gore, Awkward!Reader & Spencer. Word Count: 8,985.

Story Masterlist - (1) - (2) - (3)

The week had passed by particularly quickly, especially after you had officially been assigned to your position as Head of Forensic Pathology to the Bureau.

You had been shown around the mortuary and labs, being aware that you were the only person who would be working in the morgue until you had settled, where you would be able to hire techs to help.

And you were beyond happy with the set-up. The mortuary was big, and had its own offices, breakroom, gallery and plenty of storage and space for all your needs, and it was all yours to run. But that included a lot of paperwork.

You had been told to be at the BAU by ten, but to get ahead of some work you arrived at 7am, heading straight for your own office in the basement.

As you walked into the morgue the harsh, fluorescent lights hurt your eyes, but you welcomed the quiet.

You quickly made your way out onto the mortuary floor, weaving in between some examination tables you headed to the back wall where cabinets full of files, and equipment stood. In the corner was a small bar-like setup with stools and a computer, and this is where you chose to sit down and finish some of your paperwork.

Quickly setting an alarm for two hours, so you could be early, you set to work listing all the odd jobs and administrative duties required of you into a document.

With about half-an-hour left until you needed to head up to the BAU you started sorting through the team’s medical files, quickly realising that all of their physicals needed re-doing. But as you scanned the files further you realised that they were terribly done, and that they would need re-doing to your standards.

And as your alarm went off you sighed, closing down all your tabs and logging out of the computer, jogging towards the elevator.

You were startled out of your thoughts by the elevator arriving on the 6th floor. Quickly you adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder and walked into the awaiting chaos.

The BAU was abnormally busy this morning, and you weren’t quite sure why. The past few days had settled down after the Doyle case had been closed, but today the jostle, and bustle of various agents, and interns running around the place made the seemingly large room cramped.

Slowly, with your body on autopilot, you made your way to your desk. As you sat down, a stressed-looking Dr. Reid offered you a sly glance, before returning his gaze to the paperwork in front of him, scrawling at an extremely excessive pace.

As you gazed around looking for familiar faces, you noticed that all the members of the team that you could spot were dressed up, dressed up a lot fancier than you. You sighed, leaning back in your chair, trying to put two and two together as Spencer disappeared from his desk.

You sighed as you realised the coffee you had been sipping on was now empty, and you stood trailing towards the familiar breakroom, and the lifesaving coffee machine.

“Good morning.” You smile at Spencer who grumbles, what sounded like a quick response before turning away from you, rummaging, and banging through cupboards and drawers. Spencer’s brows were knit tightly together as he groaned, pulling his hands to his head, pulling lightly on his curly brown hair.

“Reid, are you okay?” Your voice comes out meek, breaking as you watch Spencer’s head snap up. He turns towards you, rolling his eyes.

“No Y/N, I’m not okay. You want to know why?! I’ve been lied to by every single member of this team for nearly 11 weeks, everyone, including you!” You take a quick step back at the outrage you didn’t think he was capable of. Did he know what you did for Emily?

“Spencer- I. You have her back now, not a lot of people can say that.” Spencer rolls his eyes at you , his arms flying out in frustration. Did he know?

“Of course, you wouldn’t understand. You are the smart doctor who got shipped in from London. You’re new, and you shouldn’t even be here if you can’t understand.” You sigh, trying your hardest not to let the tears prick your eyes, not to let Spencer see you cry.

But lucky for you he solves that problem himself. Spencer angrily snatches his mug from the grasp of the coffee machine, and storms out of the breakroom, slamming the door behind him.

Your feet are frozen in their spot, you can’t move as you process what had just happened. Spencer had confirmed your biggest fear; you didn’t belong.

“Y/N, they want you to testify in front of the panel.” Your eyes anxiously snapped towards Hotch’s.

“Why me? I interviewed the guy, like twice, because I related to him.” You begin to feel the chaos of the situation unravelling in front of you. For something you had so little involvement in, you didn’t feel that it was worthwhile questioning you.

“Y/N, I know you have only been here a week, but you are part of this team. You played a massive role in saving that young boy’s life, they deserve to hear about it from you. You also were involved in Emily’s cover-up, which they likely know about.” You sigh, pulling your knees to your chest.

“I don’t get a choice, do I?” You offered Hotch a slight smile as he shook his head.

“No, you don’t.” You knew that Hotch felt bad, he didn’t want you to feel as if you were on trial, but it was unfortunately a decision that went over his head.

“I have however, managed to convince them that you are unable to go in alone.” You feel a sense of relief wash over you at this. You weren’t the most reliable in social situations, and Hotch was aware of it from your file, he knew you had a history of being anxious around authority; and he was working with you to ease that.

“Spencer will be attending with you. You two are very similar, you will get on well.” You nod, trying not to allow a grimace to cross your face. You and Spencer didn’t really hit-it-off this morning.

“Uhm, Hotch?” The male raises his eyes to you expectantly as you sigh, contemplating your next move.

“Dr. Reid seems angry. Well, to be more specific, he seems angry at me.” You say it quite simply, not sure how else you would describe it. Hotch hums, urging you to continue, so you do.

“I uhm-“ You pause, slightly worried that you would get a lecture from Hotch for your encounter in the break room, you weren’t sure if you had done something wrong. You turned your gaze to the window in his office, peering through to the busy BAU as you spoke.

“- I ran into Reid in the break room, he was sort of, crashing about the place a bit, and I asked him if he was okay.” You pause, turning back to Hotch to gauge a reaction, but he simply nodded.

“He kind of got mad at me. He told me about he had been lied to by everyone in the team including me. I tried to help, by telling him that even though he grieved Emily’s loss, he had her back and that there weren’t many people who could say that. But he just stormed out…” Hotch sighs, his brows furrowing slightly.

“You didn’t do anything wrong Y/N-“

“I know, but it’s just that I feel like I joined at the wrong time. If I weren’t so in the way, maybe people like Reid would actually talk to me. Don’t get me wrong the BAU has been nothing but sweet, but I feel so alienated, like I’m hated because I didn’t go through the pain of grieving Emily. What if they know about how I helped you cover up Emily’s death…” Hotch offered you a soft smile as you finally turned your gaze towards him.

“They don’t know about that, I assure you. I understand this is difficult, and unfortunately, we couldn’t foresee this case.” He rests his hands in front of him on the desk, offering you a small smile.

“I know it’s been a difficult week for you, and I’m really sorry that I couldn’t stop you from having to testify. But I also know what Spencer’s like, and he will be obsessed with you when he has the chance to visit the labs and the morgue, he’s just a bit… preoccupied.” You allow a small chuckle at that, you certainly had a lot in common with your fellow doctor, you just hadn’t spoken much yet.

“Now, I do believe I told you to wear business clothes.” You feel your face pale as Hotch mentions your attire.

“I did. This is my nice hoodie!” Your voice raises an octave as Hotch scans you over, an eyebrow raised in disapproval at your leggings and hoodie combination, complete with glasses and a messy bun.

“Do you own business attire?” Hotch deadpans, a slight smile on his face. Whenever you were around Hotch made sure that he displayed his emotions more on his face, which really helped you feel more comfortable around him. You could tell that he wasn’t angry.

“Yeah-“

“Good.” Hotch guides you up from your crumpled position in the chair opposite his desk, almost pushing you towards the door. As you make your way onto the ramp above the bullpen everyone turns, Hotch beckoning them over.

“Emily, you will be taking Y/N to her apartment to change-“ You try to contain an eye roll as Hotch speaks directly to the male stood in front of you both.

“-please oversee her clothing choice, and Y/N?-“ You turn your gaze to Hotch, focusing it on the wall behind him to let him know you were listening.

“-for God’s sake, no more formal hoodies. You hear me?” You frantically nod, taking off like a child, running down the ramp as a chorus of laughs rings out from the team. You meet Emily at the bottom, she silently holds the door open for you, guiding you towards the elevators.

“Y/N, that is not smart enough for a hearing.” You sigh, exasperatedly as you lift the items from your bed, and place the cotton t-shirt and dress pants back into your wardrobe. Gasping as Emily pushes past you, thumbing her way through the hanging items of clothing.

“How about this?” Emily’s voice failed to break your reverie.

Emily seemed as though she had been struggling, returning to the team. Maybe she would understand your struggles?

“Y/N?” You shake your head lightly, focusing back on the present moment, to see Emily holding up two garments. One was a knee-length, grey plaid, pencil skirt, the second being a comfortable, bat-sleeved black jumper. It could work.

You nod lightly in conformation, making grabby hands for the items, as Emily bites her lip, passing them to you. Bouncing excitedly on the balls of your feet you let a smile cross your face. Watching as Emily’s face erupted in a smile in response to yours.

“Well… are you going to change?” You nod frantically, jogging across the room to a set of drawers, and pulling out a pair of tights. You then pad your way towards the en suite, entering and locking the door behind you.

“Oh Y/N, you look amazing in that!” Emerging in the clothes Emily let out a sigh of relief. You paid no attention, fiddling anxiously with the hem of your skirt, it was uncomfortable, the hem felt sharp against your legs.

“What shoes?” Your eyes snap up towards the female who had been studying your movements intensely yet was still unable to place the oddity of them.

“My Dr. Martens.” Emily smiles, as he roots through the bottom of your wardrobe, pulling out a pair of Docs, the shoes. You quickly run away from him, to where you dumped your Doc Marten boots before changing.

“Not the boots-“ Emily laughs as she watches you remove insoles from the bottom of your boots, plodding towards her. You happily fit them in your shoes, focusing hard on the task.

“Why not the boots?” You say softly as you sit on the bed, slipping the shoes on and doing up the laces.

“That’s a lesson for another day.“ Emily practically pushes you through your empty apartment and out the door, into the hallway.

As you make your way into the BAU with Emily by your side, everyone turns, and you can practically sense the collective sigh of relief the team are holding in.

You turn at the sound of a voice.

“She can certainly scrub up!” Everyone chuckles slightly at Morgan as you furrow your brows, deciding to remain quiet.

“Alright, we need to head to the hearing. Spencer, can you drive Y/N? Everyone else divide up.” Spencer cocks his head in confusion, likely wondering why you both had a car to yourself, but he didn’t ask why, he just nodded.

The car ride was mainly silent. The awkward kind, that settled thickly in the air. The occasional jumping of tyres against asphalt and unkempt roads reminding you of your presence in the vehicle speeding towards a day of quarrel and chaos.

You debate breaking the silence, you had one question.

“Spencer, why did you ask me to interview Doyle?” You voice comes out meek, almost cracking at the disuse of your voice, your leg bouncing anxiously in anticipation of both his answer and the impending trial.

Spencer’s gaze turned to you before focusing on the road, and perhaps you saw it soften slightly.

“You did a good job Y/N. They can’t condemn your actions when you did nothing wrong.” You nod slightly, your fingers finding the hemline of your skirt, the feeling of it cutting into your skin coming back, worse than before. Spencer’s gaze turns to you in slight concern, focusing intently between you and the road.

“You related to Doyle in a way we didn’t. You grew up in similar circumstances to him, and you can talk like it when you want to. He had a respect for you because you both had similar experiences, relatable experiences.” Spencer sighed lightly, gently reaching out and grabbing your hand which was now scratching anxiously at your legs.

“You offered a sincerity we didn’t have. You’re the youngest, and you aren’t a profiler. You aren’t trained to hide all emotion from an UnSub, you don’t seem like a typical FBI agent. He trusted you because you are so genuinely sincere, and you were so genuinely worried about Declan; he picked up on it.” Spencer sighs, squeezing your hand and resting it on the centre console, smiling meekly at you.

“Don’t move that hand.” You cease the anxious scratching at the sound of Spencer’s voice. He moves his hand to grip the steering wheel, reversing into a parking space, and switching off the engine. As Spencer removes the keys from the ignition, he turns to face you.

“I know we got off to a rough start, and I’m sorry I snapped at you. But I want you to know that I will be with you the whole time, and that this panel will not be able to chastise you in any way, okay?” You nod quickly, swallowing a lump in your throat.

“Okay.” You whisper as you quickly shake out your hands, flapping them up and down frantically, as if you were trying to shake out your nerves. Spencer watches you for a moment, before getting out of the car and making his way to your side, helping you out, stilling your hands with his own.

The walk to the foyer was short, Spencer had parked close, and he stuck closely by your side as you walked through the doors together, meeting the team and Strauss who were already gathered. You picked up on the anxiousness in the air as the pair of you walked over to the group, Strauss offering you a small smile as her and Hotch pull you aside.

“Dr. L/N, I do apologise for all this hassle.” Strauss speaks up as the rest of the team give you curious looks. You nod at the section chief as she offers you a slightly reassuring pat on your shoulder. Hotch nodding along with her.

“I hear Dr. Reid is going to attend with you?” You nod, offering a soft smile.

“Good luck doctor.” Strauss nods politely before turning towards the remainder of the team, lifting her hand in a quick goodbye. You turn back to Hotch who offers you a rare smile.

“You’ve got this.” He smiles before walking you over to the rest of the team. You take a seat on the bench next to Spencer offering him a quick smile as his gaze remains fixated on his hands in his lap.

The interior was beautiful if it weren’t for the circumstances. The floors were lined with marble, stretching through long, high corridors. There was only a single set of deep, stained, double doors in this hallway and they were the fateful doors. Multiple benches sat opposite the doors, neatly spaced down the hallway.

Both you and Spencer sat for what felt like hours in comfortable silence, simply watching as members of your team flitted about, providing constant motion and noise. You watched as the dwindling numbers of your team slowly read over reams upon reams of notes.

Unfortunately for you the silence was broken by Hotch, who made his way down the corridor towards you.

“Y/N, Spencer, you will both be called in a few minutes. You will both provide your statements together.” Hotch paths you on the shoulder, offering both you and Spencer good luck.

Spencer moved to stand at the sight of a security guard pacing towards the pair of you, he guided you up from the seat, pulling you closer to him. He leans over your shoulder slightly, whispering to you.

“I’ll go first, just try and settle yourself, take deep breaths. If it helps, try and memorise the room.” You nod, swallowing the butterflies that had made their way up your oesophagus, sending them back to the pit of your stomach where they remained, wreaking havoc.

“Dr. Reid, Dr. L/N?” The security guards interrupt your fidgeting, motioning for the pair of you to follow him. You feel Spencer’s hand in the small of your back guiding you towards the ominous doors. You knew he was using it as a tactic to sense your hesitation, and he was right. You felt your footing falter as you crossed the threshold into the room.

It was dark. The walls, and all the furniture was of a deep mahogany, it felt intrusive, almost fitting for the circumstances. The room was also dimly lit by a tall window on the right wall. In front of you, sat on a raised platform were eight different higher-ups, there to judge your fate.

“Agents, take a seat please.” The centremost male’s voice boomed throughout the room courtesy of his microphone. Spencer released you from his grasp as you sat, crossing your legs in the chair, beginning to follow Spencer’s advice.

Taking deep breaths, you smile politely as the male begins to talk.

“Okay agents, I’ve had a moment to review your files.” He pauses, lifting a pair of files up into your view to emphasise his point.

“Agent L/N, you have been with the Bureau a sum total of a week and a half, yes?” You nod promptly.

“Yes sir.” You say, trying to control the falter in your voice.

“How, in such little time, have you managed to involve yourself in such reckless activities?” You pause, unsure of what he was even talking about. He was putting you on trial just like everyone else.

“Sir, she had nothing to do with this. She simply followed orders and interviewed Doyle.” Spencer pipes up, much to your relief. You could feel your cheeks heating up however, under the scrutinising gaze of the panel in front of you.

“Agent, I don’t believe I was asking you?” Spencer sighs, slumping back in his seat.

“Let me go first, question her afterwards.” Spencer’s voice rings out throughout the room again, rubbing his temples with his left hand, giving you a passing glance as you fidget with your hands in your laps.

“If that’s what you want, agent. But that won’t stop me being shocked that they let someone like her into the Bureau.” You alert at this, narrowing your gaze towards the male ahead of you. Failing to notice Spencer tensing up.

“Someone like me?” You try your best to raise your voice to a normal level, but it comes out a mere whisper as you lean towards the microphone, grateful for its amplification.

The chairman chuckles, practically rolling his eyes.

“Yes, someone like you. Agent, you shouldn’t be here, your file even says it. Shall I read it?” You gesture for him to proceed as you lean back in your seat. Your nerves had now completely erased themselves and instead a passive rage took its place. He was going to dig a hole for himself, and never be able to get out of it. You noticed the panicked looks on the other board members faces, and you felt the sheer confusion radiating off Spencer.

“You somehow passed your firearms qualification in a week, but you don’t carry due to ‘noise sensitivity’. Sound familiar?” You offer the chairman a polite smile, leaning forwards.

“Sir, are these hearings being recorded?” You rest your elbow on the table, fiddling with the stem of the microphone. The male in front of you suddenly dropped his cocky demeanour, his brows furrowing at your hidden threat.

“Whose idea was it to release Ian Doyle?” The male quickly regains his composure, moving swiftly onwards with the questioning.

“It was mine.” Spencer speaks up, allowing you a quick breather.

“Was the decision to release Ian Doyle a personal one?” You furrow your brows at this. The whole team had banded together to save the life of a little boy, the last thing running through any of your heads was conspiracy to have Doyle killed.

“A young boy’s life was at stake. I ran the probability of his survival, and it wasn’t good.”

You simply nod along to Spencer, watching as the male in front of you both grows frustrated. Every word he said was true.

“And you, Agent L/N? You were the one who gleaned the information to instigate this mess.”

“Sir, as Doctor Reid said, our priority was Declan, he doesn’t deserve to die on behalf of his father. If there was an opportunity to save this boy, the team was going to take it. I was simply sent in to question him due to the fact I understood him better than anyone else.” You pause, allowing yourself to take a breath as Spencer hums in agreement. You try as hard as you can to hold back your repressed anger.

“Now, I’m not a maths expert, but I do believe that there were few outcomes that would have ended better than the one we had. If it weren’t for us, a young boy would be dead, and two international criminals would be at large. So, I implore you, find your empathy, and use it” You lean forwards raising your voice in emphasis as the male crosses his arm.

“Sir, if you want to punish me for risking Ian Doyle’s life, then I encourage you to do that, but don’t put Y/N, and the rest of my team on trial for something I suggested.” Spencer’s voice had taken a tone you had never heard before, his voice was low, even and commanding. Both of you had felt personally attacked by this man and defending yourselves and your team had become an even bigger priority, if just to prove a point.

“Agents, you both need to calm down.” The male points a finger between the pair of you, giving threatening glances.

You chuckle lightly, turning to your left as Spencer leans forwards, towards the microphone.

“We are calm, and we are both Doctors.” You face forwards, crossing your arms and offering the chairman a smug smile.

“The Unites States government is not in the business of trading captives.” You furrow your brows, that wasn’t true.

“Well actually-“ You’re quickly cut off by Spencer, providing you slight relief.

“New York City, July 2010, referred to as the spy swap. Igor…”

“-That’s enough.” You roll your eyes at the chairman’s unwillingness, and blatant ignorance.

“Sir, I do believe there have been exceptions made to this rule. As I mentioned before there were few outcomes that would have greater benefitted the United States government. You can’t just change the rules.” You cross and uncross your legs, under his gaze as he quickly quips back.

“And you just can’t break them.” You feel Spencer deflate slightly next to you. The high you had both received by sticking up for yourselves was quickly wearing off.

“Now, Agent L/N…” You gulp as he addresses you, fully aware of what was about to happen. “When reviewing all of this I found something extremely interesting.” You raise your eyebrow, fully accepting the fact Spencer was soon to be very mad at you.

“The signature of Emily’s forged post-mortem report looks remarkably similar to yours.” You smile slightly, at the way he beats around the bush.

“I wrote her post-mortem report.” You deadpan, trying to ignore Spencer’s eyes on you.

“Were you aware that she was actually-“

“-alive? Yes, I was fully aware that she was alive. But she wouldn’t have been if it weren’t for Hotch’s quick thinking, and I fully back my decision to write the report.”

“Don’t interrupt me agent.”

“As I’m sure Spencer previously mentioned, I am actually a doctor, not an agent. As for the PM report, there is nothing you can do about it, I was fully backed by my previous bosses, and am fully protected from the consequences. So, if that’s all sir?” You don’t wait for him to answer as you stand from your seat.

Spencer quickly stands, placing a hand on your shoulder, you go to follow him, before pausing.

“Thank you, sir. It really has been a pleasure. I will be sure to review these tapes and see how people like me, can better conduct ourselves in the future.” You stand, allowing Spencer to guide you back out of the room.

The heavy door shutting behind you, cued you to release a sigh of relief. Perfectly times with Spencer who halted, turning to face you, silently studying you.

“I’m-“ Spencer goes to speak but is quickly interrupted.

“You’re out early, how did it go.” You awkwardly stare at the ground as you walk right past Hotch, and into the women’s restrooms.

“Yeah, I didn’t think it would go too well-“ Hotch says quietly looking at Spencer, as he grimaces, watching your figure walk away.

“What happened Reid?” Spencer shakes his head, still unable to work out what the Chairman had been talking about.

