A.N. One shot. Wouldn't leave me alone. Post-ep for The Lesson.
She Loves Me Not
Damn it! Now I'm imagining things….and I've lost her! He'd told her to run, to run away from him, and from the restaurant. He wanted her to be safe…..from what? Or whom? Recognizing the paranoia in what he'd just done, Reid had to actively push from his mind the thought that, just maybe, she was being paranoid. Is the stalker even real?
He still had her cell number. He could call her again, tell her to come back. He tried, but the phone went unanswered, without any option for leaving a message. They'd pre-planned it, just in case. There would be no way the stalker could find her from either of their cells. He would have to revert to using the pager. And the pay phone. But not knowing where she'd come from, and where she was returning to, he had no way to know when she would arrive. He gave her an hour, and then began paging. And paging. And paging. Sitting out in the chill night, waiting for her to call a pay phone at the edge of the park. Afraid to go home and miss reaching her. He would just stretch out on the bench for a minute….
He was stiff. And cold. And covered in morning dew. Briefly disoriented, Reid slowly came to awareness. He'd fallen asleep on the bench. Realizing a particular part of his anatomy was colder than the rest, he looked down and realized his shoes had been removed. Thankful that he'd used his messenger bag as a pillow, and thereby saved the rest of his belongings, Reid philosophized that perhaps the shoes had been donated to a good cause, to someone who needed them. But now he would have to get home in his stocking feet.
Before that, he would try again to reach her. Paged, waited, paged again, waited again, did both three more times. No response. Tried her cell multiple times, no response. Reid began to feel panicked, then won control of himself. Maybe she had to travel a great distance. Maybe she can get to a pay phone and call my cell. Maybe…
"Run, go, he's here, in the restaurant. Go!"
Her heart had already been pounding, anticipating their meeting. Now it felt like it could bound out of her chest. "Run!" he'd said. And so she had. She literally ran five blocks, then hailed a cab to take her to the airport. Either airport, any destination. She would get away, disappear, become invisible to her stalker. But she knew it would also make her invisible to Reid.
It had seemed so long that she'd hungered for normalcy, she'd taken the first opportunity to divest herself of the pager. We'll never find each other now. He doesn't even know what I look like. She was sure he would move on, no longer able to contact her, never even realizing it if he should bump into her on the street. His headaches are gone, he won't even need me professionally.
The cab brought her to Reagan National. She took the first domestic flight out, to Minneapolis, having left her passport behind as well. She began to concoct a plan. She would use a pay phone to call his cell, then fly right out again, to a second destination. They could make a plan to connect. She began to feel better, just thinking of it.
A year of being stalked left its own residua. She couldn't simply debark the plane and search for a pay phone. She had to visit several shops, the restrooms, sit in a café observing the crowd for a long while. When she was satisfied that she was, truly, alone, she chanced the pay phone.
He'd had a difficult day at work. Concentrating on what was before him had been challenging, and would have been impossible for someone less high-functioning. The largest portion of his mind was tasked with solving the problem of finding her. When his phone rang to an unrecognized number, he practically punched it open.
"Hello?"
"Spencer?"
He started walking to a place of privacy the second he heard her voice, but he was still within audible range of Morgan when he responded with, "Thank God."
She could hear the motion on the other end of the phone, knew to wait for his next words. When he'd moved sufficiently away from his team, he spoke again.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm okay."
"Where are you?"
"Can we meet? Can you meet me in Phoenix?" It was the next flight out.
"Phoenix? When? "
"Can you get away? In three days?" She needed time to find a secure place for them.
"In three days?" He hesitated. "I think so, I'll try. How can I reach you?"
She'd already considered it, and from long experience, knew how to accomplish it.
"I'll get another pager. I'll text you with the number, but in code. You'll be able to figure it out."
He wasn't intimidated by the task. "All right, I'll look for the text. But , please, tell me. Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. I don't think anyone followed me."
"I was wrong about the restaurant. There was no one there. It was a mistake." He felt awful about it.
She knew better. "Your instincts are stronger than most, Spencer. If you felt something, you were right. Maybe it wasn't the person you suspected, but he was there."
