Abandon Me
Rating: 17+
Character Pairing: Spencer/Reader
Status: Complete
Summary: There are times when you just can't find the answers to all the mystery, the problems, and the obstacles in life. Sometimes you need to say the things that need to be said before it's simply too late.
Character Pairing: Spencer/Reader
Status: Complete
Summary: There are times when you just can't find the answers to all the mystery, the problems, and the obstacles in life. Sometimes you need to say the things that need to be said before it's simply too late.
“So what are you saying, Spencer? You don’t want to be with me?”
The painful expression on your face said it all, you were two steps away from walking away forever and there was nothing he could do to stop you. He bit his lips, unable to meet your eyes. He hated when the fights got this bad. You can barely say anything without bursting into tears and he felt like a jerk with the words trapped in his throat, unable to express his thoughts coherently without feeling like they would add more fuel to the already giant flames.
“I just… it’s not the right time right now,” he responded, reaching for you, but you pulled away.
You shut your eyes tightly and started to rub your temples. He knew the signs. It meant the conversation was over, you were done dealing with him for the day, and he was ready to hear what you had to say next, “I… I can’t deal with this right now, Spencer. I’m going home.”
Without another word, you left.
Spencer let out a frustrated sigh before he made his way back to the couch. What had started out as a harmless conversation in the midst of the two of you preparing for a romantic dinner turned into something like this, a fight worse than anything that has ever come between you two. The roasted chicken was uncooked and sitting in the sink, the tomato partly sliced with its juice dripping on the tiled floor, and the new candles he bought were unopened and lying on the table for two.
You had talked about moving in, especially since he had left so many things at your house already, and he had stiffened immediately remembering the events that had occurred not two months ago. He shrugged it off, responding that he liked staying where he was, and that was that. Before he knew it, the topic exploded. Words were carelessly thrown back and forth, feelings were hurt, tears were spilt, and you were out the door.
Spencer felt relief when the back of his head hit his pillow. The feeling of his bed was so foreign to him, especially since he had spent so many nights at your place. It was, after all, closer to the BAU headquarters and you two drove to work together every morning anyways. He had forgotten when it started to happen that he could only close his eyes once you were settled into his arms. That night, he tossed and turned until he eventually settled into a restless and dreamless sleep.
The next morning when he opened his eyes, he almost couldn’t figure out where he was until he had remembered the fight from last night. Of course he wouldn’t be waking up in your room. He was in his old room. He licked his lips, wincing inwardly at the dryness. His alarm hadn’t gone off, but he had a missed call from Hotch. Spencer hit the redial button and waited until his superior got on the line, “This is Spencer, sorry about missing the call.”
“It’s fine, briefing’s in an hour. We’re lifting off in four.”
Half an hour later, Spencer was walking into the headquarters, having picked out a random unwashed shirt from his closet. It was when he saw the way his friends looked at him that he had come to terms with how he was so used to being with you that it did seem like common sense for the two of you to move in. When he arrived to the briefing room, JJ, Morgan, and you weren’t there, presumably separated to work on another case altogether. It wasn’t uncommon for that to happen if two urgent cases were to come up.
He returned to his house after debriefing was over. The silent suggestion from his mind to call you quickly disappeared when he rationalized that this could wait until everything was over. You were always the one to be able to separate the personal from the professional, but Spencer had some difficulties.
“Hi, it’s me.” A pause. “I’m sorry about what happened. Give me a call when you’re done, will you?”
The painful expression on your face said it all, you were two steps away from walking away forever and there was nothing he could do to stop you. He bit his lips, unable to meet your eyes. He hated when the fights got this bad. You can barely say anything without bursting into tears and he felt like a jerk with the words trapped in his throat, unable to express his thoughts coherently without feeling like they would add more fuel to the already giant flames.
“I just… it’s not the right time right now,” he responded, reaching for you, but you pulled away.
You shut your eyes tightly and started to rub your temples. He knew the signs. It meant the conversation was over, you were done dealing with him for the day, and he was ready to hear what you had to say next, “I… I can’t deal with this right now, Spencer. I’m going home.”
Without another word, you left.
Spencer let out a frustrated sigh before he made his way back to the couch. What had started out as a harmless conversation in the midst of the two of you preparing for a romantic dinner turned into something like this, a fight worse than anything that has ever come between you two. The roasted chicken was uncooked and sitting in the sink, the tomato partly sliced with its juice dripping on the tiled floor, and the new candles he bought were unopened and lying on the table for two.
You had talked about moving in, especially since he had left so many things at your house already, and he had stiffened immediately remembering the events that had occurred not two months ago. He shrugged it off, responding that he liked staying where he was, and that was that. Before he knew it, the topic exploded. Words were carelessly thrown back and forth, feelings were hurt, tears were spilt, and you were out the door.
