Head's up! I changed the name of the character. I mean, don't get me wrong, I loved Charlotte Romanoff, but I thought that it would be nice to make my character someone who wasn't white. So, say goodbye (sadly) to Charlotte Romanoff, and allow me to introduce Zaara Singh. She's brown, because let's face it, there are no brown people in Criminal Minds, and when there are, they are terrorists. So let's raise our glasses to a coroner who's brown and pretty chill. I mean, her personality is the same as Charlotte, so there's not much of a difference. And she isn't a super genius, but rather just a genius in her own way.
"It's been three weeks Hotch," said Rossi as they exited the elevator. "We need a replacement for Morgan, and –" he was cut off by the agent who raised a hand quickly.
"I don't know who we're going to replace him with, Rossi." He turned to face the veteran agent, a sad look on his face, "It's hard not having Morgan around, but he's moving forwards with his life. We're looking at potential candidates, but none of the ones that are coming out of Quantico would be a good fit with the team."
"Since when have we based whether a person is right for the job on how they fit with the team?" Rossi asked, looking annoyed. The pair sat down in Hotch's office and looked out of the window and into the bullpen at the remaining agents. Hotch watched as Reid slowly filled out another form before starting on yet another file from one of the several stacks that had ended up on his desk. While the younger agent was usually quite quick with his share of the workload, he was unusually slow ever since Morgan had left. Reid had spent the vast majority of his time within the office and outside of it alone. Hotch and Rossi both knew he was drawing out his workload so he would have a valid excuse for not joining in the team's after-work activities.
"You're worried about him, aren't you?" Rossi asked, although it sounded more like a statement.
Hotch nodded, "Reid never bounces back from things with ease. But with what's happening with his mother, Derek, and everything else. There's just been so many changes around here."
"You can say that again," sighed the older man, getting up. "I'm going to head back to my office-"
"There's no point, you might as well head to the conference room," said Garcia, who'd just appeared at the door. She was clutching her tablet and the clicker for the projector. Her eyes seemed slightly red, and Hotch knew instantly that this was going to be a gruesome case.
"Tell the others," he said as he gathered his supplies and headed towards the door, Rossi following closely behind.
Garcia nodded to Reid, Tara, and JJ who quickly finished the bit of work they were doing before joining the others in the conference room.
Reid cast a sad glance towards Morgan's empty chair, before forcing himself to focus on the files that Garcia had given him. There was something about having tangible files in front of him that made Reid feel as though some things in his life were permanent; even if it was a grisly case.
JJ watched as Reid turned to Garcia, waiting patiently for her to deliver a brief overview of the case. JJ nodded, knowing Garcia was also watching Reid waiting for him to kick into gear. It didn't take a profiler to realize that something was wrong.
Garcia clicked the "next" button, and the screen behind her quickly changed form a screensaver of the FBI seal to a picture of a woman lying the middle of a park, her arms at her side, hair scattered, eyes wide, and mouth open in shock. "Two weeks, a hiker found 32 year old Sarah Nichols lying in the Chester Valley Park. The hiker contacted LAPD who took over the case. The body had no signs of visible trauma and the FBI's coroner on the case noted that the body had no signs of lacerations, injections, and there were no toxins found in the blood. Three days later, they found 19 year old Simon Fray in the Lidden Gardens, with the same signs-" Garcia paused, "Or rather nonexistent signs. And this morning they found 25 year old Jennifer Clarkson in the Pine Valley Creek. The LAPD have asked for our help on the case, and that's where we're heading."
"We'll discuss the particulars of the case on the place ride there," Hotch said, nodding to the others, "Wheels up in twenty."
JJ quickly got up, smartphone in hand, prepared to tell Will that she wasn't going to be home tonight. Hotch wandered to his office, probably doing the same thing for Jack.
Reid and Garcia each gave one another a reassuring smile as they looked at Derek's chair. "He's doing fine, I visited him yesterday," she said, running a hand over the back of the leather chair.
Reid nodded, "He's spending time with his family, can't blame him for that," he sighed before exiting the room.
"He misses it here," Garcia said, as she watched Reid's back walk away from her. He paused in the doorway, head turning slightly to the direction of her voice. "He misses you." She didn't know whether she'd said the right thing or not as Reid merely faced forward and walked away. Garcia sniffed, turning back towards her office, and found Rossi standing behind her, a small smile on his face. "I just thought he needed to hear it," she said quietly.
"He did, and soon he'll begin to get used to it," Rossi said, giving Garcia a hug before heading to his office to grab his bag.
