"I can never fight for myself, but for others, I can kill"

– Emilie Autumn

In the El Paso PD's bullpen, Spencer and Emily stood deep in conversation. Their eyes were bloodshot from a lack of sleep. Spencer could feel the exhaustion right down to his bones. But he soldiered on.
"It's not enough for a warrant", he said.
He had been trying his best to dissociate himself from what Monica meant to him. Love, happiness, safety, warmth, a future. Those would soon be things of the past.
Emily said,
"Nobody's putting out a warrant for her"
"Emily, I appreciate it but…"
"Look", she said, "You're mad at her right now and you have every reason to suspect all this is her doing. But a warrant would seal that. It doesn't matter if she actually goes to prison for Leslie's murder or not, that judge in Seattle will consider it enough to take Veronica away from her. From you. Is that what you want?"
Thinking of his daughter, he could counter that argument with nothing. Emily put a hand on his arm. She said,
"I appreciate you wanting to do your job, to be objective, but we have to think this through"
"Even if Monica is a murderer?"
"We don't know that for sure. Not yet. Right now, Leslie is a missing suspect, that's all"
"Not for long", he said.
Emily gave him a look.
"Stop it", she said, "Listen, this is what you're going to do. Monica's cover story is that she's in England at her grandparents. You're going to call her grandmother and tell her that Monica has to come back for a routine questioning. You tell her that it's really important for Monica to be here. And you're calling her because Monica's gone off the grid"
"She's not going to come in just because I call her grandmother"
"Maybe. But it will stop you from wanting to get a warrant for her arrest"
He released a wearisome sigh. Emily nudged him.
"Hey", she said, "We'll find her, and we'll find Leslie. Alive"
"Thank you"
"Go make that call"

Spencer walked away from the scrutiny of the El Paso PD officers. Ever since the bugs had been found, they didn't seem to trust the BAU as much. But he didn't want to worry about it right then. His stomach was a knot at the prospect of calling Monica's grandmother. Taking a deep breath, he called Max to get her number.
"Hey. It's Spencer"
Max answered from the other end of the call.
"Hey. Did you hear anything from Mon?"
Spencer hesitated,
"No. That's… that's actually what I'm calling you about. Could I get your grandmother's number? I-I think Monica must have checked in with her. Maybe something she knows can help me locate Monica"
"Locate her? Spencer, is everything okay?"
"Yeah. I…", he said, knowing he meant what he was about to say, "I just miss her"
"I understand. And of course. I'll text you Nan's number"
"Thank you. Hey, Max?"
"Yeah"
Spencer knew that George and Max had been inseparably close. It was twice as difficult for him, now that Monica was gone.
"Are you doing okay?", Spencer asked.
Max waited a beat before replying.
"My brother was stabbed and bludgeoned to death. And the man who killed him lives and breathes, while George never will again. It's… I can handle Mom, Dad, and everyone else. But Monica hasn't been herself since he's been gone. I'm worried about her. She puts on a brave face, but George's death hit her the hardest. She's the youngest, Spencer. She's not the one supposed to be holding it together for the rest of us. I…"
He listened patiently, and Max said,
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you more. But thanks for asking. I'll be fine. If you hear about Mon, let me know, okay?"
"I will. Thanks, bye"

Before she could change her mind, Monica bolted the doors from within and faced Leslie. His head lolled at an unnatural angle. The pool of blood surrounding his feet had congealed. Mucus, sweat and tears grimed his face, making him look like the filthy being he was. Leslie gave her a look of meek resignation on seeing the knife in her hand.
Monica clutched the knife so tight, her knuckles turned white. All she had to do now was stab him, like he had done to all those women, to George. But thinking of George made her hesitate. She stared into Leslie's face, summoning all the hatred she could feel, and willed herself to end it.
'Do it. Do it! He killed George! He hurt all those innocent people!'
It wasn't what George would have wanted. If Max came to know what she had done, he would never look at her the same way. And Mom, Dad, Cathy. Audrey too.
And Veronica.
Monica's jaw clenched as she struggled to keep her emotions out of her actions. Her brain kept bombarding her with the voices and faces she so loved.
"Monica, please don't do this"
'Spencer…'
Her hand visibly shook, loosening her grip on the knife. She retreated a step, thinking about the man she loved, the one she had hurt yet again. Right from beneath, her knees gave away and she collapsed on the floor. Her eyes never left Leslie's face. As Spencer's voice echoed in her mind, she realized something she should have known before setting herself on this path.
"You deserve this", she said to Leslie, "…but not by my hand"
Tears spilled over her face, her lip trembling. Through the mist in her eyes, she took in the sight of Leslie's weary expression turning into something hideous. His shoulders shook and a muffled sound could be heard through the gag in his mouth. Monica stared aghast at the man who had killed her brother.
He was laughing at her.