Spencer felt relief when the back of his head hit his pillow. The feeling of his bed was so foreign to him, especially since he had spent so many nights at your place. It was, after all, closer to the BAU headquarters and you two drove to work together every morning anyways. He had forgotten when it started to happen that he could only close his eyes once you were settled into his arms. That night, he tossed and turned until he eventually settled into a restless and dreamless sleep.
The next morning when he opened his eyes, he almost couldn’t figure out where he was until he had remembered the fight from last night. Of course he wouldn’t be waking up in your room. He was in his old room. He licked his lips, wincing inwardly at the dryness. His alarm hadn’t gone off, but he had a missed call from Hotch. Spencer hit the redial button and waited until his superior got on the line, “This is Spencer, sorry about missing the call.”
“It’s fine, briefing’s in an hour. We’re lifting off in four.”
Half an hour later, Spencer was walking into the headquarters, having picked out a random unwashed shirt from his closet. It was when he saw the way his friends looked at him that he had come to terms with how he was so used to being with you that it did seem like common sense for the two of you to move in. When he arrived to the briefing room, JJ, Morgan, and you weren’t there, presumably separated to work on another case altogether. It wasn’t uncommon for that to happen if two urgent cases were to come up.
He returned to his house after debriefing was over. The silent suggestion from his mind to call you quickly disappeared when he rationalized that this could wait until everything was over. You were always the one to be able to separate the personal from the professional, but Spencer had some difficulties.
“Hi, it’s me.” A pause. “I’m sorry about what happened. Give me a call when you’re done, will you?”
You stared at your phone, after having listened to the voicemail. Morgan glanced at you from the corner of his eyes and although he was slightly uncomfortable due to the silence, he didn’t know how to bring it up. Surely if you were ever unhappy, it was because of Reid and that was something that almost never came up. If it ever did, he usually couldn’t tell. You were one of the hardest people to profile with your poker face.
“You wanna talk about it?” he finally asked.
“I’m fine,” you responded, looking out the window.
“We’ve got at least five more hours until Atlanta so it wouldn’t hurt. Get it off your chest before it starts affecting your job.”
It was a good point on his part. Spencer and you had never fought so badly before. You were usually able to recover at least hours before getting to work and usually by the end of the day, the two of you would have made up somehow, whether it was in the bathroom or the janitor’s closet, much to your brother’s chagrin. This was different. It was so bad that you weren’t even listening to JJ’s debriefing.
“I don’t know what’s going on anymore. I thought we were ready to move in together,” you blurted.
Morgan was a good friend of yours. You knew him before you had started to work for your brother. As a matter of fact, you knew him through Garcia and in the midst of convincing her to work for your brother, you decided to pick him up as well, knowing that if he worked for him, she would join as well. When you started going out with Spencer, he was most understanding when it came to communicating with the doctor and gave you peeks and glances into what Spencer hadn’t been able to express.
Morgan stayed silent for a while, keeping his eyes on the road, and when he finally spoke, “Look, I honestly think that you know Reid better than any of us. There’s no doubt that at the back of your mind, you probably have an idea or two as to why he reacted that way. Think about it — it’s not a big secret that his mom has a history of schizophrenic. Ever since he joined the BAU, he has worried about having his first psychotic break that he probably missed it altogether. Do you think he wants you to be part of that side of him?”
You shook your head and out of the corner of his eyes, Morgan could see the tears brimming in your eyes when you turned to him, “But Morgan, that shouldn’t matter. I’m in this for the long haul.”
Four hours later after the subject changed to Morgan’s upcoming review, you guys arrived to Atlanta, Georgia, absolutely sick of being cramped up. JJ met up with you guys at the police department and reported the latest incident. “There’s some new development on the latest victim. Autopsy said that reviews to the examination were taken when the blunt trauma showed up much later than expected, they found that she was tortured post mortem. Seems like the chloroform may have contributed to her death.”
“Hand me the report?” you asked, extending your hand. This was your expertise in the BAU. Psychology wasn’t your forte but you were good at linking the evidence with plausible scenarios that might have caused the death of the victims, giving many possibilities into the MO of the unsubs. When paired with Spencer, you two were unstoppable. “Generally when chloroform is used, its purpose is to temporarily immobilize the victim, did autopsy find similar amounts among the other victims?”
JJ shook her head, “He didn’t use chloroform for the other victims.”
Something lit up inside you but Morgan had beat you to it, “That doesn’t make any sense. This one is completely different. The other crimes were premeditated even though he hadn’t used any chloroform, why did he change his MO? How do we know this is the same guy?”