He was starting the feel the tension she must have felt for the past year. For the first time, he fully realized how strong she had to have been to withstand it.
"Please, won't you let me try to help? Won't you let the team help? It's what we do, and we're the best at it."
She was silent for a long moment, tempted. But she knew better.
"You don't know what he's like, Spencer. He can hurt the team. He can hurt you."
They'd been through this before. Reid chose not to argue it. "All right, I'll get to Phoenix in three days. Please be safe until then."
"I could ask the same of you." She couldn't see his wry smile through the phone. "I love you, Spencer. I will see you in three days."
He kept trying to get his mouth to work, determined to say it. Finally did. "Love you, too."
Reid reflected on how annoying it was to break in a new pair of sneakers, then chastised himself. Maybe it had been a homeless person who would otherwise be barefoot. So shut up about how hard it is to get a brand new pair of shoes.
He grabbed a cup of coffee on his way to his desk. Morgan was doing the same.
"Hey, Pretty Boy." He was studying his companion. "So, how is she?"
He feigned ignorance. "How is who?"
"You know, the girlfriend. The one who had you running out of here with a "Thank God" yesterday."
"I don't know what you're talking about, Morgan." He started to walk to his desk.
Morgan was serious now. "Reid." He'd grabbed his colleague by the arm and turned him around. "Seriously, is everything okay? Are you having trouble?"
He'd never been able to keep anything from Morgan. Probably because he trusted the man with his life.
He sighed, put down his coffee and his bag. "She was having trouble, but I think it's okay now. But thanks for asking." He was trying to dismiss his friend.
Who would not be dismissed. "Kid, are you sure? Because you've been looking like you've got something heavy weighing on your mind."
"I might have, Morgan, but I think it's lifting now. Really, I think she's okay. I think we're okay."
Satisfied, Morgan reverted to teasing behavior. He threw an arm around Reid's shoulder. "So tell me, Pretty Boy, what does she look like?"
"I've never met her." To Reid, it didn't seem a strange thing to say. But Morgan was incredulous.
"You've never…Kid, how do you even know her?"
"She consulted for me when I was having those headaches."
Morgan remembered. "So she's a doctor?"
"A geneticist."
"A geneticist. Why would a geneticist consult on headaches?" And then he realized. The thing Reid had feared all along. "Kid, this isn't about schizophrenia, is it?"
Reid had trouble making eye contact. How to explain…
"It was. And then it wasn't. She doesn't think that's what it is."
Morgan let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "But you were checking it out."
He'd known Reid's fear, had shared it himself. Couldn't imagine how it must have felt for Reid to have to wonder if he was losing his mind. "So, does she know what it is?"
"She thinks it's nutritional deficiency….which might be inherited…..and stress."
"So, has she been able to help you?" Morgan asked warily.
Reid nodded. "I've hardly had any, and the ones I've had haven't been too bad."
"That's good, Kid. I'm glad." Morgan changed back to his original subject. "So why haven't you met yet?"
"It's complicated, Morgan. She's….."
"Boys and girls, I need you in the round table room, pronto." Garcia was clicking her way among the desks as she called her colleagues to action. Morgan and Reid shared a look that said "Later.." and followed her into their conference room. Once Hotch joined the rest, Garcia started her presentation.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a problem in the twin cities. Or one of them, anyway. Our bureau in Minneapolis picked up on a murder that they thought we needed to know about. They have found the body of a white female, brunette, brown eyed, lips sewn shut." The corresponding picture of the body appeared on the screen.
"The Replicator." JJ spoke what they were all thinking.
"This is the third city, isn't it?" Reid was already thinking about creating a geographical profile.
"If it's the same unsub, yes." Hotch didn't want them to reach a false conclusion, but he was almost certain they had a single unsub committing murders that replicated ones they'd previously worked on.
Garcia interrupted them. "Ahem. Excuse me, but there are more photos."
When she displayed them, they could see why she'd interjected. They'd only been able to see the face in profile before. Now they could see it from above...and note the missing right eye.
