Chapter one: Chance Encounter

"Meeting your soul mate is like walking into a house you've been in before - you will recognize the furniture, the pictures on the wall, the books on the shelves, the contents of drawers: You could find your way around in the dark if you had to." -Jandy Nelson

How did he keep getting himself into these sort of situations? Morgan was right; he was a danger magnet. Some FBI agent he was. Spencer woke slowly, with an ache in his head consistent with a light concussion and an uncomfortable restriction of the hands. Rope. His hands were bound by scratchy rope that burned, meaning he'd struggled against them while he was unconscious. He tried to move his legs and couldn't help but gasp at the excruciating pain. His foot was broken. There were 26 bones in the human foot, 33 joints- 20 of which were actively articulated. There were more than a hundred muscles, tendons, and ligaments. And knowing all of that didn't make it any less painful.

"It's important not to panic," a disembodied voice told him with an English accent. London, if he wasn't mistaken, with a Scottish overtone as though having spent a great deal of time between the two.

"I'm going insane," he mumbled through a dry mouth and cracked lips.

Was this Heaven? It seemed fitting that an angel would have such an accent. He'd always been partial to accents, particularly European.

"You aren't going mad," the voice said, decidedly female, in a bored and automatic way. "You're just as sane as I am."

He groaned, having moved his foot again, and realized he had yet to open his eyes. There was a single, covered light bulb above emitting just enough of a dim light that he had to squint and blink through it a few times to make anything out. Across from him was a large cage, a strap iron cell very popular in the American Southwest during the frontier period. Between the inadequate light and the thickness of the strap iron, he could barely see into it to make out the girl sitting at the bottom of it. She was closest to him with her fingers gripping the cell and her long, thick brown curls peeking out with her fingers.

He could feel his mind come back to him- no longer thinking of angels, but trying to recall anything from his obvious abduction. Yes, they'd been working a local case. They had thought the unsub would already have a new victim, but since they were particularly pinpointing women who lived alone, they weren't having much luck finding a name. "Where are we?"

She relaxed, leaning against the cell with her back partially to him. "I don't know. I was taken in Dumfries, so maybe still there somewhere. Where were you-"

"Same," he rasped. He swallowed to moisten his throat. "Likely you're right. It's unlikely that we were both taken at different times and transported very far separately."

"You're taking this very well," she observed, peeking at him through the spaces between the strap iron.

He shrugged, a nasty habit he got from Morgan, and admitted, "Not my first time. And you were right about that too; it's important not to panic."

He started pulling at the ropes on his wrists, chafing them even more past the point of bruising and starting to break the skin. He hissed through his teeth, but he felt the need to hurry. The victims were kept little more than a week, and always exposed of or found on a weekend. They'd supposed it had to do with the unsub's profession. The victim's deaths were always brutal, and likely took time, but the girl didn't look any worse for the wear.

"You're going to hurt yourself like that," she told him. "Or they'll hear you."

That got his attention and he stopped. "There's more than one?"

He and his team were operating under the assumption it was just one. She nodded, the movement casting shadows. "I've only seen the one, but he talks about the other. When he brought you in he was afraid his partner would be angry about it."

The last thing Spencer remembered was running out for food, JJ was craving Thai, then he was waking up there in the swept bare concrete room with a girl in a cage. No windows. One door. Two unsubs. He'd bet whoever had taken them both had known he was FBI, maybe he was even in one of the shops Spencer and Rossi had visited to compare soil found under one of the victim's fingernails. Then perhaps he'd seen him again, elsewhere on the way for Thai, and panicked.

He tried to move again, to drag himself closer, but couldn't. It hurt too much and he found himself remembering Tobias Hankel. It could be worse.

"Are you okay," she whispered.

"Why are you so calm?" He countered instead of giving an answer.

The girl- he still hadn't asked for her name- scoffed and brought her knees up. "It isn't my first time either."

Spencer thought that was incredibly ironic. What were the chances that he- an FBI agent- should be abducted with someone who has gone through it before? Now he felt obliged to ask her name.

