A/N: Guess what, guys? I'm thinking about returning to the 'CM' fandom. If you'll still have me… I wonder if anyone even remembers me. It's been a while… (blushes from embarrassment)

This plotline came to me out of nowhere. While I'll admit that I've made stories a little like this before… This one will have its own special spin. Anyone up for some badass Reid and Reid-whump…?

DISCLAIMER: PLEEEEEEEEASE…! Nope, sadly, no. I only own something of 'CM' in my dreams. (sighs)

WARNINGS: GORE, VIOLENCE, language, adult themes… This is gonna get fairly violent, guys…!

Awkay… Starting new stories is always unnerving. Especially since it's been a WHILE since my last 'CM' outing… I REALLY hope that you'll enjoy the ride!

The Red Sparrow

She

/ She was the kind of a woman Spencer Reid experienced with all his five senses.

The first time he felt her… It was more like a hunch. It was the kind of a tingle most people claimed they experienced when they imagined that they were facing ghosts. He shivered, his pupils reacting without him knowing it. Next came something like a brush. And the man he'd been observing fell to the ground, a bullet-hole between his eyes. While people started screaming Spencer peered over his shoulder, one hand on his own gun. The shooter was nowhere to be seen.

The next thing he caught was her scent, while he entered a crime scene. He wasn't sure how he could be so certain that the faint touch of a perfume in the air belonged to her. He just knew.

Hearing her was something far more dangerous. The bar on the other side of the door was painfully loud, its ferocious beat matching perfectly with the hammering of Spencer's heart. He gritted his teeth together so hard that he was trembling to keep himself from screaming. He almost did whimper when the knife was torn from his leg. "Last… chance", the man interrogating him, a burly blond with small blue eyes and a thick Russian accent, hissed. "Tell us where you took Petrova… and I'll end your suffering. Or make my day…" A fist was slammed at his face. The knuckle duster covering it didn't make the assault any more pleasant. "… and let me keep asking questions. Do you have any idea how much I'm enjoying this?"

Spencer's eyes traveled downwards. He smirked and tasted blood. "'think I do." Of course he knew that antagonizing the man would do him no good. But he needed to buy his team more time. They had to get Aleksei Petrova, their most valuable witness in almost a decade, to safety. And if keeping this guy entertained would do the trick… Then so be it.

Oh, he definitely crossed a line. He had just enough time to spot something like a handgun before it was pressed mercilessly against his forehead. "Tell me another joke", the criminal urged him, eyes flashing manically.

Spencer tensed up and braced himself for anything. Only… Someone handled the problem for him. There was a hiss and the giant crumbled to the floor. Then a woman's voice he'd never heard before came through his ear comm. "You're welcome." There was a pause, during which his heart beat so loudly that it almost drowned out the bar's music. "Oh, and Spencer? Happy 20th birthday."

"Jackal, do you copy?" This time it was his teammate. "Cargo is secure. Get to the extraction point."

Spencer began to work on freeing himself from the cuffs. "Copy that, Coyote." He swallowed thickly, feeling breathless for something other than the near-death experience. "Next time? Please try to be faster."

The first time Spencer saw her… It was a coincidence, really. He was visiting his mother in Vegas when a young couple passed him by. And he would've known, even if it wasn't for the familiar perfume. Those impossibly green eyes and red hair… He was spellbound just long enough for the couple of disappear into the crowd. Two days later the man's crying wife begged on local TV that anyone who might know anything about her husband's disappearance would come forward.

Last came the most intense experience, as fate would have it. It wasn't the first time Spencer found himself from a… very unpleasant situation. He was groggy from drugs and a concussion. But even when blindfolded he realized that he was on a boat. And decided that he didn't like it, at all. Already on the edge, fidgeted when a large hand was pressed against his throat. "You almost had us all fooled. Even me. If it wasn't for a… helpful tip, you might've actually succeeded. Agent Reid." The hand pressed considerably harder. "Do you know what we do to rats like you, Spencer? We squeeze… And squeeze… Until they don't breathe anymore. And then we let the sea take care of the garbage."