He was right. It didn’t make sense at all. The murders started in Washington DC, a housewife having the night to herself while her husband took the kids away on a camping trip. The power mysteriously went out on the entire street and half an hour later when a neighbor came by to check up on her, they discovered her sitting on a table with dinner for two, candles lit, and her head was down. When they touched her shoulder, she collapsed, revealing dead eyes and a bloodied ribbon that covered her slit throat.
The murders kept going, from Washington DC to North Carolina, South Carolina, and eventually, Georgia. The BAU hadn’t been on the case until the third murder came around in Virginia, where the HQ was located. You had started dating Spencer at that time and based off of the given evidence, the two of you had given a profile but no one matched that profile so you guys decided to wait until the unsub made a mistake. Was this the mistake? This one was different and confusing. Sure, it was a crime of passion, as you deduced from the fatal wounds on her body — it looked as though she had been beaten with a blunt object — but why did he do it differently? You stared at the picture of the dead blonde girl on the puddle of blood with a slit throat, “She may have been his primary target.”
“You wanna talk about it?” he finally asked.
“I’m fine,” you responded, looking out the window.
“We’ve got at least five more hours until Atlanta so it wouldn’t hurt. Get it off your chest before it starts affecting your job.”
It was a good point on his part. Spencer and you had never fought so badly before. You were usually able to recover at least hours before getting to work and usually by the end of the day, the two of you would have made up somehow, whether it was in the bathroom or the janitor’s closet, much to your brother’s chagrin. This was different. It was so bad that you weren’t even listening to JJ’s debriefing.
“I don’t know what’s going on anymore. I thought we were ready to move in together,” you blurted.
Morgan was a good friend of yours. You knew him before you had started to work for your brother. As a matter of fact, you knew him through Garcia and in the midst of convincing her to work for your brother, you decided to pick him up as well, knowing that if he worked for him, she would join as well. When you started going out with Spencer, he was most understanding when it came to communicating with the doctor and gave you peeks and glances into what Spencer hadn’t been able to express.
Morgan stayed silent for a while, keeping his eyes on the road, and when he finally spoke, “Look, I honestly think that you know Reid better than any of us. There’s no doubt that at the back of your mind, you probably have an idea or two as to why he reacted that way. Think about it — it’s not a big secret that his mom has a history of schizophrenic. Ever since he joined the BAU, he has worried about having his first psychotic break that he probably missed it altogether. Do you think he wants you to be part of that side of him?”
You shook your head and out of the corner of his eyes, Morgan could see the tears brimming in your eyes when you turned to him, “But Morgan, that shouldn’t matter. I’m in this for the long haul.”
Four hours later after the subject changed to Morgan’s upcoming review, you guys arrived to Atlanta, Georgia, absolutely sick of being cramped up. JJ met up with you guys at the police department and reported the latest incident. “There’s some new development on the latest victim. Autopsy said that reviews to the examination were taken when the blunt trauma showed up much later than expected, they found that she was tortured post mortem. Seems like the chloroform may have contributed to her death.”
“Hand me the report?” you asked, extending your hand. This was your expertise in the BAU. Psychology wasn’t your forte but you were good at linking the evidence with plausible scenarios that might have caused the death of the victims, giving many possibilities into the MO of the unsubs. When paired with Spencer, you two were unstoppable. “Generally when chloroform is used, its purpose is to temporarily immobilize the victim, did autopsy find similar amounts among the other victims?”
JJ shook her head, “He didn’t use chloroform for the other victims.”
Something lit up inside you but Morgan had beat you to it, “That doesn’t make any sense. This one is completely different. The other crimes were premeditated even though he hadn’t used any chloroform, why did he change his MO? How do we know this is the same guy?”
He was right. It didn’t make sense at all. The murders started in Washington DC, a housewife having the night to herself while her husband took the kids away on a camping trip. The power mysteriously went out on the entire street and half an hour later when a neighbor came by to check up on her, they discovered her sitting on a table with dinner for two, candles lit, and her head was down. When they touched her shoulder, she collapsed, revealing dead eyes and a bloodied ribbon that covered her slit throat.
The murders kept going, from Washington DC to North Carolina, South Carolina, and eventually, Georgia. The BAU hadn’t been on the case until the third murder came around in Virginia, where the HQ was located. You had started dating Spencer at that time and based off of the given evidence, the two of you had given a profile but no one matched that profile so you guys decided to wait until the unsub made a mistake. Was this the mistake? This one was different and confusing. Sure, it was a crime of passion, as you deduced from the fatal wounds on her body — it looked as though she had been beaten with a blunt object — but why did he do it differently? You stared at the picture of the dead blonde girl on the puddle of blood with a slit throat, “She may have been his primary target.”
