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JJ looked like a bat out of hell as she went on a warpath straight to Spencer’s desk, the manila folder in her hand being slammed in front of him and likely being stained with the undried ink of his notes. The papers inside the folder were hastily thrown together, the corners misaligned, and crumpled from her ironclad grip. He stared at it for a moment, aware of what it was in a matter of seconds, and dragged his gaze back up to look at her.
“What were you thinking, hiding something like this?” she demanded. She didn’t have the right to tell him what he should and shouldn’t be hiding, he thought before reminding himself that he was supposed to be working on that bitter feeling, not feeding it further.
“I didn’t hide anything. I just didn’t talk about it. An absence of information is not a cover-up,” he argued.
“This has been going on for weeks, Spencer. Are you telling me you never thought to bring it up when we were, I don’t know, spending nearly every day together?”
“The police have it handled.”
“The police are asking us to handle it!”
“Then the police had it handled until now,” he reasoned, getting up to make his escape. Maybe if he walked around in circles enough, she’d go back to her lair and silently seeth there until the case was brought before the group because there was no way she was going to let it go now she had it. The team would inevitably mirror her, so maybe he should use this time to leave while he still could. “I’m not helpless, JJ. I can protect myself just fine.” Granted, things were getting worse, and that had no doubt been the contributing factor to the police handing over the case, but he could easily pretend nothing was happening when they were sent across the country or went into work just as he'd done multiple times before.
“There’s a clear escalation here. Something you’re well aware of is a bad sign!” He groaned and refilled his mug since she wasn’t going to stop following him any time soon.
“And yet here I stand, still alive.”
“Not for long if this guy has anything to say about it. I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me about this.”
“I’ve had a lot going on,” he replied, a little too sharply. He ducked his head shamefully when he saw her anger crack and give way to a softer, harder-to-ignore expression.
“Spence-”
“We won’t be able to take the case anyway. Not when we’re friends.” He was intentional in saying friends rather than saying that they knew each other to make up for his previous snap. “It’s- it’s not personal. Nobody else knows about it, and there isn’t much point in bringing it up because, as I mentioned, we won’t be able to work on it when we’re friends.”
“I’ll pull strings.” He sighed as he rubbed his brow.
He should’ve never opened that stupid parcel. He should’ve let it rot there whilst he went about solving murders in another state, so it never entered his home, and maybe the unsub, wanting to make sure their message was received, would find their gift still sitting on his doorstep and choose a better victim that would actually be at home for a decent enough time. Accepting the first package just seemed to give the impression he was ready and willing to be murdered.
“You don’t have a choice,” JJ told him, and he hadn’t thought otherwise since she slammed that folder down. “Now, either you can accept our help now, or you can go kicking and screaming the entire time.”
“It’d be difficult not to comply, given that half the office is watching us right now.” She turned around, and conveniently, everyone else was just in the middle of going back to their computers. “How long have I got until we’re called to brief?”
“Five minutes.”
“Then I’ll enjoy my last moments to myself, then.” She tutted at him and rushed off to get the briefing ready.
Before Spencer even opened the first package, he knew it wasn’t going to be anything good. It’d been left on his doorstep rather than his pigeon hole in the lobby, and he only knew it’d been for him because, despite his name being absent, his address had been typed out, printed and stuck to the top of the box. There wasn't a postage stamp either.
With the benefit of hindsight, he should’ve left it there.
If he were honest, his interest in opening it had solely been built upon the possibility that it could have been Jason Gideon finally stepping back into his life. It’d been years since he last heard from the man and found the letter addressed to him in the cabin, but what if that was coming to an end? Perhaps Jason missed him and wanted to catch up, but just didn't know how to say it or just wanted to send him a little something from his travels and let him know he was safe.
What he found in the box solidified that, not only was Jason not going to contact him any time soon in any way, shape or form, but that whoever did send it didn’t want him to feel even a modicum of safety. At first, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at, which he’d later blame on the shock. Inside the cardboard box, in its own smaller glass box that seemed better designed for expensive jewellery or watches, was a human finger.
When he did realise it was a severed human finger, he felt all the blood run from his face. He’d always felt somewhat detached when it came to the dead. He didn’t shy away like most would when coming across a dead body, but that could be because he never knew who it was and was informed ahead of time that he’d be seeing it. He didn’t freak out as anyone else would, but he certainly wasn’t his calm, collected self either when faced with a dismembered body part.
Who sent this? Whose finger is that? What was the message they were trying to send? How did they get his home address? Should he call his mum? Would they go after his mum? They didn’t write his name, which was weird for such an obvious threat. They may not state who they are, but it was more common to have the recipient named or otherwise hinted at if you're going to threaten someone. He rattled through the list of serial killers he put away that had mutilated the hands or fingers of their victims, struggling to keep focus as the evidence sat on the table he would never dare to eat off of again. He stopped before getting ahead of himself, knowing that he should call the police first before he could begin to pick apart what made up his own victimology.