"Sounds like fun." She must've gotten there barefoot, or then he was more oxygen deprived than he'd imagined. Because he hadn't heard her. "But let's play a different game instead." There were unidentifiable sounds and suddenly Spencer could breathe again. A thud and a gasp later small but lightning-quick hands were working on the metal trapping him. "We really have to get away from here." His instincts kicked in and he struggled when she began to push him. "Spencer, I need you to trust me if you want to make it out of here alive." When he failed to comply she pressed her lips to his, firmly and demandingly.

Her taste made his heart hammer wildly. It was like a drug and in seconds he found himself returning the kiss. That was when she shoved and they fell, their lips still locked, her hands wrapped around his wrists almost as tightly as the metal moments earlier. They hit the water hard and he gasped into her mouth, to which she responded with the kind of a sound he'd never heard before. They sank down, down, down, until they were far out of harm's reach when the ship exploded. He lost consciousness with her lips on his and her taste on tongue. A ghost of that taste was still there when he woke up in a hospital, wondering if he imagined the whole thing.

He should've known that with someone like her, that wouldn't remain as their last meeting. /

Officer Thomas Jane, who'd been stuck working at Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women for the better part of a decade, wasn't having one of his best days. So when a man demanded to see a prisoner outside visiting hours he wasn't at his most polite and diplomatic. "Look, buddy, I get that you're missing your girl. But we have this thing called visiting hours for a reason…"

He was cut short when the man showed him a very much official badge. "Agent Spencer Reid, CIA. One of your inmates requested to see me. It's urgent." That commanding tone didn't carry a 'please'.

Spencer's whole body reacted the way it always did when she was around. Those eyes were every bit as impossibly green as they were in the dreams he still had sometimes. "Long time no see", she greeted him. She glanced swiftly towards the camera monitoring them. "Don't worry. I paid someone to ensure that there's a technical malfunction and we won't be heard. I wanted some privacy for what we need to talk about."

When Emily Prentiss accepted her new position as a Unit Chief she knew to expect that there was a lot of paperwork in her future. But nothing could've fully braced her for just how much of it there would be. That evening she was going through case report number twenty-eight and struggled to will away a fast attacking headache when her phone rang.

Emily muttered some well-chosen words under her breath before picking up reluctantly. Years had made her fairly talented at foreseeing when she'd receive bad news. "Prentiss."

"Is this Unit Chief Emily Prentiss?"

Emily's frown deepened. At least she was able to forget about the headache for a while… "Yes. Who am I speaking to?"

There was a heavy sigh which immediately promised nothing good. "I'm Officer Thomas Jane, from Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women. I'm… worried about someone who visited one of our inmates earlier today." She was starting to wonder if this actually had anything to do with her until he went on. "Agent Reid."

That… was a surprise. Who would Spencer know from a place like that? This wasn't making any sense to her. "What about that visit made you call me? And… How did you get my number?" Because it definitely wasn't registered publicly.

"The inmate he met requested him to visit. He showed his badge upon arrival. Your colleagues at the agency advised me that he's currently working for your team and that I should contact you."

Emily blinked twice at that, very slowly. Agency? CIA? "I… work with the FBI. As does agent Reid." She didn't give the man the chance to pry further. "I've understood that something about his visit worried you?"

"Yes." Officer Jane considered his words carefully. "Our CCTV footage shows that he was very agitated throughout most of his stay. And, as an officer of the law… It's my duty to report to his superior that we have every reason to suspect that there was drug dealing involved. After his departure we checked the footage again and it seems that at some point our inmate slipped something to him. She isn't talking. Maybe you'll have more luck with him." The man sighed. "I'm sorry to pass on news like this…"

Emily felt cold. Very, very cold. "I will look into this", she interrupted him. She knew, for a fact, that there was no way Spencer would ever touch drugs again. Not with how hard he'd fought for his sobriety. "I will talk to him today. What's the name of the inmate he met?"

