Ch. 1
THE CONCEPTION OF PYROMANIA
The young, awkward man had just finished scribbling the information for his team's office on the whiteboard in outstanding black, the kind of bold coloring you get when you write with a new dry-erase marker. ".... And with that, we conclude our lecture. As a member of the FBI, I can't begin to explain how vital it is for your interest in possible recruitment."
Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid looked about the room of the early-twenty-somethings, and felt that familiar dread that less than half of this room would even think about this career again, let alone the number of those who would actually try to pursue it.
However, he kept a light smile on his lips, and with Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi on the opposite side of the board, he hoped that there was enough confidence radiating from the front of the room to influence the hopeful future staffers.
"Are there, um, any questions for either me or my associate, Agent Rossi?" He asked the younger adults in a positive manner, but internally he was swimming in doubt. At the beginning of the oration, he already noticed a few individuals looking rather disengaged, so it was no shock that no one raised their hand or spoke up.
But he did notice her. The girl two rows from the back, three seats from the center of the aisle, with her head slightly leant to the right and her eyes fixated on Reid. Her eyes have been primarily focused on Reid the entire time (53 and a half minutes, he roughly counted).
Before the lecture and during the times which Rossi took control of the dialog, Reid used his profiling skills and evaluated each and every attendee by their physical appearances and actions, subtle (outfits, posture while sitting, style of their hair, and so forth) or not (he was quite sick of seeing the guy in the back who couldn't find any other release than inserting his finger in his nose and digging around for a prize).
He was leaning against the front wall when they first came in, furthest from the students and partially shrouded by the shadow of transportable white board, and from that position he viewed them. At first, this younger woman (whose name he had yet to figure out, for her long dark-brown hair was covering up the name-tag (the class was issued these by volunteers when they entered the room)) seemed a sad but very common stereotype: someone who's viewed multiple crime dramatizations, most of which were the 'less-fact-than-fiction' kind. Her face was expressing boredom almost immediately as she sat down. What did you expect, a crime-scene reenactment? Reid wished he could say this to most of those who attended any of the discussions (or lack there of). Go join the CSI unit.
As time went by, more and more of the group found things like cell phones and doodling (and, as mentioned before, booger hunting) more entertaining than the conversation. But it was the mystery girl who proved to be apart from the herd, for her lack of caring dissipated as soon as Reid stepped forward after being introduced by Rossi. Her eyes widened and she sat upright instantly. She gradually gained intrigue, especially when Reid finally began speaking. She was hanging onto his every word, leaning forward as if she had difficulty understanding what was being said.
So it actually surprised him that she didn't respond to the Q&A prompt. But her face looked pained, as if she wanted to ask something. What is stopping you, he wondered.
He didn't stress over it for long, though, and he gave his partner the signaling nod that meant 'okay, we're done here.' Rossi put on a grateful smile (grateful that they had an audience, anyways), clapped his hands together once, and spoke loudly, "Thank you all for your time this evening. We'd appreciate seeing some of you again."
There was lackluster applause, and then the attendees began to disperse, most too eager to leave. Reid and Rossi turned their back to the exodus so they could collect their material. "Well," Reid muttered, "that wasn't absolutely horrendous..."
Rossi barked a quiet laugh. "The only way that could've been worse is if they all committed a mass suicide/sacrificial orgy in front of us." Reid sighed and continuing stacking papers.
"What are the chances-"
Reid was cut off by his older comrade. "I dunno. Super bloody rituals aren't that common anymore, you know that. Especially in a public place? And aren't you Mr. Random Facts and Statistics? I believe I should be the one asking you."
"I, uh, actually meant 'what are the chances any of them will attempt to join the FBI?'"
Rossi gave Reid an apologetic look. "You know I'm kidding. But still, we don't usually put too much hope in the 80's generation, save one." He bumped shoulders with his younger cohort, a signal of his friendship and trust in him. Reid couldn't help but smile, and he returned the gesture.
"Do I really count in that category, though?"
"I didn't say 1980's, you fogy." Rossi joked.
Reid was about to retaliate until he heard an, "Excuse me." Both men turned abruptly at the soft voice, but somehow Reid knew who it was before the visual caught up with the sound.
The mystery girl was standing in front of the rows of tables, one hand holding onto a notebook and the other shoved into her tight jean pocket. Forced passivity, Reid duly noted. She was trying to keep eye contact with Rossi, but her sights kept flicking towards the other agent.
"How may we help you, miss?" Rossi queried with a peaceful grin.
"I was wondering if I could converse with Dr. Reid." Her gaze finally stayed in one spot- Reid's face."... Mano a mano."
Both of Reid's eyebrows rose, while only one of Rossi went up. "Um, I don't think that's an issue. Reid, do you have anything objections?"