“He mentioned that people like her shouldn’t be in the Bureau. I’m not sure what he meant, but he really disrespected her. She said the tapes would be ‘interesting to a lawyer.’” Hotch nods simply, humming.

“He also mentioned that you dragged her into the Emily mess- It’s like the lies don’t end Hotch.”

“Reid, she did me a favour. We needed to keep Emily safe.” Spencer stays quiet as the words sink in.

“Reid, wait up on her. We will all be called back in again. See if you can find somewhere quiet. I have to run back to the BAU.” Spencer simply nods at Hotch’s orders. Watching as he walks away.

“Y/N please, you would understand him like nobody else.” Spencer stands over you, a pleading look on your face as you contemplate giving in to him.

“Spencer, I don’t even have the accent, it’s been-“

“-awhile. I know, but you grew up in Ireland. He knows us, we are profilers. You’re sincere and you couldn’t hide your emotions if you tried, he might understand the urgency of the situation from you.” You sigh, giving in. You had only known Spencer two weeks, but dang was he hard to say no to.

“Fine.” You roll your eyes, plucking the file from his grasp, opening it and scanning it in a matter of seconds.

“We need to find out where Declan is, who his mother is, any enemies of his.” You smile, nodding as you walk towards the door, behind which was an international criminal.

The door clicks, signalling its closure and grasping Doyle’s attention, his gaze set intensely on yours.

“I’m Dr. Y/N L/N, but you can call me Y/N.” You offer him a polite smile. He looks exhausted, and even you could tell he was worried sick.

“I haven’t seen you before?” He speaks. He seems almost civil, if you hadn’t been holding the extensive list of crimes, he had committed you would thing he was just a regular human.

“I know you, well I knew you, a long time ago.” The male furrows his brows slightly at your words. You frantically try and build a rapport.

“Actually, I knew ‘of’ you.” Doyle unfurrows his brow, nodding in a silent realisation.

“You used to be the talk of every town in both Ireland, and Northern Ireland.” You whisper, remembering all the time the news had pegged an IRA bombing on him, on ‘Valhalla’.

“You’re Irish, I assume.” Doyle speaks up as you nod.

“Yeah, I grew up in Ireland. It was scary, I can’t imagine how scary it would have been if I was a wanted terrorist.” You sigh, taking a seat opposite to Doyle, pulling your knees up to your chest.

Doyle chuckles, leaning forwards.

“Ní hiad na gardaí a bhí eagla orm.” You sigh, nodding, he wanted to catch you out.

“Bhí naimhde agat?” You phrase it as more of a statement, it was an obvious answer. But you were seriously hoping he would elaborate.

You try to hold back a smug smile as Doyle’s eyes widen in shock at your words.

“Aye, that’s proof alright.” You say, chuckling lightly as a small smile settles on his face.

“Doyle, I know you’re aware of this, but we are trying to find Declan.” You pause, opening the file in his lap.

“He’s in a lot of danger, and I need to know if you know anyone who could have done this at all. We are running out of time.” Doyle nods.

“I had a lot of enemies, you said it yourself.” You smile sympathetically.

“Listen, what about his mother? Could it be her, an enemy; I think I have heard of something about McDermott’s in the past?” You watch as Doyle tenses up.

“Declan’s mother died in childbirth.” You watch his face, contort slightly as he says it.

“What was her name?” Doyle’s gaze flicks up towards you.

“Chloe Donaghey.” You pause, nodding your head slightly. You had heard that name recently, certainly after Declan was born. Your thoughts are interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. It opens to reveal Spencer who ushers you out of the room.

You stand opposite the male, a sigh escaping your lips. You can feel his eyes on you, silently studying you.

“Chloe Donaghey, is not dead.” You blurt it out as the realisation overcomes you. You turn your gaze upwards to see Spencer’s lips parting.

“I remember it, a couple of years ago now, definitely after Declan was born.” Spencer’s brows furrow, as his gaze follows you. Slowly you make your way to a wall, sliding down it and sitting on the floor. Your hands find your head as you sit cross-legged.

“Uhm- The news one night, it said that a massive human trafficking ring had been caught, and that a suspect was Chloe Donaghey. She wouldn’t be a suspect if she were dead?” You practically whisper the last part to Reid, who was now crouched down in front of you, a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re right.” Spencer offers you a small smile. You both pause at the sound of the door opening and shutting, Emily walks through, making her way into the room with Doyle, offering you both a quick smile.

“Spencer, he’s just a kid, he doesn’t deserve any of this.” Your voice was now but a whisper, your words cracking as you try and hold yourself together.

Spencer sighs, sitting down on the floor opposite you.

“He doesn’t, but you just got us a lead, and that’s one lead closer to saving him.” You nod, as Spencer reassuringly pats your shoulder.

“We can do this.” You aren’t sure if Spencer’s trying to convince you, or himself, but he whispers the words none the less. For some reason, they don’t fail to give you hope.

The sound of a running tap fills your ears as you frantically move to splash cold water on your face. Attempting anything you can to calm you down, ground you.

You gratefully feel your cheeks cool at the contact of the cold water. You drag yourself upright, looking in the mirror. You hadn’t worn makeup, in fact, you couldn’t remember the last time you wore makeup. It had always stressed you out to wear it and so you would forgo it. But you weren’t sure if maybe that was unprofessional.

Walking out of the restroom you see Spencer perk up, offering you a smile as he walks towards you.

“We don’t have to be back for an hour or so, do you want food?” You nod frantically, trying to contain your excitement at the prospect of food, especially since you couldn’t remember the last time you had a decent meal.

As you trailed after Reid, you faltered slightly, he wasn’t mad-?

“Let’s go-“

The ride to the diner is mostly silent, both you and Spencer relishing in the fact that you had successfully managed to stand up for yourselves, but you couldn’t help the sense of achievement washing over into one of raw emotions.

You had worked so hard to get where you were today, despite all that was wired against you. Your whole life had revolved around defying someone’s expectations, anyone’s. But for once in your life, you realised that you would never have the chance to prove this guy wrong, even if the team did get reinstated, you would never see him again; never get to show him how truly worthy you are.

The wave of frustration washes over you as you lean your head up against the passenger window of the SUV, your gaze focused on the passing cars, and buildings you were still unfamiliar with.

It was becoming dark rather quickly, the earlier nights weren’t what you were used to, but you found them comforting. Streetlights were coming to life, shops lighting up their storefronts with a neon glow as the sky began to fade to an orange.

You were clearly driving somewhere populated, as the footpaths were getting denser with the footfall of pedestrians and people who were likely finishing up their regular nine-to-five jobs. They were mostly absorbed in their bright phone screens, it made you anxious, they should be paying attention, staying safe.

The chaos of the outside world, and your own world were meshing together all of a sudden and you couldn’t help but feel as if curling away in a dark room, shedding the doubts and stress of the earlier day would make your life so much more manageable.

But the thought was quickly ripped away from you as Spencer decides to pipe up, whilst slowing the car at a red light.

“I’m sorry, for all that mess.” Spencer sounds exasperated. You turn your gaze to face him. Her ran a hand through his curly hair, pushing his sunglasses further up his nose, shielding himself from the bright sun laying low in the sky.

You offer him a quick smile, praying he wouldn’t press matters any further.

“It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault.” You practically whisper the words and force yourself to hide your shock over the fact Spencer actually heard you.

“It’s just… I know what it’s like-“ You furrow your brows in confusion, watching as Spencer’s gaze fixates on you registering your expression. He turns back to the road, accelerating past the now-green traffic light before clarifying.

“-to be different, I mean.” He sounds anxious, and begins fidgeting, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the steering wheel as you slowly exhale.

“Yeah, I guess. I spent my life trying to blend in, but people don’t see me, they see the piece of paper in their hands.” Spencer nods, looking as though he’s deep in thought.

“What does the paper say?” You swallow harshly at this. Spencer sounds almost pensive, as if he’s expecting something you can’t quite anticipate yourself.

“He read it out. I can’t carry… well not yet.” You quickly scramble to cover your tracks, not well, but as best as you could. Spencer could tell you were lying, that was his whole job.

“No… I… It’s just you seem, uhm, deflated. That’s all.” Spencer’s gaze turns to you, and you feel it soften as you move your hands away from your head, and to your lap. Carefully you weave and unravel your fingers, wringing out your hands as if they were a wet rag.

“It’s nothing Spencer, why would you feel like you have to know everything?!” You shock even yourself at your sharp turn. Begging yourself not to wince, you hang your head, your gaze on your lap. The familiar slowing of the SUV calms you as you realised Spencer was pulling into a carpark. You didn’t want to anger Spencer any more than you had likely already.

“Y/N-“ Spencer’s voice is shockingly soft as he reverses the car into a parking spot, and stalling it, turning off the ignition. You try to keep your gaze on your lap, focusing on your hands as you entwine them.

“Y/N?” His questioning tone makes you look up towards him as he offers you a small smile, his eyes full of something resembling concern. You weren’t a snippy person, in fact, you didn’t often have outbursts of anger or frustration. It felt foreign coming from your lips and Spencer knew that.

“I don’t have to know; you don’t have to tell me anything. I also arguably don’t know everything, but what I do know is that we are a team. We rely on each other, and we can’t help one another or function efficiently if we don’t.” Spencer pauses, as you gaze past him, unable to meet his gaze, but he decided to continue none-the-less.

“It’s also well-known information that repressing emotions, can decrease work ethic, and morale. I know you haven’t been with us long, but uhm, we are all very close. We want the best for one another, and that includes you.” Spencer faces forwards again in his seat, as you return your gaze to the window.

The diner sits across the parking lot, the neon lights searing your eyes. If you were being honest, you would have loved to tell Reid, but you couldn’t lose more people’s faith; not today.

“How about we takeaway and eat in the car?” You nod silently at that. Spencer had been expecting you to open up, but you hadn’t, and it made you feel guilty. He was right, he always was, but you couldn’t bring yourself to disclose any more of yourself than you already had today.

Spencer quickly asks you your order, you simply asking for large fries and a Diet Coke, knowing that you just needed something you were guaranteed to like. Spencer quickly stood from the SUV, locking the doors behind him as he walked towards the diner, disappearing inside.

Spencer returns clutching various take-away bags fairly quickly, which is surprising considering that it’s dinner time and the place should be packed. In fact, it was packed. Through the windows you could see the queue of people, making you suspicious.

“Spencer, how were you so quick?” You drag your eyes away from the diner and towards the male now manoeuvring his lanky limbs into the car. A small smirk settled on his face as he seated himself, handing you a takeaway bag.

“Spencer!” You rolled your eyes as you came to the realisation that he had flashed his badge, but all the male did was chortle, digging through the contents of his bag.

“We would have been late otherwise.” He sighs as he pulls a cone of fries out of the greasy paper bag, placing one in his mouth.

You grin, curiously scouring through the bag to find that Spencer had gotten you a burger alongside your fries. Opening your mouth to ask why, he beat you to it.

“I haven’t seen you eat in two days Y/N.” You shake your head in disagreement, but your gaze says otherwise. You pull the burger out of its box, taking a bite. God were you hungry.

The burger was fairly plain, decked out in lettuce and onions, a safe bet. But boy did it taste amazing, you relished in the taste of an actual warm meal, taking sips of your drink to pace yourself.

The SUV was filled with the smell of fast food as the pair of you practically absorbed the food in your laps. Both of you passively glancing at the time, to ensure you wouldn’t be late back to the academy. You had one final briefing with the team and the board of trustees, and then you would return to the BAU to hear the verdict of the trial.

“Spencer?” You whisper, your earlier thoughts spiralling slightly. Spencer’s gaze falls on you as you fiddle with your last few fries, no longer hungry.

“What happens if you all don’t get reinstated?” You fail to cover the anxiety in your voice as Spencer gathers up the various cardboard cartons from your lap, throwing them in a plastic bag.

“I’m not sure Y/N. I was suspended so I imagine I would be transferred or fired.” You nod slowly at Spencer who offers you a solemn grin.

“It’s just been a difficult few weeks. I can’t even begin to imagine how you, and everyone else must feel.” You sigh, pulling your knees to your chest, resting your head on them. You feel the engine of the car start up as Spencer pulls out of the parking lot, driving you back to the harsh reality of the BAU’s current state.

“I know, it’s not normally like this.” This makes you chuckle, obviously the reaction Spencer was seeking because he offers you a genuine smile.

“It’s just, I haven’t really got to know anyone. I arrived, and you all were chasing some IRA man and then I interviewed him and did paperwork, meanwhile you were all grieving a loss.” Spencer nods, solemnly.

“I’m really sorry about the breakroom Y/N, I was just stressed out and took it out on you.” You nod.

“It’s fine Spencer, I snapped at you earlier. We’re even.” You offer him you best smile, however the smile remains insufficient in its purpose, failing to conceal the wash of emotions behind it.

“The BAU survives Y/N, we always do.”

“This team took many unprecedented risks, none were approved.” The chairman’s gaze remains fixed on you for a moment, before trailing down the line of people. At the table both you and Spencer had sat at earlier, now sat the whole team. You sat closely beside Spencer on the end. Relishing in the reassuring glances he would give you every few minutes.

“The DIOG has rules, and you chose to ignore every last one.” You can’t help but feel your breath hitch in your throat, it wasn’t looking good.

“That’s a blatant disrespect to the Bureau, and to authority of law in general.” You watch as Spencer crosses his legs, leaning back in his seat. You couldn’t deal with the anticipation. Your hands found the hem of your skirt, fiddling with it in an attempt to distract yourself.

“What I find interesting is that you are the experts in behaviour but find nothing wrong with yours.”

You watch as Emily pipes up, speaking out to the uninterested panel in front of her.

“May I?” The bored Mr. Cramer, whose nametag you had studied, grimaces as Emily decides to continue.

“The journey was not traditional, but this team neutralised four international criminals and saved a young boy’s life in the process.” You offer a quick smile in Emily’s direction. You had a great respect for her, she had been forced to fake her own death only to return to save a young boy who she cared so greatly for. She didn’t have it easy.

“You started a war with Ian Doyle years ago, that this team, and the US Government had to finish. The rest of you are dismissed. Agent Prentiss, we are not done.” You stood, quicker than the rest, feeling the awkwardness of being the only one standing hitting you like a wave.

Spencer quickly came to your rescue however, standing up and guiding you out of the room as quickly as he could without causing distraction, the rest of the team following in your footsteps.

“Maybe Emily can talk some sense into him?” You can’t tell who you are trying to reassure, the rest of the team, or yourself.

“Y/N, I’ll drive you back to the BAU, everyone else can split up among the other two SUV’s.” Hotch’s voice rings out throughout the crowd, all of which, besides, you, are chatting among themselves.

The drive was only across the campus, no longer than five minutes but Hotch made good use of the time, quizzing you.

“I assume Mr. Cramer tried to use your situation against you?” You roll your eyes slightly at the memory.

“Yeah.” You certainly didn’t feel like talking about it, but you knew you were going to have to.

“Spencer didn’t understand.” This makes you perk up as you silently thank whatever higher power there was.

“I had hoped so, he didn’t explicitly mention it. He was definitely scared of a lawsuit.” Hotch turns to you, looking slightly surprised as he stops the car, getting out. You followed suit.

You both walk through the familiar doors of the BAU, greeting security.

“You threatened him with a lawsuit?!” Hotch sounds rather shocked as you laugh, calling the elevator.

“No, I just asked him if the meetings were being recorded, to which he moved swiftly onwards.” Hotch laughed at this, offering you a smile.

The elevator pinged, indicating your arrival on the sixth floor. Traipsing through the doors you watched as the rest of the team turned to greet you both.

You paid little attention to them however, making a break for the coffee machine in the breakroom, where you hurried along in making yourself a caffeine-loaded beverage.

You chugged the coffee as if it had the answer to life itself, quickly making yourself a second cup before noticing the team all filing into the round-table room behind Strauss. That’s when a small realisation played in your mind, the verdict was in.

You sighed, debating whether or not to follow them, your job wasn’t on the line and to be brutally honest you didn’t feel good. You didn’t want to be there when Strauss told them they were all being transferred, or that you had single-handedly ruined their chances at reinstatement. So, with that you headed towards the elevator, pressing the button to take you down to the basement.

You sighed, pulling your hair out of your face, and into a messy bun, as you entered through the front desk, making your way down to the morgue. You turned through the staff door and into the gallery, pausing slightly to see the cutting room exactly as you left it.

You made your way out the gallery and onto the cutting room floor, you paused. Your clothing was uncomfortable, but you always kept a change of clothes in your locker, sweatpants, and a hoodie. You silently thanked your past self for being so organised as you pushed through the glass doors, drawing the curtain, and quickly changing.

You relished in the silence, the only sounds being your Dr. Martens clicking against the linoleum as you trapsed back into the morgue, towards the countertops and your computer. Slumping down in a stool you opened a drawer to your left, pulling out the BAU’s medical files.

You had been working with Hotch to update them since the previous filed were outdated and samples hadn’t been logged correctly. So that was your task for the next few weeks.

The stack of files was certainly heavy, this team had been through a lot over the years. You quickly decided that you would go through them one by one, making a list of any questions or missing information that came to mind, in a Word document, as you reamed through them; in alphabetical order first up was SA. Penelope Garcia.

It was getting late, and your Word document was full of various questions and much to your dismay, various discrepancies which would need to be puzzled out by asking the team questions. You had just finished SSA. Emily Prentiss’ file, which was indeed very complex, especially considering she was legally dead according to it. But none the less you moved on alphabetically, picking up the file of SSA. Dr. Spencer Reid.

And boy, was it heavy reading. Spencer’s file was an enigma, wrapped in a mystery. The chaos of the file indicated that over his ten years working for the BAU he had been drug tested over 100 times, compared to his teammates who had been drug tested bi-annually, yet there was no outlined reason.

But just as you began typing you heard a knock on the gallery door, turning around you chuckled.

“Speak of the Devil, come in!” You beckoned Spencer in through the door, quickly scrambling to ensure that all confidential information was hidden from him.

“Speak of the devil?” You laughed.

“Yes, I was actually just going through your files, getting ready to update them.” Spencer’s eyes widened slightly as you beckoned for him to take a seat.

“They are being updated?” You laughed as the male turned to you, his brows furrowed, his brown eyes wide.

“Your physical exams are due to be redone, and these files are an atrocious mess, I can’t even find your DNA samples so yes, they are being redone.” Spencer nods slightly, shuffling his chair closer to you as he spots his own file.

“I’ve never actually seen my file-“ Spencer trails off, as he studies the first page with all his personal information.

“If you want to read it you can.” You shuffle the file closer to him, watching as he quickly scans the pages, imprinting them into his brain.

“You stand up from your seat, collecting the remaining files in your hands, and walking towards a filing cabinet. Slowly you placed each file in its designated spot, leaving Spencer’s free.

You smiled as you turned around, watching Spencer study his file intently.

“These are terrible.” Spencer sounds surprised. You hum in acknowledgement at his observation. He was right, they were terrible, in fact, you were surprised the federal government could even have files to such a terrible standard.

“Do you want a coffee, Spencer?” You watch as the man turns to you, standing from his seat.

“Yeah, that would be great.” You smile, walking through to the small break room in the gallery, turning on the coffee maker and waiting for it to brew. Spencer sits on the small sofa, seemingly studying the FBI logo that played on the TV in front of him.

“So, Spencer, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” You knew why he was here; he had the verdict, you didn’t.

“You didn’t come to the meeting.” You sigh slightly, you felt guilty that you hadn’t been there to support them, but at the same time you still didn’t feel as though you were fully a part of the team.

“Yeah. I guess I thought that it wasn’t really fair that I intrude.” You smile slightly at Spencer, moving to pour both Spencer, and yourself a mug of coffee. You pass him the black coffee, passing him a couple packets of sugar and creamer. Sitting down next to him on the sofa.

“We got reinstated.” You pause your movements, looking up at Spencer, letting a smile creep onto your face. Spencer was preoccupied, almost taking to his cup of coffee and not you, as he fumbled with the sugar packets, snatching one of your own.

“That’s great, I’m so happy for you all.” Spencer nods, taking a sip from his horrendously sweet coffee.

“Yeah, I got my gun and my badge back.” You roll your eyes, pulling your legs under you as you laugh.

“I see you have your priorities straight.” He nods, chuckling quietly to himself, his cheeks turning a slight shade of red.

Spencer was growing a fondness for you, even over the course of a single day. He had found that you were the easiest to relate to, and that you were incredibly smart. He couldn’t even find it in himself to be mad at you for helping to cover up Emily’s death.

He had also noticed that you were struggling to settle into Quantico, he had seen you so in-your-element in London that he couldn’t help but think that you had other things on your mind.

And you did, you certainly did.

Story Masterlist - (1) - (2) - (3)

GIF by mjlecaros-blog

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut

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julieverne · 1 year ago

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The new Medical Examiner stayed in the basement. When she went out on a scene, she was covered head to foot in tyvek, a floppy hat on her head, an umbrella held over her.

"Cause of death?"

