Well, this is what I get for hoping for regular updates. My bad. Bright side, I got a new laptop, which means I wanted to christen it with a new chapter as soon as I got it (which is probably the only reason I was able to finish this).
Since Wrong Life was told largely from Dave's perspective, it seems fitting that the sequel's told more from Spencer's view. Although, it might change every now and then, just so we can check in on Dave.
Disclaimer: I claim absolutely no ownership to anything recognizable.
** EDIT: I should've mentioned, this chapter takes place before the first one, which was meant to be a sort of teaser/prologue. So the Seattle case that's mentioned in the first chapter is the same case that's introduced here. There won't be any more time weirdness, but I will leave a note if there's any potential for confusion.
The light from the windows is far too bright. Surely the sun isn't usually this blinding so early in the morning?
"First hangover? I'm proud."
Despite the ache in his head, Spencer cracks open his eyes in order to properly glare at the man across from him. David's leaning against the kitchen counter, looking unbearably smug and insultingly robust this morning. He's already dressed in a neat button-down shirt and jeans, put together with absolutely no sign of the same queasiness that's currently gripping Spencer's stomach.
"No," Spencer groans, pushing himself up from the couch. "Not the first. But I wasn't expecting how strong your alcohol is." He pulls a face and sways a little bit before he manages to push the sick feeling away. "I don't really do this very often."
David grins toothily. "Lightweight," he observes, thoughtfully nudging a mug of coffee towards Spencer. "With my genes, I thought you'd be able to handle it."
It's a risk, but David's rewarded when Spencer only shoots him a dirty look. The man's too focussed on the mug before him to care about much else, and David counts it in his favour.
"It's your fault," Spencer grumbles unhappily in between gulps of coffee. It isn't quite as sweet as he usually takes it, since David's recently taken to flat out refusing to indulge him with it, but it's enough to tide him over. "I wasn't even supposed to stay the night. You're the one who insisted I stay until I missed the bus."
David waves a dismissive hand. "If you want to blame someone, blame Aaron. He's the one who bought me the scotch. I told you the bus wasn't necessary; you're more than welcome to stay the night, anytime."
Spencer doesn't deign that with an answer, choosing instead to devote his attention to the coffee. David shakes his head with a knowing smirk, but eventually turns away to leave Spencer in peace. He heads straight to the fridge to start pulling out food, presumably for breakfast, and Spencer takes the chance to glance at his watch. He groans.
"Hotch is going to kill us," he bemoans. "We're already half an hour late. I haven't been late to work in years."
Unfazed, David doesn't pause. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure Hotch will appreciate the extra time taken to sober you up." He glances over his shoulder and grins at Spencer's dark look. "Besides, he offered me the day off anyway, and he included you in the offer. We can afford to be late."
Not comforted, Spencer frowns into his mug. To further salt the wounds, his phone chooses to go off, beeping with a familiar tone. Hastily digging the phone out of his pocket, Spencer sends a panicked look at David before answering.
"Hey Hotch," he says, and sees David still in front of the stove. "Yeah, he's here. I know, I'm sorry, I didn't realize – "
David swivels around and takes the phone from Spencer's hand, raising an eyebrow as Spencer opens his mouth to protest. "Aaron," he says smoothly. "No, we'll be there in about an hour. Alright, forty minutes. Oh, come on, you know the kid's already got all that done, and I never do it anyway. Tell Morgan to do it. Okay, see you soon."
Turning back to the stove, David pulls the phone away from his ear and sets it on the counter beside him. Spencer makes a noise of protest, but doesn't move to retrieve it.
"I was thinking eggs," David says conversationally. "It'll be quick. You can oversee the toast."
Spencer scowls at the other man's back. "Hotch," he starts.
"Can wait. They're just finishing up reports. Besides, humor an old man, would you?"
Spencer huffs, but slinks over to the bread cupboard without further comment.
CM
Morgan whistles when they finally make their way into the bullpen.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" he teases, seated on top of the desk next to Blake's. "We were starting to wonder if you'd gotten lost."
Spencer frowns at him as he dumps his bag at his own desk. "Hotch in his office?" he asks.
"Nah, he's with JJ. Been there since he called you looking for his wayward agents," Morgan says. He pauses and narrows his eyes, studying Spencer closely. "Hang on – You gotta headache again, Reid?"
Blake looks up at that, sharing in his scrutiny. Spencer shifts uncomfortably and refuses to meet their eyes.
David clears his throat. "I'll handle Hotch," he promises Spencer, clapping him on the shoulder. "You just try to find some Advil. Remember, drink plenty of water to clear up that hangover." He winks at him with a sly grin, and suddenly Reid has the strongest urge to throttle him. Before he can contemplate that further, David's gone.
Almost scared to look, Spencer slowly turns to face the other two.
Morgan looks gleeful, Blake just faintly amused. Spencer regrets ever leaving David's couch.
"Things get a little wild last night, huh?" Morgan says, grinning. "Please, feel free to share."
