Strike Is On. Actors Will Be Joining The Writers On The Picket Lines. This Is The First Strike In 60

Strike is on. Actors will be joining the writers on the picket lines. This is the first strike in 60 years for SAG, and essentially shuts down the entire US film and television industry.

My Wonder (Spencer Reid x Reader) - The Catalyst

My Wonder (Spencer Reid x Reader) - The Catalyst Word Count: 2823 Reader insert: she/her pronouns. She is not American unless you are, just has a previous history in American law enforcement. Warnings: slow-burn romance, mention of crime scene and interrogation, and some more solid fluff Spoilers: none

All his life, Dr. Spencer Reid has been told he is a genius - gifted, different. When you, a new member of the BAU, arrive, he expects the same weirded-out reaction from you as everyone does. But when you don't, and you instead find him interesting, Spencer finds himself forming an attachment to you. And as the years go on, is it really any wonder that he falls for you?

This is one of six times you secretly say I love you to Spencer: the catalyst of newfound feelings.

Full story | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5  | Part 6

The next time you dumbfounded him, he almost kissed you.

Ever since you had joined the BAU, you and Spencer had alway had a sweet partnership. But after that night in the office, you had become inseparable. Best friends, to put simply. You stayed late at the office to keep each other company, brought each other coffee and treats, spent free days checking out the new films playing in the cinema.

You had inside jokes, and fought like an old, married couple - a fact the team loved to bring up whenever possible. But you liked it like that. Spencer was your person, and you were his.

And as much as he wowed you everyday, you managed to surprise him on occasions, too.

You were both paired up to interrogate a suspect. You personally didn't believe she was the killer, but Spencer didn't like to base anything from solely his gut. In other words, he was skeptical.

'I didn't kill those women,' your suspect said. 'And even if wanted to kill them, it would be for something more worthwhile than a stupid role.'

'Jealously isn't as far-fetched a reason to kill as you may believe,' Spencer stated to her. 'Particularly in women, the feeling of being threatened or in danger of losing something important to them brings out almost a maternal instinct to protect what they believe to be is theirs.'

'You think all actresses are that low? That shallow?' The young woman was pretty, but her face scrunched up in an ugly manner at the insinuation.

'He doesn't think that at all,' you interjected. 'In fact, he quite likes actresses, don't you buddy?'

Spencer gave you a side eye to which you smiled sickly-sweetly at in return. You were never going to let the Lila fling down any time soon.

You looked back at the young woman, your face returning to empathetic, concerned. She had a wall up, she was wearing a mask. If you wanted answers out of her, you needed to connect with her.

You leaned forward on the table, positioning yourself in front of Spencer so all her focus was on you.

'Anna,' you said softly, like you were speaking to a friend. 'I know you didn't do it. You're different than all those other girls right? You've worked hard to get where you are. Small town girl wanting to make a name for herself in an industry that can be ruthless and heartless as the killer that's still out there. You are classically trained, by-the-book, no shortcuts. I bet you started on the stage of your elementary school, landing the lead role.'

The young woman looked at you with skepticism for a moment, then you saw a crack in her mask as she nodded. 'I was Mary in the Christmas production. But it wasn't until high school when we preformed Shakespeare's The Tempest that I knew this was what I wanted to do with my life.'

Spencer noticed your smile now, how it lifted in a manner that sung of melancholy and fondness.

'"We are such stuff as dreams are made on.",' you said whimsically, and Spencer noted a familiarity that had the words rolling off your tongue with ease. Like it was muscle memory.

'Such a beautiful line, right?' the young woman asked.

'Yes, but, when translated into our modern English, it is quite sad really.' You make eye contact with the young woman and hoped she saw the understanding and slight desperation in your eyes. 'It means that life is an illusion, and a fleeting one at that. I don't necessarily believe in the first part of that, but it is true that life is fleeting. So before you end up the next aspiring actress in our morgue, you've got to tell us everything you know.'

The rest of the interrogation went smoothly. Honestly, it was the easiest one Spencer had ever sat in before. And all the while he had just sat there in awe of you.

'I didn't know you read Shakespeare,' he said randomly as they drove together in a local police SUV to meet with the rest of the team at the new suspect's house.

You scoffed. 'See that's the biggest misconception of Shakespeare. That it can only be read. In fact, it actually shouldn't be just read. It needs to be performed.'

Amusement danced upon Spencer's lips. 'Are you saying you were in a Shakespearean play? Which one? Actually, let me guess. Romeo and Juliet.'

'That's a cliche.'

'Twelfth Night? How about Taming of the Shrew?'

'Why do you want to know so badly?'

'Because I...' It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't quite know why he wanted to know. Only that he knows everything and you were his best friend and he didn't know something about you.

You spared him a sympathetic smile from the driver's seat before returning your eyes to the road. 'If you must know... it was actually The Tempest. It was my high school's production, too. And as much as he irritates me, I grew fascinated with Shakespeare's work after that. It even prompted me to do a unit or two in Shakespearean literature and performance during my uni days.'

You allowed yourself to slip back in time a little to those days, that melancholy and fondness finding its way back into your smile, Spencer noticed.

'Outside of Shakespeare though, I'll admit... I was a theatre kid.'

'No way!' Spencer exclaimed. 'You?'

'Why is it so unbelievable that I used to dress up and spout lines that no one really understood?' you asked, but you weren't offended. Simply amused that you seemed to have stunned the (until now) un-stunnable Dr. Spencer Reid.

'Because... it's just so left of field from anyone else in the team.'

'And is that a bad thing?'

'...not at all,' he said after a moment, and then proceeded to drop the matter entirely. Spencer Reid never forgets anything, he couldn't forget, not with his eidetic memory. But he made extra special care to file that little fact about you away for now.

A few days after returning home from wrapping that case up, you came into work to find your coffee already made on your desk, and beside it was an envelope. Curious, you swiftly opened the envelope and gasped with pure surprise at what you found.

'I thought you might like them,' Spencer said as he approached you, his own coffee in hand. 'The ticket vendor said they were the best seats in the house.'

'Oh my God, Spencer!' You couldn't help yourself, you leapt onto the gangly man like a frog and held him tighter than you'd ever hugged someone before, avoiding spilling Spencer's coffee. You were so excited you even smacked a fat, grateful kiss on his unsuspecting cheek before letting him go. 'Tickets to ASC's production of The Tempest?! How did you even get these, I was told they were all gone.'

'Believe it or not, I have connections everywhere,' Spencer answered a bit too vaguely but you didn't care. 'Even in areas that aren't of my particular expertise. I figured you and a friend could go enjoy it before it finishes up.'

'You mean you're not coming?'

Spencer tried not to read into it too much, but he swore he heard a little hiccup in your question, like you were upset. 'W-Well, I, I, uh, didn't want to assume anything. I mean, y-you might want to take JJ, or Emily-

'Spencer.' It was ridiculous how easy he listened when you said his name, how he dropped everything to listen to what you had to say whenever you did. And his heart faltered when he made eye contact with you and saw joy and hope lighting up your eyes. 'Would you like to come to the show with me?'

And it wasn't any wonder, then, that he replied without hesitation, 'Y-Yeah! All right, s-sure. Would love to.'

'Amazing!' Spencer once again had to juggle his coffee and you as you squeezed all the air out of him in another bone-crushing hug. 'Spencer Reid, you have just made my day.'

It was a week later and the night of the performance. You drove yourself and Spencer two and a half hours straight from Quantico down to Staunton to the American Shakespeare Centre, reciting and recalling your favourite Shakespearean moments the whole trip.

Spencer made the extreme effort to look presentable, pulling out a nice suit set, even replacing his usual casual sneakers with some shiny boots. His hair was slicked back out of his face, with only the slightest stubble on his chin and upper lip.

When you picked him up, you said he looked handsome. He never cared much for his appearance, but that comment warmed his heart slightly, made him sit more upright in his seat.

Once you pulled up and got out of the car, he finally saw you in all your glory. A navy blue dress clung to your frame beautifully; kitten heels cradled your feet as you walked up the stairs to the theatre's entrance; your jewellery brought out the (e/c) in your eyes, even further accentuated by your simple makeup and hair.

Spencer has met Nobel price winners, attorney generals, even spoken with the most psychotic people humanity has to offer. And yet there you stood - ethereal, angelic, striking him silent with just your presence.

'You coming, Boy Wonder?'

