Chapter Text
The night was young, bodies moving as one inside of the nightclub. It was the slightest brush of hands on her waist that gathered Charlotte’s attention. She threw a glance over her shoulder, half drunken from a long night of alcohol and inebriation. It was all in good fun though, and the college senior had only gone out with her friends for a harmless night of entertainment and enjoyment of the risqué activities that life had to offer. Michelle had left nearly an hour ago with a man she had met a few bars ago, but Charlotte and the rest of the group remained on the prowl. Those hands on her waist brought her back to reality, and the sensation of someone’s hips pressing against her almost sobered her up immediately - in a good way, of course.
“I like you,” she heard herself say, her voice barely traveling above the roar of the loud music and other people’s intoxicated dancing. A giggle sounded sometime after, and her dance partner seemed to share her enjoyment, a huff of a laugh sounding near her ear, hot breath instantly sending a shiver of delight down her spine.
“I’m glad the feeling is mutual,” the mystery man said, his hands having found a solid perch on her hips as they swayed together in a way that directly opposed the upbeat music selection of the club. Her hands dropped down to rest over top of his, and before she really realized what was going on, she was being led away from the dance floor and towards the bar. Once seated there, not without nearly missing the barstool the first time, she was pleasantly surprised to see that her companion was handsome, if not a little on the rugged side, but still handsome all the same. Charlotte let her eyes unashamedly look him up and down approvingly, and he simply smiled.
“Thought you might like another drink,” he said, calling the bartender over and ordering himself a gin and tonic while she ordered another cosmopolitan. She was somewhere near five or six, but she wasn’t entirely sure at this point. “I’m Paul.”
“Charlotte,” she instantly introduced herself in response, taking a sip of her fresh cocktail and gazing up through thick lashes, her chestnut locks falling over her shoulders in messy waves, obviously tussled from dancing and the hot lights.
“Charlotte… What do you say we get out of here, hm? Enjoy the night in private,” he suggested, icy eyes locked onto her face. She nodded after taking one last drink, taking the hand he offered her to stand straight, reaching back to adjust the little black dress she wore for the night. She didn’t let go of his hand either, allowing him to lead her out of the club and onto the street where danger lingered around every corner.
Yet she didn’t know that the only danger she had to worry about was currently guiding her away from safety.
Charlotte Lowe wasn’t heard from again.
Despite his previous spiel of the goodness of being an early riser, Spencer was anything but. He hated mornings, and waking up to the sound of a phone screaming in his ear was not pleasant. He grumbled something incoherent, most likely curses, and pushed himself up on his elbows, his hair a mess atop his head as he blindly reached for his phone. The fluorescent light was too bright for his sleepy eyes and he muttered another string of curses, squeezing them shut for a moment before letting them open again. A call from Hotch, at 4 in the morning? What else should he expect, he didn’t think the older man ever slept.
“This is Reid,” he grumbled after answering the call, making it quite clear that he wasn’t pleased with the way he woke up, but instantly falling into work mode when he realized that Hotch wasn’t calling because he wanted to, but because they had a case that required their immediate attention.
“Make sure you’re here by five, we need to go as soon as possible,” Hotch instructed, and before Spencer even had the opportunity to respond, the line was disconnected and he was grumbling again. He regrettably got out of bed and got ready, combing through his hair messily and deciding it was a lost cause as he walked out the door with his bag crossed over his body.
He stopped at his favorite cafe on his way, deciding that if he was going to be up this early he needed a good cup of coffee in order to function, and soon, he was entering through those heavy glass doors with the FBI insignia etched into them, looking a bit frazzled, more so than usual, but greeting a few of his fellow colleagues with a fond smile even though none of them wanted to be there. So far, only Morgan and JJ were there, but Hotch was probably present too, most likely getting the team ready to travel.
“Morning,” he greeted, meeting Morgan’s eyes briefly before looking down to the coffee cup in his hands. Ever since he had come to terms with his feelings for the slightly older man, he found it somewhat awkward to be around him. Well, he should say that he was awkward around him, not of his own choosing of course. Morgan didn’t think anything of it, thankfully, mainly thinking his odd mannerisms to be comical at best - not concerning in the slightest.
“Any idea why Hotch called us in?” Emily asked as she joined the group, clutching her own go-bag over her shoulder and despite looking a bit tired, she was still in tip-top shape, wearing a slim fitting pantsuit ensemble, her hair as dark as the outfit.
“No idea, all he said was that it was urgent. I imagine it’s a case,” JJ informed with a small frown. Spencer instantly looked up at the sudden movement approaching their group, seeing Hotch approaching along with a frowning Rossi who seemed a bit frustrated judging by the lack of relaxation in his steps. Spencer frowned, his lips pursing just slightly at the appearance of their leader. He was clearly sleep deprived.
“Local law enforcement in Bloomington, Indiana have requested our help. So far, they’ve come across four bodies believed to be victims of a single killer. Garcia will brief us on the jet, we need to get going now,” Hotch said, looking around their close-knit group before they all set out for Bloomington.