Refusing to humor him, Spencer pointedly pulls out his chair. Most of his paperwork is already finished, but he doesn't mind digging up the stray report if it means ensuring Morgan gets the hint. He is, however, never that lucky, and he should really know that by now.
Morgan simply slips off the desk he's claimed as a seat and stalks over to Spencer, looking far too smug for the genius's peace of mind.
"C'mon, man, give me something. It's a fight just to get you to come out with the team after a case, and I've only ever gotten to see you drunk twice."
That's a blatant lie, but Spencer's grateful that his friend's chosen to leave out the third and fourth time, after Maeve.
"At least tell me how Rossi managed to get you out and drinking. Did you meet anyone?" Morgan wriggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Spencer forgets himself enough to shoot a disgusted look his way. "Don't look at me like that, pretty boy. Since you won't tell me anything, I'll just have to make my own conclusions. I'm sure Penelope will be more than happy to help me out."
That's a threat if Spencer's ever heard one. Sadly, he knows it isn't an idle one. Considering his options, it's with grim resignation that he decides to go for the path of least resistance.
"We didn't go anywhere," he sighs. "It was just me and Dave. I was only supposed to be there for a few hours, just for dinner and to give him his gift, but then he brought out the alcohol, and… it's a little blurry after that."
Morgan doesn't even bother to try and hide his laugh. He looks ready to ask more questions, but to Spencer's relief, Garcia makes her grand entrance and interrupts.
"Good morning, my heroes," she says chipperly. "Reid! There you are. If you were any later, I was going to have to resort to desperate measures, no matter what our brave leader said. Which reminds me, you should really disable the GPS on your phone, boy wonder."
Spencer pauses. "Uh, can you show me how to do that?"
Garcia just smiles at him indulgently. "Sorry, Reid, but it'll have to be some other time. JJ's expecting me, and I'd hate to keep her waiting." She blows Morgan a kiss and wink, then heads off.
"Woman, you wound me! My poor heart feels all abandoned," Morgan calls after her. Spencer rolls his eyes and takes the chance to focus back on his paper work. This time, Morgan heaves a displeased sigh but relents, muttering unkind things as he moves away. Eventually he goes upstairs, presumably to do his own paperwork, and Spencer relaxes.
He and Blake work in silence for a few hours, only occasionally exchanging remarks on their reports. She doesn't ask about Spencer's night or his hangover, doesn't speak of anything except work, and Spencer is grateful. He finishes before her, but doesn't get up to leave. Instead, he lounges back in his chair and asks Blake if she wants to work on a crossword.
David's the one down the stairs to fetch them. "Case," he says, raising an eyebrow as he sees them huddled together in front of Blake's computer. "Hotch wants us ready to go within the hour."
CM
"Four men have been strangled and left in public parks around Seattle in the past two weeks," Garcia says. "Charles Mighten, 42, was the last victim, killed just thirteen hours ago." She brings up a picture of a spectacularly average, white, middle-aged man, as well as his accompanying crime scene. "Before him, there was Jimmy Bugle, Harry Yu, and Samuel Haynes. All men in their forties or fifties, all caught on their way home from work, killed and dumped within hours." More pictures follow her words on the screen.
"What's that mark on their chest?" JJ asks, pointing a pen towards the picture of Haynes' body. Just above his heart, just like the other three victims, is a small mark. Garcia hurriedly zooms in and brings it into better focus.
The same symbol is cut into all four victims' chests. The cuts aren't deep, and are in fact rather small, but are obviously made with intent and a steady hand. A crude heart with a crown over top it, with what looks like either hands or wings on the sides.
"I think it's the Claddagh symbol," Spencer says, studying it. "It's a Celtic love symbol," he elaborates. "It's a very crude version, but it looks like the same symbol commonly used for rings, particularly in Ireland. The hands are supposed to represent friendship or unity, although that originated in the Roman era with fede rings, not Claddagh – but the crown's for loyalty, and the heart, well, that's for love."
The rest of the team frowns at this new information, flipping through the files in front of them.
"Any idea why this symbol would be left on the victims? What's the significance?" Morgan asks.
JJ shakes her head. "Local police don't have any leads. There haven't been any witnesses, and the bodies were all left on display in the parks. No prints, no video footage, nothing to point towards a suspect. Nothing to even connect the victims. As far as anybody can tell, they didn't know each other, and they don't have anything in common."
"With such public dump sites, the local police are eager to close the case as fast as possible," Hotch says. "They've managed to stop people from panicking, but they won't be able to hold it off forever. The UnSub could strike again in a matter of days, so we need to head out soon. I want everyone out at the jet in forty minutes. We can look over the files further in the air."
The table clears fast, the whole team far too used to the routine to dawdle. Garcia watches as the team heads off to grab their go bags, and Spencer pauses just long enough to give her a reassuring smile. As she smiles back, he wonders if she feels the same unease as he does.