"It's Hermione," she said. "Hermione Granger."

"I'm Spencer Reid," he told her, adding after a moment of thought, "FBI."

She turned to him, curious. "Are you really?"

He motioned with his still bound hands. "Lot of good it does me here, tied up with a broken foot."

Hermione smiled. "I know your foot hurts, that's probably why he put you all the way over there, but if you could get over here I could try to untie you. That would fix one of the problems."

Spencer nodded, closing his eyes and biting his lip to pull himself across the room. He tried to stay quiet, only gritting his teeth or biting his lip harder at the pain so that they wouldn't be heard. He only opened his eyes once he felt the rusted iron and leaned against it to catch his breath.

Two slender hands slipped through the spaces of the cells to tug at the rope, seeming to know exactly where it was loose and soon his hands were perfectly free

"Thank you," he told her, still gaining control of his breathing. "How often does he come in? The one that you've seen, I mean."

"I think twice a day," she told him quietly, looking over at the door. "He brings food and asks me if I'm okay or how I'm feeling. He asks if there's anything I need, but he hasn't come back since you got here. Which was yesterday, I think. I don't know. What day was it, by the way?"

He had to think about it for a moment. "Thursday. It was Thursday. I was leaving to get everyone some lunch."

She nodded. "He came back from getting me lunch, then. He brought back food from a Thai place near my shop, where I was taken. I was hoping if I sent him there, he'd run into someone who saw something when he took me and could recognize him. If anyone saw something, that is."

"That's- brilliant, actually," he commended, blinking at her explanation.

Even in the dim light, he could see her face flame red. "Thanks. You said Thursday? I have friends who come over for dinner every Thursday. They'll have known something was wrong when they didn't see or hear from me. They might have gone to the police."

"Where exactly," he asked. "We were trying to figure out where he was operating from, but we needed another abduction to really pinpoint it."

"In my bookshop on the corner of Main and West Haven. I was closed, but I was painting so I was in and out and the door was unlocked," her voice dropped. "I thought he just wanted to buy a book. I told him I was closed for the day but, well, you know."

He nodded. "What do you know about him?"

She sighed, thinking and looking at the door again. "Not much. I think his name is Chance, though. He talks to himself. The other one, the one I haven't seen, that's Dr. Haney or Doc."

"This would be someone who doesn't seek out social interaction, but can act perfectly fine if he's brought into one," Rossi had said.

The store owner had rubbed his neck in thought and shrugged. "That sounds a lot like Chance, but I mean it when I tell you he wouldn't. He's about as likely to hurt some girl as Joseph Smith would have been to go around saying 'Hail Satan'. Real nice guy."

"I've heard the name. My friend and I were looking at soil samples that we'd found under a victim's nails. There was a Chance working at one of the hardware shops we stopped at. We didn't see him, but, his boss said he wouldn't dream of hurting anyone. Without evidence and with an alibi for time of death, we let it go and left."

"He hasn't hurt me," she told him. "Look."

She moved over to the door of the cell and pointed. "He welded it shut, that's what woke me. But, it's going to sound weird, I don't think he was doing it so I couldn't get out. He said it would keep 'them' out."

"Them who? The Haney person? If he's the one committing the murders and Chance is the one kidnapping them, then maybe Haney is the one in charge."

"I don't know. I don't think it was about-" Hermione stopped with a gasp at a sound on the other side of the one door. "He's back."

But he could tell that the barrel chested, gangling man that came in first was not the man she was used to seeing. Immediately she tensed at the stranger, looking at the one who came in after him who Spencer assumed was Chance. Chance was blonde and disarming to look at if it wasn't for the obvious skittishness he had in looking behind himself as though they were being followed. He wasn't the one that spoke first.

"My friend tells me you're police," Haney said coolly, and calm while being threatening. He crouched in front of Spencer, but he could tell he was putting up a front for Chance- and suddenly Spencer wondered if the other man even knew it was Haney killing them.

"FBI," Spencer told him levelly.

His eyebrows rose and he nodded to himself, glancing behind him at Chance saying mockingly, "FBI. Look at him, he's FBI."