"Impossible to determine at this stage," Doctor Maura Isles said, despite the gaping wound in the torso. Jane sighed and shook her head, shifting the umbrella she held for the doctor, who fixed her in place with a stare.

"I burn very easily," Maura reminded her.

"Yeah, you said," Jane said, rolling her eyes. She held the umbrella still, though, looking down at the other woman. Pale, pale skin, the kind that would burn easily. Dark clothes - although Jane was also in dark clothes the didn't seem to contrast so starkly against her tanned skin. Red, red lips. Maura looked up again, and Jane looked away quickly, swallowing. She saw Maura's nostrils flare, a little smile on those taunting lips.

---

In the morgue, Maura seemed even smaller and paler, the bright lights flooding her out, making her blue veins visible. Jane paced nervously, but Maura didn't seem to mind. She seemed to welcome the company. The blinds were closed, and the evening was rolling in.

Jane paused as Maura drew some blood, watching the way Maura licked her lips as she did so. Maura looked up, startled, then put the vials on the lab tray.

"He's missing half his torso, what is his blood going to tell you?"

"You'd be surprised," Maura said, taking them into the lab. Jane stared down into the ragged hole where internal organs should be. Maura came back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand before sliding her glove back on.

The autopsy was short, mostly because there were no organs to retrieve or examine. Jane helped Maura slide the body into cold storage, as much forensic evidence as they could retrieve already stored in the lab. Jane followed Maura in, taking off her gown and leaving it in the receptacle. Maura followed suit, removing her gloves too. There was a smudge of blood where Maura had wiped her mouth, and there was a test tube missing.

That wouldn't be suspicious if there hadn't been a spate of drained bodies around the city.

Jane looked away quickly as Maura washed her hands.

"I'm done."

"Do you want to grab some dinner?"

"I had a snack earlier, I'm fine."

"A drink, then?"

Maura eyed Jane with curiousity. Then she nodded.

"Sure. Why not?"

---

Jane had thought of the new ME as a quiet, serious woman, but after a drink or two she relaxed. Her smile came more readily. She had two little teeth that were very cute, a little sharp, a little pointed.

"I live right around the corner," Jane said, when the bar closed down. Maura nodded and followed her. She paused in the doorway, peering in, her nose scrunched as she took in the hockey sticks and trophy case.

"Come in, come in," Jane said impatiently. She staggered over to the kitchen cabinet. "Anything to drink? I have, like, green tea. And coffee."

"Coffee?"

"Powdered." Jane's nose scrunched, and Maura chuckled, closing the door behind her. Her hazel eyes flashed with mischief as she closed in on Jane.

"I think we both know I'm not here for something to drink," Maura said, her voice low and husky. Her hands closed around Jane's hips, gripping them tight as she tilted her head back to look up into Jane's face. "But I am very, very thirsty. Seeing you swagger around with all your long limbs all day. The way you bite your lip when you look at me. The way I can see your abs though your shirt." Maura bit her own lip, her elongated eye teeth catching and pulling at the plush, plump flesh. "Tell me I'm wrong?"

"You're not wrong," Jane rasped, her voice caught in her chest. She couldn't quite close the gap between them, but Maura didn't hesitate, brushing her lips against Jane's with a satisfied exhale that slipped past Jane's open lips and lodged in her chest. She found her own hands grasping Maura, pulling her closer, those teeth retracting when they scraped her lips. Their height difference meant Maura had easy access to Jane's throat, which she pressed her lips to, scraping her teeth lightly against Jane's jugular, making Jane shudder and remember the little spot of red she'd seen on Maura's lips as she came back from the lab, the reddish brown stain Mara had washed from her hand where she'd wiped it. Jane led Maura into the bedroom, but Maura baulked at the door.

Jane had a cross over the bed. Maura hissed, eyeing it with distaste. Her teeth seemed longer now, somehow. Jane quirked an eyebrow at Maura's reaction.

"I'm really only lapsed Catholic," Jane told Maura. "My mother insisted. I think she thought it would keep me from premarital sex. If it bothers you I'll take it down." Jane plucked it from the wall and shoved it in a drawer. She went to touch Maura, but the other woman pulled away with another hiss.

"We should wash our hands, if we're going to continue. We've been out in a bar, and there are places I'd like to touch you without introducing foreign bacteria."

Jane rolled her eyes but complied easily, not even having second thoughts about her first time with a woman. Maura kissed the back of her neck as she washed up, and then washed her own hands, dragging Jane back to the bedroom.

---

Jane woke with Maura's head on her chest. The light was filtering in through Jane's net curtains, and she sighed contentedly. The light struck Maura's bare shoulder, and her skin started to simmer, as though it was a steak on a griddle. Jane covered the shoulder with a sheet, not worried at all.

Maura woke, flinching from the sunlight.

"So. You're a vampire, huh?"

"What gave it away?" Maura asked breezily, not worried about having her cover blown.

"I had to invite you in. The cross scared you. Your skin smokes in sunlight."

"You're remarkably calm."

"You know what Hoyt did to me. This doesn't come close. Besides, only someone like me could have survived him."

"I knew you smelled of something. What are you?"

"Succubus, obviously."

"That explains a lot. You didn't have to seduce me. You could have just asked if I was a vampire. I'd have told you. I trust you, against my better judgement."

"I didn't use any of my seduction on you, and I didn't feed off you. And you didn't bite me. I think that makes our working relationship promising."

"I work in the morgue because I can't feed off live people," Maura mumbled against Jane's collarbone, as though she was ashamed of her inability to harm humans.

"And I work with homicide, but I make sure I feed off the sex criminals that come through the station. Not - not like that. Ugh, no. Not like - not like how we were last night. That was just for - just because. I didn't use anything to make you want me, and I didn't feed off you either. But I'm sure, if you're ever unable to get fresh blood, you could probably use me. If you wanted to."

"That's a very generous offer, but I don't want to hurt you."

Jane closed her arms tighter around Maura, a happy smirk on her face.

"As a detective, I do have to ask if you know anything about these bodies showing up without any blood. Friends of yours?"

"Hardly. My - my biological family. I was adopted, and they raised me vegan, which I appreciate. But it looks like my biological family has found me and is hunting me down." Maura nuzzled in closer to Jane, her tongue flicking for a moment over the pulse in Jane's throat, her lips and teeth pressed against it as Jane pressed against her with a moan. Aware the mood had shifted drastically, Maura moved away reluctantly. "I'm scared, Jane. I don't want to be like them. I like solving murders. I like working alone. I don't like to be around people in case I hurt them. I don't want to hurt anyone."

"You wouldn't," Jane said tenderly, stroking Maura's hair. "We can find them first. I'm a detective. You're a doctor. We can find them, and make sure they leave town, if that's what you want." Jane looked uncertain about wanting to kill or banish Maura's relatives, and Maura kissed her again for her sweetness.

"We?" she asked shyly, aware that there was a bond between them. It wasn't often two supernatural species consummated, but when they did, the imprint was strong and usually bonded them for life. She'd made her choice last night, not quite sure what Jane was but knowing from her scent that she wasn't entirely human. She'd trusted Jane, and it felt like for once she'd made the right choice.

"We," Jane agreed, kissing Maura slowly and tenderly. "Right after I get some proper blackout curtains."

Maura snuggled back into the only true comfort offered her, Jane's body warm and alive against her own cool skin.

"Okay," Maura said shyly, accepting Jane as one of her pack.

---

I do not read or write supernatural stuff in this vein but this was fun.

#rizzoli and isles #rizzoli & isles #maura isles #rizzles #jane rizzoli #rizzles fanfic #vampire #halloween

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minimorgana · 1 year ago

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Rambling about Ace Hardy:

To me, Ace saying "I believe in being true to yourself, even at the risk of being misunderstood" is one of his most character defining lines in the series. It's cool to think about this quote after finishing the series and knowing everything we do about Ace.

Even though at the point of him saying this we haven't seen the full extent of the conflict with his dad, in retrospect, we can understand that Ace is likely thinking about his dad in some sense when saying this. Yes, he is saying this to Laura and in response about leaving Horseshoe Bay, but it extends to so many aspects of his life and character.

Ace is well aware that his dad doesn't understand or respect where he currently is in life, but he doesn't try to change himself to make his dad understand him. No matter how much he wants his dad's approval, he doesn't compromise who he is. He knows that will only lead to him living a life that isn't really his. What his dad sees as laziness is Ace having not found his purpose and not wanting to force himself into a box before knowing if he will fit.

Ace values being true to himself, and he values this trait in the people he surrounds himself with. This is at the heart of the conflict between him and Nancy in season 2, and I think it might give some perspective to why he struggled to find a solid group of friends before the Drew Crew.

We all know that high school is a difficult time for self-identity and finding yourself, and this has been affirmed through Nancy's character and her high school friends. So I think Ace struggled to make meaningful friendships with people who weren't necessarily being true to themselves (speaking from experience, this is something I struggled with in high school, and it was aggravated by questioning my own sense of self and hiding parts of my identity).

But for the most part, once the layers of secrecy at the beginning of season 1 are removed, I think Ace realizes that this group of people try their hardest to be true to themselves, despite some slip ups.

Nancy could easily leave the mystery solving to the police and stay out of trouble, but she values truth and justice, and she knows it is her responsibility to find those things. Bess values family, whether it is biological or found, and she strives to do right by the people she loves, even if it costs her. George has been known as the town screw up but for the most part, she ignores the labels others put on her and works hard to build a life for herself and her sisters. She knows she is more than their labels for her. Nick is driven by his desire to help and protect people. We see him stay true to himself most clearly when he tells his mom he's staying in Horseshoe Bay, that he has a purpose in this town and he's been planted there for a reason.

That was a long winded way of saying that Ace has finally found people who try their hardest to push away the opinions of other people and stay true to themselves.

For a moment, I was thinking about this quote in line with him telling Nancy he isn't lacking anymore after getting his apartment and starting to work at the morgue. Because if this is the code he lives by, then why would he do these things just for someone else's approval? But then I realized that he isn't. He's had an interest in medical and forensic examination since season 1 when helping examine Lucy's bones. And I think he's been ready to move out of his parents house for a while. He just needed a push to do those things and his insecurities tell him that he has to prove to Nancy that he is good enough for her. But the things he chose to do are still true to who he is.

So yeah, I really just love this quote and think it sums up who Ace is and we can see it reflected in everything he does throughout the series, even up to the very end.

P.S. Another good example of him living by this code is when he visits Mr. D and tries to understand why he made the choice he did. Part of him knows that if Nancy ever found out, she wouldn't be happy about him befriending her dad while she is very mad at him. But he does it anyways, even at the risk of being misunderstood. Because to him, he's doing what is right.

#ace hardy #ace nancy drew #nancy drew cw #nancy drew #ramblings #i don't know if any of this makes sense but i just love his character so much #there are so many things about him i relate to

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kadavernagh · 11 months ago

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TIMING: Current LOCATION: The Medical Examiner's Office PARTIES: Ray and Regan SUMMARY: Ray is searching for more information about Ryan's death, and Regan finally meets Ray... and the ghost possessing him.

“I just want to know what the hell happened. It’s my death.”

He felt odd walking up the step and pushing the door open. He’d never expected himself to be voluntarily going to an ME office. Ray awkwardly shuffled through the smallest gap he could get through in the door, not wanting to make a spectacle of himself and closing the door as quietly as he could. As much as he did want to meet Regan, he was a little out of his depth with this investigation he’d started. He was no expert in data collection, not in this way and not in places like this. If only he could open a textbook or piece of software to find the answers. But he had to do this. He’d made a promise to Ryan that he’d try to figure this out. For both of them.

He lingered by the door looking around as if he’d recognise the doctor if she wandered by, because she wouldn’t recognise him. Ray pulled his phone out of his pocket and shot a quick ‘Hey, I’m here at the front door :)’ looking around for any sign of someone looking for a stranger as well.

When Regan had invited Ray to the morgue, she hadn’t expected his immediate arrival. As soon as Marcy messaged her that a confused boy had wandered in looking for her, she rushed up to receive him. She’d barely had time to look into the strange file Ray was asking about. Ryan Baxter had died back in 2013, and she didn’t even recognize the name of the forensic pathologist who had conducted the autopsy. That was only the beginning of the problem.

As she pushed through the lobby doors, it occurred to her that she didn’t even know who to look for. Despite conversing with Ray online for months, they had not yet met face to face. Fortunately, there was only one person there: a lanky young man with a slouch that made Regan want to forcefully straighten his spine. There was also a bandage around one of his fingers, she noted. “Ray?” Regan asked for good measure with a tilt of her head. Something slithered inside of her chest, some emotion, and she pushed it away. Yes, they had spoken online. Yes, she had a certain fondness for Ray the same way a human might enjoy a bird regularly returning to their feeder, but what did that matter, really? “Dr. Kavanagh. As you’re well-aware.” Regan extended her hand. “I can’t say I expected that we would ever meet in person.”

There was another surprise. Something was… off. With Ray. Like he was surrounded by a dark, eerie pulse – the same mockery of death she felt around Metzli, but weaker, stranger. Her mind itched with the possibility of looking with her asfís bháis, but she couldn’t do that while Ray was paying attention. She couldn’t even imagine how that would go over. For now, they were to move on. As she led him down to her office, she braced him for impact. “I have some questions for you about this file you asked about. And I don’t suggest lying to me.”

Ryan buzzed in the back of his mind, increasing Ray's usual levels of discomfort in new situations tenfold. But he couldn’t tell the ghost to quiet down, that was rude, especially since they were here on his behalf to find out about his death. It seemed a bit callous to ask the dead to shut up about it for his own comfort. Ray was brought out of his head when he spotted just what he was looking for. Someone looking for a stranger.

She opened her mouth and called his name and he smiled brightly at her. It was nice to see a friend for the first time. He was really getting to love the feeling -even if he’d never say as much to her directly considering her stance on friendship. Ray extended his hand to shake hers, aborted the action realizing his finger was still healing and instead grasped her hand oddly with his left, shaking it quickly. “Oh, well I appreciate you helping me out with this stuff. I’m glad we get to meet in person.” he told her enthusiastically. “What do I call you here? Doctor?”

His head was on a swivel as they walked towards her office looking around in some sort of morbid curiosity and not actually wanting to see anything. “Hey you’re helping me out, why would I lie?” He responded before really thinking about the implications of what he’d said and what he was definitely going to have to keep to himself. He’d already been bending the truth a little when he’d initially asked her. As was usual for him, worry started to set in and he tried valiantly to mask it from his face. Ray then spoke up again against his better judgment. “How’d you know if it was a lie anyway?”

Regan cast her eyes down to Ray’s injured hand, as he seemed to forget he’d acquired a splint. Curious. “When did that happen?” She nodded down to his finger. And why hadn’t he mentioned it before? Not that she needed to know everything medically wrong with this child. But it would be nice. “Doctor Kavanagh is fine. And if it suits you, I’m going to continue calling you Ray, and not Soup.” Something lingered on her own fingers after she’d shaken his hand. Her skin felt twitchy, wrong, but the sensation was brief enough that she waved it away, questioning if it had ever been there to begin with. But she couldn’t entirely ignore that Ray himself still elicited something in her. Cliodhna would have understood it immediately.

As she carded the two of them into her office, she turned to Ray. “I don’t want you touching anything in here. None of the bones. And certainly not the file.” The chair, though; he could touch the chair. “You may sit,” Regan said, pointing to the chair in front of her desk. She circled around it and sat down herself.

“Many people have a lie they wish to tell about the death of a loved one, someone they knew. I encounter them daily. Sometimes they wish to obfuscate the case from me, and other times they wish to obfuscate their connection to the deceased to others in their life. I can always tell.” It was true. She’d sat through dozens of witnesses trying to convince her that they’d never seen someone in their life, or next of kin trying to bury affairs and family secrets along with the deceased. And while Regan didn’t have a preternatural sense for detecting those lies, she had grown seasoned at it, her mind as sharp as her scalpel. Her eyes turned down to what sat on her desk, the file. “As I have told you, I must protect the confidentiality of the decedent. But these are unusual circumstances. I want to know the truth, and I don’t think I’m going to get it from this file.” She held up the unusually thin manilla folder, which was only about half the size of the others swelling in the morgue’s file cabinets. “So let’s start at the beginning, hm? How do you know Mr. Baxter?”

“A week ago I think?” Ray responded, lifting his hand to also look at his bound fingers. “Hockey accident, didn’t have my gloves on during practice.” It had been one of the few times Ryan had actually let Ray play for himself instead of taking over. The ghost assured him that he would not stop making fun of him for that until the fingers were healed. “Doctor Kavanagh, sure Ray is good.” He repeated back as they walked. He didn’t know that Regan could tell there was something up with him, in his mind all he had to do was keep his story straight.

Rest assured, Ray has absolutely no desire to touch anything, especially not the bones. In fact he gave everything in her office a pretty wide berth as he made his way over to the chair to sit down - even if he did catalog things as they passed. He clasped his hands together in his lap as best he could carefully, looking at her with even more uncertainty now that they were sitting down to an interrogation of sorts. He just had to play it cool. He could play it cool right? The ‘no’ that echoed in his skull was unwelcome and he grimaced slightly, willing the ghost to shut up.

It was definitely intimidating. Her whole speech about detecting lies made his thin guise of calm dissolve a tiny bit - the true anxiety of the situation shining through more clearly on his face. But he hadn’t murdered anyone…directly, certainly not Ryan anyway, directly or indirectly. “We ar- we were pretty close before he died?” it was a terrible start, his resolve was already crumbling and even Ryan was losing motivation for this. The first hurdle. The VERY first question. “Well no I didn’t meet him before he died, actually. But, I just…want to know what happened to him. I think we need closure to move forward, and I don’t think we can be at peace without knowing what happened.”

“So you never knew him.” Regan clarified, mulling over that information. That only produced more questions. “Perhaps a better question I should ask, then, is how do you know of him? If the two of you had never met, what brings you here asking about him?” She was acutely aware this was beginning to have the edge of an interrogation, and it was only going in one direction. Which was how she liked it. But she didn’t want to scare Ray off or render his tongue silenced before he provided some actual information of value. She was in this now, and she needed to understand what had happened to this file.

Regan laid the file flat on her desk and flicked it open, her hand smoothing out the first sheet inside, the autopsy report. It was of an older format than the ones the ME’s office used now, and covered in a doctor’s messy scrawl rather than neat, legible typing. Time had introduced wrinkles and yellowed the page, which Regan could only hope had been digitized years ago, but she lacked confidence in that. “This is Baxter’s autopsy report,” Regan explained, holding the stapled packet up but not for long enough for Ray to glean anything from it. She had his attention though, and he looked raptly even as his long limbs poured awkwardly out of his chair and he seemed to be drowning in discomfort. “There are pages missing, several, and the cause of death is highly unusual for a man of the decedent’s age. Not only that, it’s a terribly lazy one. We pathologists try not to list “congestive heart failure” as a cause of death. Everyone’s heart fails when they die. There is always an underlying cause. I see none noted here, and the autopsy photos are scant. Very few are of the heart, and I see no evidence of anything amiss.” She paused, realizing her lungs had been picking up pace, attuned to her mounting frustration. Few things got to her more than sloppy autopsies and documentation. But was this really poor work, or was there something bigger at play?

She met Ray’s eyes. “You know something that I don’t, and I would like to hear it.”

“I-” She was a woman of science she was unlikely to accept his reasoning, if he were honest with himself she was likely already tired of his backwards explanations. But he was unsure what else he could do, if she were to write him off as a blithering idiot he was unlikely to find out anything more for himself and Ryan. Ray needed her to tell him what was wrong with everything, show him the papers if possible in order to glean any tiny little detail that might help him find out truly what happened. Ray realized he'd been silent with his mouth open for a little too long, sat back slightly away from her to regroup and wet his dry lips more nervously still. “I know him. I’ve recently found out a lot about him. He was…on my hockey team ten years ago and I’ve inherited his nickname and…” none of that a lie, and in that he could at least be sure.

His eyes raked over the papers she held up to him but he couldn’t make out much before she was back to asking questions. Ray’s whole body shivered involuntarily as Ryan left him. The ghost was unseen to Ray and unreachable to him now that they weren’t connected in the same body. He didn’t know what had bothered the ghost so much that he’d abandon him to this alone but there was no way to ask him back for support in front of the doctor. “Can it be that it’s just someone lazy? Is it that unusual?”

The ghost himself had moved to look over the doctor's shoulder. If his autopsy report was weird enough for them to be called in to talk about it…well it was his surely he should be allowed to look at it.

Ray was caught in her gaze and couldn't quite break the heavy question she was asking him. “It’ll sound like you should throw me out of the building.” he said vaguely. Could he tell her? Probably not. He shouldn’t. She was no nonsense. She’d write him off. Another friend gone. “I met him after his death.”

“I have never met a lazy medical examiner. The demands of the work weed out all but the most qualified and diligent.” Regan had looked into this medical examiner with a cursory search. Dr. Patil. He had been a medical examiner in the county for only a year before his disappearance, which was probably why she hadn’t seen any other reports penned by him yet. The circumstances of his probable-death also likely explained why Dr. Rickers had neglected to mention the other doctor to her. Examiners had come and gone. Some moved elsewhere. Others vanished. Such was life in Wicked’s Rest.