“The unsub is likely to be male, in his mid-twenties. Because there is no sign of struggle in the victims’ homes in addition to no alarms by the neighbors, it is likely that he might appear well off, harmless, or the unsubs might even know him as one of their neighbors. At one point or another, he has made contact with all of his victims prior to the crime and according to their background, these girls are rarely outside of their normal middle class settings. So that said, it is likely that he might be of a middle class background as well.
“Also, because of the evidence left behind at the crime scenes that are incriminating with people who’ve lived with the victims, such as the roommate, husbands, and so on, the unsub is very smart. He’s calculating, manipulative, and plans far ahead so you might concentrate your search on jobs that are mentally menial for the case that he is tired of his potential being caged in or jobs that are high powered in thinking for the case that he is surrounded by intellectuals like himself — ie, middle class educated people.
“As you may have deduced from the string of victims, his targets are generally high school girls in the middle class, blond hair, generally involved in many activities such as cheerleading, dancing, and so on. Recently, as he is accelerating, he is beginning to target women of other ages as well, including housewives, college students, and we suspect that this will continue with his killing spree. The descriptions of the targets do not change, however — they remain to be blond with long hair.
“Finally, because of the drag marks found at the crime scene where the victim was found, it is plausible to assume that the unsub is working alone and is probably slender in form. That said, we can also assume that the unsub in question is male if we’re talking about mid-twenties because if it were a female dragging the victims, you would see deeper drag marks and that isn’t the case here.”
Spencer concluded his presentation with a soft sigh and licked his lips. The police department nodded and got to work on the case. He checked his phone to see that no calls were returned from you. Rossi nudged him from behind and asked, “Problems with the young lady?”
“Am I that transparent?” he muttered, shaking his head.
“She wasn’t in that great of a mood when she came in this morning either,” the older man shrugged. “All relationships have their bumps.”
Spencer didn’t get a chance to respond when Hotch came over to them and said, “They found another body and there’s something else too.”
When Spencer arrived at the scene, he had passed by Prentiss, who was in front of the cameras, explaining what was going on and warning people against leaving their homes. When he got to the dead body, it was another high schooler. It was so hard to find the connection between them but somehow the coroner had found the tiny irregular scratch that had identified the MO of the killer. It hadn’t been very noticeable at first, but once it caught the attention of the BAU, there was no letting it go. It was a heart-shaped engraving, presumably made by a pair of razor blades and if it weren’t for this, they wouldn’t have been able to expand the search of the targets to women older than high school girls.
Spencer began to crouch down by the dead body but Hotch stopped him, “No, you’re not here, you’re with me. We have something else.”
He blinked, standing up and following his superior. They came to a group of police cars, lighting up the dark forest with their flashing lights. The tension was thick and there were several officers about, filing around to do their work but they all kept an eye on the man sitting in one of the police cars, handcuffed and locked in. “Who is he?”
“The murderer, or so he says. Dispatch said that the phone call he made turning himself in was from the crime scene. He even told them the directions to get here. When they arrived here, he was standing by the dead body, waiting for them to arrest him.”
“Also, because of the evidence left behind at the crime scenes that are incriminating with people who’ve lived with the victims, such as the roommate, husbands, and so on, the unsub is very smart. He’s calculating, manipulative, and plans far ahead so you might concentrate your search on jobs that are mentally menial for the case that he is tired of his potential being caged in or jobs that are high powered in thinking for the case that he is surrounded by intellectuals like himself — ie, middle class educated people.
“As you may have deduced from the string of victims, his targets are generally high school girls in the middle class, blond hair, generally involved in many activities such as cheerleading, dancing, and so on. Recently, as he is accelerating, he is beginning to target women of other ages as well, including housewives, college students, and we suspect that this will continue with his killing spree. The descriptions of the targets do not change, however — they remain to be blond with long hair.
“Finally, because of the drag marks found at the crime scene where the victim was found, it is plausible to assume that the unsub is working alone and is probably slender in form. That said, we can also assume that the unsub in question is male if we’re talking about mid-twenties because if it were a female dragging the victims, you would see deeper drag marks and that isn’t the case here.”
Spencer concluded his presentation with a soft sigh and licked his lips. The police department nodded and got to work on the case. He checked his phone to see that no calls were returned from you. Rossi nudged him from behind and asked, “Problems with the young lady?”
“Am I that transparent?” he muttered, shaking his head.
“She wasn’t in that great of a mood when she came in this morning either,” the older man shrugged. “All relationships have their bumps.”
Spencer didn’t get a chance to respond when Hotch came over to them and said, “They found another body and there’s something else too.”