You'd reached the top the stairs without him moving a muscle. Embarrassed, he tried to cover it up with a cough as he scrambled to catch up with you. 'Boy Wonder? Where did that come from?'

You shrugged playfully as you hooked your arm through his. 'Just seemed appropriate.'

'I'm twenty-seven, (y/n). I'm hardly a boy.'

'Oh, so would you prefer I call you Batman?'

Spencer raised a quizzical eyebrow. 'I didn't know you liked DC comics.'

'There's a lot you still don't know about me, Spencer Reid,' you answered, handing over your tickets to the ticket vendor at the door. 'Like how I've always preferred Robin over Batman, anyway.'

You quickly found your seats, and Spencer tried not to acknowledge how tight-knit the seats were pressed together. His thigh pressed lightly against your own, and he couldn't tell if he hated or liked the feeling that suddenly sprouted in his gut.

It distracted him so much that instead of watching the performance, he looked at you. How you reacted to each sonnet, to the entrance of new characters, to the costuming and the music and emotion that filled the room with every word spoken. He watched it all, your joy, your love. Your heart was on your face, and it struck something new and unexplored inside him.

You cried at one point, and physical touch wasn't his forte, but he intertwined his fingers with yours and gave them a reassuring squeeze that he was there. You'd turned to him briefly and nodded, showing that you understood and that you were grateful.

You didn't let go of his hand for the rest of the show.

'Wow,' you breathed out as you exited the theatre, the performance finally done. 'That was...'

'Yeah. I feel the same,' Spencer finished, his hands shoved into his pockets as they walked down the stairs towards the carpark. His hand still burned from your touch, and that unsure feeling in his gut still remained.

'It was just so... magical.'

'I would say impressive, but magical works too, I guess.'

'Says the guy who still goes trick-or-treating on Halloween and believes in ghosts. Don't tell me you don't believe in the supernatural now.'

'I'm not saying I don't believe. I'm just saying that it's impressive that they were able to make fantastical magic seem slightly realistic.'

You playfully shove him, causing you both to fall into laughter. The two different melodies mixing together made Spencer feel lighter than he'd felt in a while. This was different to when you usually hung out. This time, there was no case, no team, nothing but yourselves to worry about.

'It doesn't matter, anyways,' you said, stopping on the steps suddenly. Spencer went down one more before stopping too. You smiled gratefully at him. It was a cool, autumn night, cool enough that your breath danced like ghosts in front of you as you spoke. 'Thank you, Spence. This was a wonderful night. You didn't have to do this.'

'I know,' he said, and it startled him how quiet and soft his voice was. 'I just... I just wanted you to enjoy the stuff you love. You deserve to enjoy the stuff you love.'

His acute eyes fell to your shoulders and noticed the slight shake in them. 'Here.' He wasted no time pulling his jacket off and wrapping it around your shoulders, pulling it tight to capture the warmth.

You gratefully held onto the jacket, the warmth it captured seeping into your eyes. 'You truly are a wonder, Spencer,' you said, your words dancing in between you two.

He was only the step down now, making you two eye level with one another. He was so close he could see himself in your eyes. He wondered if you could see yourself in his.

'Am I?' he asked, his breath mixing with yours.

'Yeah...'

He felt your warmth, and he suddenly decided that he liked the feeling in his gut. The one that had been driving him crazy all night. The one that had an iron grip on his mind, his heart. The one that pulled him closer to you, to your lips.

His eyes were almost closed and his lips almost on yours. You didn't back away - you didn't want to back away you realised. No matter how hard your heart pounded in your chest. No matter if he was your best friend.

So you leaned in too, and you could just feel the stars and planets align as you tasted his breath-

The front of your heel slipped on the edge of the step, sending you flying forwards into Spencer's chest. His reflexes had improved immensely since joining the BAU, and so he managed to grab hold of you and hold himself up before your momentum could send you both tumbling down the remaining stairs.

You both breathed in heavy gulps of air, steadying both your hearts from what could've happened.

'Nice catch,' you said after a moment, loosening your grip on Spencer only a little.

'Thanks.' He didn't know where to look. You, the ground, his surroundings. It all just felt muddled, as if his whole world had been tilted on its axis.

In a sense, it had.

But he felt your gaze, and he couldn't deny your eyes so he looked at you also. You eyes were blown wide, and the slight catch in your breath had him second guessing himself. Maybe he'd read you wrong after all. He'd never been wrong before, but there was always a first time for everything, he figured.

'(Y/n), look, I-'

Before he could attempt to salvage himself, the irritating ring of his phone went off, breaking the glass dome of solitude you'd' forged together with nothing but words and air.

This forced you apart, awkwardly so, as Spencer readjusted you on his step before letting you go completely and fishing his phone out of his pant pocket. He checked the ID caller: Hotch.

He accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear. 'Hotch, what's up?'

'New case,' the unit chief answered without pleasantries. 'I know we're all meant to be off for the weekend but this one is important.'

'Where is it and we'll be there.'

'You're with (Y/n), right? In Staunton?'

'Yeah, why?'

'Head to the local police. We'll meet you there. That's where the case is.'

'Okay. Gotcha.'

Hotch ended the call and then it was just him and you once more. Although instead of the air feeling freeing and warming, Spencer couldn't seem to get enough in his lungs. It was like he was suffocating, having to face you again.

So he slipped into work mode, keeping Hotch's urgency and the new case in the forefront of his mind. 'New case. Here in Staunton. Hotch wants us to head down to the police and meet them there.'

'Right.' You seemed to think the same as him - it's probably why you were best friends to begin with - as the ethereal light in your eyes dimmed with the severity of the new situation. Without another word, you both bee-lined for the car, jumped in, and made your way to the local police station.

But for the rest of the case, Spencer couldn't help but think about that moment with you on the steps. He'd kissed before, of course, even dabbled in flirting despite how little he knew about the craft. He'd never imagined he'd attempt it all on you, however. Not even in his wildest dreams.

Reading books makes me feel like I’m gonna die alone but I can’t stop. At least I’ll die alone with standards

My favourite dumbasses 🤍

wayne Family making me want to draw stupid things

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter Four

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter Four Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 5598 Warnings: major angst, major fluff, mentions of murder, graphic descriptions of dead bodies, crime scenes, near-death experiences, slow-burnish romance, death, canon violence, rape, swearing, guns, knives, prostitution, canon cuteness of the team. Spoilers: Maeve's death, mentions of previous cases or canon events from seasons 1-10.

Spencer and you have an unspoken connection with one another. Nothing has ever happened between you two, especially since everything went down with Maeve, but your love has grown and overcome and is now clear as day to everyone. However, just when Spencer builds up enough courage to ask you out officially, you're requested on an undercover mission that halts your budding relationship in its tracks.

Months go by without a word from you until bodies of prostitutes start showing up in New York and the BAU is brought in to help. Spencer and you finally reunite as both your cases collide, but your lives and your love are both on the line now.

Will you and Spencer be able to find the way back home this time?