"He enucleated her?" Reid was fascinated and disgusted at the same time. "But only one eye. That's unheard of."
Morgan knew Garcia well enough to be able to tell from her face that there was more. "What else, Baby Girl?" His voice was gentle. He knew how hard Garcia found this to be.
"One more photo. A full body shot."
And here they could see that her right leg had been amputated above the knee.
Blake, not having been present for them, had made it her business to study their previous cases. She was able to be the most dispassionate about them. "So the Replicator has combined the method of death of three different serials into this one killing."
Rossi was getting angry. "This is clearly meant as some kind of message to us. The sadism here is extreme."
"The point is," said an equally angry Aaron Hotchner, "it is a message to us. And we're going to respond. Wheels up in thirty."
There wasn't much new information forthcoming from Minneapolis. The victim had been found, partially clad, near one of the several landfills that surrounded the airport. Minneapolis PD didn't recognize it as a serial, as there had been no priors in the area. Only the local FBI office realized the importance of it. Hotch made his assignments.
"Reid and Rossi, you'll go to the ME. Morgan and Blake, you'll go to the scene. JJ, you and I will be setting up at the FBI office, but we'll start with the police."
They spent their time on the plane reviewing the case files of the three serials the Replicator had been mimicking here. Reid found time to speak with Hotch privately.
"Hotch, I hate to ask this, considering, but I need some personal time." Seeing that his superior was about to point out their circumstance, Reid quickly clarified. "Not right away. I need to be in Phoenix in three days."
Hotch studied his youngest. There was an earnestness there, a concern, a visible need. He'd rarely received a request from Reid…
"All right….provided this case allows.."
Reid's relief was visible as well. "Understood. Thank you, Sir."
Reid was studying the body. "The lips are sewn loosely, as the others were. The eye has been removed surgically, as with our taxidermist. And the leg was cleanly severed…but no transplanted limb added. This is clearly the work of someone familiar with our other cases."
Rossi agreed with him. "Anything about the victim helpful?"
Reid did best when he worked aloud. "Well, she looks about thirty. Trim, pretty fit. Long hair, no extensions, no wig…" He was ruling out relationships with others of their cases.
Rossi joined in. "Attractive, modestly dressed. And the ME says there was no sign of sexual assault."
"No identifying marks, no belongings to analyze." Knowing the proximity of the body to the airport might mean she'd been a traveler, Reid sought any means to identify her origin. "Can we trace her clothing back? To a store, maybe? Or a region? Or a country?"
"We'll get Garcia on it." Rossi opened his phone to get her started.
On day three, the rest of the team was returning to Quantico, having had no luck in identifying their victim. With Hotch's permission, Reid was taking a few days leave and flying to Phoenix. 'As they prepared to leave for their respective airports, Hotch couldn't help but notice the young man's consternation.
"Reid, is everything all right?" He was giving the heavy-browed Hotch stare.
Reid was distracted. "I don't know….it's …maybe…I don't know."
Sensing Reid's reluctance to share information, Hotch changed his approach. "Reid, are you all right? Are you safe?"
Reid was startled at the question. "What? Me? Yes, I'm safe. I'm fine, Hotch. It's fine." Without identifying 'it'.
Hotch knew it wasn't true, but also sensed he shouldn't push. "All right. Go. Take care of whatever it is you have to take care of. " He gave Reid a meaningful look. "Call me if you need me."
Reid returned the look. "I will, Hotch. Thanks."
Three days and no contact. He hadn't received his text. Nor a page, a phone call or an e-mail. He'd arrived in Phoenix with no plan except to wait for her. Which he did. For 48 hours. He sat at the airport, waiting for her to reach out to him. Maybe she's in trouble. Maybe she's hurt. Maybe….. But he didn't want to finish that maybe. For all of his genius, he couldn't come up with a way to look for her. For one, he had no idea what she looked like. But if he could hear her voice…..
After two days, and having received only a three day leave from Hotch, he resigned himself to having to head home. He prayed, hard, that she was all right. What if she needs me? How would I know? Can I leave her? Do I have any choice?