When Spencer arrived at the scene, he had passed by Prentiss, who was in front of the cameras, explaining what was going on and warning people against leaving their homes. When he got to the dead body, it was another high schooler. It was so hard to find the connection between them but somehow the coroner had found the tiny irregular scratch that had identified the MO of the killer. It hadn’t been very noticeable at first, but once it caught the attention of the BAU, there was no letting it go. It was a heart-shaped engraving, presumably made by a pair of razor blades and if it weren’t for this, they wouldn’t have been able to expand the search of the targets to women older than high school girls.
Spencer began to crouch down by the dead body but Hotch stopped him, “No, you’re not here, you’re with me. We have something else.”
He blinked, standing up and following his superior. They came to a group of police cars, lighting up the dark forest with their flashing lights. The tension was thick and there were several officers about, filing around to do their work but they all kept an eye on the man sitting in one of the police cars, handcuffed and locked in. “Who is he?”
“The murderer, or so he says. Dispatch said that the phone call he made turning himself in was from the crime scene. He even told them the directions to get here. When they arrived here, he was standing by the dead body, waiting for them to arrest him.”
"Thank you,” you smiled, taking the file from one of the investigators, “This is pretty small, if it weren’t for you, we probably wouldn’t have been able to establish a connection.”
“It’s nothing,” he responded shyly, shuffling around with a nervous smile. “I just thought it might help you guys with the investigation.”
“It really does, thank you, Norman,” you replied, turning around towards the lounge where JJ and Morgan were located, “I’m going to head that way and talk to my team about this so I’ll see you later!”
Without another word, you headed towards the room, not hearing him mutter a soft farewell behind your back. When you got into the room, your two team members were going through a couple of the coroner’s report, noting the similarities between all of the victims and lack of similarities. You watched them talk while making your own observations towards the wounds inflicted.
In half an hour, you all were to give your profile on the unsub and there wasn’t much to go on. With this one murder, it completely threw you guys off. There were little to no wounds on the other victims’ bodies but evidently this girl had been used as a punching bag. What was going on? It was as though all the pent up anger from the past murders have found their way to this poor unsuspecting girl.
You never really liked this part of your job, learning about the victims. The one thing they all have in common, no matter their background, was that all of them died too young. They never got to live their life to the fullest because they have all been burden by the daily annoyances or share their memories with other people. Knowing all of these things made you sad and more determined to cherish your time with Spencer more, if only he shared that sentiment with you.
“Have we looked at the location of all of the unsubs?” you asked, looking through the files. There had been a grand total of twenty girls with this girl being the twenty-first girls. “Aside from that, I wonder if the number twenty-one is of any significance with this guy.”
Morgan nodded, “The locations are seemingly scattered. At first we thought it might be a kill-along-the-way sort of thing but there is almost no pattern with this guy. Sometimes he waits for a year or two to start his killing spree again and he would travel long distances for one murder that seems almost unnecessary, especially in periods of time when he would kill multiple girls in one area.”
“To throw us off the scent, Garcia,” JJ started, reaching for her phone, “Would you check the location of the last victim to see where she has been since the string of murders has started?”
“On it,” came the tech genius’s voice over the line. After a short pause and clicking clacking on the other line, she continued, “According to her website, Marcia Fuller has been traveling all over the world the past year.”
“That’s why the murders have stopped for a while,” you murmured, waiting for her to continue.
“But before that, she had interned for an engineering company that had moved her around frequently… in the same areas where the murders were committed,” she concluded.
“So the unsub has been stalking this girl… but why wait five years to get her?” Morgan pondered, “Baby girl, what about her relationship status? Any new man in her life?”
“No, none at all, there doesn’t seem to be a lot going on but… wait a minute.” A short pause. “She was getting ready to have a child.”
You all looked at each other, shocked to hear something like this.
Garcia continued, “According to her medical records, she was getting advice from her doctor in regards to changing her diet to get ready for vitro in August. And guess what?” You blinked when she said your name, “You’re going to like this one, she once worked on Fifth Avenue when she was in high school.”
Your heart skipped a beat at that piece of information. That was it. The three of you knew what that meant. The final thread of connection between all of the unsubs was staring at you in the face all this time. You went to look back in the file, at the pictures of her dead body and when you found it, you looked at the other girls and found that they had it too, the tiny little heart tattooed at the base of their neck, usually above where the slit mark was made when the unsub took their lives. It was less visible with this girl, having been beaten and strangled, but it was there.
“Spencer?” you cleared your throat, waiting for him to answer. When he said your name, you asked, “How is the case going?”
“We just gave the profile… and a couple of weird things are happening right now,” he murmured over the phone, slightly distracted, “How are things on your end?”
“We just gave ours too. Garcia found something interesting. We’re getting close, I think,” you responded softly.