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Epilogue

~~~

'So, what do you say, Serena? Do you want to be one of us?'

Madame Lacroix's words looped through your brain as you walked as fast as possible back to the third shitty flat you'd been set up in by your undercover team. You attempted to keep your pace steady but not panicked, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching you.

The invisible gaze had weighed on you since you'd left the Chateau, since you'd left the meeting. But this new information couldn't wait.

You unlocked the rusty gate to the apartment building, and flew past the bags of garbage that piled up at the doorstep without a single crinkle of your nose - you'd been desensitised to New York's poor pollution a while back. Swift feet carried you up two flights of stairs to your apartment door, where you scrambled for the key to open it.

The moment you stepped over the threshold you finally let the mask of Serena Vanderguff down. Your shoulders sagged as your brain finally recognised the pain in your feet from the six-inch heels you'd been wearing all evening. Despite that, you scrambled to push the heels off, not bothering to place them neatly by the door with the other pairs, and ran for your computer. It was hidden in a false back behind the kitchen sink. Most people would look for a computer in the bedroom or the lounge room, so you'd made the modification in every apartment yourself in case you were broken into by some amateur thieves in the neighbourhood.

You pulled the false back away to reveal the small device and grabbed it out, placing it on the kitchen bench and turning it on. You quickly pulled up the chat room you'd been using to communicate with Holt the whole operation.

You typed a quick message: Face to Home Please.

Not even a minute went by and a reply came: Welcome Home.

A window popped open on your screen with an image of the FBI sigil. You picked up the computer and walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind you. You quickly checked your windows. The moon was on the other side of it's peak; New York was the city that never slept, but it had it's low points, and the precious hours between midnight and sunrise were the perfect time to commit all kinds of crime and other unspeakable things.

You pulled the blinds down once you cleared the street, and sat on your bed as the screen changed from the sigil to the image of a room with a long table and a board in the background. That was odd. It wasn't the usual dark room with just Holt and a headset. Instead, Holt sat in a chair closest to the screen, files spread out in front of him.

But he wasn't the only one in the room.

'L/N, you're on,' he said, but instead of speaking the new information you'd just learned and moving on like you always did, your throat closed up at the sight of familiar faces now swarming the camera.

'Y/N...' JJ breathed out as she took a seat opposite Holt. A beautiful brunette sat beside her that you didn't recognise, only emphasising the missing presence of a certain Alex Blake. It saddened you to think she'd moved on since you'd left - you never even got to say goodbye. But you could've cried at the sight of Hotch and Rossi walking closer to the table with the others. You found Derek leaning on the end of the table beside Spencer, who seemed frozen by the board as he looked at you with everyone else.

This time, you were the one to look at him - at all of them - with shock and surprise, not expecting to see any of them so soon after your initial questioning. Tears stung your eyes, but you remembered you were still wearing makeup and kept them from welling over.

You couldn't help yourself, you raised your hand in a half wave motion, your voice returning. 'Hi,' you said, that one word coming out breathless because the weight that one word carried was almost too much to accept. You hadn't been allowed to be yourself outside your apartment and beyond the one minute conversations you had with Holt once a week.

You had imagined your return to the BAU a hundred times over; you had your explanation ready, your apologies on the tip of your tongue. But now, with the opportunity at your feet, you could barely form a cohesive sentence.

Hotch put you out of your misery, a small smile gracing his stoic features. 'Good to see you, L/N.'

'I second that,' Rossi added, giving a little wave and a smirk back to you. 'Nice hair, by the way.'

You couldn't stop the smile that pulled your lips wide, and it suddenly felt like you were back in the BAU round table room. Like you'd never left.

'Thanks,' you managed out, reaching up to touch the mess of H/C hair on top of your head. 'Not really my style, but then again, I'm not really me right now, so...'

You hadn't meant to bring the mood down, but eleven months was a long time pretending to be someone else. You were starting to forget how you liked your coffee and your style and your way of walking down the street. Just little things, but they added up, and you felt the weight of all the little things you were losing on your shoulders and back everyday.

Your eyes sought out Spencer, half expecting him to look sad or sympathetic like the others. However, what you found was a steeled expression of determination and anger on his handsome features. Not at you (even though he never took his eyes off you), but at the situation you had been put in, you realised.

So he did get my message. That one thought brought a sense of relief to you.

'You had something, L/N.' Holt said it more as a prompt than a question. He knew you wouldn't call up off schedule without a reason, and he didn't want to waste any more time than you already had.

'Yes,' you answered, shoving down your tears, shoving down your delight at seeing your friends, and fell into your other persona: analytical, emotionless undercover operative. 'We were right. There is a big seller that hangs above all the managers heads. They just told me tonight that they have been impressed with my work and so has he. They asked me to join the upper ranks of their scheme.'

'Your work?' Hotch asked.

Holt turned over his shoulder to address everyone. 'L/N has wormed her way into the top spots of each establishment to see where the girls have been coming from, but we've also found out that these places deal in a lot more than just human trafficking. Illicit drugs, money fraud, you name it. These places are screwed a hundred times over when we nail them.'

'So why not make an arrest now, then?' Spencer asked from the back. 'You have enough evidence to do so.'

'Yes, but not on the man that we really want,' Holt replied. 'We make an arrest now, we potentially scare off the seller for good. Girls will keep disappearing, and the killings continue.'

'We figured out that sooner or later, if I offered myself to do the dirty jobs and keep it all quiet, they would learn to trust me,' you explained. 'But I couldn't just do it at one place, I had to do it at as many places as I could to garner trust from multiple witnesses so that their boss would take their recommendation and bring me in himself.'

'And now he has,' Holt added. 'What exactly did they offer you?'

'Each establishment has a spokes girl, for lack of a better word,' you explained, recalling Madame Lacroix's own explanation to you about the Business. 'Roxy was the Chateau's, and these spokes girls would be called in at any time to... appease the seller. It was a sign of good will and thanks from the managers to the man that brings in their workers. I bet anything that that's where Roxy would go on her odd days off, and why she would come back looking like she did.'

'She was his personal play thing...' the brunette said, her tone indicating her disgust to the subject. Her eyes flashed with realisation as she looked directly at you. 'The other girls that were killed, were they also spokes girls from their establishments?'

You weren't surprised that she'd made the link. You didn't know her, but if she was on the team, she must be a good profiler and filled in the gaps.

You nodded. 'All of them. My guess is he wasn't happy with the service he was getting from those girls...'

'Or he could be sending a message to the managers themselves,' JJ finished.

'Maybe it's both,' Rossi offered. 'Maybe he isn't happy with what the managers have turned the girls into since he sold them and this is his way of telling them to pull it together or else.'

'But why twelve stab wounds?' Hotch asked. 'We've profiled this unsub as someone who is calculative and calm. He wouldn't leave those marks without a reason.'

'We've suspected that there may be more than the six establishments that L/N has infiltrated so far,' Holt offered. 'The first kill wasn't planned, based on the jagged and messy stab wounds on her body and the time between the first and second kill. His message wasn't received so he started killing with purpose, making sure that everyone who knew those girls knew who killed them.'

'So you think there are twelve other establishments he runs?' Derek asked. 'And that's who he's trying to warn?'

Holt nodded. 'We've got a list of potential places, but nothing solid like the first six. We figured if we found the guy behind it all, we could shut down everything at once.'

'Well, we think we've found out how these girls are being found,' Hotch said. 'We've been visiting homeless shelters and unofficial orphanages in the quieter, low-risk suburbs where if someone went missing, people wouldn't bother looking for them, not even police. We managed to figure out where the victims and some other missing girls came from including Roxy and her real name.'

'Missy Wright,' JJ added. 'That was her name before she was taken.'

Missy. It didn't sound right; you couldn't imagine that name upon a girl like Roxy. Thinking about it, though, that made sense. Just like you, she'd spent so much time believing she was someone else that her true self was someone completely unrecognisable.

You hated to think that Y/N L/N would be gone for good if you stayed as Serena Vanderguff much longer.

'Garcia is trying to match some more missing girls with the girls in the clubs,' the brunette explained. 'She's also looking into security footage from the aquarium Missy was taken from to see how our unsub did it. Although, whoever this guy is had probably been nabbing girls way before he found Missy, so she might find nothing if he was smart.'

Holt turned back to you. 'We'll keep looking into the girls past, L/N. What else did they tell you about these spokes girls?'

You heard the urgency in his tone. You needed to wrap up in case someone was listening.

'Not much. Just that, after I said yes, they would be in contact with me about having a first meeting.'

'Wait. You said yes?' The question came from Spencer, and you turned down the volume on your computer at how loud he was. He walked down the side of the table until the the bags under this eyes were visible on your small screen. 'Why would you do that?'

You didn't appreciate the tone he spoke with, like he couldn't believe what he heard. As if you'd made a dumb decision.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you narrowed your gaze on Spencer. 'Because this is what we've been working for this whole time. Once I'm in and amongst the dealings, I can gather enough evidence and we can shut this whole operation down for good.'

'You're assuming you won't get caught,' Spencer argued, hands splayed on the table now. 'You have seen what he's done to the girls who haven't given him what he wants, right?'

'I have, which is why I said yes, Spencer.' You never thought the next time you would say his name it would be out of frustration towards him. But it sounded like he didn't trust you. After all the crap you had both been dragged through, you would've thought he of all people would've had your back.

But beneath the anger, you saw his hurt. You saw him sitting at his desk that Monday morning just waiting for you to walk through the doors and maybe ask you out again, not even realising you'd already left. You saw the walls he had rebuilt after you'd worked so hard to pull them down after Maeve's death. The sad irony of it all was that those walls were because of you this time.

So you reigned in your annoyance and said in a steady, calm tone, 'I didn't stop him in time to save Roxy and the others. But there are hundreds of girls that could be next. I won't let him take another girls' life away twice.'

It was silent for a moment, but the moment dragged as you held eye contact with Spencer. You saw his internal battle through the somewhat blurry image of him, and you hoped he saw your own. It sickened you to think about what you were walking into, but you were not going to let another innocent girl be killed because of an impotent, psychopath who got off on overpowering women.

The moment ended when Spencer pushed himself up from the table and stepped away, dropping his gaze from yours for the first time since you'd appeared on screen. It saddened you to think what was going through his head, because you knew that he was blaming himself for your situation. But you were relieved that he dropped the matter for now, at least.

'All right, L/N,' Holt started, standing from his seat. 'That all?'

You dragged your gaze from Spencer back to your unit chief. 'Yes, sir.'

He nodded in approval. 'Okay then. Keep us up to date about this meeting. We'll be in touch.'

'Yes sir,' you said, but instead of signing off straight away, you allowed yourself a few seconds to look at all your friends and give them another wave and small smile. 'I'll see you guys around, then.'

'You got it, kiddo,' Rossi said, waving back.

'See you soon, L/N,' Hotch said.

You spared one last glance at Spencer, whose head had risen again so he could look at you. Determination, once more, steeled his handsome features, giving you hope that he wasn't completely mad at you.

It took all your strength to look away from him and press the button to end the call. One second you were staring at your friends, and the next you were staring at a black screen. You closed the video window and chat group and shut down your laptop.

You finally rubbed at your eyes, not caring if you smudged the makeup anymore. You were about to go take it off anyways before going to bed. It had been a long day, and knowing that you would only get a few hours sleep before the sun rose and you were expected back in at the Chateau for more dirty business, you rose, returned the laptop to its hiding place, and grabbed some takeaway Thai from the fridge.

You would eat, then shower, then go to bed, as you always did day-in and day-out.

Soon enough, you thought as you laid in bed that night, allowing exhaustion to lull you into a dreamless sleep. Soon enough, I won't have to do this anymore. Soon enough, I can go back home.