She nudged her notebook in front of her and started making a list of pertinent information she was collecting from Ray, as well as everything unusual she had noticed about the report. Mid-way through writing that the cardiac findings section was missing every other field, she froze. The implication of what Ray had just told her snaked into her ears and wrapped around her bones. The living did not meet the dead. It would have been a perfectly normal answer in Saol Eile, but not here. It was as if a cold wind had just swept across the room. Setting her pen down, she looked up at Ray. He captured her full attention now. “And how did you do that?” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, but there was no disbelief in them. She believed Ray entirely. And that was the problem.

Ryan read through her notes quickly as she wrote them, she didn’t seem to have gleaned much from the report itself other than it’s lack of detail -or she had already filed her findings on that away before they’d arrived- but what Ryan could tell clearly was that she was interested in the case. More so than a few of the people he had already had Ray ask about him. But he didn’t remember having ever met her in life, so she was curious about this all on her own merits, maybe she really could help them. Curiosity could work well in their favor, they could bargain details for contacts maybe? Ryan was spinning a hook for them to bribe her as she spoke with Ray. Drifting back towards the human, to be drawn in quickly by the space in his soul that Ryan had taken to inhabiting.

Ray hummed in acknowledgement of her words. She’d know her profession better than he would. But it was concerning. He could have perhaps settled into her interrogation style if she’d not asked such direct questions. “By accident. Not on purpose. I didn't do anything. He did it all for me.” It was unusual for someone normal to ask how and not if he was okay. It was unusual the amount of clarity she was looking at him with. “Ghosts you know. They don’t ask before they take from you. But we’re trapped together now. Ryan and Me…”

Ghosts. Regan closed her eyes, feeling again the way death had wrapped itself around Ray, light touch though it was. She had known there was something off. And where death was concerned, Regan was never wrong. The others spoke of ghosts as if they were as commonplace as a squirrel or sparrow. Some disparagingly, others with fondness. Regan herself had seen plenty of those apparitions, though she refused to slap such a fantastical label on them, rather thinking of them as an extension of the visions – hallucinations – she was able to slip into. Interestingly, there were humans in town who seemed to be able to see these “ghosts,” too, and they weren’t timid about calling them such a ridiculous term.

She had no time nor desire to feign incredulity, though she had little idea of what Ray meant about ghosts taking things, about being together. It was prudent to make sure they were talking about the same thing. Regan gave Ray a hard look, like if she stared for long enough Ryan himself would appear. …Would he? “I don’t know anything about ghosts. But I know death. And I know you’ve carried some in here.” Again, she looked. Eyes narrowing to slits. Her asfís bháis was there in her periphery, an option and perhaps a door to seeing and understanding, but she didn’t want to cause Ray to run out of the office. Asking was better. “This thing that you’re calling Ryan. Is it present now? I suspect yes.”

Ray met her stare for only a second before he looked away. He was serious, he was deadly serious about Ryan, but he wasn't built for eye contact so serious. Regan was intense, he gathered that from the times they'd spoken online but there was something so much more in person. Ryan was asking in his head what he was waiting for, she clearly believed in this what was he doing staying so quiet? Why was it so easy to speak about Ryan when it didn't matter, but as soon as they had someone asking real questions it didn't seem so fun anymore. She had an autopsy or something in front of her, Ryan's.

"Yeah, he's here." Ray tapped his chest first, followed by yet another aborted gesture -possibly heading for his head- but deeming it unimportant to clarify further. Ryan was getting impatient but Ray still wasn't saying anything. The ghost was not one to waste time. This was HIS death. He was bored of having Ray speak for him when she clearly understood. Ray's eyes rolled slightly, his limbs locking and his breath stuttering. A moment later his body hung differently in the chair, arms crossing. The body now hung oddly as if a puppet had strings just a little too long. "Ryan J Baxter. Hand me the file right? What's wrong with it?" It was an introduction, maybe.

“If he’s here, where is he?” Regan raised a brow. She was clearly not understanding something. Was Ray saying that he kept Ryan inside of him, the way one might clutch to their fading memories of a deceased loved one? But then Ray’s entire body jolted, his head lolled violently, and his eyes rolled back in his skull like two big, white marbles. At once, Regan mobilized. She flew out of her seat, one word burning through her brain: seizure. Before she could even grab his shoulders it was over. Regan hovered next to Ray’s chair, ready to attend to whatever was needed, but waiting for an indication that something was needed. “Ray…?” She said quietly, her breath bunched up in her throat. Had it been a seizure? Was it over?

Stillness coated the room. And then Ray started talking. His voice, she noted, sounded different. Produced by the same tongue, but syllables rolled differently, hesitation no longer living between his words.

She had not been prepared for the assertion that Ray was Ryan.

A chill pinched down her spine. She backed away a couple of steps so she could see him better, observe him. Something was not right, but she didn’t understand it. What… was she seeing? There were mental disturbances that could look like this. More on television than in actual practice, generally, but it was the best explanation she had. Then again, Ray had briefly looked as though he had a seizure. Could this have been related to that? Seizures could correlate with odd beliefs, cause altered mental status. Was this temporal lobe epilepsy or a cousin to it? Was “ghost” seriously in the differential?

He was looking at her, demanding an answer. Even his eyes looked different than before. The same color, the same set, but his gaze was more firm, impatient. Regan decided that the danger – if there had been danger – has passed. She could engage with whatever this was. “I am not handing anything over to you…” She looked at his hands, Ray’s hands. They would not hold someone else’s file. “You claim to be Ryan, and I will humor you. You need to prove it. What is your social security number? The names of your parents? Tell me the locations of your scars.” Regan gestured to the file. “I have all of that information in here.”

If Ray had been at all aware of the shift from himself to Ryan he would have been touched by the attention Regan paid him. He’d have appreciated the way she moved quickly to reach towards whatever unknown that was happening to him, in the moment between one soul and the other. But she wasn’t greeted with the nervous giant she’d been speaking to online for months. Ray had been put in suspension of sorts and instead she was met with the other. The other soul wasn’t nervous, and the other soul hadn’t ever spoken to Regan before. He didn’t appreciate her hovering and he didn’t have time for her whispered and worried address to his host.

Ryan lowered Ray's hand and crossed his gangly arms instead. “It’s my file. I already read your notes but I want to see the whole thing.” it was the most direct this voice ever got - when it wasn’t being used by its owner.

There was an impatient huff of breath before Ryan set out to answer her questions. One by one the numbers of his social security lined up in formation. The full name of his mother followed quickly by the full name of his father. The only piece that seemed to trip his flow of speech was found when they were half way through the number of scars he had on his hands. He named a little over half before he gave up. “Just believe me. You believed in ghosts a minute ago doctor, you let Ray think you were on board. Are you taking it back now I’m here? Even with his face, am I not as trustworthy?” Ryan was usually a lot kinder, usually a lot more jovial, and usually a lot more ready for a laugh. But as they’d been having trouble gathering information about his death his humor decreased. Every obstacle, and every closed door with no answers made him itch.

“I just want to know what the hell happened. It’s my death.”

To Regan’s astonishment, Ray was able to recite everything she had asked for. Was there any other way for Ray to have acquired that information? Yes, realistically. It was unlikely. But she also was not ready or willing to admit that the person sitting across the room from her, in Ray’s body, was a dead man. “You must have been very close for him to tell you that information.” Which contradicted what Ray had told her earlier: that he met Ryan only after he had died, somehow. But how was she to believe any of this? Regan ran her hands through her hair, the only visible sign that she might have been a little frustrated. Had she been willing to think about it or admit it, she might have realized most of that was out of concern for Ray’s behavior.

She wasn’t quite sure how to handle this. Ray wanted information about someone who – regardless of how or when – he had a close relationship with, enough to know the locations and sizes of Ryan’s scars, which were at least correctly reported in the file. Apparently. She couldn’t exactly check Ray’s body for them.

Was it really sharing information if the information was incorrect at worst or obfuscated at best? Regan wasn’t sure. And part of her, however small that part was, wondered if Ray – or “Ryan” – might be able to fill in some of the gaps. Perhaps she could treat this more as a fishing expedition. Let Ryan provide details she didn’t have.

“You’re going to be disappointed,” Regan cautioned, a bit of an edge to her voice; she didn’t appreciate being told what to do. She flipped through a few of the pages. Dr. Patil’s work was rushed, incomplete, and in some places a flagrant abuse of protocol. But there were things she could probably share, and what was missing might be more valuable than what scant information was present. “As I said, the cause of death is listed as ‘congestive heart failure,’ which means nothing.” She flicked through a couple autopsy photos. “And there’s nothing wrong here. A berry aneurysm, which is a common incidental finding. Some eczema.” She turned to the toxicology report. “Nothing of note in here, either. Marijuana in the hair.” She turned to Ray, or Ryan, or whatever he wished to be called. “I don’t know why Dr. Patil provided no evidence to support his already-flimsy cause of death. Anyone looking at these photos would be able to see that. See nothing, rather. They look healthy. Dead, but healthy.” She was a little unnerved by how much Ray’s mannerisms had changed, but she spoke to him plainly nonetheless, pretending nothing was different. “I’d like to hear what you have to say about that.”

Ryan tensed Ray’s fingers and flexed them in his lap. Being disappointed was starting to become a usual occurrence. He was getting restless and more frustrated the longer he and Ray searched for information. No one knew. He’d had hope that maybe she was holding something back from them due to the unusual story they’d presented to her, but she’d moved to repeating the information he’d read over her shoulder with a finality to the words. A finality that led him to believe they’d hit another cold trail, a cold trail with the added obstacle of letting an onlooker to their search. No one else they’d asked for anything from had been as insistent on knowing more. Death made people uncomfortable. No one else had the gumption to inquire further.

“I was an athlete. I was as healthy as I could get…pot aside.” bitterness tinted his tone as he heaved a breath and looked towards the file. “I can’t believe there’s really nothing officially recorded anywhere. Damnit.” Ryan cursed and stood up suddenly, knocking Ray's knees against the desk as he went. He didn’t pause for a second, he turned away from her, staring angrily into the middle distance. “How did I fall through the cracks like this? My family… they loved me, I had so many friends, I was on the hockey team. But no one asked any questions, no one got any extra information. No one knows.” It was dramatic, but he couldn’t help the display of increased emotion. Having control of the body always did this to him. The longer you didn’t get to feel anything the more intensely the welling of emotion could knock you off balance.

Ryan turned back towards her and held onto the back of the chair he’d just vacated. “There are no other records? None? No one has anything more? Surely there’s something somewhere, the hospital maybe? The university?” He was searching for hope. They’d spent the entirety of winter up until now mentioning his death to anyone they could, but this was nearing the last straw. “I know this is the first time you’ve met Ray in person, but he likes you, he considers you a friend. Will you help him?” It was selfish to put Ray’s friendship with the doctor on the line for his own gain, but if it meant professional help - as much as he’d never admit as much to his host- he’d throw away all the friendships he’d helped Ray make in order to just know something.

The situation was slipping from her control. Regan was used to being in command in the morgue. It was her office, her duty; here, she cloaked herself in the respect of others and she called the shots, and her apparent age didn’t matter as much as the comma-MD behind her name. But every once in a while, circumstances would zig when they really should have been zagging, and whatever was happening now was not a typical conversation she had with next of kin. This was not the anger of losing a loved one, having a life snatched away from them. Ray had the sound of someone who was coming to terms with his own death after it already happened. It was unfamiliar territory, unfamiliar emotion, and she was equal parts uncomfortable and curious. She was taken aback enough to be stunned into silence, and as a result, Ray was given more allowance for this display than she would have normally permitted. The rawness of it all made Regan’s skin scurry with distaste. She needed to rein things in.

She stood up, unwilling to let him march around her office unchallenged. He was still taller, of course – by quite a lot – but it made her feel more in control. Ray still seemed focused on answers. That was good. He would not be completely unreasonable. Regan shot him a no-nonsense look. “If you want to discuss this you will calm yourself.” Her throat swelled a little at the claim of friendship but she quickly swallowed it back. “He’s foolish to consider me a friend.” He’s. Why had she said that? Why not you’re? This was starting to mess with her head. She couldn’t deny that the presence in the room with her seemed utterly unfamiliar compared to the awkward kid that had been sitting in the chair before, though. She’d get a second opinion about this later from someone. Preferably a physician who was not Rickers, but she’d make due with a nurse at this point. Actually, she did know one…

Things seemed to calm. Ray’s knuckles relaxing their grip on the chair. Good. Regan eased up in turn. “This is an older file. The hospital probably still has records, but little that isn’t already in here.” She flicked the folder. “It isn’t going to help you understand what happened. It didn’t… help me. The pathologist who did this autopsy was either hiding something or simply sloppy.” She hesitated for a moment, wondering if this was a good idea. It was not. Yet she’d offered similar to Lil regardless. Cliodhna would turn in her grave if she knew (the one she enjoyed spending recreational time in while alive). What was Regan even gaining from this? Yet she was compelled. If pressed she’d excuse it as her own curiosity. “But I might be able to help. If you can bring me something that belonged to Baxter, something that held importance, maybe I’ll be able to give you better answers. That is what you want, right? You want to know what really transpired at the time of death.” She let the offer linger for a moment but knew there was more she needed to say. “One other thing. I am leaving in a couple of months – moving overseas. The window for my help is limited.”

Ryan didn't even watch as Regan got to her feet in order to get a handle on his swing of emotion. He was too busy trying to get a grip to focus on a singular individual that wasn't himself for too long. If Ray was able to hear the ghosts thoughts he'd comment how dramatic it all sounded, likely to be put back in his place when reminded where they were. It hadn't always been like that for the ghost, but the abundance of dead ends and lost notes were taking his patience and wearing it thin like the heel of a well loved pair of shoes - uncomfortably thin but not yet broken. If he'd been honest the idea was to wear her down, keep badgering, use Ray as a hinge on which to swing the door open to his story. But she gave a little. She hesitated and then she gave a little more. Perhaps she cared for the human a bit more than she would let on…or maybe the idea that this unexplained death existed itched at her skin. Either way he'd take it.

Ryan extended a hand towards her “you've got yourself a deal, if I can bring you something of mine that might have some relevance, you'll see what you can dig up?” A small ember of hope had reignited. “Short time frame…right…Ray will be gutted when he finds out you're leaving but I'll take it. What's important enough a thing to get more information? A hat? A trophy? I'm not a jewelry person if it's a reward thing. Can't flog much of mine now I'm dead. Imagine all the good stuff is gone.”

Regan lifted a brow, but kept the stern look on her face. Just who was she making a deal with? The person in front of her still didn’t seem like Ray. But the need for understanding scratched at her brain, and was there really anything wrong with sharing information that came not from a confidential report, but from her own gift? She would be guarded, but she wasn’t ready to declare this a waste of her dwindling time here. Especially if it would help Ray. She finally nodded. “I don’t think the – I mean, the object in question does not matter. Anything you’re able to get your hands on that you care about, that connects you to who you… were. But yes, I’ll do it. I dislike unanswered questions.” Better to sound confident, authoritative, even when she wasn’t positive this would even work. And even more importantly, better to sound not personally invested in Ray for any reasons other than the objective, the practical.

A chill scurried up her arm when she shook his hand. She took care to be gentle with his uninjured finger. More care than he took, which gnawed at her. Was it because he was a careless child, or because this “Ryan” was an entity of the mind and not the body? Regan looked away when he mentioned Ray in the 3rd person, but it was more because of what he’d said than how he’d said it. “He’ll be fine. Everyone will be fine. Life goes on, and then it doesn’t. And while you’re at it, bring me a dead chipmunk. For morale.”

That chill seemed to linger around her, even as Ray, or Ryan turned out the door, and Regan stared at the space previously occupied by him. Was the unease real or imagined? Was this some kind of medical condition, however rare, or something relegated to the hush milieu of places like this town, and Saol Eile? Whatever the case, Regan wasn’t sure just who or what was walking out of here.

#writing #c ray

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deathandthesoul · 3 months ago

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For Aidan

🍓 (strawberry)

🐞 (ladybug)

🎸 (electric guitar)

🪓 (axe)

🍓 (strawberry) - Does your oc believe in anything? Are they superstitious? Religious? Atheistic? Has anything in their past made them this way?

The Path of Death and the Soul is the closest thing he has to a belief system. He's actually got the V5 mindset of it, which is less philosophical and metaphysical than in previous editions. Otherwise he'd like to say that he's a hardcore atheist, except he's very intimately aware that the afterlife and ghosts exist and of the properties of the soul when it comes to kindred physiology involving stakes in the heart and diablerie Noddism ain't his thing and he's happy not calling himself Catholic anymore even if he does still go to church sometimes (he has a soft spot for the choir…). He's having a great time no longer being in a stifling environment that pressures him to feel shame for being himself, or one that forces him to accept a Christian mythos as real and true but with a twist, and really loves having a boyfriend whose whole code of ethics revolves around indulgence and corruption. There's never a dull moment with him

🐞 (ladybug) - What does a perfect day look like for your oc? What do they do? Who do they see?

Aside from the obvious sucking and fucking Jesse all night and being a good obedient free use cocksleeve? Uh. He'd enjoy a cozy operation or two in his morgue, make some art or music with his band, mayhaps clean a crime scene for somebody and take a bunch of photos for his collection, plan or carry out a murder, go to a concert or a graveyard, go on the prowl and stalk people around the city, train at the gym, maybe take a drive or have a stakeout with Jesse that ends up with their hands all over each other... The more activities he can spend with Jesse the better, and even better if Lukas doesn't come calling for some asinine bullshit that he should be able to handle himself as Sheriff ("That's below my paygrade!")

🎸 (electric guitar) - What’s your character’s music taste like? Do they have one or two artists they play on repeat or do they have a varied and eclectic collection of music? Do they like mainstream artists or prefer underground musicians? What genres do they enjoy?

He likes it hard and fast with a lot of screaming blasting out his eardrums. Lets him live vicariously and pretend he's not totally cold inside-- gives him acting material to work with. He likes being cold and doesn't feel like a person at all and the sheer amount of emotion in the songs he listens to serves as an example and helps him fake humanity better As a musician he listens to a lot of different bands, from mainstream to underground. Talent can be found anywhere and he keeps an open mind. His own bands are pretty underground so he sort of relates to those ones more overall. Small venue or basement shows are his jam He gravitates to goregrind/death metal/grindcore the most. That's what he performs himself. Due to Reasons™️he is also involved in the local punk scene and will listen to that genre often as well. Jesse has his own tastes in metal but Aidan has fun listening to those types with him too

🪓 (axe) - Does your oc have survival skills? Have they ever had to use them? What would they do in an apocalypse? Could they survive?

At the very least Aidan knows how to strip and preserve a corpse so you could get him to be semi-useful while hunting for food, and he can turn the parts into something useable. He's also highly attuned to his surroundings at all times and could utilize his forensics experience to analyze any given area and learn about it But he's a city boy to the core. Don't expect him to know anything about camping in the wilderness for 5 days. He could survive in an apocalypse if he had some help lmao Also yeah he has medical expertise and theoretically could provide medical aid to people. HOWEVER he is a Necronomist and it goes against everything he stands for to prevent death (he has to quicken it), so he wouldn't be very popular or have many allies in an apocalypse scenario

#Aidan Evans #sorry I took my sweet time getting to this #oc ask meme

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mariacallous · 1 year ago

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Content Warning: This story includes references to suicide. If you need help, call the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline for your region.

In 2021, an unidentified Black woman died by suicide after jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge. She was wearing hot-pink nail polish, and had a pink left eyebrow piercing and several tattoos—all distinguishing features that should have made it easier to identify her. Two years later, her identity is still unknown.

The tragedy of unidentified cadavers is something that Rionna Lee has been thinking about for years. Her mother used to transport human remains for New York’s Office of the Chief Medical Examiner, and would bring home morbid stories. One, Lee remembers, was of a man who had been hit by an MTA train. “One of the things that stuck out to me was the condition of his remains, which were scattered across the train tracks,” says Lee, 24, who now lives in Kingston, Pennsylvania. It distressed her to think of the families who would have to identify their loved ones—even more so, later, when she learned that some human remains would never be identified.

There are an average of 4,400 unidentified new cadavers per year in the US, and a total of 600,000 missing people across the country. Some of these cases are collected on databases, such as the National Missing and Unidentified Persons System (NamUs), which helps medical examiners, coroners, law enforcement officers, and members of the public solve missing, unidentified, and unclaimed cases across the country. The true scale of the problem is unknown, as the data available for the average number of unidentified cadavers comes from a 2004 census. Just 10 states have laws requiring that cases be entered into NamUs, meaning that many reports are voluntary.

As she looked into cases—including the woman with the pink nail polish—Lee noticed a pattern in which cases were solved and which weren’t. The decisive factor was often money. Funding from private donors, sponsorship, and public support meant that law enforcement agencies were able to access cutting-edge technology, such as Othram, a forensic genetics company, which has been pivotal in cracking several high-profile cases. Those that weren’t solved didn’t have resources behind them. Often, they were from marginalized groups. Lee, who identifies as Black and LGBTQ+, felt the need to raise awareness among overlooked members of society, those whose deaths often go unnoticed: transient individuals, racial minorities, substance users, and members of the LGBTQ+ community.