Over a span of awkward silence, you both started to speak, but you told Spencer to talk first, so he started, “I’m sorry about what happened yesterday. I just… I do love you but it never crossed my mind that we’d still be together by now, that you’d still want me.”
“Spencer, of course I still want you. I know you worry about what happened with your mom but you can’t let that affect us. If you do, it can only make us stronger, not weaken us. We don’t have to move in together, but no matter what happens, I just want you to know that I’m ready to spend the rest of my life with you.” There, you just poured your heart out to him. It wasn’t something you did often and you really hoped that it didn’t scare this guy off.
While you waited for his response, you can hear your brother in the background, calling him over. Before Spencer could say anything, you let out a soft sigh and said, “Go do your job.”
“I love you, we’ll talk about this when we get back,” he said, sounding a bit lighter before hanging up.
Spencer turned his attention back to the interrogation room, a little bit happier after hearing what you just said. His mother’s random psychotic breakdowns have always kept him on the edge of fear, the very idea that one day, he would be hearing voices inside of his head, telling him to do bad things, has always stressed him out. He had never confided in anyone except you and when he did, you had been so understanding about it that it was practically impossible not to melt into your arms.
To say the least, his mom adored you when she had met you. At first, Spencer had not been very forthcoming about having you visit her, but you were patient. To say the least, when an emergency where he had caught a whiff of anthrax brought his mother to you, you grew a close bond out of your love for the BAU agent. Even so, knowing that you were so understanding with his condition (it was not a condition, as you’ve adamantly reminded him) made him even more terrified. Though you said that it didn’t bother you, he dreaded the day when he would come to home to find your things missing and a note of apology because you could no longer stand being with him. But by then, he would be so consumed that he wouldn’t notice your absence and he didn’t want things to turn out that way.
When Hotch entered the interrogation room, his attention returned to the case at hand. The unsub was just as they had described, a slender man of pale sickly complexion. His hair was a dead blond, sitting atop his hair like a mass of grass during the winter, lifeless and bleak. His eyes gave away no ambition, no emotions, or thoughts for that matter. His expression has not changed since they brought him back to the police station and after having been read his Miranda rights, he did not ask for a lawyer. According to his background, he was a doctor who had just opened his own practice, no wife or kids, just moved into a neighborhood, the very same where the most recent murder has been committed.
There was absolutely no straw to grasp when it came to understanding why he had given himself up. There was almost no hint towards suspecting him at all. No criminal records, DNA samples, or anything gave way to the possibility that Darren Jones was the killer behind all the deaths. They had been on this case for a year, when the murders first took place; no one was really able to string them together until someone at the funeral home mentioned that the girl did not have such a tattoo. From there, they figured it was a signature of the killer, a perfect heart carved behind the ears of the victims, to show off to the world that they had the guts to do what they did and not get caught.
After Hotch read him his rights, Jones merely nodded, beckoning him to continue. “Mr. Jones, the reason you are here in this interrogation room is because you have agreed to confess to the crimes of Becky Remington, Diana Landon, Erin McArnold, and Raina Temple. Is there any reason why we should believe you?”
A small smile started to dance on the man’s lips as he said a sing-song voice, “Because I know something that you’ve never told the reporters before. Well… unless you’ve never seen it before, but you probably have, otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to connect them all together.”
Alarm bells went off in his head but Spencer had no idea why it was so unsettling to see the man so at ease under Hotch’s intense stare. “And what would that be?”
His smile grew wider, a disturbing harsh light coming upon them as he answered, “I’ve marked them with my love. You know, the little hearts. Do you like them? I’ve spent hours practicing on them but when it comes to the real thing, you never really know because human flesh is a lot harder to work with than cow flesh.”
Hotch gave no apparently reaction before he started filing his papers into the folder, “Thank you. That will be all for today.”
Spencer looked over to Rossi from where they stood behind the glass in the other room and whispered, “This guy is playing around with us.”
A weird sort of eagerness appeared in the man’s eyes when Hotch stood up and quickly he asked, “Don’t you want to know where the other girls are?”
“We just gave the profile… and a couple of weird things are happening right now,” he murmured over the phone, slightly distracted, “How are things on your end?”
“We just gave ours too. Garcia found something interesting. We’re getting close, I think,” you responded softly.
Over a span of awkward silence, you both started to speak, but you told Spencer to talk first, so he started, “I’m sorry about what happened yesterday. I just… I do love you but it never crossed my mind that we’d still be together by now, that you’d still want me.”
“Spencer, of course I still want you. I know you worry about what happened with your mom but you can’t let that affect us. If you do, it can only make us stronger, not weaken us. We don’t have to move in together, but no matter what happens, I just want you to know that I’m ready to spend the rest of my life with you.” There, you just poured your heart out to him. It wasn’t something you did often and you really hoped that it didn’t scare this guy off.