~~~

Spencer was on the precipice of exploding with so many emotions as you ended the call.

Frustration, hurt, hysteria, confusion. Some of it, he hated to admit, was aimed at you. Only because he wanted you safe, he convinced himself, but the offended look on your face when he'd told you to back down told him that you didn't see it that way.

He couldn't help it though, trying to micro-manage. Change wasn't something he liked. While he easily adapted to any situation he was placed in, that ease didn't always coincide with agreement with Dr. Spencer Reid. You leaving was a big change for him, and since then he'd grown more anxious to be in control of every aspect of his life, including the choices of the people around him.

'...there are hundreds of girls that could be next. I won't let him take another girls' life away twice.'

He rubbed his eyes in exhaustion, brushed away the loose curls drooping into them. He knew why you were doing all of this, why you were risking your life. Your selflessness was one of the many things he adored and admired about you.

The small, selfish gremlin inside of him sometimes, however, wished you weren't so selfless. Especially now.

'I definitely wasn't expecting that hair,' Rossi said, breaking the silence that had filled the room since you ended the call. 'I haven't seen that style since my grandmother died.'

'Well, it seems to have paid off finally,' Holt said, standing from his seat. 'She's in, which means we're only one step away from finding who this creep is that's kidnapping children and then brainwashing them into being prostitutes for his own personal gain.'

'Don't forget that he kills them, too,' JJ added, a worried look shining in her doe eyes. 'If Y/N makes one mistake, she could be in real trouble.'

Spencer gulped down the bile that rose at the image of you lying in the morgue like Roxy and the others, all cut up, beaten and bruised. But his heart tightened with disapproval, as if berating his mind for playing cruel tricks on him, on his faith.

On you.

'She won't.' Spencers words echoed through the room, and it surprised him how calm and steady they rang. Realising everyone was looking at him, he repeated. 'She won't. She's made it this far without our help, and she knows what's at stake. All we can do is support her...' He looked to Rossi then, making eye contact with the man who had over time become his mentor. The salt-and-peppered Italian nodded slightly in approval. '...and have faith that she'll do the right thing.'

'I wouldn't worry too much about that,' Holt said, drawing attention back to him. 'She's got a mini camera hidden that looks like a button she attaches to many of her outfits. Anything she sees, we see. The moment we get eyes on the seller and solid evidence that he's behind all this, we'll swarm in on him before he can even think of running.'

'But we can't just rely on Y/N to get that information for us,' Derek countered. 'We've still got to treat this whole operation as two separate cases. Didn't you mention there might be other establishments that are part of this and that's why the girls are being stabbed twelve times?'

'Morgan's right,' Hotch said, looking to the man in question. 'If we back off now, we may alert them to L/N's involvement. Tomorrow, Morgan, work with JJ, Rossi and Garcia and see if you can find out if more girls from other similar establishments have gone missing or turned up dead mysteriously with the same MO as the current unsub. Kate, Reid and I will go back to other establishments we know and ask them where they have been getting their workers from. It's time to put them under some pressure. For now, though, let's go rest. It's late, and there's nothing else we can do until tomorrow.'

Spencer didn't like the thought of another night of you sleeping wherever it was you were chatting from - you must have been in a small room with dark green walls as your voice didn't echo; no light flooded in but you would've pulled the blinds down to ensure your privacy, so you were staying somewhere busy where people could see into your window if the blinds were up. Most likely some sleazy apartment building in lower Manhattan so you could walk to the Chateau in a hurry if needed.

Spencer didn't like that thought at all, but Hotch was right. They couldn't do anything until morning, so might as well try and sleep before chaos unfurls completely. But before Spencer could pack up his satchel bag, his boss called his name.

'Reid,' Hotch called gently, pausing Spencer's motions while everyone else exited. 'I'm bringing you along tomorrow because I need your questioning skills, but I need to know that you're going to be impartial to the matter when we question Madame Lacroix and other employees at the Chateau. Can you do that?'

Hotch didn't mention you at all, but Spencer knew that you were what his boss meant. Silently he was asking: can you keep your cool around Y/N?

In every other circumstance, no. He could barely breathe when you were near him, even then when he saw you on a giant monitor covered up by a mask that made you almost unrecognisable. But what you were doing was important work, otherwise you wouldn't have left him without so much as a goodbye, or even left at all. You'd suffered eleven months for this, he would not screw this up for you even if all he wanted was to bring you back home.

Back to him.