Lee set up a TikTok to try to raise awareness. After a few false starts, she went viral, attracting a following of 128,000. She set up a Facebook group—Thee Unidentified & Unsolved—which now has 39,000 members, many of whom work together to solve unidentified and unsolved cases. Thee Unidentified & Unsolved is one of several volunteer social media communities that are filling a gap left by the US state, a gap that is getting worse due to the overlapping crises of poverty, fentanyl, and shortfalls in public funding. Now, with AI image recognition more readily available, volunteers have new tools to help them identify the deceased. This brings with it new issues around privacy and consent, but those in the communities say their work brings closure to families. “I believe everyone starts off with a name,” says Lee. “I believe everyone should be able to leave this earth peacefully with their name.”

Lee started her TikTok campaign in October 2021. There were already several popular accounts that focused on locating missing people, but few, if any, were working to identify the deceased. She created her own page, but TikTok doesn’t allow graphic content such as morgue photos, and she struggled for traction.

She focused on cases where the decedent had been found with items that might help their friends and relatives identify them. “One of the videos I posted that gained exposure was a man with an undetermined race. He was found with a Salvatore Ferragamo gold buckle belt,” says Lee. Her audience was curious how a person with such an expensive piece of clothing could go unidentified. Her engagement grew, and finally, on November 9, 2022, one of her TikTok videos—the case of a 2022 Union County Jane Doe, a Black woman who died after being struck by multiple vehicles on US Route 22 in Hillside, New Jersey—went viral, racking up 652,000 views. A couple of days later, another video hit a million views. She created the Facebook group later that month, because the platform allows graphic content, like morgue pictures, which TikTok doesn’t.

There are around a dozen posts each day in the group, often unsolved cases from NamUs with pictures. Members scour the internet, looking for other images, comparing images with missing person sketches or social media profiles.

Some of the identification groups work globally; others are region- or country-specific or dedicated to unique circumstances, such as missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls. Online detective groups often tread a delicate line between altruistic investigation and mob obsession.

Thee Unidentified has had to tread that line carefully. Earlier this year, the group helped identify Adonis Beck, a TikTok star also known as Pope the Barber. Beck was found dead on August 10. The news spread quickly, causing an influx of new members to the Facebook group. Kenyetta Burks, one of the group’s admins who had first posted Beck’s image in the group, removed the morgue photos as they were posted, but was inundated with requests from people trying to see them, many from fake accounts pretending to be relatives. Sometimes, the admins will notice comments from members who seem more intrigued by the circumstances of death than those who are empathetic to the topic of unidentified cases. In situations that appear voyeuristic, the person is suspended, and if the behavior is repeated, they are banned, Lee says.

These social media groups have helped some families find closure. In 2022, a teenage boy stumbled upon Lee’s TikTok page and identified his mother, a 2017 Jane Doe case, via her tattoos. She was hit by a vehicle while crossing a street in Pasadena, California, and succumbed to her injuries in hospital. In May 2023, Burks posted a sketch, images, and information from NamUs in the Facebook group, which led to the identification of Dytavious Sanders, an MMA fighter from South Carolina, whose body was discovered earlier that month on May 9. Sander’s aunt identified him in the group and his mother asked for assistance in claiming his body.

One member of Thee Unidentified has recently began using a new tool, PimEyes, a controversial facial recognition search engine, as a means to identify the deceased via morgue photos. A quick upload produces search results in a matter of seconds. Photos from across the internet are organized in a single view, mugshots frequently among them. While this technology can accelerate the process of identifying the dead, it brings with it serious privacy concerns. In many cases, informed consent is obtained for neither the image uploaded nor the results that the technology returns, which can include the biometric data of private individuals. Thus far, a few members of the group have utilized this tool.

“While some individuals might be well meaning, online sleuths are using dangerous surveillance tools,” says Madeleine Stone, senior advocacy officer at Big Brother Watch, a privacy campaign group. “By selling this technology, facial recognition companies risk violating the dignity of deceased individuals, but moreover are violating the privacy rights of the billions of people whose photos they have taken, processed, and exploited without consent.”

PimEyes has been criticized by privacy advocates for scraping the internet for images and giving users access to highly personal information about private individuals. PimEyes CEO Giorgi Gobronidze says that these threats are exaggerated, and that PimEyes doesn’t hold images but just directs users to the URLs where images are hosted. “The tool is designed to help people to find the sources that publish photos, and if they shouldn't be there, apply to the website and initiate takedown.” Gobronidze says that PimEyes has many use cases, such as searching for missing people, including women and children in conflict areas, and actively cooperates with human rights organizations.

Lee says that the Thee Unidentified & Unsolved Facebook group “is not focused on the use of PimEyes … But I respect those who do use the tool and actually have successful outcomes.”

In other social media groups, PimEyes is slowly being introduced as an investigative tool for cases related to missing persons, cold cases, and human trafficking.

Experts also worry that this technology is not necessarily accurate, meaning that amateur sleuths could make mistakes with heartbreaking consequences. “This a noble goal, but a terrible approach,” says Albert Fox Cahn, executive director of the Surveillance Technology Oversight Project, an organization that litigates and advocates for privacy and fighting excessive local- and state-level surveillance. “This technology is biased and error prone, and I worry that a lot of worried families will be wrongly told their missing loved one is dead.”

For all of the challenges presented by volunteer online communities, the reality is that they exist in a vacuum left by the authorities.

In 2021, 106,699 Americans died of an overdose. In Seattle, the fentanyl crisis is so bad that the number of overdose deaths has doubled in the past three years, causing the morgues to overflow. The “fourth wave” of the crisis recently descended upon the US, an ongoing mass-overdose event that has consumed law enforcement agencies, stretching the resources necessary for identifying the dead. For medical examiners, the “tsunami” of bodies has resulted in staff burnout, exhausted resources, and the jeopardizing of many offices’ accreditation due to the necessity to conduct more autopsies than industry guidelines permit.

“Unfortunately, the opioid crisis has meant more individuals are coming into the Medical Examiner’s Office for examination,” says Constance DiAngelo, Philadelphia’s chief medical examiner. “Many of these folks are not initially identified.”

The authorities just don’t have the resources to investigate every case thoroughly. “Our challenges are related to funding,” DiAngelo says. “Exhumations, reinterment, DNA extraction and processing, and genealogy comparisons are expensive. A case could cost between $2,500 and $10,000, and that doesn’t include the need for staff who can be dedicated to this type of work.”

In King County, where Seattle is located, there are currently 57 unidentified people that the Medical Examiner’s Office is working to identify. This dire situation is a reality across major American metropolitan areas. In situations where people are found without identification, it can take weeks, if not months, to locate next of kin.

That waiting, and not knowing, can be agony for people whose loved ones have disappeared—like the family of Kallie Catron. Catron’s mother, Crystal Newman, last spoke with her on October 14, 2022. Catron said she missed her two children and wanted to come home. “When Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s passed, my sister knew something was wrong and called to report a missing person,” says Sarah Forister, Catron’s aunt. “I guess you can say a mother knows when something is wrong with her baby.”

On January 22, 2023, Newman was sent a link to a post on Thee Unidentified’s TikTok page. Morgue photos, and images of her tattoos, confirmed it was Catron. “At first, we were so mad that’s how we found out,” says Forister. “But Kallie’s mom, me, and her cousins watched the video showing her morgue photo and all her identifying tattoos multiple times a day.”

Eventually, Lee asked the family whether she could take down the video, as Catron had been identified. “I said yes, but please send me the video so I can watch it whenever I want to,” says Forister. Lee obliged. The community shared the family’s GoFundMe campaign to raise funds for Catron’s funeral and to support her children. “We realized that if it wasn’t for Thee Unidentified community and Rionna, we could still be looking for Kallie,” Forister says.

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mortemoppetere · 2 years ago

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TIMING: current PARTIES: @kadavernagh & @mortemoppetere SUMMARY: regan meets the local pi who keeps finding dead bodies. emilio meets the me who won't talk his ear off about grandchildren. CONTENT WARNINGS: infidelity (npc)

Most doctors had their frequent fliers – usually, people who showed up to the hospital at any hour for the most trivial of things. Regan thought she’d be free of that as a forensic pathologist. But she didn’t account for frequent callers. As it turned out, there was someone in town who rivaled her own propensity for finding and reporting bodies. She hadn’t met him yet, not in person, but Emilio Cortez’s reputation preceded him. Even Marcy told Regan “It’s that fucking guy” when he called in again. And Rickers wasn’t in today. So Emilio would have to deal with her. And she had questions.

Firstly, why was Emilio out in such an isolated place? It was rare that Regan had to drive all the way out to Gatlin Fields; she was quickly learning that the people out there weren’t apt to call in any bodies they found, preferring to keep the morgue out of it. So this was the first corn field she’d had the pleasure of standing in since moving to Wicked’s Rest. As she pushed through the towering plants, she kept an eye out for the crooked tree at the edge of the field that apparently marked the spot. Not that she really needed the landmark. She could feel the pulse of the cadaver pulling her in. And sure enough, there was both a man and a post-man in its shade. Regan adjusted her death scene bag over her shoulder. It was going to put in work today, as was she.

“You must be Emilio Cortez,” Regan said, nodding in his direction, though staring only at the decedent’s flaccid, glossy expression. Male, roughly age 30. Young, which was odd, but not that odd here. No overt signs of trauma, though he was wearing dark clothing, which could hide plenty. “Dr. Kavanagh, Medical Examiner. I believe we’ve spoken online before. You’re the private investigator, correct?” A couple case assists, a couple email exchanges, and she already knew she found his manner irritating. But there was far more she didn’t know about him. “What do you have to tell me?”

____________________________________________________________________________

Working as a private eye in a town like Wicked’s Rest tended to award a man with certain habits. Working as a slayer on top of that tended to intensify those habits. Some of the habits were decent ones. Others involved frequently stumbling upon corpses in the woods. It was the latter that had him standing in Gatlin Fields, smoking a cigarette as he waited for the ME to arrive.

He’d considered just leaving, of course. The medical examiner wouldn’t need anything from him, considering he hadn’t put the corpse here and didn’t have any real evidence to offer. But he was learning that some connections were good for a PI to have. Rickers had thrown him a bone or two when a cadaver that came into the morgue matched the description of someone Emilio was looking for for a job, so he figured he’d throw a few back every now and then. Maintain the professional relationship in the interest of making his life a little easier. He was capable of that, from time to time.

Except… it wasn’t Rickers walking towards him now. It was a woman. Probably the one he’d shared a few scattered exchanges with when the older man was out. Carter? Keller? Kavanagh. He nodded at the introduction. “Just Emilio,” he replied, putting out his cigarette. “Thought you’d be Rickers.” He nodded down at the corpse. “Haven’t touched it. I was looking for a client’s wife. Apparently, she’s been meeting with a guy out here.” He squinted down at the corpse. “That might be the guy. Hard to tell.” The body was in rough shape, though Emilio didn’t know if it was because of how he had died or because of something that had found him after. That would be Dr. Kavanagh’s job. He wasn’t going to do it for her.

____________________________________________________________________________

“Most people think I’d be Dr. Rickers.” And it was true. Even if they weren’t expecting him, precisely, they were usually taken aback to be in the presence of a Medical Examiner deficient in a few decades and an entire beard. Regan was used to some surprise. It was what came after that was more important: would they be deferential to her expertise, or would they look over her shoulder hoping to summon a Rickers? Emilio was already an odd duck. He just didn’t seem to care at all; the comment seemed more remark than question or desire. “But I’m not. Clearly.” Regan finally said with a sigh, snapping her nitrile gloves over her hands, and setting her kit down gently, away from the body. “I’m going to need to get my office out here. But I can take some photos and a cursory look in the meantime. And I want you to stay here so we can discuss this.” And she didn’t just mean the case. She was all too familiar with being drawn to these grisly situations, and she wanted to understand how he kept ending up in them, too.

As Emilio took a drag from his cigarette, Regan’s face scrunched up in irritation. That was technically a potential contaminate of the scene, however unlikely that the smoke and ashes would alter anything. He put it out before she could demand it of him. “Don’t throw that on the ground.” They were surely off to a good start. Regan dug the two cameras out of her bag, handing one to Emilio for good measure. Why not? He was a PI. He could operate a camera. “I assume you know how to use that. What’s your client like? Do you think he would be the type to go after the ‘other party’ as an act of revenge?” She pressed her lips together in thought. “You know humans. People. The more you can tell me, the less that particular avenue will need to be investigated. I do not care about motive, only that a death occurred.”

____________________________________________________________________________

“Clearly,” Emilio agreed, a hint of amusement in his expression. She was all business, and he liked that. Rickers was fine, but he tended to be a little chatty for Emilio’s case. Hearing about the man’s grandchildren ranged from annoying to painful depending on his mood. Dr. Kavanagh didn’t seem to be in any danger of doing that, though he did make a face when she requested he stick around. “Don’t think I’ll be much help for you,” he warned her. Death might be something familiar to him, but not in this context. Most of his cases ended when he found a body. He told the client that the person they’d been looking for was found, and people like Dr. Kavanagh handled the rest. It was preferable, that way.

He rolled his eyes, but made a show of shoving the cigarette butt into the pocket of his jeans rather than tossing it on the ground. It was hardly the dirtiest thing that had ever gone into these pockets, after all. Taking the camera as she handed it to him, Emilio inspected it carefully. Newer than the one he used, and probably more expensive, but he could swing it. “Point and shoot,” he said dryly. “Doesn’t take a genius. Not sure what you want me to do with it, though.” Was he expected to assist her with the crime scene here? He wasn’t being paid for that. He fiddled with the strap of the camera, glancing up at the medical examiner. “I’m not going to go around accusing the guy of murder when he still owes me money,” he replied flatly. “But for what it’s worth, doubt he’d be able to take this guy. He’s scrawny. Doesn’t look like he’s ever even been in a fight.” That didn’t mean he wasn’t responsible, of course. He could have hired someone, or tricked the other man somehow. Hell, he could be something supernatural that gave him a leg up. Not anything undead, of course — Emilio would know if he were that — but a shapeshifter, maybe, or fae. But at the end of the day? “He wasn’t after vengeance, from what I could tell. Just wanted pictures to present to his lawyer so he could get more in the divorce. If anything, this guy being alive was good for him.”

____________________________________________________________________________

“You might surprise us both.” Regan countered, “You never know what information is pertinent in situations like this. Besides, you’re an extra set of hands until my office and the police arrive. You know what to do with a camera.” She took some establishing shots of her own, slowly circling the area. There was mostly only corn. Lots of corn. For a potential crime scene, it was pretty boring, pretty clean. Hopefully the decedent’s examination would offer a little more excitement. She was rarely disappointed in the autopsies this town offered. She snapped another photo. “I’m not asking you to accuse anyone of murder. This might not even be a murder. We don’t even use that term – I determine homicides, not murders.” How had Dr. Rickers not taught him a thing or two yet?

At least Mr. Cortez was cooperating, though Regan had a feeling he’d squirm away if at the very word cooperate. “Interesting.” Not really. Regan rarely had any interest in what happened preceding the death – only the direct circumstances in which the death occurred. She’d leave the crime-solving to the police. At least, that’s how she used to operate. Now, her perimortem visions sometimes flared her sense of justice. She wasn’t about to go fishing for one right now.

“Get the scene from the left, please.” She pointed to the left of the decedent, toward yet more corn. Time to see if she could figure him out a bit more. “You know, my secretary recognized who you were. Dr. Rickers knows you on a first-name basis, too. Do you want to tell me why that is?” Regan hesitated, wondering if she should let on that she knew a little more than that. Ultimately, she decided it would cut their conversation a little shorter if she did. Which was only a good thing. “They said you call frequently. And that you’re a private investigator, which explains why you seem to have a working relationship with us. I think that warrants further discussion. But I’ve worked with other investigators in town, and they don’t normally find the bodies.” Regan looked up from the camera, raising a brow at Emilio. “Sheer dumb luck, or a byproduct of the kind of cases you take?”

____________________________________________________________________________

She used a lot of big words. It was a struggle to keep up, though Emilio gave no indication of it. He focused on the context clues, puzzled out what she was saying a few seconds slower than he might have had his English been just a little better, and nodded his head slowly. “I guess,” he agreed. If she was saying what he figured she was — that sometimes, information you didn’t expect to be important could help you solve a case — then he agreed with her. He’d had plenty of cases that were solved with details he’d already written off. He held the camera up experimentally, taking a few shots here and there. Whether or not any of them would be of subject matter that Dr. Kavanagh would find helpful was yet to be determined… but also not something Emilio considered to be his problem. “Then what are you asking me?” Emilio glanced to the crime scene, trying to keep the confusion from his expression as she clarified. “They mean the same thing.” Didn’t they?

He wasn’t sure how much a medical examiner cared about the details of the case. Rickers never seemed to give much of a shit, but Rickers also never handed him a camera and told him to make himself useful, so the two already differed quite a bit. In any case, Emilio had no intention of sticking around until the cops showed up. Dr. Kavanagh might be associated with the police, but she didn’t make his skin crawl the way the actual officers tended to. If he stuck around too long, they’d probably try to find some way to pin it on him. Kavanagh clearly cared about the truth of the crime, but not everyone felt the same. In a town like Wicked’s Rest, where there were more case files than there were police officers, plenty of them just wanted those cases closed one way or another.

Having some kind of direction came as a relief, though you wouldn’t know it from the way Emilio rolled his eyes as he followed her instruction. “I’m an investigator,” he replied, snapping a few photos from different angles. “Sometimes, my investigations bring me to things like this. Lots of missing people in Wicked’s Rest. Their families come to me when the police give up. I tend to find them in pieces.” He knelt down for another angle, despite the pressure it put on his bad knee. If Kavanagh wanted him to take pictures, he’d take pictures. Like she’d said, he had a working relationship with the medical examiner’s office. He’d like to keep that working relationship, and that meant it was better if both doctors there liked him enough not to hang up the phone when he called. He considered her question as he snapped the photo. He knew that the frequency of his calls to her office were due, in at least some small part, to his status as a slayer. Even when he found bodies on a job for Axis, as he had today, it was his upbringing that drove him there. Most PIs didn’t look for things in the same way Emilio did. If you went to places expecting bodies, it was a lot easier to find those bodies. “Let’s go with dumb luck,” he decided. “And the other investigators in town being worse at their jobs than I am. I have a good record.” Even if his reviews said otherwise. “Guess I do take on weird cases sometimes, though. I like to figure things out.” And his ability to ‘figure things out’ that were supernatural in nature had earned him a reputation as someone who would solve the ‘weird’ cases people might have.

It was almost surprising that Mr. Cortez was listening to her instruction, but she wasn’t going to question it. And also wasn’t going to try not to press her luck. Regan knew others like him, or at least others who came off in a similar manner. Brusque, loose, and stubborn over the most inane of things; straight from the private investigator mold of the 70s. It was better to have people like him relatively content in whatever arrangement worked best for them both. And being new to town, especially, Regan needed all of the social currency he and other tangentially related peers to offer her. She figured, ironically, that the more people familiar with her, the more effectively she could have them leave her alone. Unless something really mattered. Like this.

“Homicide and murder are not the same thing.” Regan walked a straight line, taking a new photo every couple of feet, but still managing to focus on what she deemed to be an important distinction. “Homicide is a pathological designation; murder is a legal one. There are homicides that aren’t murder. Many, in fact. I write up my findings and leave it up to the police and courts to determine the charge and punishment.” As difficult as it was, at times. But Regan was a rule follower, and regardless of her sense of justice, she knew what her place was.

His explanation wasn’t much of one at all. “I don’t actually believe in luck, you know.” But she did believe in dumb.

Satisfied with the photos they’d taken – well, at least trusting Emilio’s were passable for documentation purposes – she decided it was time to move on. “I’m going to do a quick examination of the body. Not the autopsy; that will wait, obviously.” She pulled a notebook from her bag, handing it to Emilio, as well as a thermometer which she held onto. Unfortunately, the decedent was supine, and she didn’t want to disturb him to the extent necessary to take rectal temperature. Sublingual would have to do. She popped the thermometer in, but as her gloved hand grazed his temple, she froze.

That wasn’t right. “He’s warm,” she announced to Emilio, looking up from her kneel. “Hot, even.” And very dead. There was no doubt about that. The thermometer beeped and she pulled it out. 108 degrees. Hotter than ambient temperature, substantially. And hotter than any body out here had a right to be. That was going to make determining time of death more difficult if she couldn’t rely on algor mortis. “I’m calling 108.4 degrees. Do you have that? I’ll… try a second time.”

Context clues were great, but they really only worked when you understood at least a few other words in the sentence. And Kavanagh was quickly detouring into territory where that simply wasn't the case for Emilio. He stared at her for a moment, perplexed expression on his face as he tried to puzzle out what that meant. Pathological designation? After a moment, he gave up. “No entiendo,” he mumbled, shaking his head just a little. It was clear that he didn’t enjoy confessing it, but they could hardly carry on a conversation if he was trying to guess every word she was saying. He couldn’t even make sense of the part of her sentence that he did technically understand — how could a homicide not be a murder? What was the difference between the two?