He started chuckling, turning back to Spencer before his smile fell and he struck out fast with his fist colliding hard with Spencer's stomach before he could react. Hermione screamed as he reared his fist back again. The second one was higher, awkwardly hitting Spencer's shoulder, and the third went to his face. The entire time he was talking, but he could only hear some of it.

"Tell me who's next," he was saying. "Who have you targeted next, you evil son of a bitch? This girl is an innocent and you will not have her!"

Spencer was confused, as the man had previously given no other sign of paranoia like Chance did. But the questions like that kept coming. Asking Spencer who else knew where they were. Hermione was crying now, though there was something about her that he was almost sure she was faking.

"Stop it!" she screamed at him. "Leave him alone and just get on with it!"

"What are you talking about?" Chance asked quietly from across the room, looking away at each of his partners blows.

Haney stopped, and stood up straight to fix his mussed clothing. He was dressed professionally, in a vest, tie, and slacks. He looked- leered would be more like it- at Hermione and pointed back at Spencer. "We're trying to protect you- from him and his kind. And you would have him live perfectly fine after all he's done. They've been killing girls, like you. The only reason you're alive is because of us."

"A-and I'm grateful," she said hastily. "B-but please. He's hurt already, and hurting him more won't bring anyone back. He's here now, and he can't hurt anyone else now that you have me protected like this."

Spencer commended her on her quick thinking and the execution of such. But Haney, with his back to his partner, smiled cruelly. "Chance, my friend, I'm sure our Saint Barbara must be famished. Forgive him, my dear, but faced with this monster his wits were not all about him."

"Of course," Hermione said quietly.

Chance looked between the two, and then glared distrustfully at Spencer. Haney shooed him again. "It's fine. I can handle him. Go get her something to eat, yes? Perhaps some more Thai?"

The carton was still on the floor of the cell. As soon as he was gone, Haney's entire disposition changed and he went from being calm to looking demented and mad with glee.

"Well done, my dear," he chuckled, pointing to her and talking to Spencer. "Did you tell her to do that? Or is she just a natural at handling people? I mean, she actually thought she was having to talk me down. That I thought I was trying to save her. You, my dear, have issues. It might as well be written on you in Sharpie."

"Leave her alone."

He barely looked at Spencer, stepping closer to the strap iron cell to look closer at her. "Oh, you're going to be fun. You're a fighter. That last girl wasn't, but you- you're going to be good. I can tell. And you."

Haney crouched down to face Spencer again, studying him. "I've never killed a man before, much less FBI. Not that you look much like either. More like a-"

"Beanpole with a gun," Spencer finished for him. "Yeah, I've heard that before. So what? He takes them, thinking he's going to protect the women, and you kill them? Blame it on a faceless villain?"

"Not faceless," Haney said, not denying the rest. "Not anymore. You see, now he sees your face. And when I kill you, that will become the face of every FBI agent and police officer out there. Really, I have to thank you. I was starting to lose control, was afraid he'd want to tell someone, but now he sees the danger in that."

He stood again and, after a second of thought, struck his foot out to connect with Spencer's abdomen again. "Until tomorrow."

The shut of the door felt final, and they didn't speak for a while afterwards. When they did, it was Hermione that did so first.

"We have to get out of here."

"How exactly do you expect us to do that?" Spencer asked, more curious than trying to be rude.

Hermione was pacing though, her neck angled down so that she didn't hit it on the top. "I hadn't wanted to do this, of course, but it isn't just me anymore is it? And we can't rely on being saved. That is- do you think if you could get me out of here given the proper tools?"

Where she'd at first been talking to herself, the last was directed at him and he blinked at the change. If Chance had the tools to weld her in, and Haney was obviously confident he could get to her, then the tools to get her out had to be on the property. Close by. Though they had no way of knowing where they were.

"Yes," he answered.

"Are you sure?" she asked skeptically. "Without hurting yourself?"

He struggled not to roll his eyes. "I have a PhD in Engineering. I think I can manage."