So he nodded, confidently and with purpose. He felt like an imposter doing so, but it was convincing enough to Hotch, as he nodded in return. 'Good. Now let's go rest. I don't think we'll get another break like this for a while.'

~~~

Spencer could just tell the Pit was going to be loud before he'd even stepped inside the Chateau itself. The noise was only amplified by the neon lights that flashed and waved all over the dark room as he followed Hotch and Kate down the stairs into it.

They'd spent the majority of the day going all over New York asking the same questions to the other establishments. Some genuinely didn't seem to know, speaking to their lack of involvement with the Business, while others went on the defensive straight away and lawyered up. They might as well have stamped GUILTY all over their foreheads.

The Chateau was their final stop. Unfortunately it appeared to be peak hour currently, as Spencer could barely squeeze through people to get to the bar it was so packed. But they managed, and were greeted by a beautiful woman with charcoal skin, dark eyes and rainbow braids that picked up the neon strobe lights brilliantly.

She looked up from the drinks she was making - some sort of vodka concoction and scotch on ice. 'Sorry, sir. Won't be a moment.'

Hotch pulled his FBI badge out and flashed it at her. 'Actually, we're not here for a drink. Where can we find your boss, Madame Lacroix?'

The woman finished the drinks and placed them on the bar where another girl put them on a tray and left. She wiped her hands on the towel over her shoulder, face dipping with sadness. 'This is about Roxy, isn't it?'

'We just have a few more questions we think your boss can clear up,' Kate injected.

The woman nodded, turning to her left and pointing to Madame Lacroix's office that Derek had gone to only a few days ago. 'She should be in her office. That's where she usually is on busy nights like this.'

'Thank you,' Hotch said before turning to talk with Kate and Spencer only. 'Stay here and see if anyone would be willing to talk about where they've come from or anything else about how this place started up.'

They both nodded as Hotch left for the office, disappearing within the crowd. Kate turned to Spencer then. 'I'll talk to the bar staff first.'

'All right,' he said. 'I'll scope out the floor.'

Kate smiled. 'Don't get lost on the dance floor, now.'

'I won't,' Spencer replied, amusement on his lips. Kate spared him one last smile before turning back around to speak with the bartender. Spencer took that as his cue and turned to walk into the fray of sweaty bodies and clouds of smoke.

He tried not to focus on how many germs were being passed around between the number of people pressed together as he squeezed through. He needed to be looking for girls that were younger than the rest, most likely new. They would be the ones to talk.

Keen, calculative eyes landed on a girl no older than twenty with long, strawberry-blonde hair, doe eyes and a skimpy lilac coloured outfit sitting on an older gentlemen's lap. There was another man there too, the three of them sitting around a small table as they chatted and the men laughed occasionally. And while she laughed and smiled with them, Spencer could just tell she wasn't having a good time.

It stirred a sickening swirl inside of him at the sight, spurring him to walk at such a pace he almost knocked a few people over. 'Sorry gentlemen, but I need a moment with, ah...'

'Lavender,' the girl kindly offered, and Spencer noticed the hope that glimmered in her innocent eyes.

'Hey, now wait just a minute,' the man that Lavender sat on said, his words slurred, clearly intoxicated. 'Did you pay for her time? No? Then scram.'

The man grasped at Lavender's hips possessively, fuelling Spencer's disgust and anger more. He pulled his badge out and shoved it in the men's faces. 'I'm with the FBI, and we're conducting an investigating that you're obstructing right now. So get your drunken hands off Lavender and-'

'Wow, doll face! Aren't you a cutie!'

Spencer couldn't finish his sentence as he was pulled sharply away from Lavender and the men and dragged through a sea of people. He was shoved into a private booth where his kidnapper closed the curtains in a flurry and only turned around when she was sure they were the only two in the room.

It shouldn't have surprised him when you turned around, your hair puffed up, face dolled up, and a red dress sticking to you like a second skin as you stormed over to him in your matching six-inch shoes.

'What do you think you're doing here?' you asked in a harsh whisper, your Brooklyn accent dropped in favour of showcasing your annoyance at him. 'You can't just go throwing your badge in front of big shot men like them. Do you even know who they are?'

'I was just asking a question,' Spencer argued, making sure to match your whisper with his own. 'And they were obstructing my investigation. I mean, they had their hands all over her-'

'Because that is what she is paid to let happen to her,' you interrupted, sitting beside him with a sigh of exhaustion. It was, after all, just before midnight, and the night was still young. 'I don't like it either, but we can't do anything about it. Hopefully those doofuses didn't see your name so they don't know who to complain about.'

Spencer looked around the room, but it was too dark to see into the top corners. 'You're not worried you'll be caught?' You'd dropped your accent without a second thought, so he assumed the booth was somewhat safe from prying eyes and eavesdroppers.

You shook your head, brushing a puffy piece of your hair out of your face. 'These booths are used to do some... well, I think you know what kind of things happen back here. It wouldn't be good for business if any footage of what happens behind closed curtains got out, so Madame Lacroix eliminated the risk.'

It was as if you both finally realised that you were the only two in the room. No cameras, no overbearing bosses (on both sides). Just you and him.

Synchronistically, you and him wrapped your arms around each other, holding one another in a tender embrace that spoke volumes of the time that passed and all the hugs you'd missed in that time.

Everything you'd miss in that time.

'I'm sorry,' you spoke first, words muffled by Spencer's shoulder. 'I'm so sorry.'

'No, no, don't be,' Spencer soothed, hating how you felt you were the one to blame for the mess you both had landed in. 'This isn't your fault. You had no choice.'

You pulled away from him at the threat of tears, but you kept your hands clasped within his, finding his warmth comforting in the depths of the Pit. You blinked rapidly as you looked upwards, stabilising yourself. 'No. But it's the right thing to do. And we're so close, I can feel it.'

He brushed his thumb over your knuckles. If only that action could swipe away all the guilt and pain you'd experienced for so long. 'I know... I just wish you didn't have to keep being someone else. I've missed you.'

Your smile filled a small part of the hole you'd left in him when you'd left, though it was tinged with sadness. 'There hasn't been a day I haven't thought about you guys, that maybe one phone call wouldn't have compromised the mission.' You let out a deep breath, and your smile slips into a flat line. 'What are you doing here, really?'

'Hotch is putting some pressure on Madame Lacroix by asking about how she gets her employees,' Spencer answered. 'Hopefully that will prompt her to get you that meeting with the seller faster.'

'Or blow the whole case apart,' you countered, brows furrowing with worry. 'There's been no mention of human trafficking so far in Roxy and the others girls' murders. Madame Lacroix will get suspicious.'

'Which is what we're betting on.'

You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth in a combination of concentration and frustration. 'That's quite a risk you're taking there, Spence.'

'So is what you're doing,' he said, squeezing your hand in his. 'We're going to end this, I promise. And then you're going to come back to the BAU, and... it'll be like you never left.'

'Alex is gone.'

He doesn't hide his surprise at your words, as you spoke them more like a statement than question. But, just like him, you were a profiler. You were paid to be observant.

'I didn't see her in the video chat last night,' you explained, though Spencer didn't ask for one. 'After this is all over, I'll give her a call.'

'I'm sure she'd like that,' Spencer said softly, a melancholic feeling saddening him at the thought of his absent friend. 'Kate's nice though. She has a daughter, though she's not Kate's. Kate's technically her aunt, but her sister died in 9/11 alongside her husband, leaving the kid an orphan.'

'So she took her in.' Your smile returned ever so slightly. 'I'd say that's more than nice, Spence, and more like what a saint would do. She sounds like a great addition to the team.'

You spoke the last sentence with a hopelessness Spencer did not like one bit. Like you'd given up on coming back to the team - coming back to him - a long time ago.

'Hey,' he said, pulling himself closer to you. 'Don't be like that. You're going to come home. I won't let this end any other way.'

You opened your mouth to reply, but the rumbling of footsteps alerted you both to newcomers that didn't understand the meaning of curtains closed. You reacted quicker than Spencer, who just sat frozen in terror at being exposed or caught or he really didn't know what, just that he was terrified.

You unravelled your hands from his, and instead clasped them around his neck so you could pull yourself onto his lap, barely-covered breasts pressed dangerously close to Spencer's face. He was so used to being above you that he never imagined what it would be like to have the roles reversed.

Was it possible to be simultaneously embarrassed and happy at the same time? According to Dr Spencer Reid, the answer was yes.

He consciously placed his hands on your hips just as the curtains to the booth were reefed open and an overtly drunken man stumbled in with another Chateau girl on his arm, this time a dark-haired beauty with tan skin and dark eyes.

'Sorry, Nadia,' you said, Brooklyn intonations slipping easily from your tongue as you smiled devilishly. 'This booth's taken.'

'Oops!' Nadia squeaked, turning to the man with laughter. 'Sorry!'

And once more the curtains were closed. And it was just Spencer with you.

And your chest pressed right into his face.

You let out a sigh of relief before returning your attention to Spencer. You had to look down to get a proper angle at him, and despite your gaudy makeup and exaggerated hair and jewellery, he couldn't have thought of a more beautiful sight than looking up at you in that moment.

You looked so angelic, your lips so sweet and kissable-

'Well, that was close,' you breathed out, and Spencer heard your heart pounding even without his head pressed to your chest anymore.

Spencer swallowed thickly. 'Yeah,' was all he could manage without making a fool out of himself. He was alarmingly aware of his hands still holding your hips, but he couldn't bring himself to let go of you just yet.

You leant back a little, still not hopping off him, and pointed to one of the black-domed buttons lining the front of your dress. 'Holt has a feed directly linked to this,' you explained in a hushed voice. 'Madame Lacroix said I would be meeting the seller later tonight, so you better be watching.'

Only when he nodded did you make an effort to get off him much to Spencer's disappointment. He'd hugged and held you many times before - but maybe because this time was more intimate, or because there had been so much time since you'd last been together - but he craved your touch again. Soon, he told himself, and he kept his hands at his side.

You stood up and so did he, but just as you went for the curtain, he gently grabbed your wrist. 'Hey, uh,' he started, unsure if now was the right time to ask or not. But all things considered, would it ever be the right time? Throwing caution to the wind, he asked, 'What would you have said? That night I asked you out. Yes or no?'

That one unknown answer had been torturing him for months, mainly because he'd thought you left them all behind without a single thought. But he knew better now. He knew it hadn't been your fault you couldn't say or promise him anything.

Now - now there was hope again.

You stared at him for what felt like an eternity to Spencer, mouth moving but no words coming out. Your hesitation to answer saddened him. Maybe he'd read the signs wrong. Maybe all you'd ever wanted to be was his best friend. Had he just ruined your friendship twice by asking that damned, schoolboy question?

Again, you couldn't answer, as another man with a prostitute came barreling through the curtains.

'Oh, looks like we have some company,' the girl said, but not making any move to leave with the attractive gentleman on her arm.

'Don't worry,' you said, gripping Spencer's shoulder and guiding him out of the booth. 'Doll face here was just leaving.'

You shoved him and he stumbled back into the messy, sweaty fray that was the Pit as you closed the curtains behind you.

'Hope you enjoyed your time, doll face,' you said, the guise of Serena Vanderguff slipping back on scarily so. You flashed him a sickeningly wide smile as you held out your hand for a shake. 'If you want more, you know where to find me.'

And just like that - you disappeared into the sea of bodies that somehow seemed to have increased since Spencer left for only a few minutes. Spencer had half a thought to chase you, find out your answer once and for all, but there were too many people watching. He would only cause a scene.

'There you are.' Kate's voice prompted him to spin around and be greeted by the woman in question as well as Hotch, obviously having finished his interview with Madame Lacroix.

'Was that Serena just now?' Hotch asked in a quiet voice, but loud enough for Spencer to hear over the loud music.

Spencer nodded. 'She said something is going down tonight. What did you find out?'

'Lawyered up in the end. She's definitely hiding something. Anything from you, Kate?'

'I tried asking a few girls, but they all seized up or ignored me. They appear trained that way, just like we suspected. Brainwashed, of some kind.'

'All right,' Hotch said. 'Let's get back to the office. L/N's feed is our only lead now.'

Spencer followed his colleagues through the Pit to the exiting stairs, all the while looking for you. He couldn't find you, however. Maybe she's already having the meeting, he thought. If so, he just hoped you wouldn't do anything stupid in the mean time.

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter One

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter One Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 4867 Warnings: major angst, major fluff, mentions of murder, graphic descriptions of dead bodies, crime scenes, near-death experiences, slow-burnish romance, death, canon violence, rape, swearing, guns, knives, prostitution, canon cuteness of the team. Spoilers: Maeve's death, mentions of previous cases or canon events from seasons 1-10.

Spencer and you have an unspoken connection with one another. Nothing has ever happened between you two, especially since everything went down with Maeve, but your love has grown and overcome and is now clear as day to everyone. However, just when Spencer builds up enough courage to ask you out officially, you're requested on an undercover mission that halts your budding relationship in its tracks.

Months go by without a word from you until bodies of prostitutes start showing up in New York and the BAU is brought in to help. Spencer and you finally reunite as both your cases collide, but your lives and your love are both on the line now.

Will you and Spencer be able to find the way back home this time?

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Epilogue