As he finished his first interview with the police, he did think to mention it to the team, but he eventually settled on only telling Erin what happened. She didn’t question him, though he couldn’t be sure if that was from wanting to remain impartial or having bigger fish to fry, and made a note to follow up with the police every once in a while for updates. Perhaps he was still cautious from Emily’s faux death or just wanted to keep it out of his mind so he could pretend it didn’t happen, but either way, when he was inevitably asked why he saw Erin, because the team was as nosy as ever, especially with his newfound coldness, he didn’t think to tell the truth. All he said was it was private. Not a lie, just an absence of information. Still bad in their eyes but neutral in his own.
Spencer should’ve known privacy didn’t exist between them as he sat down, feeling Penelope’s eyes fixed on him. She looked as though she was still deciding on whether she was more angry than she was worried and vice versa, wondering whether he'd die by the unsub's hand or her own. When she stood up, remote in hand, he readied himself for the backlash. Perhaps they'd surprise him.
“Three months ago, Tyler Moore went to the police after receiving the oh so lovely gift of a box with a severed human finger,” Penelope began, clicking the remote to show the crime scene photos.
A finger in the same glass box Spencer had received popped up on screen. They were from an older woman, judging by the wrinkles and the manicured nail covered in red nail polish that had chipped slightly. It could've been from a possible scuffle before her death or simply wear and tear.
“It has yet to be identified, but it’s thought they were cut using some sort of saw post mortem. The police’s initial theory was a warning from a rival gang since Moore was known as a wannabe gangbanger. Two days later, Moore went missing.”
She clicked the remote again, the pictures switching to the next victim.
“Harrison Smith received one of Tyler Moore’s fingers, identified through fingerprints and tattoos as pictured.” She swallowed thickly as she usually did when presenting the more gory parts of their cases. “Smith went missing two days later and, yes, you guessed it, one of his fingers was sent to the next victim, Donna Martin, who, yes, went missing two days after the report.”
Then came Spencer’s photo and the fingers he’d received. The room grew cold, and he knew he should’ve just said something sooner, spotting the betrayal particularly in Derek’s eyes. Aaron must’ve already been aware since he’d entered the room with the same severe expression he wore now. He cleared his throat awkwardly and made a considered effort to stare at the screen and only the screen.
“Donna’s finger was then sent to our resident Dr Spencer Reid, who reported it to the police and then didn’t say a word to his friends, who catch serial killers for a living,” Penelope hissed. “On the day the others went missing, Reid was working a case in Texas. A week later, he received Smith’s finger and reported it to the police, only to then be away again for the next two days. His latest box contained the fingers of all three known victims and the first unknown victim. That was yesterday.”
“Reid? You wanna say something, man?” Derek asked. He chewed on the inside of his cheek and decided to side-step the issue entirely, casting his opinion on how they should move forward.
“They’re getting frustrated with me leaving during their kill zone, so it’s likely a significant period of time for them. They’re obviously not stalking their victims, judging by the lack of crossover between profiles and their failure to consider my schedule. They could be picking the addresses at random, given that I’ve never met any of these people and the boxes just had the address rather than a name or stamp.”
“Reid,” Derek stressed. It was worth a try.
“I told Strauss,” he stated. That just seemed to deepen the betrayal, but he pushed on. “I think it could be beneficial for me to remain at home tomorrow.”
“Are you joking? You wanna bait this guy?”
“I’ll be fine. If someone were to break in, then I have my gun and hopefully a perimeter you all can set up. We can catch them in the sting, find out who they are and work from there. I doubt things will be any less bleak when they run out of fingers before they can kill me.”
“Hotch?” Derek asked, thumbing to him with a 'get a load of this guy' look. He didn't see why his suggestion was so out of the ordinary. How many times had they sent Emily or JJ into an interrogation room with the same intention?
“They’ll likely attempt to strike tonight, but I’m not having you alone," Aaron stated.
“I passed-”
“I don’t care how proficient you’ve become with a firearm. Your silence is either the beginning of suicidal ideation or stress-induced stupidity, neither of which leaves you qualified to defend yourself,” he chastised, keeping as professional as he could. Spencer withered slightly. “We’ll set up a perimeter with police around your apartment. Morgan and Prentiss will be joining you.”
“And we’ll have a long conversation about what is and isn’t considered private,” Emily warned. At this point, the serial killer would be doing him a favour.
“But-”
“We don’t know if they’re being taken at midnight on the dot or lunchtime. They’re staying with you," Aaron stated with finality. That only frustrated him further. Did he understand their concern? Of course he did. Did he feel as though he should be treated like some heretic for not mentioning it? Absolutely not. He especially didn't deserve to be treated as weaker or lesser than the rest.