At least this part of the conversation made more sense to him. He snorted lightly, shrugging a shoulder. “I’m not killing them, if that’s what you’re asking.” If he killed someone, he wouldn’t call it in to the medical examiner. That would just be stupid.

She seemed finished with photos now, and Emilio held out the camera for her to take, replacing it in his hand with the notebook she offered him instead. He wasn’t sure what she wanted him to do with this. Take notes for her? That wasn’t really his speed, and he doubted she’d approve of his handwriting. It was barely legible, even when he was the one reading it. Unsure what else to do, he bent the pages absently as she stepped forward. When she froze, so did he.

“He’s dead,” he replied flatly. “Shouldn’t he be cold?” 108 degrees? He was more accustomed to Celsius than Farenheit, but even he knew that 108 degrees was hotter than a corpse ought to be. Which, in Wicked’s Rest? Meant there was probably something supernatural going on. Emilio groaned. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“Yes, he should be cold. Well, not cold cold, but about ambient temperature. Unless he died within hours, in which case the decedent could still be close to baseline temperature. But this – it’s above what it should be, even for the living.” And yet, as Regan plunged the thermometer back into the guy’s mouth, it came beeping back with the exact same result. “Identical.” She announced. Was this hyperthermia of some kind? It was rare that she saw any hyperthermia death, and there were few findings that were definitive for it in autopsy. The scene investigation was the more valuable piece for that determination. And yet, there was really nothing here. Not that she could see.

“You may not have to worry about the distinction between a homicide and murder. I’m not convinced this is either.” Regan turned to Emilio, forehead creased in confusion. Accidental deaths weren’t unusual, but most of the time the decedent wasn’t embroiled in the middle of a potential extramarital affair or already being investigated by a PI. But like she’d suspected before, there really were no external signs of trauma. “You said your client’s wife had been meeting him out here. Do you think she knows he’s dead, even if she wasn’t involved in the death itself? Left him alone to rot? I suppose you wouldn’t know that…” Regan frowned, looking at the dead man’s eyes. They were glossy, but didn’t yet have a nice tache noir film over them. She attempted to flex his arm, and found it stiff. Even without relying on temperature, that was enough information for her to feel secure that he hadn’t been out here for less than a couple hours and for no longer than ten. “This happened recently. As in today, perhaps just a few hours ago.”

Slowly, she stood, nodding toward the notepad which surely didn’t have much on it, and even less that would be legible. “Autopsy findings for hyperthermia are non-specific. We need to take in as much as we can about the scene before the police get here and start–” No, she needed to be kinder. They usually did their best, and she needed them. But all too often, she’d seen them get in the way of her own investigators from the ME’s office, the two groups butting heads over jurisdiction. “Just start digging around for a bag, or dropped items, or anything else that could be helpful.” And maybe, if she handled it just the right way, she could even get it to reveal its secrets.

The more she spoke, the less he understood. Emilio flipped the pen she’d handed him between his fingers absently, not writing anything down largely because he wasn’t sure what to write. He didn’t even know how to attempt to spell any of the words she was saying. Did decadent mean body? Why couldn’t she just say that? He was starting to miss Rickers and his endless grandchildren. At least that guy would have probably just sent Emilio on his way by now.

He understood what she was saying to some extent, at least. The body under the tree might not be there because of any kind of foul play. Which, all things considered, was probably a good thing. Murders were messy, even when you were just the guy who found the body. Emilio had neither the time nor the patience for them. “Don’t think she’s been out here today,” he replied with a shrug. “She wears a pretty strong perfume. Don’t smell it on him.” It was half true. The wife’s perfume wasn’t any stronger than anyone else’s, but Emilio’s enhanced senses made it pretty easy to pick up. And there was no sign of it on the dead guy now, which meant the wife probably hadn’t shown up to this particular rendezvous. Which, of course, begged a new question: Why was he out here? “He could have been meeting someone else,” Emilio said, gears turning in his mind. “If he’s got one woman he meets out in a cornfield away from town, odds are he’s got more. Not much about this meetup spot makes it seem like they’d be exclusive.” Had he been following the man instead of the woman, he might know for sure just how accurate the theory was. But the dead man only mattered when he was with the client’s wife. Outside of that, he had no use to Emilio.

So the body was recent. That was good to know, even if nothing here really had anything to do with Emilio’s case anymore. Curiosity had taken hold of him around the time Kavanagh started looking perplexed, and while he had a hunch that this was something supernatural, there was a dull sort of thrill in the ability to figure out what. He nodded at the instruction, approaching the body and pausing for a moment. “I’m not going to fuck you up if I touch him, am I?” Mostly, he wanted to ensure that putting his hands on the corpse wouldn’t make him a suspect if this became a homicide case after all, but he figured it’d play more in his favor if he asked it in…a slightly less selfish-sounding way.

It was kind of… pleasant watching Emilio show more interest than he had so far, though Regan wished it didn’t come along with a request to physically manipulate her decedent. “You’re not going to fuck something up because I will not allow for it. So you may touch him, but move him as little as possible, and do not do anything invasive. And know that I’m watching. Closely.” But what she wasn’t going to do was prohibit it. “In fact… touch his face, first, and tell me what you think.” Regan was almost positive the heat she’d felt on the dead man’s skin was accurate to the reading of the thermometer, but it was hard to tell at times – so many things now felt too warm or hot against her chilled flesh. She wouldn’t risk a second exploratory touch in case it triggered a vision – which could be potentially helpful, but certainly something that would need a lot of explaining and poor attempts at lying behind it.

Regan did exactly as she said she would, and watched closely, making sure Emilio saw her eyes glued to him. “I don’t see a bag anywhere around here, do you? Do you think he came here without any belongings?” Primarily among her interests was water. If he somehow got stuck out here without water, on a 90 degree day in the beating sun, that could begin to explain some of the findings. She carefully patted the man’s front pants pockets, but there was no indication of anything being in them. Definitely not the cell phone she was looking for. “No cell phone, either, as far as I can tell. But I don’t want to flip him and check the back pockets yet.” She pressed her lips together tightly. She didn’t like that. Who didn’t carry a cell phone with them? Most of the time that meant it was removed from the primary scene by the guilty party or someone else. “I’m sure a phone exists.”

“Well, I’m not planning on dancing with him,” Emilio replied dryly, kneeling down by the corpse in spite of the continued protests his bad leg offered up. Nodding at the instruction, he placed his palm against the dead man’s face. “Yeah, hotter than it ought to be,” he agreed. Even when a corpse was so fresh that the light hadn’t yet left their eyes entirely, there wasn’t this level of heat to it. Emilio would know — he’d seen more of them than he’d like to admit.

He pulled his hand away, patting down the man’s torso to check his jacket pockets. Feeling a lump, he reached inside. Wallet. Keys. Another key ring containing what seemed to be the key to a motel room, which Emilio held up with a snort. “You’d think he would’ve just gone here for his hookups,” he commented. “Better than an empty field.” He leaned back as Kavanagh came in to check the pants pockets, glad that he wasn’t the one patting up and down the man’s thighs. He had plenty of experience with corpses, but there was still something a little uncomfortable about feeling a dead stranger’s upper legs. No phone was an interesting development; who came out without one? How had he been planning on contacting his mistress, whoever they might have been? “Maybe he dropped it somewhere before he died. Tried to call for help and lost it. We could see if there’s a business card or something that might have his number on it in his wallet, call it and listen for it to ring.” Or see if someone picked it up. People were often stupid, and Emilio wouldn’t be entirely surprised at a murderer answering the phone of a man they’d just killed.

Regan wanted to protest as Emilio just stuck his hands inside of the man’s pockets without caution, but it was too late. And fortunately, there were no needles. “Tongs next time,” she said under her breath, “But at least we found his wallet and keys. Is there a name in there? Maybe even a photo ID?” If they didn’t have a cell phone, it would be helpful to at least have that.

In the distance, she could see two police vehicles and the van from her office pull over at the side of the field. They’d take over from here. Which meant she and Emilio didn’t have long to view evidence before the others took control of it. She hated even thinking that. But some of the deaths in this town had aspects to their death scenes that were best viewed by someone else first. She would never alter anything. But it helped with interpreting things in a different, unfiltered light; seeing things that would never make it into the reports.

“The investigators will be here shortly. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to leave before then. I can vouch for your actions here at the scene, but they may want to interview you at a later time.” Regan frowned, looking down at the body that still seemed to be cooking under the sun. “I don’t like this one. Not that I like any of them, but something feels…” Feels. She hated that inexact, too-human word, hated that it was apt. But it was. Something felt off. “How far are we from the nearest gas store? Nearest anything? I don’t think I’ve seen any other cars drive past since I got here.” She was pretty sure he took her point. It was a bad place to end up without a phone and any water.

“I think that’s all we’re going to get from him here.” A sickeningly hot gust of wind blew in from behind them, strong enough to nearly knock Regan over. “Woah.” She spun, and watched the field of corn slowly bow to the breeze as it poured through like a wave. Strong one. Ugh, she was sweaty. Regan unbuttoned the top button on her shirt. It was hot out. Time to go cool off. Which, unfortunately, their decedent didn’t get a chance to do. “Stay hydrated today, investigator.”

Emilio waved a hand in Regan’s direction at the mention of tongs, the motion making it pretty clear that he fully expected there to be a next time and fully intended to handle it the same way. Who needed tongs? He flipped open the wallet, humming at the sight of a driver’s license staring back at him. “Brenton Horn,” he rattled off, flipping through the rest of the wallet for good measure. “Cash and cards are still here, so if someone did kill him, it wasn’t for the money. Not that he’s got much of it, from the looks of things. Less than twenty dollars here.” He flipped the wallet shut again, tossing it in Kavanagh’s direction.

He heard the cars pull up, glanced up to see the flashing lights. He wondered if it was obvious, the way he tensed. Emilio had never been a fan of the police for a vast multitude of reasons, some related to the fact that he did an awful lot of killing in his spare time and some tied to more mundane things. In any case, he had no desire to face down a whole slew of them while standing over a corpse even if they were all well aware that he wasn’t the one responsible for putting it there.

Maybe Kavanagh picked up on that, or maybe she was just circling back to his earlier desire to leave the scene. Either way, there was some relief to be found when she offered to vouch for him at the scene, and he nodded. He wouldn’t be sticking around, that much was certain. “Something’s not right,” he agreed. “We’re a long way out from anything. Doesn’t seem like many people drive by, either. I’m thinking he liked it because it was secluded.” If you were doing something you knew you shouldn’t be doing, there was always going to be some desire to do it in absolute privacy. This was about as absolute as a person could get.

“Unless you want to question him,” Emilio agreed dryly. He started to straighten, but the wind pushed him back down again. That was… strange. Christ, it was a hot breeze, too. Sweat dripped down his brow, and he swiped a hand across it with a faint scowl. Kavanagh had the right idea; Emilio tugged at his shirt collar absently, nodding his head. “A drink sounds damn good right now,” he responded, though he doubted what he had in mind would hydrate him much. “Good luck with this one, Dr. Kavanagh. You need an investigator who doesn’t hide behind a badge, you give me a call. Rickers has my number.”

And then he was off, ducking away from the scene before the police could join it, Brenton Horn’s fate still tugging at something in his mind. He was glad this wasn’t his case anymore. It seemed like it was going to end up one hell of a headache.

#kadavernagh #regan: heat of the moment #wickedswriting #infidelity tw #s1 writing #season 1

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deathcoach · 2 years ago

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Hi there! I really loved your book 🥰

What were the hardest and the most fun scenes to write?

Thank you so much for this ask @blackmonitor!!! I'm thrilled, first of all, that you loved the book. Nothing makes me happier than hearing that!

So for your questions....the hardest and most fun scenes...

Maybe we should go below the cut because there be spoilers here...

I think the hardest scenes to write were the ones about the medical specifics of the deaths and the autopsies. I actually consulted with a real coroner/forensic specialist to make sure I was getting the details right. I am a real stickler for realism (even in fanfic--trying to snug things into canon as much as possible) and so it was important to me that the terminology was correct, the ways people were killed were plausible (as well as pleasurable, in this twisted tale), and that no one who spent their days in a morgue would read the book and be mortified at some glaring inaccuracy!

The most fun scenes...well there's the smut...

This book was written pretty quickly, and I would have to say the most fun for me were the first few chapters, where I was getting to know the characters (both main and supporting) and learning how they thought and operated in this strange world I'd put them in... and before I had to worry too much about the story...

I liked figuring out who Walker was, where he came from, and learning that he wasn't an ambiguous hero--he is just a straight- up hero (even if he has very bad taste in bedpartners). He does the right thing, even when it's a minor kindness.

One example was this excerpt from early on, as Terana is contemplating her prey detective:

Took first in the all-state police sharpshooting competition three years in a row. Probably stopped entering, she smirked, to let someone else win. He seemed like that kind of guy.

And she's RIGHT! He -IS- that kind of guy, and you KNOW he stopped entering to give someone else a chance to win. And realizing early on in the story what kind of protagonist Walker was made everything else more fun...because the heroes (at least in my universe) always win, and so I had faith the story would come out OK, no matter how twisted the path to get there.

Thank you so much for the questions! I hope you enjoyed the answers, and thank you again for reading!

❤

#authors on tumblr #death coach #morgan rivers #ask the author #asks #i like asks #detective walker #detective fiction #novels

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killerandhealerqueen · 2 years ago

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What made you pursue forensic science as a study? Was your love for detective shows a factor? Or did you want to know the gritty details of how forensics really worked?

Also, I was the 😅 anon before! Revealing myself lol.

Haha, hi! I would have made a tag for you when you were on anon, but I didn't know what 😅 would translate to in words, so I just left it as "anon edition". But if I make a tag, would you prefer "unknown edition" or is there another name you'd prefer?

Anyways, when I was younger, I actually wanted to be a nurse or a surgeon. But at the time I realized that 1) I'd have to deal with blood (I didn't like blood back then, blood doesn't really bother me now) and 2) I'd have someone's life in my hands and that scared the fucking hell out of me so I said nope.

But, I've also been very interested in science. English and science were the subjects I was always really strong in and I actually won an award in middle school for being super inquisitive about science, so that kind of...spurred me on to consider/pursue a career in science.

As I got older, yeah, watching a lot of crime shows did help, like CSI: Miami, Criminal Minds, the First 48, stuff like that and then I started watching Forensic Files and I'm like "That. I wanna do that". Also, anytime we took those like MBTI tests and they told you what sort of job you'd be good in, I always got either science teacher or criminal justice. So I kind of leaned into that as well.

In middle school, I was lucky enough to visit the Honolulu Police Department and talk with someone who worked as a crime scene photographer and sort of get the scoop on how crime scene investigation and stuff like that works so that also sort of helped me realize that hey, forensics is an option and it's kind of fucking cool and maybe I wanna pursue that.

In high school, I wrote a paper on what a CSI is actually like and how it's not everything the television shows make it out to be (the CSI effect and all) and surprisingly, doing all of that research just made me want to do forensics more.

And then in college, the college I went to actually had a degree in Forensic Biology, so I was fucking ecstatic about that. Same with my master's program. I'm very lucky that I was able to go to schools that focused/had degrees that I wanted to pursue in them and I'm also very lucky that my parents urged me to pursue this sort of degree.

Also, working at the morgue for two summers also really strengthened that I seriously want to work in the forensic/death scene investigation field and that we really help put a lot of families at ease.

Also, just learning how important death scene investigations are (sort of similar to crime scene investigations except one is done by the morgue and one is done by the police) and what goes into death scene investigations and what we do...it's all very fascinating and I'm grateful that I got to experience it.

Also experiencing an autopsy. That was a first for me, but I remember it very well and I also found that incredibly fascinating (the doctor was very patient and explained how and why he was doing what he was doing and if I wasn't getting my masters in forensic investigative science, I might have considered going to medical school to become a forensic pathologist).

So yeah, always sort of wanted to work in the criminal justice field, always sort of had the drive/urge to help people and I realized that not everyone has the stomach to be a forensic scientist but I do, so I should...maybe pursue it

get to know the blogger

#sass answers #qm edition #get to know the blogger

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wickedsrest-rp · 2 years ago

Photo

NAME: Office of the Medical Examiner (Wicked’s Rest Morgue)

LOCATION: Deersprings

The Wicked’s Rest Morgue isn’t the town’s only morgue, but it’s certainly the nicest, and the one you probably want to end up in after your untimely death. Located in the forensic science center and equipped with some of Maine’s finest pathologists (kind of), state of the art technology, and a refrigerated holding room, you can really get an autopsy in style here. It would be a little hard to enjoy it, but still. Though the ME’s Office is an independent entity, it works closely with the town’s police as well as the hospital to gather the right information (and bodies). Not that most deaths in this town come with information that’s all that helpful. It’s always a toss up on whether the ME’s death investigators are aware of just how strange the truth can be. And as for the Medical Examiners… well, that depends on which one you get.

People who died alone or under suspicious circumstances are stored in a high security hall here, and are autopsied by the Medical Examiner. Most often that’ll be Regan Kavanagh or Morty Rickers. A pass from either of them is required for entry into any secure areas. They don’t take bribes. Marcy, the receptionist, can at least check you in so you can make yourself comfortable in one of the waiting rooms.

While Dr. Rickers doesn’t seem to know anything at all about the supernatural, Dr. Kavanagh just might. That doesn’t mean the death certificate can state “assailed by leprechauns.” However, saying the right thing to Marcy might literally open some doors for you to ask the doctors about more cryptic details.

Try not to find yourself alone with Dr. Rickers. He will talk your ear off about his grandchildren, even during autopsies. How does he have so many?

They manage to keep the main areas nearly free of the smell of decay, covering it up with clouds of Febreze.

You need a pass from an educational institute or ME if you wish to observe anything behind the scenes, as they want to make sure people are serious about learning from the experience, rather than just snooping or even looting.

The holding room is highly secure with an alarm system and video feeds. Some of them cut out at seemingly random times – often in Dr. Kavanagh’s office. No one has found any indication of a technical problem.

There are fully functioning research labs in the hospital nearby that focus on specific pathologies. They frequently collect bodies to use for organ transplants, skin grafts, and research. It’s not unusual to see a number of trucks in front of the building – either picking up or delivering.

#locations #deersprings #general use #WR morgue #character location #medical examiner

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ameliemaaaee · 3 months ago

Text

The Silent Witness - Oneshot Series

(2) How you Become an Agent

Chapter Information Summary: With a sudden career change underway you find yourself enraveled in a case that's more than personal for the BAU. Content Warnings: S6/7 Spoilers, Doyle Arc Spoilers, Canon Violence/Gore, Awkward!Reader & Spencer, Betraya/Lies. Word Count: 9,504.

Story Masterlist - (1) - (2)

You were extremely glad the long day was coming to an end. The lab-techs were arriving to clean the morgue for the evening, and you were ready to happily retire to your apartment for the night, where you would remain on-call until the morning.

You quickly bustled around your small desk, your body on autopilot as you cleaned up the files and packed up your belongings.

You were pulled out of your reverie by the shrill ringing of your telephone. You began to irrationally panic, dropping the stack of files onto your chair as quickly as possible, not wanting to keep the caller waiting.

Once you finally had free hands and lifted the receiver you were met with a familiar voice you couldn’t help smiling at.

“Hi Y/N, it’s Agent Hotchner from the BAU.” You couldn’t help but smile at the vaguely familiar voice.

“Yes, to what do I owe the pleasure, agent?”

“I actually have a couple questions. I need a consult.”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem... fire away!”

“We have an agent who is in some trouble at the moment…” You hum down the receiver to indicate to Hotch you were listening.

“… she’s being transferred into WITSEC, but in order for that transition to raise no questions, she needs to ‘die’.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” You say, your tone taking an even and professional edge.

“She was seriously injured in an encounter with an UnSub, and sent to hospital, where she was then airlifted to another and stabilised. I can’t disclose much more, but I was wondering if a post-mortem report would be necessary?”

“Okay, well most hospitals conduct post-mortems on their patients if they die in their care. And these are supposed to be easily accessible to the friends and family of the deceased. So, I would say that if you’re trying to cover all bases it would be a necessary move.”

“How would I go about that?” You twirl your hair around your finger, deep in thought.

“If you email me over her patient file, I can sign off on a PM report for you? I’m obviously totally excluded from this case, and you would need her consent to share the files, but I’m totally covered legally for that type of thing.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Absolutely not. Not if it lifts a weight off your shoulders, plus I can do PM reports in my sleep.”

You hear Agent Hotchner chuckle through the phone at this.

“That would be greatly appreciated doctor.”

“Yeah, as I said just send me over…”

“-Actually, I had one last thing to ask.” He continues, piquing your interest.

“Okay-”

“We had an increase in budget this year that would allow us to hire an extra agent. I have been in contact with my higher-ups who are currently in the process of trying to bring forensic medical professionals into the bureau, and they are currently finishing up a state-of-the-art mortuary facility on the academy grounds.”