“Good morning, my lovelies. Brace yourselves, because this is an icky one,” Garcia’s chipper voice filtered through the speakers before Spencer had even sat down, but he took his seat beside Morgan. Even if he was romantically interested in the man, he couldn’t change routines now. It would only make it more awkward and uncharacteristic of him, so his only choice was to pretend like everything was as usual even if he felt his heart beat a little faster whenever their arms brushed against one another’s. He needed to calm down though. They had a killer to catch, and he couldn’t be preoccupied with thoughts of Morgan while doing so. Being unfocused was dangerous, especially in their line of work. He didn't want to risk the lives of any of his team members, or his own for that matter, so he needed to control himself. Usually he was one of the more composed members of their team under times of stress, but for some reason, Morgan seemed to make him forget his responsibilities without even realizing it.
“Four victims, all between the ages of eighteen and twenty five, found on the doorsteps of local churches and chapels. All with varying signs of torture and mutilation and I’m going to let Hotch take it away because I like being able to sleep at night,” Garcia said dismissively, earning an eye roll from Morgan and Emily couldn’t help but smirk.
“Torture and mutilation, Their genitals were mutilated and their faces were disfigured, most likely from the use of acid,” Hotch supplied effortlessly to which Garcia thanked him briefly before continuing on. Spencer, the ever emotionless agent, didn’t let his disgust show.
“All four victims were college students. We have 18 year old Maya Bangle, 21 year old Joseph Ritz, 25 year old Julie Stein, and 22 year old Michael Woolridge,” Garcia introduced, their pictures appearing on the screen as she listed off their names.
“Mixed victimology,” Rossi pointed out, “He clearly doesn’t have a preference for male or female.”
“But he has a thing for brunettes,” Emily mentioned.
“Was there any evidence of sexual assault?” Reid questioned, a hand perched underneath of his chin as he looked over the crime scene photos in each of their files.
“Inconclusive. The mutilation was too severe for the M.E. to determine. But Reid, I want you and Morgan to head to the morgue. See if there’s anything the M.E. might have missed. Dave, take Prentiss with you to the most recent crime scene. JJ and I will get set up at the precinct,” Hotch said with a firm nod of his head.
The rest of the flight went by quickly, and before he knew it, Reid was alone with Morgan in one of their government-issued SUVs, sitting rather uncomfortably in the passenger seat. Morgan didn’t let this go unnoticed either, his eyes scanning over the smaller male for any visible cause of his discomfort.
“Did I do something?” Derek asked, a bit of a bite to his tone that Reid nearly flinched away from, but he knew that would only draw more attention to his unusual behavior. He turned his head, managing to meet Morgan’s eyes for a brief second before looking down again.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he quickly dismissed, only for Morgan to sigh. He parked the SUV outside of the M.E.’s office, but before Reid had the opportunity to slip out, Morgan turned to face him from the driver’s seat, raising a hand and gesturing to Reid in his entirety.
“Oh, really?” He started, a frown on his lips while his brows pinched downwards in a way that Spencer quickly identified as aggravation. Morgan was frustrated with him… More so his current behavior, but regardless, Spencer felt a twinge of pain in his chest at that realization. “Because something is going on. You’ve looked at me a total of two times today, Reid. What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing,” Reid said, his lips pursing in a way that expressed his nervousness, his eyes flitting upwards once more to meet Morgan’s eyes before he turned away entirely and opened the car door. “Don’t worry about it.”
The M.E. didn’t reveal any new information, although to say that these people had been tortured was an understatement. There were clear signs of mutilation all over the bodies, ranging from bruises to cuts to burns. The M.E. confirmed that a knife had been used, but that wasn’t surprising and also didn’t help them narrow down their possible suspect pool. Knives were accessible to anyone. So, therefore, unhelpful.
The tension didn’t go away between him and Morgan though, and Spencer was quickly running out of ideas regarding how to explain away his abnormal behavior to Morgan. I’m in love with you and every time I even look at you my heart races and my hands shake. I feel clammy and uncomfortable and its your fault that I can’t think straight, wasn’t going to cut it. He needed to get it together or face Morgan’s undeniably dangerous wrath.
Regardless, the case kept them from really communicating, because as soon as they arrived at the station, Reid was asked to start a geographical profile and Morgan took part in interviewing the families. This kept them away from each other for a decent amount of time, but as soon as they landed back in Quantico, the interrogation would start and Reid would run out of options. His sympathetic nervous system would go into overdrive and his amygdala would undergo so many different emotions that his body would probably just shut down. While that wouldn’t actually happen, he knew the risk of passing out was possible, but Spencer would probably die from mortification and he couldn’t let that happen. Not if Morgan was going to be his sole audience.