“You’re acting as though I didn’t do anything in response to this. I told the police as soon as I opened the package, and I told Strauss right after. I went to the necessary authorities, so I don’t see why I’m being accused of either being stupid or suicidal when I'm neither of those things. All of you get your secrets, why is it so scandalous for me to leave this out?”
“There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” He stood up, gathering the papers and photos. “Whoever this is, they don’t know who they’ve set their sights on. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, so there’s no danger to you; therefore, you didn't need to know.” This wasn't like the Fisher King case, where he'd inadvertently put them all in the firing line. He would've told them the moment he thought danger could be posed to any of them, too, but there wasn't any.
“There’s danger to you,” Aaron stated, and it was clear that whatever points Spencer had yet to make weren’t going to be made. “Work on the geographic profile, then Morgan and Prentiss will drive you home. I won’t hear anymore about it. Understood?” He felt childish for glaring but did it anyway.
“Understood, sir," he replied through gritted teeth.
Spencer stood like a stranger in his own home as Derek and Emily set up a work area on his living room table. He didn’t make a habit of inviting people back to his apartment and found it difficult to settle as they invaded his space, even if it was with work. He tapped his forefinger against his thumb as he watched on silently, debating if he should once again defend his actions or try to offer some small talk. All he'd done until that point was move a few books to make room before stepping off to the side. He couldn't think of any small talk that wouldn't come across as backhanded or passive-aggressive, so he decided to go the same route as when maintenance men invaded his space.
“Do you uhm- do you want a drink?” he asked. It was weird to feel like he’d only just met the people he’d known for years, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted nothing more than to push them back out or leave himself. He wondered if he could stick his head out of the window and beckon this unsub to finish the job swiftly.
“Some coffee would be great. We’ll be here a while,” Emily replied. He nodded and readily busied himself. “How many books do you own?”
“Two hundred and ten, a further ninety are rented from the library,” he answered. “I’m running out of space.” She glanced at the stacks of books that they had to pile on the floor to free up space and the various other piles dotted around every free space available.
“I couldn’t tell,” she muttered sarcastically.
“Why do you even keep so many when you remember everything you read?” Derek inquired.
“You listen to music you’ve already listened to,” he countered. “Some of them were expensive, and I want to get my money's worth. Others are sentimental for one reason or another. I have Rossi’s books that I intended to have signed, but then he joined the team, and it felt wrong to ask.”
“Suppose the one good thing to come out of this is I know what to get you for your birthday,” Emily commented.
Armed with coffee, the trio began to comb through the history of each victim for any instance of them meeting prior. Coming up empty in both the professional and personal worlds, they concluded Spencer’s theory was the best they had. The unsub was picking their victim at random, likely following them home or just choosing addresses in quieter neighbourhoods to target. It was likely pure misfortune that Spencer had been picked out.
A knock on the door made them all freeze. Spencer looked to the pair for advice, only moving when they gave the nod. Derek followed close behind him as he crept to the door and peered through the peephole.
“Clear,” he whispered, assuming the unsub was standing just out of sight. Derek gestured for him to open the door. He cracked it open a sliver at first, quickly looking left and right before opening it fully. He cautiously stepped out into the hallway to inspect it further. He could hear the hum of a conversation coming from down the hall, the near-silent whirr from the lights overhead and general creaks and squeaks that came from older buildings. For a moment, he considered that it was just some kids messing with them, not knowing the danger he was facing.
Pain began to bloom in his stomach. Not quite a stomach ache or blinding agony. Something unsettingly inbetween the two. Initially, he thought it was nerves finally getting to him until he spotted the barrel of a gun resting on the landing and the top of a head peering over between the bannisters.
Time stopped.
Was this how he died? A killer gets a lucky shot despite being surrounded by the FBI and police, so that's lights out for him? He didn't even get to fire back or negotiate? Was it that quick? Bile stung the back of his throat, and his body shook as it flooded with adrenaline, begging to do something to save him but not knowing what to do or if it even could. He should’ve never opened that box. He wasn’t sure if that would’ve saved him or simply left him ignorant of the attempts on his life, but it was all he could think of.
He then looked down at himself, expecting to find a bloody hole ripped through him by a bullet, piercing his organs and getting lodged somewhere in the middle of him, but instead he found a neon green tassel. He swallowed thickly. He may not die from blood loss or ruptured vitals, but it wasn’t like he was going to walk this off after a quick nap. He didn’t know the dose or what the intended target was when the salesmen offered them up with a smile. It could very well kill him anyway.
All at once, time started again.
Someone yanked him back into his apartment, barging past him in a blur and shouting something to someone he hoped wasn’t him. As he was sent backwards, someone else held onto him and guided him to the floor. He wasn’t sure if that was because his knees were giving out or if he’d been sent backwards with too much force and lost his balance in the process. He continued to stare at the green tassel sticking out of him, swinging in the breeze from his fall, before realising he should probably take it out if he didn’t want more of it to enter his system, yet his hands continued to ghost around it.