While you waited for his response, you can hear your brother in the background, calling him over. Before Spencer could say anything, you let out a soft sigh and said, “Go do your job.”
“I love you, we’ll talk about this when we get back,” he said, sounding a bit lighter before hanging up.
Spencer turned his attention back to the interrogation room, a little bit happier after hearing what you just said. His mother’s random psychotic breakdowns have always kept him on the edge of fear, the very idea that one day, he would be hearing voices inside of his head, telling him to do bad things, has always stressed him out. He had never confided in anyone except you and when he did, you had been so understanding about it that it was practically impossible not to melt into your arms.
To say the least, his mom adored you when she had met you. At first, Spencer had not been very forthcoming about having you visit her, but you were patient. To say the least, when an emergency where he had caught a whiff of anthrax brought his mother to you, you grew a close bond out of your love for the BAU agent. Even so, knowing that you were so understanding with his condition (it was not a condition, as you’ve adamantly reminded him) made him even more terrified. Though you said that it didn’t bother you, he dreaded the day when he would come to home to find your things missing and a note of apology because you could no longer stand being with him. But by then, he would be so consumed that he wouldn’t notice your absence and he didn’t want things to turn out that way.
When Hotch entered the interrogation room, his attention returned to the case at hand. The unsub was just as they had described, a slender man of pale sickly complexion. His hair was a dead blond, sitting atop his hair like a mass of grass during the winter, lifeless and bleak. His eyes gave away no ambition, no emotions, or thoughts for that matter. His expression has not changed since they brought him back to the police station and after having been read his Miranda rights, he did not ask for a lawyer. According to his background, he was a doctor who had just opened his own practice, no wife or kids, just moved into a neighborhood, the very same where the most recent murder has been committed.
There was absolutely no straw to grasp when it came to understanding why he had given himself up. There was almost no hint towards suspecting him at all. No criminal records, DNA samples, or anything gave way to the possibility that Darren Jones was the killer behind all the deaths. They had been on this case for a year, when the murders first took place; no one was really able to string them together until someone at the funeral home mentioned that the girl did not have such a tattoo. From there, they figured it was a signature of the killer, a perfect heart carved behind the ears of the victims, to show off to the world that they had the guts to do what they did and not get caught.
After Hotch read him his rights, Jones merely nodded, beckoning him to continue. “Mr. Jones, the reason you are here in this interrogation room is because you have agreed to confess to the crimes of Becky Remington, Diana Landon, Erin McArnold, and Raina Temple. Is there any reason why we should believe you?”
A small smile started to dance on the man’s lips as he said a sing-song voice, “Because I know something that you’ve never told the reporters before. Well… unless you’ve never seen it before, but you probably have, otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to connect them all together.”
Alarm bells went off in his head but Spencer had no idea why it was so unsettling to see the man so at ease under Hotch’s intense stare. “And what would that be?”
His smile grew wider, a disturbing harsh light coming upon them as he answered, “I’ve marked them with my love. You know, the little hearts. Do you like them? I’ve spent hours practicing on them but when it comes to the real thing, you never really know because human flesh is a lot harder to work with than cow flesh.”
Hotch gave no apparently reaction before he started filing his papers into the folder, “Thank you. That will be all for today.”
Spencer looked over to Rossi from where they stood behind the glass in the other room and whispered, “This guy is playing around with us.”
A weird sort of eagerness appeared in the man’s eyes when Hotch stood up and quickly he asked, “Don’t you want to know where the other girls are?”
Fifth Avenue was a corner in Georgia that, at some point, all prostitutes thought would be the answer to their prayers would come. For the hopeless romantic, a handsome prince would come to swoop them up away from their shameful life. For the more pragmatic, a rich sugar daddy might come by and stay around long enough for them to get to a strip club and work without having some man’s parts shoved up their privates. Unfortunately that was not always the case, especially for these twenty girls.
It was unlike any other street corners in that most of the girls there were young and generally looked well-off. That was because they spent the rest of their savings hoping to look the part, a girl that was adequate for a good lifestyle. When you had seen your first body from Fifth Avenue, never in your right mind would you have pinned her for a prostitute. Your first case as a detective was on Fifth Avenue before you came to the BAU. A girl was found at the back alley of a restaurant, cut up at the thighs, her purse empty of the money she had earned the night before.
When it came to this case, you only took the lead because the girl who had been murdered HAD made it. She became a housewife in a suburban household with two kids, a husband, and an almost normal life. It hadn’t been noticeable until you looked for it with the next victim — a tiny heart tattoo. It was a reminder to all the girls, telling them where they came from.