You pause, absorbing all the information agent Hotchner was relaying too you, trying to process what he meant by all of this, and you couldn’t help but feel the excitement swell in your heart as you got your hopes up.

“The brass was obviously aware of you, and how highly I spoke of you on our return, and they requested that I reach out and ask you personally if you would be willing to consider a position. Now, I’m aware that it’s a big ask and that it would require a trans-Atlantic mo-“

“-Absolutely, I would absolutely consider it.” You can’t hide the excitement in your voice as you cut the agent off.

“-That’s great, I’m currently in the process of trying to negotiate a forensic professional to our team, who would be essential in commencing the work of the forensic pathology department, before stepping back into a role primarily within the BAU; and they said yes, we are just working out some of the finer details.”

“Hotch, do you happen to remember what I said in the café that day?” You heard him laugh.

“Yes.”

“This means, a lot to me. Thank you.”

“It’s no problem at all, I think you would be perfectly suited here.”

You try to contain your joy as Agent Hotchner takes a slight pause.

“I have a meeting later, I will keep you updated, but be prepared; this position will open up fairly quickly. I will also forward you the information regarding our agent.”

“That’s great, I will get all of that sorted for you tomorrow. Hotch?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks… really, this is the best thing anyone has ever done for me.” His laugh emanates through the phone again as you smile widely.

“It’s no problem, doctor. Have a good night.”

“And you.”

As you place the phone back down in its cradle you can’t help but jump up and down as a sense of overwhelming joy overtakes you.

The rush of adrenaline allows you to tidy your desk in record time and soon you find yourself slinging your bag over your shoulder and walking out onto the crowded streets of London, striding to the nearest Tube Station a bright, smile on your face that was here to stay.

Hotch wasn’t lying when he said the position would open up quickly, within a month you were officially an American citizen, and a federal agent in training about to begin your first day…. Well, half-day.

Nothing would ever come close to describing the anxiousness you felt gazing up at the looming foyer of the FBI Academy in which the BAU was based.

Butterflies swam through your stomach as you proceeded up the steps and towards the main doors where an FBI crest was flaunted above the doors inscribed with ‘Fidelity, Integrity, Bravery.” The words somehow calmed you. These people were the best of the best, and so were you, just maybe not at hand-to-hand combat.

Hotch had quickly made you aware that the unit was in a transitional period due to both, a major investigation, and the aforementioned ‘death’ of an agent. This meant, he would not be able to greet you, and instead he would be sending Garcia, a familiar face.

And as you made your way through the sliding glass doors, she quickly bustled up to you engulfing you in her arms; a hug you couldn’t help but find comforting. You were in slightly over your head; a new country, a new job, and what you hoped would be a new group of friends.

Garcia practically dragged you towards a front desk to retrieve a visitor pass and then towards a set of elevators.

“I’m so glad you’re here you know?”

“I’m glad to be here.”

“The whole team loved you in London.”

You grin at this, quickly snapping back to attention as the elevator doors slide open onto the sixth floor. You had little time to process this however as Penelope quickly grabbed your hand and dragged you towards glass doors that were inscribed with the initials ‘BAU’. If you weren’t nervous before, you were now.

“I should let you know that we are in a state of eternal chaos right now. I’m pretty sure Hotch hasn’t even had the chance to tell the team you are coming yet.” Garcia pushes open the doors and leads you through into a large open area.

The main floor of the BAU was carpeted, and spacious L-shaped desks created a sort of bullpen. Each desk had a unique personality that you couldn’t help noting. A raised platform ran along the back of the room housing offices and to the far left, what looked like a conference room.

The space was surprisingly welcoming for an office, and you slowly scanned the room, unable to spot any familiar faces before you were being dragged towards a corridor.

“This is my bat-cave.” Garcia has a proud look on her face as she walks into a large computer room littered with monitors, and a large wall-high computer unit sat behind glass on the other wall.

“Wait- this is amazing! Did you program it all?” You whisper as you trail your finger across the trinket-covered desk, noting the operating system was like no other you had ever seen.

“I did indeed.” You grin as you turn to face her, prying your eyes away from the impressive computers.

“Okay, the team will be here in about 10 minutes, in the meantime I have a PowerPoint.”

“A PowerPoint?”

“Yes, it’s the best way to deliver information.” You laugh shyly, shrugging your shoulders as she fiddles with her computer for a second before dragging you across the ramp, and towards the aforementioned conference room, pointing out offices as she went.

“This is Hotch’s office, he never leaves it unless he’s forced to. This is Rossi’s office, He has expensive renaissance art, and Morgan’s office is back there, he’s hot.” You can’t help but laugh at their dynamic which had stuck out to you in London, but it clearly wasn’t a one-off occurrence.

“…and this, my friend, is the round table room.” You quickly get ushered into one of the comfortable desk chairs as the screen lights up, Garcia standing in front of it.

“This is gonna be less dramatic since you’ve met everyone already but here goes nothing I guess-“

The screen flashes with a title slide reading ‘The Behavioural Analysis Unit’ in bold lettering, the unit logo accompanying it.

“I like your font choice-“ You smile as Garcia thanks you and changes the slide.

“Ohhh yes! Meet the team. This is the best part.” You chuckle at this allowing her to continue.

“Okay, so we of course have Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner…” You try to hold back a laugh as a small photo pops up on the screen accompanying some facts.

“…he is our ‘boss man’ and he’s the dad of the team, but he’s also actually a dad; his son’s name is Jack, and I can’t really remember what age he is but he’s very sweet. He also doesn’t smile… or blink, like ever so don’t be scared that’s just him.” You find yourself wondering whether or not this PowerPoint had been run past Hotch or not.

“Okay, we have me. Fun fact, I’m fabulous. If you ever need a sneaky background check on anyone, I can do that in literally three seconds flat, and I’m also fabulous.”

“Then we have Derek -Chocolate Thunder- Morgan. I’m his baby girl, don’t steal him from me, thank you. The rest is self-explanatory… just, look at him!” You lean back in your seat rolling your eyes, but the sudden sound of a door opening grabs your attention, startling you.

“Garcia?” JJ makes her way into the room quickly spotting you sat on the chair. She laughs slightly as she notices the slideshow proudly displayed on the projector.

“Did you run this past Hotch?”

“No-“ JJ laughs, rolling her eyes as she turns to you, offering a warm smile.

“Dr. L/N, it’s great to have you here, I’ll take you to Hotch’s office. He left the contracts in there.”

“Who’s that?” Morgan points towards a shadowed figure sat opposite JJ in Hotch’s office.

The team had been busy monitoring Declan and trying to come up with a plan for when Doyle resurfaced that, they had failed to remember Hotch’s brief mention of a new agent before he left for his temporary assignment in Pakistan.

“JJ’s probably talking to Strauss.” Spencer shrugs, squinting one last time at the image distorted by the half-closed blinds.

“There were whispers of a new agent-“ Rossi says, rolling his eyes at the team’s speculation, fully aware he was only furthering their curiosity. But instead, he leads them towards the conference room where Garcia is preparing case files.

“Hotch wouldn’t hire a new agent, not right now anyway, he isn’t even here.” Spencer places his satchel across the back of the chair before slumping down into it.

“Yeah, with this whole Doyle thing, it wouldn’t make sense. Plus, it’s not like anybody would willingly walk into this chaos.”

The team begin to discuss their findings amongst themselves, taking notes.

“Alright Y/N, you don’t have to sign the contracts for your main job until Hotch returns. For now, you just need to sign the ones admitting you into the Academy, where you will complete the physical requirements. The academics have been waived, as you will be spending your free time with us.” You nod, quickly scrawling your signature down into all the open spaces on the contract and hand the form to JJ.

“Okay, Academy starts in three days, but for now you can come and meet the team.” JJ smiles at you patting you lightly on your shoulder.

“You’re gonna do great.” You feel your cheeks heat up.

“Do the team know I’m coming?” JJ stops at the door, turning to you.

“They don’t. We are currently tracking an international terrorist who killed one of our own, and it’s pretty much a waiting game until he resurfaces. They’ve been pretty preoccupied.” You nod, solemnly at JJ.

“Thanks for the falsified PM report by the way.” She chuckles as your eyes widen.

“You know?”

“Yeah, it was a joint decision between Hotch and I to put Agent Prentiss into WITSEC, this is the tail end of her case.” You gasp as you make the connection.

“I read about it, He was vengeful at Emily for killing his son, so he attempted to murder her.” JJ nods.

“But in front of the team, you know nothing okay? As far as they are aware Emily Prentiss was killed by Ian Doyle. That’s it.”

“Got it.” You allow JJ to lead you down the hallway towards the BAU roundtable room, where you can see the team sat talking amongst themselves.

“Guys-“ JJ speaks up as she walks through the door, you follow her through standing awkwardly as the teams eyes fall on you.

“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice pipes up as you give him a small smile and an awkward wave, which doesn’t falter the confusion across his features.

“Hotch never got around to telling you, but Y/N is going to be our newest team member. For the moment she’s in training. But she will become an invaluable asset to this team once Hotch returns and she is assigned her true position. She will work with us whilst running then new forensic pathology department in the Bureau.” You gaze over the team attempting to process JJ’s words.

“She’s not an agent?” Derek speaks up. You are too distracted however, by Spencer who is patting the empty seat beside him.

You settle in the seat as JJ begins explaining your situation.

“Y/N is technically in the academy, she’s completing the fitness and marksmanship regime, we will provide the academic training here. Once Hotch returns, she will then hopefully be an agent, and then he will arrange her paperwork for her official position.” Morgan furrows his brows, but nods at this.

“I was remediated in the academy also.” Spencer pipes up from beside you, catching your attention.

“For what?” You quietly question, your curiosity peaking.

“Pretty much anything relating to physical strength, or capabilities. If it wasn’t inherently textbook based, I didn’t do it.” You chuckle.

“I mean, I agreed to do all the physical training.” You smile down at your lap, as Morgan laughs.

“She’s smart and athletic, pretty boy you’ve got competition.” A blush rolls over Spencer’s cheeks as the rest of the team join in a chorus of laughter. You can’t help but feel the blush rising to your own cheeks also.

“Why did you move from London?” your gaze turns to Rossi, who offers you a small smile.

“I was just interested in a change, and I was lucky enough to be able to take this opportunity.” You smiled at the group, trying your best to keep your eyes on the people, and not on your lap where they defaulted to.

“I must say, it’s a bit strange that both times we’ve met it has been over an international terrorist.” Spencer’s voice cuts through the remaining chatter and laughter, his observation creating a new rise out of the team.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Do you think it’s weird?” You practically whisper as Spencer weaves you through the bullpen, towards what you were to assume would be your new desk.

“What’s weird?” He furrows his brow as he rolls out the chair, beckoning you to sit.

The desk was empty, apart from a monitor, keyboard and mouse that provided you access to various FBI databases. You weren’t one for clutter and material possessions, but you couldn’t help but recognise that the empty desk struck fear in your heart, it felt like a metaphor for your new life in Quantico.

“Me being here.” Your voice comes out a bit sadder than anticipated, each syllable laced with insecurity that would easily be picked up by a profiler.

“No, it’s not weird. In fact, I think it’s a good thing.” You feel yourself relax slightly at Spencer’s reassurance.

Reid was a sweet guy, and you were glad you had been partnered with him to learn basic profiling skills; not that you would be expected to use them, as Spencer had said, but he thought they would be good to know.

Truth be told, you were pretty sure the team had been trying their best to fill time. With the group being rather disbanded, and cases being on hold Spencer had chosen teaching you as a valid time-passing opportunity.

Pulling you out of your thoughts Spencer stood at the desk opposite, his fingers trailing over the spines of the books he had stacked high, before selecting one.

“That’s your desk?” You snapped your head up towards him as he offered you a lopsided grin and a nod.

“Yeah.” You felt a blush roll over your face, that you quickly hid by gazing down at your lap, allowing Spencer to push his chair up next to yours.

“I have an idea, that’s more interesting than reading a book.” You look up at him in confusion.

“Apparently there’s this game, called two truths and a lie?” You simply nod your head, at what sounded like a question. He seemed unsure of his own idea as he quickly continued.

“Well, in criminal profiling one of the most useful skills is to know when someone is lying. It’s obviously not one-hundred-percent fool proof, but it can dictate your next move as regards their case. And I guess it could be useful in life?” You chuckle at this, nodding your head, trying to hide your anxiousness at the prospect of having to read someone’s behaviour in front of a professional.

“I’m -uh- I’m notoriously terrible at reading people.” You feel your cheeks heat up yet again in embarrassment. Spencer’s eyes connect with yours and you quickly divert your gaze away from him.

“It’s okay, we can make it easy. I know what my tell is so I will make it more obvious for you to begin with. Just study my behaviour as best as you can and let me know if you want me to say them again.” You nod, swallowing harshly.

“Okay, I was sixteen when I got my first PhD in mathematics.” Spencer pauses, as you slowly take him in, he seems totally normal, you nod.

“I graduated high school at twelve.” You watch him again, noticing absolutely no change in his behaviour.

“I was twenty-two when I joined the BAU.” You furrow your brows, totally unsure of which was a lie, they all seemed plausible for a genius like Spencer.

“I-uhm-“ You turn your gaze to him panicking slightly as you realise, he’s looking for an answer.

“I- have no idea.” You whisper, crossing your legs up in the chair as Spencer nods.

“That’s okay, do you want to try again?” You can’t help but deflate at the idea of going through that again.

“O-okay.”

Spencer repeats the three statements again, his gaze remains fixed on you as if he’s reading your ultimate confusion.

Spencer immediately notes you perking up after the third statement.

“The first one is a lie, right?” You say, trying to hold back the grin on your face.

“How do you know?” Oh shit. You certainly couldn’t explain yourself, then he would know that you totally failed the exercise and used logic instead.

If he graduated high school at twelve, he couldn’t have had a PhD at sixteen, right? That whittles it down to a fifty-fifty chance it’s either one of them… maybe?

“Uhm, well the average PhD takes seven years to complete, five years for your masters, and then two for your dissertation. You’re pretty smart, but not super-human enough to only manage it in four years, considering you have to learn all course material and write an 80,000-word dissertation.”

You continue talking when Spencer fails to fill the silence, you failing to notice the look of shock on Spencer’s face.

“Well, I personally graduated medical school in four years, instead of five. So, I was twenty-one, and then did my two years of foundation training and it was extremely difficult to do extra-curricular research alongside full-time work, and placements. This was all despite the fact that I never found it difficult to remember the academics. I digress though, it would be virtually impossible to do a PhD in 4 years.”

Spencer swallows harshly as he chuckles.

“Yeah, I -uhm- well, you were right.” He’s still relatively speechless and you can’t help but begin to worry that you overwhelmed him.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble, I just- I know it was supposed to be human behaviour, but I don’t- I couldn’t-“

“It’s okay Y/N, I just didn’t realise you were so impressive-“ Spencer’s voice has jumped an octave and he’s staring at you so intensely that you shrivel back into your chair.

“I- I mean, I’m not- I, -I just relate to you?” Spencer shifts in his chair, a squeak interrupting the silence, and causing you to jump.

“It’s o-okay, it’s nice to have-“

“Reid! L/N! Can you come into the roundtable room? We’re going to catch you up on Doyle.” JJ gestures for the pair of you to follow her, interrupting the awkward exchange between the pair of you, replacing it with a work environment that would mask you amongst others.

“We were in the hospital for about eight hours, that night, but she died on the table.” You hang your head slowly, nodding as Morgan’s voice wavers uncharacteristically. You had to try your best to keep the secret.

“We never got access to the post-mortem report from the hospital either, not even Garcia could find it.” Your head snaps up at this as you quickly come up with an excuse.

“Yeah, well you wouldn’t be allowed access to it without a next-of-kin’s consent. It’s likely that because her killer was still loose and was so high-profile, that they wouldn’t want to offer up any sensitive info. Her personnel file was erased right?”

“Yeah, it was.” Morgan confirms.

“Well, it’s just so they can’t get to people who are involved in her case as easily.” You place your hands on the desk in front of you as Spencer eyes you.

The rest of the team look pretty sad, Garcia is dabbing her eyes with a tissue, Spencer appears to be peeved off, but Morgan’s face is set in unadulterated frustration.

“Doyle knows us, he knows the BAU. If he wants blood, he will come for us.” You shrug slightly at this; the fact of the matter was they wouldn’t have access, even if it existed.

“I’m sorry Morgan.” You say, pursing your lips together offering him a tight smile.

“How about we just go back to-“ JJ leans forwards patting the centre of the table in an attempt to steer the conversation back on track.

“-yeah.” Reid jumped in, before continuing.

“We knew that after Emily’s death, Doyle would want to resurface to search for his son Declan who-

“Sorry to interrupt Reid but speaking of resurfacing-“ You can practically feel the panic emanating from the team as they all dash towards Garcia at the head of the table, leaving you behind.

You rock side to side in the swivel chair as the team all gather in the corner of the room talking over Garcia’s laptop screen.

“That’s him.”

“Can we be so sure? I mean, it’s only been a month.”

“Spencer, I- Y/N, can you come here?”

You stand making your way towards JJ who is shuffling through a folder.

“This is a photograph of Ian Doyle. Is this man from the CCTV him?” She pokes her finger towards the male in question on the laptop.

“I mean given how statistically unlikely it is for someone this remarkably similar to exist in an area being surveyed for Doyle’s presence, I would say yes that definitely is him. Especially so, considering he has no biological siblings.” JJ nods, agreeing with you.

The rest of the team straighten up, looking to each other as if to decide who gives the orders, all eyes eventually settling on Derek.

“Okay, well I think we should set up surveillance for Declan full time. He is our priority.” You nod in response, as JJ quickly grabs a pen, scrawling on the back of her case file.

“We can dispatch agents to his house to watch for suspicious activity. Spencer, Penelope, we need you to track all of Doyle’s aliases, and update us if any of them resurface, or lead you to an address. In the meantime, Morgan and I will stakeout his school, and see if he will lead us to his hideout from there. Y/N, focus on academy, it’s about to get really busy in here.” JJ Claps her hand, signalling her finish as the rest of the team hums in approval.

For once in your life the room felt alive with the determination of the team, banding together.

“Rossi is in his office reviewing cases, I’ll let him know of the break and to be on standby if we need him, and Spencer in the field.” Morgan quickly dashes past you and out the door.

After that the team quickly went their separate ways. Spencer followed Garcia into her office, and not long after Morgan resurfaced from Rossi’s office, JJ had him bustled into the elevator with little time to spare. That left you standing in the middle of the roundtable room confused, and with a day to kill before academy.

“Welcome to the ‘Basic Field Training’ portion of the FBI Academy. Here we will teach you Firearms, Survival Skills, Tactical and Emergency Vehicle Operations, and of course you will be completing Hogan’s Alley.”

You cross your arms, pulling against your waist, almost giving yourself a hug. You were enjoying the comfort of the FBI hoodie you had been provided with, the soft fabric seemingly dampening your anxiety. You were in a new situation, with new, unfamiliar people.

“Today, we will focus on running the single mile, and the three mile as a warm-up. We will then have you split into three groups. One team will run the obstacle course, The second will go to the shooting range, and the final group will do arrests.”

The coach seemed like a fairly nice man, he had assured you before the class that he was aware of your situation, and that Agent Hotchner had spoken very highly of you. He had also noted that you had been put into a small group of 5 trainees to assure you got plenty of attention, in case your training were to be cut short.

“Okay can the five of you line up on the track and stretch out a bit.” The group followed the SSA’s instructions, lining up at the start line.

You zoned out as you went down your body, naming each muscle in your head and stretching it out until you were satisfied that you wouldn’t injure yourself.

“Is everyone finished?”

The group let out a chorus of ‘yes sir’s, and he offered you an assuring nod.

“Good. Remember it’s not a race, you may start now. Pace yourselves and enjoy it.”

As he stepped off the track the group began moving at a pace, but you stuck towards the back of the group, saving your energy for the final few yards.

You managed to settle into the rhythm of your feet hitting against the pavement, tuning out the hum of activity coming from your other academy-mates. Your breathing was even, steady, and unwavering as you felt the rush of adrenaline overcome you that made you feel as if you could do almost anything.

When you looked up from the ground, the finish line was nearing you, and with about 150 yards left you picked up the pace, slowly making your way to the front of the group. Not in an attempt to beat them, but an attempt to prove that you belonged among these people who had to complete a fitness test to qualify, when you didn’t.

As you cross the finish line you can’t help but feel proud of yourself, you weren’t the most athletic person and a mile was an achievement, and at twelve minutes, and fifteen seconds for a mile at an easy pace you weren’t doing too bad.

“That was a good warm-up guys, now for the three mile. Again, I don’t want you to worry about this too much, because we will be completing it every day for the rest of the course, and you will get better. But as a benchmark, I would be expecting about 36-38 minutes for this. Off you go!”

And off you went again, this time you kept behind the remainder of the group, who had started off pretty quickly for what was going to be three circuits of the mile track.

As you ran you gathered your thoughts. With the Doyle case you had been practically abandoned. Spencer and Garcia were hauled up in her office, and from the glimpses of Rossi you barely saw, reviewing and consulting on cases seemed to be time-consuming work.