His first thought went back to a past recruitment session that ended with a serial killer not only turning himself in and admitting to killing seven women, but he also kidnapped a woman and four children earlier that day. How likely was that to happen again?
But the only thing threatening about this woman was how piercing her dark hazel irises were, especially set against her honey-like mulatto skin. Her plump light-rose lips, fault-less nose, Monroe-style beauty marks (one high on her right cheekbone near the corner of her eye, the other on the side of her nose)- all of these features were highly distracting, but not as much as her eyes...
"None at all." He answered after a second's hesitation, and her eyes sparkled, as if pleased.
"Thank you," she said, giving him a minute, crooked smile. "And thank you for that informational lecture today, Agent Rossi." She bowed her head quickly and offered her hand. She stopped looking at Reid momentarily, just to show Rossi respect.
"No problem, sweetheart," he responded while shaking her hand, "Hey, Reid, do you mind clearing the board and hitting the lights before you leave?" Reid nodded mechanically, staring at the ground, feeling her concentration come back on him. "I'm off to enjoy my night, and I hope you two will do the same." And with that, Rossi left the room and closed the door behind him. Over her head, Reid watched Rossi give him a thumbs up on the other side of the window. He left from view chuckling.
Now it was just Reid and the mystery girl, neither of them speaking for couple of agonizing seconds. That whole time, Reid could feel her staring through his skin, all the way to his core. And he didn't know if he minded or not. He had to break this silence...
He turned his back and picked up the eraser. "Ah, what did you want to speak about?" He forced his voice to stay as steady as possible, but he knew those eyes were staring so hard at his back, he wondering if they would burrow holes through to his chest. He began clearing the words and artless images off the makeshift canvas.
"Depends," her voice was so unnaturally soothing, it almost made him uneasy. "How well do you respond to criticism?"
That was so far from what he expected her to say that he was tempted to turn back around. But she was indiscreetly beautiful; he feared what may come out of his mouth while he looked at her. "Pretty well, I suppose," he stated with false confidence. He didn't even realize that his hand had stopped when she asked the queer question. He swiftly restarted, hoping she took it as him thinking, not him being caught off guard.
"Good to know, because I've made an observation," she said, "and I think you misspoke, but maybe I'm wrong..." The way her words trailed off triggered a sympathetic instinct to face her and comfort her.
Don't, Spencer. You don't know this woman. He continued clearing the board.
"No, no," he hoped the verbal approach would be good enough for her, "Mistakes are a necessary part of life. It wouldn't matter to me if I made an error," Though I'm fairly sure I didn't. "Please, go on."
"Well, you were explaining how mathematical and geographical methods are frequently used assets in your investigations, as crime scene, prolific, and even preliminary indicators of what defines the 'Unsub' and any other past, present, and future offenders," Was that one breath? "And you were beginning to tell us the commonality of how many stalkers occur per state capita. Now, unless I was told wrong in that textbook, California has an area of... Hold on."
She flipped the notebook open, and flicked to the page that was covered top to bottom with tiny, slightly disconnected script. "...163,700 square miles." She closed the pad and shrugged her slipping purse back onto her shoulder. It may have been the most fascinating mundane task he'd ever laid eyes on. "It may not matter to most folks, but you said 163,696, and I can't have stand doubt of precision. Part of my inferiority complex, I guess."
Reid's hand stop moving again. "You, an inferiority complex?" he was amused, but immediately regretted it transferring into his words.
He heard her voice rise a few notes. "Yes, and if you knew it already, I'd appreciate it if you would stop toying with me about it."
Spencer, don't you dare. Just keep your cool. "To be honest, you approached me, initiated the conversation, spoke with grace," Not to mentioned the eye contact. "So you have to excuse my disbelief."
"Dr. Reid, I find it hard to think it as coincidence that a professional profiler has stood with his back to a person with a lack of confidence." She didn't bother hiding the frustration in her voice.
Spencer... No. It's almost over.
Reid continued to keep his voice even. "But that's the thing. It wasn't an intentional occurrence at a-"
She blew up. "Then why do you insistently wipe a board that's already blank?!"
"What?" It was true- The board in front of him was so white it almost looked unused. He had one of two options: tell the truth, or tell another truth. "I'm... a very meticulous person?"
His skin prickled at the sound of his excuse, but swore the sensation was of the daggers she was mentally throwing at his back. "Sorry I bothered you in the middle of your oh-so important work, then." She grumbled, and started storming off. He bit his lip and hung his head
Good job, she's obviously a mildly disturbed individual.
And he agreed with his inner voice...
For a fraction of the time it takes light to travel 2 meters, anyways.
"Hey!" He called after her, but she didn't stop and went out the room. He snatched his bag from the front desk and promptly pursued her, remembering to turn off the light and closing (well, more like accidentally slamming) the door behind him. She was in the darkened entrance way of the nearest exit to the campus. "Wait up! Please!"