"I'm… sorry, but… I'd rather not tell you at this point. Confidentiality…"

"I understand." Emily didn't sound very understanding. This man clearly wasn't going to be any more help right now, so she wasn't going to waste time on him. "I'll be in touch, Officer Jane." She hung up without giving him the chance to respond.

Emily took several deep breaths, the headache from before rushing back with vengeance. As soon as she felt composed enough for it she took her phone and dialed Spencer's number. Because she did need to talk to him, immediately. Somehow she wasn't even surprised when her call went straight to his voicemail. She scowled and cursed. "Damnit, Reid…!"

"… can't pick up right now but …"

Because throwing the phone at a wall would've done no good she pocketed it instead. Then got up, her legs stiff from hours of sitting, grabbed her coat and went. A voice in the back of her head she'd learned to trust by now warned her that something unpleasant was about to happen.

The traffic was impossible. By the time Emily made it to Spencer's apartment building two police cars had been parked outside. She swallowed hard, already sick to her stomach. When she left the car and entered the building she felt like she'd been in one of her far too many nightmares.

Reaching Spencer's floor, she heard the hysterical voice of one of his neighbors. "… heard the gunshot, and… He just… He left, covered in blood…" She shook her head from shock and disbelief. "Oh god, he's always been such a nice young man…! I don't understand…"

The two police officers gathered around a pale, trembling old woman tensed up and gave Emily suspicious looks as soon as she stepped into view. She responded with showing her badge. "What's going on here?" She wasn't quite able to keep the emotional overload inaudible. She didn't care.

The officers obviously weren't impressed or pleased. "A fed, huh? We kind of knew to expect you guys after finding his badge." The man nodded towards the open door of Spencer's apartment. "Go in and snoop around all you like. But let the crime scene guys wrap up first or I'll have you kicked out, a fed or not."

Emily approached slowly, her feet clearly not wanting to take her a step closer. The first thing she saw was the three people who'd covered themselves from head to toe with white, protective clothing. Then she took in the whole scene, her eyes widening a little more with each new discovery.

Spencer's apartment was a mess. It didn't help that the window was broken. One of the men in white was currently taking a picture of the bullet hole on it. Books lay everywhere, a couch had been toppled over. There were some droplets of blood. But not a trace of Spencer.

For a frustratingly long moment shock paralyzed Emily. Then she took her phone and dialed. "Rossi? I… know that it's supposed to be a day off, but… You'd better call in the whole team…"

At the age of fifty-eight Carl Lincoln had been on CIA's payroll for longer than he could accurately estimate. He'd been a handler for countless of teams almost half of that time. He'd seen a lot of agents come and go. Some burning out, others for far more grim reasons. He never expected to see one of them return. Until that night.

Carl had already made it home. But he rushed back to his office when he received a 'S.O.S' signal from a member of a team that hadn't existed in a long time. The sight he encountered there made him groan. "I really wish I could say that I've never seen this before…"

Spencer Reid had been self-treating what seemed suspiciously lot like a gunshot wound but looked up when he spoke. There was a haunted look and a chilling amount of barely controllable rage in the younger man's eyes. "I… think I need some help." Spencer swallowed thickly and shuddered. "Wolf… He escaped prison yesterday."

TBC

A/N: SOOOO… We've got a femme fatale who… seems like a pretty dangerous individual… AND, this Wolf, who seriously doesn't sound like good news… What made Reid turn to CIA for help? Will his teams be able to help? Seriously, WHAT THE HECK is going on here…?!

AND, most importantly… Do you want to read more? PLEASE, do let me know! I'd LOVE to hear from you!

In any case, THANK YOU so much for reading! Who knows… Maybe I'll see you again…?

Take care!