The latest victim wasn’t so lucky, however. After high school, she had moved around with a job that paid the bills until she finally found herself at a managerial position. Having a job in sales made it hard for the BAU to really narrow down the type of people she came in contact with and what made it even harder was getting to know who might have been the unsub. That said, if the unsub knew that she had worked in Fifth Avenue, there’s a huge possibility that they had talked prior to her going into sales and well… that would narrow down a lot of possibilities but you didn’t have any strong backing for that theory yet.
After about two days on the case, you guys haven’t found much, but it was time for you to look at another one that had come up. This time, you volunteered to go meet up with Rossi, who would leave his post where the other half of the team was on the other side of the state. You didn’t usually work with the older man, but when you did, you enjoyed his dry humor.
After about two days of looking into the case, Rossi and you were ready to give the profile on the unsub. Within a day, Garcia gave you a call and said that someone came up in the system with the exact profile that you had given. After the two of you had interrogated him, there was little doubt that he was the one who had been kidnapping and murdering the children, even knowing the little nuances that the media had neglected to inform the public.
In a way, it was too… easy. The two of you shared this sense of discomfort, watching the case close, as if just around the corner, someone else would pop up and be the true killer. However, there was nothing you could really do. The unsub confessed to the murder and the evidence piled up against him just as they were supposed to do. You made plans to go back to Atlanta to meet up with your half of the team and when you had called; there was nothing new in development. The paperwork were still being processed when it came to getting statements from some of the victim’s family members and search warrants were being made.
It was the day after the case was closed that Rossi came to you about a phone call from Hotch. You had been looking at your phone, deciding whether or not to call your boyfriend. He was working on the case and Hotch was never really forgiving when it came to relationships interfering with work. He has already made sure to keep you guys on separate cases except for when both of your expertises were needed. You snapped out of your thoughts when the look of concern crossed the older man’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Reid.” Your heart stopped as you waited for him to continue. “They said he was shot when the unsub tried to escape from prison and kill another victim. He’s currently in critical condition.”
It was unlike any other street corners in that most of the girls there were young and generally looked well-off. That was because they spent the rest of their savings hoping to look the part, a girl that was adequate for a good lifestyle. When you had seen your first body from Fifth Avenue, never in your right mind would you have pinned her for a prostitute. Your first case as a detective was on Fifth Avenue before you came to the BAU. A girl was found at the back alley of a restaurant, cut up at the thighs, her purse empty of the money she had earned the night before.
When it came to this case, you only took the lead because the girl who had been murdered HAD made it. She became a housewife in a suburban household with two kids, a husband, and an almost normal life. It hadn’t been noticeable until you looked for it with the next victim — a tiny heart tattoo. It was a reminder to all the girls, telling them where they came from.
The latest victim wasn’t so lucky, however. After high school, she had moved around with a job that paid the bills until she finally found herself at a managerial position. Having a job in sales made it hard for the BAU to really narrow down the type of people she came in contact with and what made it even harder was getting to know who might have been the unsub. That said, if the unsub knew that she had worked in Fifth Avenue, there’s a huge possibility that they had talked prior to her going into sales and well… that would narrow down a lot of possibilities but you didn’t have any strong backing for that theory yet.
After about two days on the case, you guys haven’t found much, but it was time for you to look at another one that had come up. This time, you volunteered to go meet up with Rossi, who would leave his post where the other half of the team was on the other side of the state. You didn’t usually work with the older man, but when you did, you enjoyed his dry humor.
After about two days of looking into the case, Rossi and you were ready to give the profile on the unsub. Within a day, Garcia gave you a call and said that someone came up in the system with the exact profile that you had given. After the two of you had interrogated him, there was little doubt that he was the one who had been kidnapping and murdering the children, even knowing the little nuances that the media had neglected to inform the public.
In a way, it was too… easy. The two of you shared this sense of discomfort, watching the case close, as if just around the corner, someone else would pop up and be the true killer. However, there was nothing you could really do. The unsub confessed to the murder and the evidence piled up against him just as they were supposed to do. You made plans to go back to Atlanta to meet up with your half of the team and when you had called; there was nothing new in development. The paperwork were still being processed when it came to getting statements from some of the victim’s family members and search warrants were being made.
It was the day after the case was closed that Rossi came to you about a phone call from Hotch. You had been looking at your phone, deciding whether or not to call your boyfriend. He was working on the case and Hotch was never really forgiving when it came to relationships interfering with work. He has already made sure to keep you guys on separate cases except for when both of your expertises were needed. You snapped out of your thoughts when the look of concern crossed the older man’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Reid.” Your heart stopped as you waited for him to continue. “They said he was shot when the unsub tried to escape from prison and kill another victim. He’s currently in critical condition.”