Completely disheartened, he returned home on day three and reported for work the following day. The looks that trailed him throughout the BAU told him he'd been the subject of much discussion during his absence.
"Hey, Reid, how was Phoenix?" Blake may as well have said, 'Have a seat on my couch', her look was so obviously trying to analyze how he was feeling.
"It was…..hot."
JJ was more direct. "Spence, are you okay? You look exhausted."
He reassured her. "I'm fine, JJ. I just didn't get that much sleep while I was on vacation." Hoping she would think he'd been too busy enjoying himself, but knowing she wouldn't believe it for a minute.
He saw Morgan about to approach him and began praying for a case.
Some prayers are answered, he thought to himself, as Garcia called to gather them.
Hotch waited until they were all seated. "We have an update on the case in Minneapolis."
All of them leaned forward. This case was not only a mystery, but it was a personal challenge for the team.
"A purse belonging to the victim was recovered from a trash bin at a mall about thirty miles from where the body was found. Fingerprints matched it to our victim."
"And there's something to be learned from the contents?" JJ was sure Hotch had convened them because of something significant.
"It contained a lipstick, also now DNA matched to the victim, a package of tissues, and hand cream."
"No ID?" Morgan was hoping, but realized he would be frustrated.
"No ID." Garcia was responding now. "But there was a torn remnant of what turned out to be a check in slip. From the parts of the bar code still visible, our Minneapolis office was able to narrow it down to two possible destinations. Only one female failed to board the plane to one of those destinations."
"Which was?" JJ was asking.
"Our victim missed her flight to Phoenix."
One aspect of a genius brain is that it connects its synapses so rapidly. Reid's brain made the leap, sent its signals to his cognitive mind and his sympathetic nervous system at the same time. He leapt out of his seat and ran to the bathroom.
A few minutes later, Morgan came in. "Kid, you all right?" He could see that Reid wasn't. He was pale, shaking, hanging himself over a basin.
"What is it?" Morgan put his arm around his friend in a vain attempt to still the shaking.
Reid barely knew he was there. "I met her."
"What?"
"I said I didn't but I met her. I didn't know it. But it was her. I met her."
Morgan was getting more worried by the second.
"Who, Kid? Who did you meet? When? Where?"
Reid finally turned stricken eyes to his friend. "Her. I told you we'd never met. But we have. In the morgue. It's her, Morgan. I know it."
Morgan's brain wasn't genius, but it also wasn't slow. He made the leap as well. "He's after us, isn't he? If she wasn't safe, none of us are either."
All of them had dispersed to home, shaken. Except Hotch. And Reid.
"Are you all right, Reid?"
The young man was staring straight ahead, as he had been for most of the afternoon. "I didn't even know her, Hotch. I mean I did know her, I thought I knew her really well. But when I needed to, when she needed me to, I didn't recognize her." He looked tortured. "And she knew me...probably better than anybody. And she needed me, and I couldn't protect her. I couldn't save her. And then, I couldn't even respect her. I just thought she was a victim."
The unit chief was at a loss. This was an unprecedented situation. He dug deep for wisdom.
"Reid, did she know you cared about her?"
Reid flashed him a look. "I told her I loved her."
Hotch turned his head so Reid wouldn't see the brows go up. Leave it to his genius to declare love to someone he'd never met. And yet…..
"So she knew you cared." Reid had to nod. "And she didn't feel alone?"
That made the genius turned distressed eyes to his superior. "But she was alone, Hotch. She needed me and I wasn't there." Reid's voice was breaking.
Hotch didn't have to tell Reid that he knew exactly how he felt. He'd been swimming in those same waters a few years ago. He did what he'd wished someone could have done for him at the time. He put his arm around his youngest.
"Let it out, Reid. Leave it here. And then we'll find this bastard and make him pay."
As though he'd been waiting for permission, the young genius put his head into his hands and gave way to his grief. When he'd nothing left to expel, Reid sat up, vowing to himself, and to her, that he would do just as Hotch suggested. Love, whether shared for a moment or a lifetime, had to count for something.