The plane had only been in the air for a half an hour before they hit turbulence. Everyone tensed as they buckled their belts, grimacing. Reid merely sipped his coffee and flicked through the maps of the city, mentally mapping out the locations so he could get started on the geographic profile the moment they touched the ground. His mind wandered and he thought of that case in Kansas all those years ago, when he'd told Rossi and Morgan that turbulence rarely causes planes to crash. A faint smile appeared on his face, but it was quickly wiped away when Garcia appeared on the laptop screen and they began to discuss the case.
"So there's a sicko out there who drugs these people?" Garcia said, without introducing herself.
"Yeah, pretty much," Reid said, glad someone else was talking. He flicked the case files open, "Judging by the distance between the drop sites and the abductions sites of each victim, and the fact that the traffic in LA is really bad, the Unsub can't possibly be living outside of a 20 mile radius from the epicenter."
JJ nodded, "so there were no physical signs of torture which could mean that the Unsub enjoys watching the victims going through some form of mental torture." She cringed slightly, wondering what sort of horrors the victims had to endure before their pain ended.
Tara sighed, "the ME reports state that there were no toxins at all." She looked up at the others, "sounds like something from a horror movie."
"Every case is a horror movie," said Rossi, grimacing.
Just then, a lout bleep emitted from Garcia's side of the laptop. She opened a quick email, which she then forwarded to the others, "The corner just messaged me. Apparently they've found something that they really need you to see."
Hotch nodded, "Reid I want you and Lewis to go to the coroners office, seeing as you two have the most experience when it comes to the medical field. The rest of us will set up base after visiting the last drop sight. We're also going to want to talk to each of the victim's immediate family."
Garcia nodded, "I'll let the FBI office know. And the Coroner." She turned off the call to the others, and let the coroner's office know to expect two of their agents. "Hi," she said, once the number was dialed and the office had picked up, "I wanted to talk to Doctor Z. Singh."
Being a coroner in Los Angeles was never boring, at least not in Zara's opinion. She enjoyed her job and enjoyed the fact that she lived in one of the most amazing cities ever. However, it was moments like these, when she was facing the remains discarded by some super-psycho that she really began to question her sanity. She picked up her phone and connected it to the Bluetooth speaker that was sitting on her desk. The beginning of Kanye West's "Can't Tell Me Nothing" began to play, and she slid on her gloves, turning to face the first of the victims. "Since there's nothing on the outside, we're going to have to go inside buddy." She raised a hand placed it over her heart. "Rest in Peace Sarah Nichols," she said, before grabbing a knife and slicing through the victims skin like butter.
A few hours went by and Zara was in her element. She had jotted down a few notes on the victim's individual organs as she removed them and placed them in a bucket next to her. It was only when she examined the folds of skin that she found something; a tattoo. She leaned in closer and wiped some of the tissue away before she could see the mark that was about the length of her forefinger; 3.
She quickly ran to her phone and hit the intercom button, "Jonathan tell the FBI people that I need to see them when they land. Not all of them, but at least one agent."
"Got it!" her secretary yelled. There was a pause before he said, "and Adam wants to see you. He's thinking about dropping in later."
Zara's blood stopped, she grimaced and turned back to the intercom, her finger slamming the button down, "Tell him I'm busy."
"That's what you told me to do yesterday, he's getting impatient," Jonathan said, with an evident sigh. "He's already mad you took his job, just talk to him."
"Tell him I don't care what he has to say. If he wants to work with me, he needs to know his place. And if he doesn't respect my work ethics, or myself as a person, he can go to hell."
Jonathan began to laugh, but noticed that she wasn't joking. He quickly disgused his amusement as a cough before saying, "Alright, but do you want me to say it exactly like that, or can I take some words out?"
Zara smirked, "Say it exactly like that, or I fire you." She made sure to change her tone to one more lighthearted so he knew she was joking.
"Consider it done, my love" he said, making sure she could hear his grin, before cutting the line.
She turned back to the body and sighed, her hands on her hips. "Runnin through the 6 with my woes," she muttered, humming along to her music as she wrote up what she'd discovered, before beginning to check the other victims.
When the flight had landed, Reid and Lewis had quickly exited in one of the provided cars, and drove down to the coroner's office, which was located in the heart of LA.
After almost a half an hour of being stuck in traffic, the pair exited in front of a large glass building, with the FBI seal on it. "Is this county or federal," they asked the cop who'd driven them there.