~~~

In the bedroom of his apartment, Spencer fiddled with his tie as he looked in the mirror. He didn't know why he bothered though, it was always perpetually crooked. Something you always tease him about.

Teased.

He clenched his jaw at your memory. It had been eleven months since you'd left. Eleven. Months. You just... up and disappeared without a call or a note. Heck, he would've taken a text despite his adversity to how it was inevitably devolving people's interpersonal communication skills.

When he'd shown up to the office on Monday, he expected to see your dazzling figure with two coffees in hand - one for yourself and one for him - and that infamous bright smile on your lips. He hated to admit it, but he'd become reliant on you to always be there. You had only joined three years after he had, around a similar to time to Emily (who had been like a big sister to you), but even after others came and went, you had always stayed.

You had stayed with him. By him. He selfishly thought sometimes it was for him.

So when Hotch had informed him and the rest of the team that you had been offered another position with a different unit across the country, he shouldn't have been all that surprised that you had jumped at the chance to do something more than what you were doing at the BAU.

Again, selfishly, he thought that what you both did would be enough for you. It was for him.

He should've been happy for you despite how shocking the news came. But instead he was struck with an odd sense of open-endedness - no closure. If you were leaving, you would've said something... right? He wasn't the best at recognising social cues or reading people's emotions, but he couldn't have mistaken the smile you'd given him when he'd asked you out that night. It was joyous, it was relief, it was overwhelming excitement for the future. There could've been no faking that you felt what he felt and wanted what he wanted.

His fingers dropped from his tie, seeing no point in trying to fix it any further. Instead, his gaze drifted to his hair. It was long again, unruly curls caressing the top of his neck and tucked as neatly as possible behind his ears. You would always play with those curls as you gave him head massages when he was having his migraines, and kept the habit up whenever Spencer was stressed or tired. It helped him relax, it soothed him.

The image of you pouting whenever he got his hair cut short and close-cropped tugged his lips slightly upwards. He smoothed back the curls on his forehead. He had a random thought to just shave them all off. They were just another reminder of how much time had passed since you'd left.

He raised an eyebrow at himself in the mirror.

He wondered if he could rock the bald egg look.

He grimaced at the thought and shook his head. What the hell am I doing? He rubbed at his tired eyes before looking at his wrist watch briefly. He had to be in the office in just over an hour. So he quickly grabbed a suit jacket from his closet, but decided halfway to the kitchen that he would need extra warmth today and so turned around to grab a cardigan from his messy chest of draws.

He winced at the chaos of colours and material he found waiting for him. For a highly organised, intelligent man, he really could be a complete mess.

He wasn't looking for any particular one, but he absentmindedly sought out the regal navy blue one you'd gifted to him on one birthday. It was the most worn in his collection by far, having worn it multiple times a week (sometimes even consecutively) in the past eleven months. He fiddled with the soft material for a moment, and he swore he could still smell your perfume on it.

Vanilla Caramel and Peonies. An odd combination, but just the right balance of sweetness and freshness.

It was the right balance of you.

She's not coming back, he told himself, and his broken heart yearned for what could've been once more. He'd called you - well, tried calling you - for days, weeks, months even after you'd left. But he'd just go straight to voice mail, and you had never tried to call him back. It was like six years of working together had never happened, like they had never mattered.

Like he had never mattered.

He shook his head and dropped the cardigan in favour of an emerald green one that his mother had just sent him from one of her travels. It was oddly cold compared to yours, but at least he knew where his mother was and that he was on her mind, no mattered how disorganised it had become.

He wondered if he was still on your mind, wherever you were.

It didn't take him long to put on the green cardigan, grab his lunch from the fridge - it was just leftover Chinese from the takeout place down the street - and lock his apartment up before making his way to work. The drive to the FBI Head Quarters in Quantico was its usual, monotonous route, making it to the highly secured facility in under an hour. He entered the bullpen and went straight for his desk first, placing his satchel bag on it before heading for his safe haven - the break room.

They'd just closed a case yesterday and so he expected to be filling out a lot of reports today. Thus the reason for the copious amounts of sugar in his coffee he was currently making.

'Whoa! Talk about having a sweet tooth. Save some for the rest of us, Reid.'

Spencer looked over his shoulder to see Kate Callahan walking through the door into the break room, an amused and slightly baffled expression morphing her gentle features as she eyed Spencer's coffee making. She walked over beside him to grab a mug from the cupboard and poured herself some coffee from the freshly brewed pot beside Spencer.

Spencer spared her a tight-lipped smile. Not long after you had left, so did Alex. It was like a double blow to Spencer's trust system, with two pillars of reliance being taken away so quickly and without warning. Kate had joined the team soon after that, and Spencer was glad to see the past few months that Kate had slotted in with the team just as nicely.

But she sadly couldn't fill the you-shaped hole in his heart.

'Sorry,' he said, putting the sugar container down finally and began to mix what he could in with the hot coffee. 'Our days started earlier when I first started, and normal coffee just never did the trick for me. Now I can't have it any other way but tooth-rottingly sweet.'

She chuckled as she placed the pot down and drank it straight - no creamer or sugar or milk at all. 'Doesn't worry me. I'm a true espresso gal, but I think Morgan may have some issues if all the sugar somehow disappears.'

'I won't tell if you won't,' Spencer offered, tapping the spoon on the cup's edge before placing it in the sink. He took a tentative sip from the hot drink, and relished at the sweetness that warmed his throat.

Kate winked as she took a sip from her own coffee. 'It'll be our little secret.'

Before either could make a move to return to their desks - where no doubt towers of paperwork were waiting for them - the bright, colourful figure that was Penelope Garcia stopped by the doorway. 'Good morning, my beautiful people,' she said by way of greeting, although her smile didn't reach her eyes like usual. 'I know you all just got back but we've got another case. Roundtable when you're ready.'