"Really?" she asked, now looking incredibly fascinated. "You and I are going to have to talk once we're out of here. It seems like you and I would get along quite well."

"Quite well," he echoed in agreement and amusement at her phrasing. "Now, how exactly do you expect us to get out of here? I can't exactly walk, and you haven't seem to have had much luck before I got here."

Hermione crossed her arms, thinking to herself. "I couldn't exactly unweld my own strap iron cell, now could I? Besides, I might have something that could help your pain and allow you to walk. If only for a bit. Though, our physiologies are slightly different. I think if anything it will affect you stronger."

She sat back down near him, digging in her shoe and pulling something out. His eyes widened at the beaded bag that looked like it had seen better days. "That's a curious thing to keep in your sock."

Her head jerked up at him. Like she'd seen a ghost. "Excuse me?"

"The bag. Why do you keep it in your sock?"

She looked back down at it. "Oh. In my experience, it's the last place people think to search. Because, well, who keeps things like this in their socks?"

"Obviously you."

"Right." She reached into the small bag, looking inside as though having to search, and pulled out a small vial to offer him. Immediately he thought of Hankel and the Dilaudid. His heart sank and rose at the same time, at the prospect. "It's a pain potion."

In Latin, potio meant a drink- usually poisonous. In Old French potare was a magical and medicinal drink. That was a very big difference. Now he was looking at her distrustfully, rubbing absently at the old track marks.

She just kept pushing it out towards him more. "Come on. It's nothing like that, I promise. Just a potion of sorts. Think of it like, like Tylenol or Aspirin. But, faster to act."

His foot was throbbing, and he would admit to being curious. What was it with the bag? What else was in there? Why hadn't she mentioned this before? Hesitantly, and a dark part of him hoping it was like Dilaudid, he took it from her and unstoppered it.

It smelled like grass.

He looked at her again, wondering to himself whether or not he trusted her. He'd say yes, but he didn't know her. Sure she seemed like the trustworthy kind of person, but was he really the best judge of character? It didn't really matter, because he'd already made up his mind.

Spencer threw the vial back and drank it all in one swallow before promptly throwing it back up, heaving on his knees with slender hands rubbing his back throw the spaces of the cell. She was making shushing sounds like one would use to soothe a child. He'd heard Hotch and JJ both use that tone of shush. Finally, he sat back again and surprisingly felt relatively normal. There was only a dull ache in his leg where it had previously felt like hell. Worse than.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I should have taken your concussion into account. Did it help you at all?"

"What was that stuff? I feel, like I slightly twisted maybe. If that."

She was biting her fingernails, looking at him quite worriedly. "Yes, well, keep in mind that it's still injured. Just because you can't feel it, doesn't mean it's not broken. I couldn't fix that without... well, it doesn't matter. How do you feel?"

He didn't understand what she was saying at the end, about fixing his foot, but he grinned. "I feel really excellent."

Her head tilted to the side and she frowned at him. "You know, you keep saying things like that that I've heard other people say in much different circumstances and it's a bit disconcerting if I were to be honest."

"What now?"

"I don't know. I don't think Haney lives here, and if he isn't here I think we could get past Chance."

Spencer had already figured out the same. Haney was obviously only here occasionally, and it seemed only on or near the weekend. Maybe he had a job or family that prevented him from coming during the week. He'd probably only come today, a Friday, because of Spencer. But Chance looked fairly fit and even with that impossibly effective 'potion', Spencer still had a broken foot to think about. Walk on it, sure, but he couldn't be positive about anything beyond that.

"How do you expect us to do that? Got anything else in that bag of yours?"

He'd meant it sarcastically, as sarcastically as he ever did anything that is, but she actually seemed to be debating. After a moment she opened it again to look in. Then she stopped, as though she found something and was now faced with a heavy choice.

She looked up at him thoughtfully. "I might, actually. But you and I need to talk first."

He nodded for her to continue. And asked, "What's wrong?"

"How do you feel about... magic?"

"Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much." -Helen Keller

A/N: For STARLING GEM, who requested this be continued from my other account. Please let me know what you think!

-Acacia