"Both," he replied with a smirk, as he tipped his hat before heading off. They opened the front door, and walked over to the receptionist; an old woman who was typing furiously. She barely gave them a glance, "FBI?" she asked.
"Yes," answered Reid.
She nodded, before pressing a button on the phone near her, "Jay, tell Singh the Feds are here. I'm going for lunch." She cut the line, and got up, collecting her bag. "They'll be here for you in a moment," she said, before exiting the desk.
Jonathan quickly headed to the foyer, where he spotted two extremely tall people; one man and the other a woman with FBI badges dangling from their chests. He quickly jogged over towards them, waving. "Hello, dear Feds," he said with a smirk, sticking a hand out and shaking the woman's hand. He went to chake the man's, but he politely declined, stating "I don't shake hands."
"Whatever floats your boat," Jonathan replied. "Lemme take you to the boss," he said, leading them into the building, and through some large hallways before they arrived at a section labeled "Z. Singh, Medical Examiner."
Reid looked at the man with interest. He embodied the picture he always imagined when he thought of the folks that lived in LA. He had shoulder length locks of golden hair, with golden skin, and golden eyes. In fact, the more Spencer thought about it, he looked like he were made out of solid gold.
As they approached the office, there was a faint sound of music coming from the coroner's workroom. He and Tara exchanged a look as Jonathan led them into a room. "Here they are, I'll leave you to it," he nodded to the pair, and exited the office.
In the centre of the room, standing between two tables, both topped with bodies that were emptied of their organs, was a tall woman, dancing around to the music they'd heard from down the hallway. She had tanned skin, black hair, and dark brown eyes. She was wearing a white lab coat and was taking off her gloves. Music blared from a lime green speaker set atop a desk in the corner. The woman turned to Tara and himself and nodded to them with a smile. "Hi, I'm Zara, or Dr. Singh, if you prefer. I don't care either way."
"Hi Dr Singh, I'm SSA Tara Lewis and this is Doctor Spencer Reid, of the BAU," Tara said, offering a hand.
Zara backed away slightly and raised both hands, "You don't wanna shake these hands. Not after where they've been," she said, nodding to the bodies around her.
Tara laughed, "true." She paused for a moment, her face slightly strained, "Hey, its Outkast" she said, nodding her head to the beat.
Reid gave Tara a look that said, "Really, we're surrounded by bodies and you're nodding your head to a song?"
Zara noticed the look on the younger, male agent's face and said, "I can turn it off if you want?" She made to pick up her phone, but the agent- Spencer was it? - spoke.
"Oh, no it's fine," said Reid, blushing furiously. "Are you the FBI's ME or are you county?"
"FBI," she replied. "But sometimes I deal with county if they need me- or if I'm bored."
"But you're all housed in the same building, and have the Federal Seal, we got confused," Reid began, knowing he was going to start rambling.
Zara grinned, "This is LA. We barely have enough buildings to hold the living, let alone the dead." She nodded to the pair and then back to the bodies. "So I invited you hear because I found something that will definitely be of interest to you."
Reid quickly spoke, "Go on, good Doctor," he said with a smile.
"Ah, a Whovian," the coroner replied with a grin, before turning to the first victim. "In my report I wrote that there were no sights of physical trauma to the body, nor to the brain. And there weren't any toxins at all," she paused, guiding them over to the first body. "Well, if you come a little closer, you'll see what I found," she pointed into the body, which had been emptied of all vital organs. A flap of skin was pinned down and the corner pointed to it, "I did the usual procedure, and looked at each individual organ. Didn't find anything. Then I thought about looking at the lining of each of the victim's internal tissue. That's when I found this," she bent the skin at an angle, and showed them a small number 3 that was inked in, almost like a tattoo.
Tara's eyes widened, "How is that possible?" she said. Part of her wanted to touch it, but she hadn't any gloves.
"I thought it was a mark at first, and rubbed it but… its inked in." She turned and directed them to the other two victims, "they have the same thing. The mark isn't in the same place internally, but they each have a number. Nichols had a 3, Fray was 7, Clarkson was 8."
Tara and Reid exchanged looks, "the Unsub numbered his victims?" Reid said, raising an eyebrow. "But how did they get the marks in there?"
Zara grinned, "Luckily for you, I know the answer to that all too easily. There are priests in India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh that mark those in their temple with internal tattoos. They stretch out the skin and use extremely sharp needles to ink the design internally. There's some redness, even blood, but when it heals up and the correct topical ointments are applied, there is no visible evidence. Often times, monks get tattoos pertaining to God, but I've never heard of numbers." The coroner rested against one of the tables, a small frown on her face.