Kate sighed with exhaustion but Spencer nodded his understanding. Paperwork soothed him, but he didn't necessarily want to be soothed right now. He wanted action, a distraction, something to physically do. Anything to take his mind off you.

'Looks like paperwork will have to wait,' he said, bounding after Penelope with Kate in tow.

'Don't sound so happy about a dead body, Reid,' Kate suggested.

'You don't know it's dead body,' he argued as he swung by his desk to grab his bag and rejoin Kate to walk towards the Roundtable Room, all the while not spilling his coffee. 'Statistically, it is more likely that there are multiple dead bodies involved considering we don't get called in for singular homicide events very often unless it's a high profile victim, in which case the unsub could be a highly trained assassin or of military background. But those statistics are another collection of data unrelated to serial killing, so it's more likely the case involves a serial killer, and therefore multiple dead bodies.'

The two of them entered the Roundtable Room to find the rest of the team already seated and Penelope standing in front of the screen, ready to present.

'What are we talking about?' JJ asked.

Before Spencer could answer, Kate cut in with, 'You don't want to go down that rabbit hole.'

'Okay, my pretties,' Penelope started, clicking a button to start the presentation. Three pictures of women appeared on the screen, alongside birth certificates and a picture of their dead body. 'We have three dead women: Anna Carswell, Petrina Summers, and Larissa Pembroke; and as you can tell from the pictures, their deaths were very messy. There are signs of sexual violence from what remains of their... um... mutilated nether regions.'

'They were stabbed?' Kate asked, her face pinching with disgust and sadness for the women. Spencer didn't blame her. There was blood everywhere including the walls of the dumpsters they were found in. It was enough to make him squeamish; he couldn't imagine what Kate, JJ and Penelope were possibly feeling.

Penelope nodded grimly. 'Yeah. Anna Carswell was the first victim and was only stabbed five times, but the others both have twelve stab wounds each.'

'So much rage...' JJ mused softly as she examined the pictures.

'That,' Derek started, 'or twelve is a significant number for the unsub.'

'Or he's trying to send a message to someone,' Hotch added. 'Look at her clothes, her shoes, makeup and hair.'

Spencer narrowed his eyes to inspect each area individually, but it didn't take a genius to figure out what Hotch was talking about. 'Styled or big hair; tight-fitting tops, skirts and dresses that leave little to the imagination; significantly high heels; and bold jewellery and makeup,' Spencer listed his observations pragmatically before looking away from the screen to address the others properly. 'I don't want to stereotype, but my guess is that they're prostitutes.'

'And boy wonder wins this round of Guess Who,' Penelope announced. 'All of them worked as prostitutes at popular establishments around Manhattan, but they were so far strung that local police didn't put the killings together until Larissa's body was found last night. The first victim was killed six months ago, but Petrina and Larissa make two in the last month.

'That's a bit of an escalation for the unsub,' Rossi finally said, having been quietly contemplating since Spencer walked in. 'Why the sudden increase in kill time, do you think?'

'Maybe he's impotent,' JJ offered. 'Maybe Anna Carswell was just an accident - see, look at the jagged and varied placement of the stab wounds. And for the past few months he's been trying to repress the urge to kill again, and some recent event has been his stressor.'

'JJ's right, Petrina and Larissa's stab wounds are cleaner, intentional. He's perfecting his craft,' Kate stated.

'Who called it in?' Derek asked.

'The first two victims were found by dumpster guys picking up the trash, but Larissa was found by a homeless man trying to find some food,' Penelope said. 'Local authorities have all callers in at their main office and are expecting you within the next two hours.'

'We'll keep debriefing on the plane,' Hotch said as he stood up, tablet in hand. 'Wheels up in twenty.'

Suddenly his phone pinged, and he took a quick glance at it, his face turning grim.

'What is it, Aaron?' Rossi asked.