“Spencer!” Emily shouted, her voice cutting through the newfound ringing in his ears. He couldn’t find her when he glanced up and panicked. He wanted to see her. “I’m right here,” she said as though reading his thoughts and gently put her hand on his cheek, turning his head to the right. She looked worried, but she wasn’t the one with a dart in her stomach.
He tried to tell her that he needed an ambulance and wanted to explain all the reasons why, but his tongue felt like it’d been replaced with tungsten, sitting heavy in his mouth and almost choking him when he attempted to speak. Some words must’ve come out, though he couldn’t speak to their clarity, or Emily was once again mind-reading.
“I know, we’re getting one. Just keep calm.”
Spencer would say he was being very calm, even though he didn’t want to be. His muscles were relaxing against his will, and his blinks were getting longer as sleep became all the more tempting. He patted around his stomach as he stared at her, trying to feel for the dart with numbing fingers, yet he couldn’t find it.
“I’ve taken it out.”
Good. It was getting harder to stay awake, and he doubted he would have the strength or the dexterity to yank it out himself. He also noted that it was getting harder to breathe. It wasn’t bad enough to feel like he was going to suffocate, but it did have him putting in far too much effort. He should probably tell her that so she could move him into the recovery position.
He felt her lower him until he was resting completely on the floor, and then turned him over. Recovery position. Maybe she really was a mind reader. Whilst one hand remained on his shoulder, he assumed that he must have been fighting her efforts unconsciously, the other hand busied itself by running through his hair.
As he slipped away, his worry that this would be the final time he saw the world around him, there was a little peace given that his final experience would be his friend caring for him, whilst the man responsible was outside getting arrested. Perhaps he got a good knock to the ground for his troubles. He hoped they knew he had no intention of putting himself in danger. He didn't want to die. It was just a series of unfortunate events. With what little strength he had, he smiled. Lopsided and uncanny, but a smile all the same. Maybe that'd take some of the sting out of it.
When Spencer opened his eyes, he was first relieved that he hadn’t died on the floor of his apartment, overdosing on a tranquilliser dart made for animals bigger than him. He was then further relieved when he saw he wasn’t alone in his hospital room. Aaron stood off to the corner with his hand on his hip, talking to someone on the phone but keeping his voice low. David stood beside him as though he were ready to jump in at any moment, so Spencer assumed they were talking about work. Derek sat closest to him, chatting to Emily, who sat on the other side, before he looked down to find a pair of eyes staring back at him.
“Here he is. Welcome back, Reid,” he greeted with a smile.
“Glad to be back,” Spencer croaked back, his words slurring and merging into one another. With great effort, he began to prop himself up on his elbows before Emily did the honours of pressing the button for the bed to push him into a sitting position. He sent her a silent thanks. “Case update?”
“This guy and work,” Derek teased. “Our unsub is Jeff Nguyen. A team is searching his place for the other victims.”
“You were right that he hadn’t been stalking you. Seems like he chose people at random, followed them home and decided whether he would kill them or not based on where they lived. He’s had a few trespassing charges since the beginning murders,” Emily added. “Wrong place, wrong time.”
“Aren’t I always?” he replied.
“I leave for one second to be the coffee samaritan, and he wakes up,” Penelope loudly complained as she entered, paired up with JJ. She passed off the coffee cups as fast as she could and gave him a tight hug. He weakly held onto her to return it, happily ignoring the makeup that wiped off onto his gown. “I certainly hope you’ve learned your lesson.”
“Don’t open the door to strangers?”
“When you receive body parts in the mail, you tell a trusted parent or guardian,” she corrected as she pulled away.
“I told Strauss!”
“Who is neither trusted nor a parent or guardian,” she huffed.
“None of you are my parents or guardians.”
“Spence, Hotch and Rossi are standing right there. You’re lucky they're too busy to hear that,” JJ joked. He rolled his eyes. “How’re you feeling?”
“Tired.”
“Tranq darts will do that,” Derek replied.
“You were pretty out of it in your apartment. You kept asking if I was a mind reader,” Emily reminded him. He cringed, although he couldn’t remember much of what happened. He remembered worrying about dying and being annoyed if he did, but decided he should keep that to himself. Hopefully, that wouldn't blow up in his face as this all had. “The doctors said you’re gonna have a nasty bruise for a while, but once everything is flushed out of your system, you can go home. You might need to turn on the charm to get back to work anytime soon.”
“And you better be pretty damn charming,” JJ cautioned. He supposed that served him right. It didn’t mean he had to like it, though.
“Are you still mad?” he asked the room.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Penelope began in her sweetest voice, “we’re never going to let you live this down.”