At first, he assumed it was going to be an easy case, but that wasn’t the case. None of the disposal sights made any sense. One would assume that since the bodies were left in front of places of worship, their was some sort of religious significance to the victims and the M.O. But that wasn’t apparent. Nothing seemed to be making sense regarding the disposal sights despite the fact that the bodies were found almost immediately. Something else that threw Spencer for a loop was the fact that while the first three victims were reported missing nearly a week before their bodies were found, the last victim, Michael Wooldridge, had been missing for nearly three months before his body was found. The timelines didn’t add up and Spencer needed a break. Coffee was his immediate solution, and stepping out of the conference room was a breath of fresh air that he didn’t realize he needed. He stood still for just a few moments, taking time to let his brain relax only for his breath to catch in his throat when he saw Morgan just across the room, communicating with Hotch and the local detective. He lowered his head and quickly moved past them to get a fresh cup of coffee from the break room, loading it up with sugar before returning to the conference room where he was safe and back in his element away from confusing emotions and tension.
After nearly two more hours of working the geographical profile and brainstorming, Spencer had hit a rock. His colleagues didn’t seem any more enlightened than him; there was no apparent connections between their victims, and only two of them had attended the same university, but even then, they were different years and majors. The families weren’t connected and only two of them were local, the others having traveled all the way here to identify the bodies. Not even the their lives on social media overlapped, and the team felt like they were hitting a rock.
So it was at that point that Hotch suggested they retire for the night and come back in the morning with a fresh perspective. Maybe they could see something new then, and although Spencer usually viewed suspending the investigation as giving up, he couldn’t agree more. He needed a break, since he could already feel a headache pulsing in his temples. The team left the precinct together, and despite his misgivings regarding the rooming situation, he ended up with Morgan of course. They normally shared a room, but ever since Spencer had grew aware of his feelings for the other man, his awkwardness made it a near painful experience. To spare himself the embarrassment, stopped Morgan just before they entered their room.
“I’m going to step out for a bit, clear my head,” he informed him, earning a somewhat suspicious glance over from the dark skinned man only for him to huff in slight frustration and enter the room with a shake of his head, closing it behind him and promptly leaving Reid alone in the hotel hallway.
Reid couldn’t be more thankful for some time to clear his head though. He was used to working himself to exhaustion, so finally having a few minutes to spare himself a breath of fresh air and silence was reassuring. He did as he said he would and found himself standing in front of the hotel, leaning back against an empty planter, the flowers that were once growing inside having died and dried up months ago. He paid them no mind though, busying himself with possible theories of their unsub, ranging from an anger excitation rapist to a misogynist with an apparent distaste for feminine men as well. It wasn’t comforting to know that he fit that description, and despite his best efforts to prevent it, those thoughts of Morgan bubbled into his conscience. He knew he never stood a chance with Morgan, since to Spencer, Derek had always been a ladies’ man, and as long as he had known him, he had never seen the man hold interest in another man before. Derek wasn’t gay, Spencer knew that, and while he somewhat hoped that their closeness would blur the lines of his heterosexuality, he knew it was unlikely if not impossible. It was painful, to think that the man he was in love with would never even spare him a glance, but it was something that Reid could live with. Being able to work alongside Derek was enough, and if he had to shove those feelings of affection into the very back of his mind, he would. Even then though, he would never forget - he never forgot anything, and the pain from it now would only come back to haunt him in the future.
Get it together, Spencer.
It was within those self deprecating moments of thought that he felt a hand brush over his shoulder, and he was suddenly face to face with another man, only slightly taller than him with handsome features and piercing blue eyes, quite unlike his own hazel hues.
“Sorry about that, man, you just looked really pale and lightheaded, I thought you might fall,” the stranger said, the hand on his shoulder never falling away. Spencer swallowed dryly, his eyes raising somewhat nervously, dark lashes fluttering in a way that seemed to express his slight confusion and apprehension. He knew this man. Lieutenant MacMillan. He was one of the officers at the precinct, and in fact, he had brought him coffee several times throughout the day while he worked on his geographical profile, offering him his assistance should he ever need it.
“Sorry… I’m sorry, I was just lost in thought, I guess,” Spencer said with a tight lipped smile, stepping away from the other man’s hand on his arm, clearly uncomfortable with the touch. He had never been comfortable with foreign contact, and the incident with Hankel definitely hadn’t helped him. That had been several years ago now, but to this today, he preferred to go without physical contact, especially from strangers. It made him itchy and uncomfortable, and his obsession with germs gave him a sense of uncleanliness that he couldn’t shake away.
“I get that… Say, did you want to get a drink? Might help you relax a bit,” MacMillan offered in a way that didn’t suggest any suspicion. But Spencer wasn’t a drinker, and after his previous addiction, he didn’t like to mess around with any sort of intoxicating substances. Even when he went out with the rest of the team, he opted for sodas or even virgin cocktails - but never alcohol. He didn’t want to tempt himself with an addictive substance which could potentially act as a gateway for his drug of choice. It was too dangerous, and he cared far too much about his own livelihood to risk that happening again.
“No, I-I don’t drink. Besides, I should be getting some rest,” Reid said, turning to step away in the direction of the hotel, only for that hand to return to his bicep, the grip less than friendly. Spencer felt endangered, and just as he turned to look back at the lieutenant, a prick in his lower jugular elicited a soft gasp from his lips, his knees buckling beneath him within seconds of the injection.
“Wrong answer.”
Spencer didn’t make it back to the hotel room that night.