Hotch pocketed his phone as he said, 'That was the New York FBI office. They've found another body. Wheels up in ten.'

~~~

Spencer stood across from the coroner with the latest victim's body laying between them.

Roxy Vega. Sounded fake, but that's who her brothel manager identified her as. She was the one to call Roxy in, but said that one of her girls was the one to find her. Spencer and Morgan were to go talk to her and the manager after looking at the body.

'She's the same as the others, poor thing,' the coroner said, her brow scrunching with displeasure. 'Stabbed to death. Twelve, to be exact.'

'Anything from the toxicology report?' Derek asked.

She shook her head. 'Hasn't come back yet, but I can guess she'll be like the others too and be clean. People think prostitutes would be similar to junkies, but the truth is it's usually whoever they're serving that put something in their system to... elevate the experience.'

Spencer and Derek must've been pulling shocked expressions, because she chuckled, putting her clipboard down on a table beside her. 'I used to do some escorting myself to help pay off medical school before I got this job. Nothing extreme like these girls, but the same principles applied.'

Spencer gave her a tight-lipped smile before pointing at the sheet. 'If you don't mind, can I look at the wounds myself?'

'Sure,' the coroner said, and delicately manoeuvred the white sheet covering Roxy so that it covered her upper body still. Even the dead deserved some modesty.

But Spencer wasn't perturbed by her female genitalia. He was more interested in the twelve stab wounds that scarred her lower abdomen and pelvic area. Six side by side in each area.

'That's odd,' he murmured to himself.

But Derek heard him. 'What is?'

Spencer hovered his pointer finger over each wound. 'Look at these,' he said. 'They're almost exactly parallel to one another, all in a row. And the cuts are all the same length, too.'

'Well that rules out our unsub being rageful,' Derek added. 'If he was angry when he killed them, the wounds would no doubt be all over the place, and varied in length if he did it in a frenzy.'

'So our unsub is cool, calm and collected,' Spencer mused, but something still didn't add up. 'There is almost something ritualistic about the placement. Like it's a symbol.'

'Well, he's definitely trying to send a message then,' Derek said, eyes drifting back to Roxy laying on the table. 'But who is it for?'

'And has it been heard yet?' Spencer added. The buzz of his phone prompted him to pull it out of his coat pocket and answer the call.

'Hotch,' he answered. 'Morgan and I have just finished at the morgue. The lines on the latest victim suggests that these could be ritualistic killings or a message to someone or even a group. The stabs were clean so the girls, well Roxy at least, would've been restrained or knocked unconscious before they were stabbed.'

'That changes the profile from a raging serial killer to someone who had these killings premeditated,' Hotch concluded. 'Good work, you two. Head down to the brothel to see the manager and the co-worker who found her. Local authorities took their statements but maybe they know more than they think or are letting on.'

'Okay,' Spencer agreed. 'What are you guys doing?'

'JJ and Kate are talking with the victim's families one at a time and Dave and I are at the headquarters talking with the officers and detectives who started this case. I'll ask them if they noticed the stab wound patterns, see if it means anything to them.'

'We'll call JJ and tell her the same,' Spencer said. 'Maybe the unsub is taunting the parents somehow and the key is in the stab wounds.'

'Okay. Call back when you're done.'

'Got it.'

Spencer hung up and turned to the coroner. 'Thanks so much for your help. If you could send that M.E. report to our unit chief, that'd be most helpful.'

'Of course,' she said, offering a kind smile. 'I'll keep looking for other anomalies, particularly if you think they were somehow restrained or unconscious before they were stabbed.'

'The mass blood spillage was just for show,' Derek said. 'I have a bad feeling these girls weren't stumbled upon by accident. There's more to this, and whoever these stab wounds were meant to warn is the key to solving who is behind all of this.'

Spencer quickly thanked the coroner for her time before he and Derek were out the door and in an SUV driving to downtown Manhattan to the brothel.

The Chateau, despite its name, was just a small sign hanging above a door that needed a fresh coat of paint about ten years prior. No doubt the sign would light up neon at night to draw in the locusts that were cheating husbands or deadbeat wannabes. But it was located on a busy street, and daylight made it look unassuming compared to the big billboards and towering office buildings around it. Just a hole in the wall, really.

'This place looks like a dump already,' Derek said as they examined the outside. Posters advertising all kinds of entertainment from the establishment were pinned to billboards either side of the door and down the wall where people stood in line to get in perhaps. But they were torn, like flyers from a travelling circus long ago.

'That's probably a strategic method,' Spencer said. 'It's what many opium dens in Shanghai used to do back in the 1920s to avoid law enforcement suspicion. Of course, brothels and even opium dens are legal today, but they now act as the fronts for more illicit dealings.'

'Right,' Derek said, reaching out for the door handle tentatively. 'Let's just hope that isn't the case today. We've got enough to worry about with four dead girls let alone some underground, black market bullshit.'

Derek wasted no more time in opening the door and stepping inside, Spencer right on his heels. But as soon as the daylight faded and their eyes readjusted, they both gaped at what met them inside.

Lavish gold and black velvet carpet lined the floors, swirling in intricate, flowery designs that made Spencer feel dizzy for a second. A settee sat to their left in a small alcove where gold curtains were pulled back, but Spencer took a guess as to why they would be closed at certain points. All the furniture were beautifully crafted pieces with a black gloss layer and gold lining certain edges that sparkled in the low light from the victorian style lamps hanging on the walls.

It scared Spencer how accurate he had sort of been. It felt like he was in a 1920s film noir club where gangsters met up to make and complete deals. Where they smoked cigars, and the showgirls wore sparkly, frilly, feathery dresses and patterned pantyhose. In the back of his mind, Spencer knew it was a brothel, that the gold and sparkles were just a front, but he couldn't help but be impressed by the attention to detail. Right down to the artwork that hung on the walls, all of which were from famous painters from the time period.

'They're amazing, aren't they?'

Spencer spun alongside Derek at the new, commanding voice that entered the room, and found a woman in her late forties to early fifties standing by a podium where the registry would no doubt sit each night for customers to sign in and out of. He had to give it to the establishment, it was committed to the act.

'Y-Yes,' he stuttered an answer, looking back at the painting in front of him. 'It looks like- I'm sorry, but are these the real thing?'

She laughed heartily as she sashayed over to them, the bellowing arms of her white, silk sleeves flowing gracefully with her movements. 'Goodness, no. The real ones are more than likely in a museum somewhere or hanging above the bed of some rich bimbo who doesn't understand what it is or who even painted it.' Despite the malice in her words, her red lips parted in a sultry grin. 'But alas, these do just fine. As do you, might I say.'

Spencer didn't like how her eyes raked over him and Derek ever so slowly, like she was some predator contemplating what part of her prey she should consume first. This is what JJ, Kate and Penelope must feel most of the time, he thought, averting his eyes as best as possible from the woman's snake-like ones.

He decidedly did not like the feeling it gave him.

Sensing his partner's discomfort, Derek reached into his jean pocket and pulled out his badge. 'Thank you, but we're here on official business only today.'

Those snake-eyes latched onto the badge, and it only took her half a second for her sultry smile to drop and to cross her arms. But not out of embarrassment, more like how a child did when they didn't get what they want. 'So you're the FBI agents I was told was visiting me today. How charming.' She held out hand to Derek, and Spencer couldn't help but notice how bare it was compared to rest of her. Long dangling emeralds hung from her ears, matching the beautiful emerald necklace around her neck. But no rings, or bracelets.

Odd.

'I'm Madame Lacroix,' she said, Derek finally taking her hand. 'I am the manager of The Chateau.'

She held her hand out to Spencer, to which he awkwardly splayed his hands up by his chest in a mock surrender. 'I, uh, actually don't do handshakes, sorry. Just a personal thing.'

Madame Lacroix looked him up and down from over her nose, which was an impressive act as she stood a good head shorter than him. After a moment, she dropped her hand and the matter, turning back to Derek once more.

'Madame,' Derek started. 'We just want to ask a few questions about Roxy Vega. We understand she was... one of your own for a while now. Is that correct?'

'Yes,' she answered, her painted face taking on a contemplative, even fond expression at the mention of Roxy. 'She'd been with us around eleven months. Some of the girls were supposed to take her out this coming weekend to celebrate. Geez, did those girls love partying.'

'How so?' Spencer inquired.

That snake-like gaze whipped back to him in an instant. 'They would have weekends away once every couple of months. Fancy yachts, expensive clothes, gourmet restaurants. One time, they went to the Greek Isles for a week.' She shrugged nonchalantly. 'But they could always pay for it. My girls are the best at what they do. So much so they are able to pay me and keep a good amount of earnings for themselves. And before you ask, everything is perfectly legal here, I have papers.'

'We're not really interested in that, Madame Lacroix,' Derek continued. 'You say Roxy was part of a, shall we say, an exclusive group in your establishment.'

'If you're implying that I play favourites, I don't, agent,' Madame Lacroix said, her tone dancing with silent threat. 'All my girls work the same hours, and relatively earn the same amount. It's completely on them if they decide to form friendships or alliances wth one another.'

'Was the girl who found her in that group too?' Spencer asked for Derek.

She nodded. 'Usually, Roxy and her girls don't let newcomers into their group. And if they do, it's not until they're a few months into working here. But yeah, Serena was pulled into that group from the moment she got here only three months ago.'

'Do you know where she was before The Chateau?' Derek asked.

'Yeah, she was uptown at a strip club, Guilty Pleasure. I know the guy who runs the place, and I don't blame her for leaving.'

Guilty Pleasure. The name rung familiar with Spencer, and so he pulled Derek away a little to whisper in his ear. 'That's the club Larissa used to work at.'

'And what are the odds that Larissa is now dead?' Derek added, eyes lighting with recognition. He quickly turned back to Madame Lacroix, urgency written on his face. 'Madame, there have been three other girls found in similar fashions to Roxy.'

For the first time since she entered the room, she didn't appear in control of everything happening. Her face dropped and a look of confusion and shock reflected in her eyes. 'Three other girls? Oh my goodness...'

'If you'd like, we can continue this talk in your office?' Derek offered, to which she nodded and began walking towards the podium, which Spencer now realised was in front of twin staircases heading downwards either side.

'I usually conduct private business at night, so my office is down in the Pit where I can make sure my girls are okay,' she explained as they descended into the a dimly lit bar reminiscent of the roaring 20s.

A giant glass chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling, providing enough light to see the retro bar to the left, the cabaret setup of chairs and tables that faced the small stage at the far end of the room, and the empty booths where more settees and lounges sat with curtains drawn back for now. Again, Spencer was struck by how much it felt like stepping back in time. It was truly impressive.

Spencer halted, however, when Madame Lacroix stopped and turned back to face them, genuine concern furrowing her perfectly plucked brows. 'You don't think Serena has anything to do with this. Do you?' she asked.

'We don't know that for certain,' Derek answered. 'But we would like to have a talk with her so we can start clearing up this mess. Do you know where we can find her?'

She nodded, then pointed to a door over their shoulders. 'She's here doing stocktake for me today, actually. She does so on occasion when my workmen are busy with other jobs. A load just came in this morning. You can found her sorting through it out back in the loading bay.'

'Thank you,' Spencer said before turning to speak with Derek. 'I'll go talk with her while you finish here.'

'Shout if something goes wrong, okay?' Derek warned, to which Spencer agreed and made his way to the back door.

He couldn't stop his nose from scrunching as the scent of rotten food and heavy alcohol wafted up it. Giant bins were pressed against the far corner of the loading bay, but it wasn't a very big room, so the smell was easily detected.

Looks like the stocktake room doubles as the bin room, he thought as he stepped further into the bay, where crates were stacked taller than him with food, glassware, alcohol. Amongst the stacks was a shuffling of feet, then a hard thud that resulted in a harsh cry and an 'Ouch!'

'Hello?' Spencer called out while searching his way through the stacks. What did a brothel need with so much stuff anyways? 'Serena?'

'Over here!' a heavy Brooklyn accent replied. Spencer followed the voice, finding a hunched over woman cradling her exposed toe. She wore burnt orange platform wedges with jeans and a white tank top that left little to the imagination of a one Dr. Spencer Reid. Her hair was a puffy mess of curls like the blowouts back in the 80s, and it was so big he couldn't see her face.

'Are you okay,' he said, rushing over to help, but she just held up a hand, her face still covered.

'Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, doll,' she replied hastily, shakily. 'Just hit my toe, is all.'

'Well, here, let me get you some ice-'

'That's not necessary, hun. Really.'

'Well, at least let me have a look at it. You might've gotten a splinter in it or-'

'Stop.'

He was already bending down when the word hit him. But not just the word, but the voice that came with it. It was different to the Brooklyn accent now. It was... familiar.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as familiarity turned into recognition; and when he looked up from his half-squat position, he froze where he was and stared. Because the woman he saw wasn't an unrecognisable face of some girl called Serena.

His mouth had gone dry at the shock, and so he gulped a few times, trying to find the words he'd been holding back for months. But instead, only one word came to the surface.

'Y/N?'