You had spent the remainder of yesterday reviewing some materials Spencer had dropped on your desk from the academy lectures. They were pretty self-explanatory, and anything you didn’t know was pretty simple to remember considering you would quickly jot it down, solidifying it in your mind.

By the time you had finished Spencer and Garcia had resurfaced to check on you. And even though you insisted that you were happy to stay and help them in any other ways, they had insisted you had gone home, much to your chagrin.

You had walked home to an empty, undecorated apartment. It felt pretty lonely, and you didn’t want to be there if you could avoid it. In a rush decision you had grabbed your laptop bag, and quickly walked down the street to a local diner. There you sat, scrolling through various medical journals, and hopeful articles regarding technological advancement in the forensic fields. It was at midnight that they sent you packing, in an attempt to close for the evening.

Cheers and screams pulled you back to reality as you crossed the finish line, barely acknowledging the fact you had completed your three miles.

“L/N, L/N! Stop, you did the three.” The instructor jogs over to you patting you on the shoulder, and that’s when you had the sense to turn, trying to spot the remainder of your team, who were only on the first quarter of their final mile.

“How- I’m done?”

“Yeah, you’re a speedy one. This programme will be a breeze for you, provided you can shoot.” He grins at you, and you smile back, breathing a sigh of relief. You were glad you weren’t the worst of the group.

“You’re a doctor, right?” You nod slowly, letting the SSA guide you towards the bleacher.

“Yeah, Dr. Y/N L/N. The medical kind.” He laughs at this, offering you his hand to shake.

“SSA. Jonathan Smith.” You happily take his hand, and shake it, casting your gaze to the rest of the runners who were half-way through their final mile.

“I’ve heard all about you, from Agent Hotchner of course. I was a bit sceptical when he told me you were bypassing a lot of the academy. Now that I’ve met you though, I can see why.” You grin, picking up your water bottle and taking a long gulp.

“I really want to be here, I’m just not sure I can shoot a gun.” You laugh, and he grins.

“Don’t worry, that’s why we’re here.”

Slowly the group assembles at the finish line, the few who had strayed behind catching up, and proving themselves significantly.

“Good job, our final runner finished on just over thirty-eight minutes, so you guys are spot on. Give yourselves a round of applause.” You can see all the others, grinning wide as they applaud themselves, and you can’t help it either. There was a massive sense of achievement in just completing the warm-up.

“Okay, there’s an uneven number so I will take one of you individually, and then we will have two other pairs, who will go with SSA. Alex and SSA. Jameson.” He gestures to two agents who have joined him at the front, offering you small waves at the respective mention of their names.

“L/N, you will be with me.” You make your way over to SSA Smith, as the rest of the four get sorted into their pairs, with their supervisory agent.

“I’m hoping that the individual time will be beneficial for you, and that you might learn quicker this way. Is that okay?” You nod. You were definitely grateful for Smith’s help, he had already proven to be really kind, and dedicated to your training.

“That’s great, thanks sir.”

“Oh, please just call me Jonathan.”

“Alright, up first we have firearms.” You grimace slightly which causes Jonathan to laugh.

“It’s not that bad, we just have some basic rules. Treat all firearms as if they are loaded, keep your finger off the trigger until you intend to press it, and never point a firearm at anyone unless you are justified.” You nod, settling into a serious mode.

“Okay, so here’s a holster, you’re going to put that on your belt.” You quickly follow his directions, placing the holster where it feels most comfortable to grab from.

“Is that comfortable? You’ve positioned it further forwards than most people.” You nod, motioning as if you were to reach from it as Jonathan hums in approval.

“Okay, if that’s good I’m going to give you your training weapon and ammunition.” You quickly accept his instruction as he shows you how to load and unload the Glock.

He quickly explains how to release the safety and shoot, and then he offers you the Glock.

“Take a few shots and see how it feels.” You guffaw at him slightly.

“Sir, I-I’ve never shot a gun in my life, I’m going to miss.”

“That’s okay, we call it training for a reason, I’ll stand behind you and help you hold it until you get used to it. I’m not expecting you to hit a target first time, you’re just getting used to it okay?” You nod, stepping up to the mark.

Jonathan, placed himself behind you, resting his hand on top of yours over the weapon to support it until you get used to the recoil.

“When you’re ready give me three shots, as close or as far apart as you wish.” You nod, adjusting your stance and then you pull the trigger.

The gunshot echoes throughout the large warehouse building and you pause, feeling the reverberation against your chest.

“You hit the target, which is great. Two more!” Your eyes scan the target, noticing he was right. To the left of the paper man’s shoulder sat a bullet hole.

In quick succession you took two more shots, more prepared for them this time, and each time you hit just outside of your target.

“That was great! Do you think you could hold it yourself?” You nod, your gaze remaining focused on the target.

You feel Jonathan step away and you prepare to focus, aligning your hand with your target, ensuring that you had foresight. And you took three more shots, this time hitting the target’s left shoulder.

“That’s great Y/N. Put the safety on and holster your weapon for me.” You quickly flip the safety, sliding the weapon into your holster and turn, unable to hold back the wide grin on your face.

“Good job Y/N, are you sure you haven’t done this before?” You shake your head quickly, still grinning like an idiot.

“-Y/N?” You both turn quickly at the sound of a voice interrupting you.

“Spencer?” You grin shyly up at the male towering over you. He was wearing goggles, and ear defenders similar to you.

“How are you? Is this academy training?” You nod at him.

“She’s never shot a gun before, and she still managed to hit the target.” Jonathan pipes up, clearly revelling in your victory. You feel your cheeks heat up.

A smile settles on Spencer’s face, as he studies the target, noticing the three hits, each getting more and more accurate.

“Good job, that’s amazing!” Spencer smiles, his gaze turning to the ground hiding a blush that rivalled your own.

“What are you doing down here, I thought you would be busy with Garcia?”

Spencer sighs, at your question, his grin dropping a bit.

“I like to come down to just blow off steam, after all that’s happened this year-“ Your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape as you realise, he means Emily’s death. You really wished you would stop walking yourself into discussions involving her, especially considering you knew she was very much alive.

“O-oh well, I’ll let you get on with it.” You stutter quickly, trying to regain your composure.

“Y-yeah, you’ll be stopping by later, won’t you? I-I’ll see you then.” He waves and strides away in quick succession, heading straight for the door as you furrow your brows. You turn to see a grin on Jonathan’s face.

“That wasn’t Dr. Spencer Reid by any chance, was it?” You find yourself confused as you nod.

“Yeah, it was.” Jonathan’s eyes widen slightly at this.

“Isn’t he like, a genius?”

“Well, I mean, I don’t think intelligence can be accurately measured, which would mean that technically ‘genius’ doesn’t exist-“ You trail off as you realise you are rambling.

“-yeah, he’s a genius.”

You quickly press the button for the sixth floor, relaxing as the elevator begins to carry towards the BAU.

You were aware that you looked a mess, you were dressed in an FBI sweatsuit, and your hair was damp after your much-needed shower. Luckily for you The Obstacle Course had been your final challenge for the day and running a mile in mud whilst leaping and climbing various obstacles left you yearning the sensation of hot water against stiff muscles.

You felt as though you could sleep, but it was still only three o’ clock and you didn’t want to leave until at least six; it felt mean to go home when the rest of the team would still be stuck in the office.

The elevator dings, pulling you out of your thoughts. Quickly you slung your gym bag over your shoulder and made your way towards the double-glass doors that had seemed so intimidating yesterday.

Your nerves hadn’t exactly worn off, yet, but you certainly felt more relaxed. It was more the people that made you feel anxious than the actual job. You had so many team members, and you wanted to be friends with all of them, but you were perpetually awkward and even the interactions you had with Spencer ended in you both being obscenely flustered.

“Y/N, Hi!” Garcia perks up as you enter the BAU doors, clattering towards you on her heels to engulf you in a warm hug. Though you weren’t one for physical contact, it was weirdly exactly what you needed, and you felt yourself relax in her arms.

“Don’t strangle her Garcia.” You jump slightly at the second voice coming from behind you and you turn to see Agent Rossi, grinning over a cup of coffee. Garcia releases you and you turn to face him, giving him a quick wave.

“You had academy I assume?” You nod quickly, as he takes in your attire.

“U-uhm yes sir.”

He chuckles at your formalities.

“Rossi is fine.” You nod, walking towards the coffee machine and searching for a mug.

“I keep a spare one, you can use that.” You hear Spencer’s voice echo from your left, and you jump yet again.

“You’re a jumpy one doctor.” Garcia grins as you straighten. She taps you affectionately on your nose which makes you jump again, but this time you bang your head against an overhead cabinet.

You gasp on impact, clutching the back of your head as Garcia takes a step back apologising profusely.

Spencer on the other hand rushes towards you, placing his hand over the hand you were using to cradle your head, and another on your shoulder. He slowly walks backwards, guiding you towards the break room table and sits you down.

“Are you okay?” You chuckle lightly, trying to break the awkwardness.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just…. jumpy?” Spencer grins at this. He drops his hand, making his way towards a fridge-freezer.

“I-I’m so sorry Y/N, I didn’t mean to, I-“ You take in the frantic woman who sits opposite you.

“Garcia, it’s fine… seriously. It’s just a bump.” Spencer promptly returns to your side and sits in the chair beside you. In his outstretched hand is an icepack wrapped in a kitchen towel, which you gratefully accept.

Garcia’s phone startles you out of your silent reverie, as she receives a notification. Quickly she bustles away, obviously going to take care of it.

“Okay, we have an address for Doyle, can you guys hear me, okay?!” Garcia talks loudly down her office phone as Rossi, Spencer, and yourself stand beside her, reading the screens over her shoulder.

Garcia reems off the address as you stare off into space, JJ’s voices quickly pulling you back to reality.

“Morgan and I are headed there now, I’ve called Hotch. Spencer, Rossi, I need you both to go to Declan’s house. I know he went home from school early, but considering how dangerous this takedown is, we want him in FBI custody in case he gets away and flees with the child.”

The phone quickly hangs up after that.

Garcia Rossi and Spencer get up, quickly making their way to the door. Spencer, however, pauses turning towards you as you cluelessly follow him.

“We’re probably going to be here all night; you can stay if you want? If not, go home and get some rest.” You watch as Spencer bounces on the balls of his feet, he quickly gestures for you to walk with him.

“I’m tired but I think I will stay, maybe I can be useful?” Spencer smiles, nodding at you.

“Tell you what, go into Hotch’s office, there’s a pull-out sofa in there. Sleep for a few hours and I can wake you if anything interesting happens?” He quickly jogs towards the elevator, meeting Rossi inside.

“I’ll call Garcia and tell her to let you into the office.” You quickly nod, furrowing your brows as the elevator door shuts.

You turn towards the clattering of heels to your right.

“Spencer texted me, he said you needed to sleep and to help you with the pull-out bed in Hotch’s office?” You smile, nodding at Garcia.

You weren’t too happy with the concept of sleeping whilst everyone else was out risking their lives. However, as soon as Spencer had mentioned the word sleep you had felt a deep desire to curl up in a corner somewhere and doze. The academy had taken a lot out of you, and you were feeling the consequences.

Garcia however, acted like people sleeping in Hotch’s office was a regular thing and she very happily grabbed a blanket and pillows from the cupboard, handing them to you as she unlocked Hotch’s office, making a beeline for the sofa.

“This thing is so handy you know? If anyone’s ever tired on long cases where they have some free time, but not enough to go home, there’s fights over it. Every office in here has one actually.” You stifle a yawn, watching as Penelope quickly unfolds the sofa out into a decent sized double bed.

“Okay, that should be all good. I’ll leave you too it, you can close those blinds or leave them open if you feel more comfortable, and the light switch is just over there.

“Thanks Garcia.” You yawn for real this time, placing the pillows down on the bed and smiling as she waves at you through the window, before disappearing back into her office.

You relish in the silence as you dawdle around the office still holding one pillow in your left arm, hugging it tightly to your chest.

You close the blinds and flick the lights off, sighing as the room settles into darkness. You absolutely needed a nap, and you were glad you had taken the opportunity. It was nearing eight o’clock and after the day being so busy you just needed a reset.

So, you took your blanket and curled up on the sofa bed, hugging your pillow tightly to your chest as you dazed off into a deep slumber.

You stir in your sleep as the door to Hotch’s office opens, allowing the bustle of the BAU bullpen to overtake what was the peace-and-quiet of Hotch’s office.

As you open your eyes, you feel the confusion setting in. In your dazed state you couldn’t quite recognise the room you were in.

“Y/N? It’s Spencer, we are having a meeting and you should probably join us.” You sit up on your elbows to see Spencer standing at the end of the room. Nodding you unravelled yourself from the blanket and stood, swaying on your feet slightly.

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Mhmm. Wait. You said a meeting, you were just at Declan’s house, is everything okay?” You pause slightly in the doorway as Spencer walks out of the office. He gestures for you to follow him.

“Declan is gone, but JJ and Morgan have managed to arrest Doyle, he’s being brought into custody here and we are hoping he will be able to give us information on Declan.” You groan, rubbing your eyes with your palms.

“Not the kid…” Spencer nods, silently agreeing with you. Declan had gone through enough in his life, he didn’t need a kidnapping on top of that; no kid did.

“Oh, also, Hotch is back-“ You nod slightly, trying not to stress too much at this concept.

As you approached the roundtable room you could hear the chatter amongst the BAU members, and when they came into view you couldn’t help but smile.

“Dr. L/N, it’s good to have you here, I’m so sorry about all of this.” You smile at Agent Hotchner, shaking your head.

“Don’t worry about it.” The rest of the team offer you kind smiles as you settle in your chairs, ready to begin the meeting.

“Okay, so where’s Morgan?”

“He refused to leave Doyle’s side, so they will arrive together” JJ offers Hotch a slight smile as he nods.

“Okay, in the meantime I would like to talk to you Y/N.” You quickly rise from your chair, following him out of the room, waiting for him to close the door behind you.

“I’m so sorry about all of this, I really am. I know it’s not ideal for you at all.” You quickly attempt to reassure him.

“It’s fine Hotch, really. I want to be here.” He nods, giving you a slight smile.

“I also wanted to let you know in advance, JJ and I have called Emily back, and she will be here any minute. Just prepare yourself, I don’t know how the rest of the team are going to react.”

The sound of a door opening pulls you out of your thoughts and you turn to see JJ.

“I just got a message; Derek is here with Doyle. Emily is five minutes away, Declan tried to call her.”

Hotch simply nods, guiding you back into the roundtable room, and sending you back to your seat.

You chatter a bit with the team trying to catch up on the case.

“So is Doyle responsible for Declan’s disappearance?” You furrow your brows, trying to wrap your head around all this chaos.

“It’s the most likely possibility, yes.” You nod at Spencer’s answer.

The truth of the matter was cases involving children had always hit you the hardest, no child deserved the situation Declan had grown up in. He was the son of an international terrorist, and Emily Prentiss had faked his death in order to give him a better life. Perhaps she was the only one who showed him a glimpse of what caring for a child was like?

Soon enough Derek had joined you, looking incredibly frustrated.

“Doyle’s in the interrogation room, I had a crack at him.” Derek’s face morphs into one of impatience.

“He didn’t do it Hotch, he’s insisting we release him to let him find his son.”

“So, we need to find out if he has any enemies, right?”

“Well Richard Geracey is a known enemy of Doyle; he’s been in the States for a couple weeks. I caught an image of him on a surveillance camera at Declan’s house.” Garcia pipes up, quickly displaying an image on the screen.

“He’s a suspect. Derek, go talk to him.” He stands.

As Derek disappears out of the door an idea hits you.

“Geracey couldn’t have pulled this off all on his own, I mean, Garcia saw two people destroying the security camera.” You keep your eyes glued to JJ as you speak, trying to tell whether or not you were being a hinderance.

“Well statistically the people most likely to be involved in-“

You had barely noticed that Hotch had left the room until he had returned with Derek by his side, cutting off Reid and telling everyone to sit.

“Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team.” JJ quickly stands up as you begin to realise what’s happening.

You quickly glance around the room seeing curious looks on everyone’s faces. Uh oh, you didn’t want to be a part of this conversation. Teammates who think their colleague has been dead for 7 months, then find out she’s actually alive are bound to be mad about the whole thing.

“As you all know Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle. Both the doctors were able to stabilise her-”

You began to panic slightly, you were in a room with profilers, they were bound to realise you were tense, or uncomfortable, right?

“-and she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration.” As Hotch reems off the information you were already fully aware of you study the team, noticing the look of realisation on their faces.

“Her identity was strictly need-to-known, and she stayed there until she was well enough to travel. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security.”

The team remained silent as they gazed up towards Hotch and JJ. Their faces were a mixture of confusion, and what appeared to be anger.

“She’s alive?” Garcia’s voice was meek, and it broke your heart to see the tears forming in her eyes.

Hotch stays quiet at this, averting his gaze.

“But we buried her?”

The tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife and all you could do was sit there, fidgeting anxiously in your chair.

“As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision. If anyone has any issues, they should be directed towards me.” You offer Hotch a small smile and a nod as his gaze lands on you.

“Any issues?! Yeah, I got issues!” The tone of Derek’s voice causes you to jump slightly, and you felt your cheeks heat up as Spencer’s eyes settled on you.

But they quickly turn to focus on the sound of footsteps entering the room. A dark-haired woman walks through the door. The woman you recognised as Emily Prentiss.

She was gorgeous, her striking hair contrasting against her skin. Her face was set in a solemn look as her eyes trailed over her former teammates.

But you are pulled out of your train of thought by Agent Hotchner, who bustles you up from your seat and walks you towards the door, closing it slightly behind him he offers you a slight smile.

“Y/N, you don’t have to mention your involvement, not if you don’t want to.” You nod at this.

“Are they going to be mad?”

“Probably, but it was a life-or-death situation and I need to stand by my decision.”

“Yes sir.”

“Listen, you’ve had a long day. How about you go back to my office and get some rest, we will be here awhile.” You shake your head quickly at this.

“No, no, sir I’m fine. I really want to stay and help.”

“We can wake you if we need you.” You give in to the idea of sleep, it was the early hours of the morning and you had been up at the crack of dawn the previous day.

“I- okay, fine. But -uhm- I was just wondering, have you looked into Declan’s mother? I mean I know Doyle is his father, but we have no idea who-“ You pause, watching as Hotch offers you a smile.

“We will certainly look into that Y/N, now get some rest.”

And for the second time that night, you curl up onto Hotch’s sofa bed, arms wrapped tightly around a pillow, but you didn’t sleep.

Your mind ran rampant with ideas, and conspiracies as to who could have taken Declan Doyle. You knew that Geracey had something to do with it, he was a known enemy of Doyle’s after some form of conflict in Belfast. But the team had no idea who Declan’s mother is, but it was likely there was some conflict between her and Doyle, considering she wasn’t with them anymore.

You felt so hopeless, you were lacking the means to gather information because Hotch had sent you to a bed at a time where sleep will not come. Out there somewhere was a little boy, being paraded around, likely as a second best to Doyle, since he was in federal custody. That child hadn’t asked to be involved in any of this, he was simply taken from school, from his home.

Gazing at your phone screen you realised half-an-hour had passed, and you were just about to get up out of the bed when there was a light tapping on your door; it was Penelope Garcia.

“Garcia?” You whisper as the silhouette wastes no time in entering the dark room, dragging the light in with her.

“I figured you wouldn’t be able to sleep and that considering the rest of the team are still brainstorming in here I could come in for some one-on -one time? You seem like you are a good idea bouncer-offer.” You chuckle at this, moving upright on the bed.

“Yeah sure, absolutely.”

“Okay so first I’m going to catch you up. Basically, Declan’s nanny took him home from school after he contracted food poisoning, so whoever is responsible for his kidnapping tainted food, and got to him on campus.”

“We have established that Geracey is in some sort of conspiracy with a woman, who posed as agents for the next shift at surveying Declan, they killed the nanny, and the actual agents and then took the child.”

“A woman?”

“Yes, so we got thinking about women who have had relations to Doyle, and of course Hotch had mentioned you talking about his mother. So, Emily managed to give us a compiled list and now we are trying to break Doyle, but it doesn’t seem to be working. They have been in there for the past fifteen minutes.” You nod slightly, turning to the door which swung open suddenly.

“Y/N?” You recognised the voice as Spencer’s, watching as he stepped into the room, taking not of Garcia.

“She told you everything?” You nod as Spencer gives you a tight-lipped smile.

Garcia seems to get some form of signal from him because she quickly makes an excuse to leave, bustling past Spencer and towards her ‘bat cave’.

“I know this is -uhm- a lot to ask, but we were wondering if you would interview Doyle?”

Story Masterlist - (1) - (2)

Authors Note: Wow! I hope you guys are enjoying this? I made reader's background quite specific as it made it easier to weave in bonding between her and that characters. I also love having fun with how lucky she is for all of this to happen to her?!?! I mean it's not 100% realistic (but then again, no Spencer Reid fanfic is?) but either way, go get it girl! <3

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