Suddenly she stopped moving, but the way her shoulders rose and sank made Reid extremely wary, but he still walked up to her.
"Look," he said in a low voice behind her, "I apologize. It's just that..."
She turned around, and even in the darkness there was short-lived fury in her eyes. But the genuine look of remorse on his face replaced the rage with compassion. Either way, he was transfixed again. "What is it?" her calming voice made him feel self-assured, as if he could tell her anything right now.
"I-uh, I-I," So much for confidence. He cleared his throat of imaginary obstructions and tried again at a sort of rapid pace. "Today felt like it was going nowhere, and then you wanted to talk to me, and I thought it was gonna be something like, 'Do I get to wear a bulletproof vest?' or something like that. Not like I thought that about you personally," he saw her eyebrow begin to raise and clarified his rationale, "It's a common question. And you don't look like a common girl, quite far from it. In fact," he abruptly stopped speed talking for heat started spreading through his cheeks and let the words flow, "I knew it when I first saw you. Somehow, I did, and the question you had for me was kinda out of the ordinary."
She was looking downwards now, embarrassed. He wasn't sure if she was okay with the turn of the conversation. "Um... I heard California is 163,696 square miles, but if the area of a state is a whole number it probably was rounded up by a census, so don't assume I'm completely right about this."
She stayed silent, and looked as if the floor was the most amazing invention since the ceiling. Instead, Reid asked his own question, one that was nagging at him. "Did you really want to wait until after class to ask me that, just to spare my feelings in case I was wrong?"
As if she was expecting this, she rose her eyes, and the vixenish way she glanced through her lashes briefly made his breath stick in his throat. Was I supposed to inhale or exhale next? "No. Of course I didn't."
His palms started sweating. "Then why-"
His confusion ceased when she lifted her head entirely and stared deep into his eyes again. This time, however, she seemed to be nonverbally daring him to break this, and he just wasn't willing to face whatever the consequences may be. "Dr. Reid, I think you damn well know why I stayed after the class."
He thought on this (while forcing his eyes not to dart around), and he knew she could see the cogs spinning in his head. A few seconds later, he said, "You wanted alone time with me."
"No, I wanted to know if I was allergic to Kevlar or not," the sarcasm was her sign of mental liberation, "Of course I wanted alone time. And so I pulled a fact out of the lecture and turned it into a reason to gain some one-on-one with you."
"You... Already knew..."
"Cunning, aren't I?" Her eyes were sparkling with the red EXIT sign illumination, and way the lights bounced off of them made him feel like a moth flying around the perimeter of a flame, and he had to have it...
"And you," she took a small step closer, and his need for the fire increased thousand fold, "are just so cute." The way her breath hit his collar bone placed goose bumps on the exposed skin above his vest.
He knew he was blushing now, and he knew she could sense it, for she reached out and touched his face with her fingertips, despite the fact they knew each other for about an hour (barely). Wait a minute.
"What's, ah, what's your name?" He had to know. This girl, these feelings, this... connection. It was all too sudden, and he knew he'd couldn't go further than this if he didn't know her name soon. "'Cause you kind of know mine."
She tossed her hair back, and spoke, "Lauryna. Plank."
Wow.
She moved her hand down and took a step back. He (cautiously) moved his eyes southwards, and saw she was offering her hand to shake.
He gripped it and looked back at her with a sheepish grin. "Reid comma Spencer."
Her mouth transformed into a dazzling smile, and he felt his heart stop.
Again, wow.
"Well, Reid comma Spencer, would you mind walking me to my car?" She said, leading him by the hand out the door.
"Of course- of course not." In fact, Reid was thrilled by the outcome of this night. I highly doubt I had the option to refuse, her grip is so tight around my hand. "My pleasure."
They arrived at her vehicle a few moments later, and as she was getting into her car, a thought struck him. She had just turned on the car and rolled the window down to wish him goodnight when he asked, "Are you sure you have an inferiority complex?"
She giggled. "Yeah. I'm shorter than you, aren't I?" With that, she leaned out the window, kissed him on the cheek (which made him go redder than a stop sign), and handed him a slip of paper. "Night, Spence." And she drove off.
Reid didn't realize he was standing there cheesing like an idiot until his phone started buzzing in his pocket. He pulled it out and just flipped it open without looking at the caller ID. "Hello."
"What did that young lady want?" It was a humored Rossi, but by the sound of it, Reid was on speakerphone, for he heard various snickering in the background.
Tell the truth, or tell another truth...
He looked at the slip of paper, at how he knew something so wonderful existed, for a cursive Lauryna followed by ten digits rested between his fingertips. And he made his decision.
"...she wanted to know the area of California."