The two agents nodded, and looked at the other bodies some more as Zara watched, answering the questions they asked her. "Time of death?" Reid asked.
Zara looked thoughtful for a moment, "all three of them died about 7-8 hours before they turned up." She rolled her gloves off, and washed her hands in her sink, before grabbing the sandwich that was sitting on her desk.
Reid grinned, "You can eat surrounded by the dead?" he asked, as he looked at the third victim. He looked at the top of coroner's hands which were covered in strange markings, that were filled in mixture of black and white ink.
Zara took a bite of her sandwich and shrugged, "It's not like I'm eating meat. That would be weird," she said.
Just then the song changed and all of a sudden a loud rock song blared from the tiny speaker. Surprisingly enough, it was one that Reid recognized. "Is that AC/DC?" he asked.
Tara turned to Reid, inhaling sharply, a look of shock plastered on her face. "You know good and modern music?"
"Highway to Hell is modern?" Zara asked, a bemused expression on her face as she looked between the two agents.
"For me it is. I don't listen to much outside classical," he explained as he straightened up. "Are there any more victims that were found in parks lately? Perhaps they might fill in the gaps between the victims. Assuming that we're right about the whole numbering thing."
"Nope, nothing except , shankings, and shootings," she replied, scrunching up her plastic and throwing it in a garbage can. She nodded to the victims, "these are the only strangelings. Everyone else that's passed through here had some sort of visible mark that told me how they died, save this sorry lot."
"There's really nothing except those tattoos? Nothing else odd about them? No meds in their systems, or illnesses they could have had?" Tara asked, as she, Reid, and the coroner spoke.
Zara shook her head, "Nope. I mean, they're all really healthy- minus the fact that they're dead," she added with a nod.
Just then, a loud beep emitted from the phone on Zara's desk and Jonathan's voice echoed over the music. "Adam Thriyd is here, and he's mad."
Zara quickly jumped across the room to the phone, her finger slamming down on the button, "Tell him I'm not hear. Tell him I'm lying on the table," she yelled over the music, which had changed to J. Cole's Miss America.
Reid and Tara exchanged looks as they watched the coroner. Just then, the door to the examination room swung open, and a huge, burly man entered, his face twisted in a smug expression. "I knew you were here today, Zara," he said, spitting her name as though it were a curse.
She rolled her eyes, "Of course you did, you're the one that schedules my hours, idiot. And incase you haven't noticed, I'm in the middle of a meeting," she nodded to the two agents who merely nodded and exchanged pleasantries with the man.
"Yes, yes, this was once my office. And You would have been dealing with me, rather than this unprofessional coroner who has to listen to music to get the job done," he replied icily, turning to Zara, who's jaw was set. He picked up the small speaker, and turned it off, "so unprofessional." He slammed it back down, and watched as Zara's face became three shades paler that it usually was.
Zara raised an eyebrow, "It's not unprofessional if it means that I get the job done. And seeing as I am now the FBI's head Medical Examiner in LA, the music must be working." Adam flexed his arms and rolled back his shirtsleeves, allowing his muscles to ripple freely. Zara did the same, and Reid was surprised to see her arms were covered in more markings. Various spiraling shapes wrapped around her arm all the way up and most likely past her forearm, where the lab coat was still covering her arms. "They fired you and hired me because I'm better at your job than you are. And if you can't accept that, then you better find yourself a new place to practice buddy."
Tara muttered something that sounded awfully like, "Oh shit," causing Reid to nod slightly.
Adam's eyes widened, "I trained you. If you're good enough than so am I."
"Well, I don't think that's the case seeing as you don't work here anymore. So get the hell out of my office, and so help me God if you come back, I will rip your career into so many tiny pieces that it'll be nonexistent."
Adam stood there for a few moments, as through he were choosing his next words wisely before he turned around and stalked out of the office, pausing only at the doorway to say; "We still on for dinner tonight?"
"Yep," Zara replied, with a wink before shutting the door on him. She turned to the agents who were standing there amused.
"Who the hell was that?" Tara asked, pointing to the door.
"He was the old bossman. And my husband."
OKAY, so that took a while to write. I might not update this story for a few weeks, partly because I wanna know how the rest of you are feeling about it, and what needs to be changed (if anything). I also wanna gage the reception of this story, cause if no one's reading it, then I'm not gonna waste my time writing it. So, just lemme know in the reviews, or PM me.