Chapter Two

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Spencer Reid." Fueled by nerves just as Reid, Belle continued to ramble. "I would be out of your hair if I could just take a warm shower."

"Why can't you take a shower?" Reid asked, genuinely curious.

Belle fidgeted slightly. "Well, the showers are all on the ground floor and the doors to the ground floor are never locked. There are bathrooms on every floor but showers are only on the ground floor. Basically the excuse is it's not safe. I doubt he'd try to attack us in the dorm, he's never attacked anywhere that close before." She paused a second before continuing, "Since these murders have happened, I've been so wound up and scared. During the day I'm running trying to stay on top of everything and then at night I have so much weighting on me." It was then she realized she was being unnecessarily long-winded, blushed and fell silent.

For about a half hour Reid continued his profile of the victims. Everything was concurrent so far but something didn't sit right. He couldn't put his finger on it and it was gnawing at him.

Giving up for a while, Reid rose and moved over to his boss, who was buried in his own files. "I've done as much as I can...for now anyway," Reid began, "And the girl," he gestured to Belle, who was now busy note-taking, "wants to take a shower. She's wound pretty tight. I could watch over her. We wouldn't be gone more than a half hour."

Morgan, who was directly behind Hotch, turned, with a smirk on his face. In a stage whisper, he said, "Let the kid go. He's finally playing with kids his own age."

Shaking his head at Morgan, a near invisible smirk tugging on the corner of his mouth, Hotch nodded. "Stay sharp, Reid."

Moving quickly, with Reid crossed back to Belle. Kneeling beside her, he explained the arrangement. She stood quickly, gathering her things and led the way to her dorm room to collect her shower bag.

He waited, like a gentleman, on the threshold of her room, as she scrambled about pulling together clothes. While he waited, his profiling sense tuned, he scanned the room. There were two beds and two desks. Belle's side was perfectly neat and tidy, set to shades of deep purple and black. Everything had it place and not one thing was out of order. The roommate was the exact opposite, things were everywhere. The bed was unmade, unlike Belle's, and the desk was a nightmare of papers, books, files, notes, even a few clothing items. The closet was open and clothes were put in haphazardly and a layer of, what Reid assumed were, dirty clothes were intermixed with innumerous pairs of shoes.

Belle opened her closet, drawing Reid attention. He dared to take a step farther in the room to look inside. Just as he'd expected, even her closet was organized; first by type of clothing, then by color. Even the colors were in order of the light spectrum. A tall, square, black laundry basket was placed just instead the closet and next to it, ordered neatly into rows, were five pairs of shoes. One pair of purple and black tennis shoes, one pair of black four inch heels, one pair of black flats, one pair of black flip-flops, and one pair of black knee-high, high-heeled boots.

It was amazing to Reid how polar opposite the roommates were. He wondered if they got along. "Where's your roommate?" Reid asked, trying to make conversation. He was bad at small talk but she seemed like she need distracting.

Having just pulled black sweatpants and a purple cami from her closet, she froze. "She was the second victim. Anna Morgan."

Reid felt suddenly sick. Wanting to make polite conversation, he'd blown it. Tears were shining in Belle's eyes. "I'm very sorry, Isabelle." The use of her name seemed to affect her, but he couldn't decide if it was in good or bad way.

Holding the clothes to her chest, she looked at him. "Why? Why is he doing this?" The dam within her broke and she began to sob. Curling inward, she wrapped herself into a hug, tucking her head down. Her long, mildly, wavy hair shielded her from his gaze.

Pushing aside his inner thoughts that told him not to touch a possible victim, to keep a distance, Reid moved to her, pulling her into his arms. She needed comfort and he had to offer what he could.

At 6'1", 140 pounds, he was all height and sharp angles. He was just too thin to look "normal". But Belle felt different, so petite and thin herself, it seemed perfect, even with her head only coming to mid-torso. Her hands wrapped tightly around his waist, and she clung to him like her only lifeline.

For a long moment, they just stood like that. His arms pressed her closer, hands on her lower back; his thumbs moving in a pattern he hoped was soothing. She squeezed him tightly, holding onto him as if it were sudden death should she let go. She didn't even mind his sidearm pressed into her side. He knew she'd lost her roommate, who was obvious a close friend, so her response was somewhat understandable.

"I should take my shower," she whispered against his chest, her breath cause strange chills over his skin.

He refused to let his mind think too long on that. "Yeah," he replied, instantly mentally kicking himself. Genius, slick.

As if reading his mind, she chuckled, letting her hands slide from behind him across his sides, as she pulled away. "You have a way with words, Dr. Reid."

"You may call me Spencer...if you like." He said, flustered. He was use to everyone calling him doctor but for some reason, he wanted her to be different. Again, he refused to think on that for long. "Why don't you lead the way?"

*high pitched, childish, girl-in-love voice* I love Reid. He makes me giggle. *SMILE* I want one...him or a Hotch (who cares about a 27 year ago difference *laughs*). Either one works. *laughs*