Before she knew it, the sound of Leslie's laughter filled her world, and she was kneeling on the floor and vomiting. The nausea hit her so hard, she retched and coughed, doubling over. She shut her eyes to get away from the image of her hammer descending on his bones, the blood she had made him shed, the sound of his barely restrained laughter. The thoughts she struggled to keep at bay only made her puke harder. She held her hair back with sweating hands and let it all out. A haunting voice rang in her ears -
"In the end, honey, you and I are not all that different"
A current of rage coursed through her veins, sweeping away the overwhelming disgust she felt towards herself.
"No!", she yelled, willing the ghost to leave her alone.
It laughed in answer. Leslie laughed too, as she vomited, struggled to breathe. It seemed their laughter would never cease.
And then she saw George's face in her mind again.
Her brother, a good man, who had dedicated his life to helping others, who had never hurt a living soul.
Leslie's first victim, that 27-year old girl in Dallas, whose father died of a heart attack shortly after her murder.
His second victim, the pregnant woman on her way home.
His third victim, the 17-year old hitchhiker, killed a week before she would have turned eighteen.
Bile rose in her throat, and ignoring everything she felt, Monica got to her feet. Leslie was still laughing at her, his blue eyes agog like a madman's. Monica walked ahead and plunged the knife in his guts.

Leslie's eyes widened, staring at her in absolute shock. He sounded like a wounded animal being eaten alive. Monica kept her hand on the hilt of the knife, breathing hard. The knife made a squelching sound as she pulled it out. Blood coated the blade and a large drop of it slowly dribbled onto Leslie's thigh. Leslie's body constricted for a moment, before it went completely still.
Monica stepped back, the knife shaking in her hand like it would fall out of her grasp any second. She placed it on the table, walked to the doors of the container on wobbly feet and slumped to the floor. Then she curled onto her side and wept. She couldn't bring herself to hug her own knees. She lay there crying and shaking all over, wanting to undo everything she had done in the last six days.

'It's 11:30 here in Texas. Afternoon in Suffolk'
Spencer dialed the number Max had texted him. Judging from the extension, it was a telephone, and he hoped Monica's grandmother would be home to answer it.
Two rings.
Three.
'Come on. Pick up'
Four.
Fi…
"Hello?"
A man's gruff voice answered his call.
'Her grandfather'
Spencer cleared his throat. He asked,
"Is this Mr. Fleming?"
"Yes. And who are you?"
"Spencer Reid"
He didn't have to explain who he was. Monica's grandfather was certainly familiar with his name. He had even written that name on the first edition Russian literature books he had sent to him.
"Dr. Spencer Reid", Mr. Fleming said, "To what do we owe this pleasure?"
He did not sound pleased at all.
Spencer said,
"I was hoping to talk to Mrs. Fleming. It's about Monica"
"My wife has gone out to visit some of her friends. You can talk to me. What about Monica?"
This wasn't what he had expected. He said,
"Monica has gone off the grid. She told Audrey she was going to England. Is she there with you?"
"No, she is not. I haven't heard from her since after George's funeral"
"You haven't had any contact with her?"
"Are you interrogating me?"
"No. No, I was just hoping she would have gotten in touch with you. We need her to come to El Paso. For a routine questioning"
"I assume this call is being taped"
Of course, Monica had told her grandparents about her plan. And it was no wonder they were supporting her. As much as he wished he could get Mr. Fleming to admit that, Spencer didn't want to lie to the old man. He said,
"Yes, sir"
"Before you met my grandchild, Dr. Reid, you were in jail, weren't you?"
What that had to do with anything, Spencer couldn't guess. But he answered.
"I was"
"When Monica was all but gushing about you to me, I told her – a man who has been in jail will often find his way back in. She became quite angry and defended you for about an hour. Why I remember that conversation is because of her answer. I asked her what she would have done if she loved you at the time you went to jail. Do you know what she said?"
Spencer shook his head, then realized Mr. Fleming couldn't see him. Knowing Monica as well as he did, he had an idea what she might have said.
"She said – I would have broken him out of prison, consequences be damned"
In that moment, just right then, it hit him how bad he missed her.
Forgetting her, punishing her, getting away from her – it all seemed like wishful thinking. How was he ever going to let her go? Was he strong enough to condemn the woman who loved him so much?
"If you're as smart as she says, Dr. Reid, you should understand what that exactly entails. Monica would fight anything and everything to be with you. If you can't do the same for her, I suggest you stop telling yourself that you love her"
Spencer told the man,
"I didn't commit any of the crimes I was accused of doing. Monica had a choice. She made it"
"You young toms think you have everything figured. I have shocking news for you, mate – the person you love is not always going to be perfect. But you can either live with them, let them atone for the bad decisions they make. Or you can spend the rest of your life alone in your castle of impenetrable morality"
Spencer bit back a sharp retort. He said instead,
"So you admit to knowing what Monica is up to?"
"Well, yes. She left home without telling you beforehand. Now she hasn't been in contact, making you anxious. I don't condone that. A man worries"
"You know well that's not what I'm talking about"
"I don't. And I hope you get in touch with her soon. She's probably suffering as much as you are. Good day to you"
Mr. Fleming ended the call.

For Spencer, the old man's words were still sinking in. He didn't have a moment to think otherwise before Luke rushed out of the precinct towards him. He stopped before Spencer, a worried look on his face.
"They found Leslie here in El Paso, less than thirty minutes ago", he said.
Spencer's mind sprang into action, the professional in him taking over. He exclaimed,
"Roadblocks. We need to cor…"
"The Chief is on it", Luke told him.
Not allowing himself to hope just yet, Spencer glanced at the phone in his hand. The fact that Monica was now within their reach and the words her grandfather had said to him, they collided in his subconscious, each warring with the other.
It was up to him to choose which path to take.