Misperceptions
Disclaimer: I don't own 'Criminal Minds'. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Summary: Extreme AU. The team learns most about their youngest member while on case in Las Vegas.
Rating: T for language, mild violence, mild adult themes.
Author: tlyxor1.
Chapter One
Tracey Chapman filters from the stereo speakers, and they slow dance in the living room. It's late at night, it's raining outside, but they're in a world of their own, and there's nowhere else he'd rather be.
And then his phone rings.
It's his personal cell, but it's so late, and the late night calls, or their early morning counterparts, are the worst.
He disentangles himself from the woman he knows he'll marry one day, picks up his phone from the end table, and takes in the caller ID.
It's his father.
A knot tightens somewhere south of his thundering heart.
In Las Vegas, it's past one o'clock in the morning.
Spencer can't remember the last time his father's been awake past eleven.
"Dad," he greets, wary. Behind him, the music is almost silent, but not quite. He can almost make up Tracey Chapman's lyrics, running away, a happily ever after.
"Spencer," William Reid greets on the other end of the line. His voice, familiar, usually a comfort, is worn, weary, and the bomb he drops will simply be awful.
"What's happened?" He asks. Behind him, Vega curls her arms around his middle, and she rests her forehead between his shoulder blades.
"Spencer, it's Lawson."
Lawson. His brother. His twin.
There's something wrong with his twin brother.
His knees go weak, and he's almost certain it's Vega whose holding him up.
"What… what's wrong?"
"I was meeting he and Trish for dinner," he begins, "They never showed up. Spence, it's been six hours. I called the sitter - Lucy? - she said they'd left, but when she checked the garage, their cars were both in the lot. It's as though…"
As though they've just disappeared, he concludes mentally.
He thinks he might be sick.
He forces himself not to.
"I'll, ah, I'll take the first flight out, Dad," Spencer says instead. "Just… stay safe."
"I will, Spence," William answers. "You too." He pauses. "I love you, son. Even though I don't say it often enough. I hope you and Lawson know that."
Spencer chokes on his words, and the tears are blinding. "I know, Dad. I love you too. I'll see you in a little while."
They hang up, Spencer cradles his phone in his hand, and stares dumbly at the wall. He has no words - he can't even think straight - and yet, there's so much he has to do.
"I'm going to Vegas," he says quietly, and Vega hums behind him. "Lawson and Trish are missing."
Vega jerks in surprised. Her breath hitches, and she hesitates. "And Charlie?"
"Charlie's okay," he answers, "She was with the sitter."
Vega nods, and her tone is resolute. He slumps in relief. "I'm going with you."
"Thank you."
There's nothing more to say after that. Instead, he books tickets for the first available flight west, and in their bedroom, Vega sets to the task of packing their bags.
It's past midnight, their flight leaves at three, and the couple take the opportunity to shower, dress appropriately, and ingest copious amounts of caffeine, but they're out the door by half past one, their apartment locked up and silent behind them, and he thinks, sentimentally, that he won't be the same person when he returns.
"You need to call your boss," Vega reminds him in the taxi, on their way to the airport, "In fact, so do I."
"It's three o'clock in the morning," he says dully.
"He'll probably be awake anyway, with the baby," Vega answers mildly, "And if not, you can just leave a message."
Spencer opts to just text the man, certain that if he doesn't reply, than he can just call him at a more civilised hour. He claims a family emergency, and requests five days off, and by the time he's done, they've reached the airport, Vega's paid their fare, and the cab driver has deposited both their bags on the curb.
Spencer picks them up, a single duffel with both their clothes and two messenger bags, in which are laptops and such things.
They check in, and pass through security with minimal incident. There's a minor catastrophe when the guards take notice of his glock, but it's smoothed over with the presence of his FBI badge and identification, and Spencer's just relieved when they're on the plane, their bags stowed overhead, his feet in the aisle, and they're just that little bit closer to Nevada.
"What do you think has happened to them?" Vega queries. She gnaws at the inside of her lip, her bright eyes are anxious, and he really doesn't want to think about the possibilities.
There are only a few general options, really - kidnapping, murder, assault - but it's the minute details, those possibilities that have him with hands clammy, and a churning stomach.
"Forget I asked," Vega dismisses, and they settle back in their seats - a vain attempt to relax - but as the plane taxis from the terminal, takes off and races the sunrise, Spencer's not the only one who wonders if a flight has ever felt so long.