When Spencer arrived at the jet, he was thankful to see he was one of the first, after Hotch and Rossi. He put his bag into the overhead and gave a nod to the two older profilers, before taking a seat at one of the smaller tables, opening up the case file and reading through it. He watched as the rest of the team arrived: JJ took the seat beside Rossi, Emily took the window seat beside Hotch, and when Derek walked on, he couldn't help but look up. There were only three options available: he'd have to take the seat directly across from him, the ones on the other side of the jet beside him, or sit on the couch, which he never seemed to enjoy unless he wanted to sleep. He watched as Derek put his bag into the overhead, then looked at his seating options. Spencer chewed on his lip, silently praying that Derek would come and talk to him. Instead he grabbed the case file from the table where everyone else was sitting, leaning against the counter and opening it. He wouldn't admit it, but that broke Spencer's heart more than just sitting on the couch and avoiding his gaze.
He cleared his throat, trying to will away how upset he was. "What do we have?"
Hotch put the photos up on the monitors. "We have a serial killer in Bangor, Maine. All three victims were females in their mid to late twenties."
Spencer looked through the photos, chewing on his cheek.
"They're all brunettes too," JJ pointed out, looking up at Hotch, "surrogates?"
"Possibly. When we get there, Dave, I want you and Prentiss to go to the latest dumpsite."
Spencer bit down on his lip. Oh for the love of God, Hotch, do not send me with Derek.
"JJ, you and I will go to the police station, talk to the lead detective and start working on the profile." He turned around to face Spencer. "Reid, I want you and Morgan to go to the morgue, see if the coroner has found anything else that could be useful."
He nodded slightly, eyeing Derek, who kept his focus on the case file.
When the plane landed, far too soon for Spencer's liking, the team split up into three SUVs, each pair taking one to their destination. Spencer saw the keys in Derek's hand and threw his bag into the trunk, chancing a look up at him.
"I can walk," he said quickly, hoping Derek would give him some sort of response, positive or negative. "It's only a few miles from the airport," he explained. "I wouldn't mind."
Derek kept his expression the same and he sighed, turning around and starting his trek. He had made it a quarter mile by the time his knee started acting up. Wincing, he leaned against a wall, rubbing his knee and hissing. He wasn't going to call Derek and ask him a favor, especially considering how badly he screwed up. He'd contemplated calling JJ to come get him, but didn't want to deal with explain it. He swallowed, pushing the pain aside and continuing his walk.
With half the trip done, he heard a car pulling up beside him. Ignoring it, he kept walking, trying his best to keep a straight face. The car inched along beside him and he looked out of the corner of his eye, seeing a black SUV. Derek reached over and pulled the handle, pushing the door open for him. He wasn't sure how he was supposed to take this, but he was thankful nonetheless. Climbing in, he threw his bag down on the floor, closing the door and putting on his seatbelt. He looked over at Derek for some sort of reaction, but he just started driving. Spencer avoided reaching down and rubbing his swollen knee, as he didn't want Derek to feel bad not getting him sooner.
Pulling up to the morgue, Derek got out, quickly closing the door behind him. Spencer got out himself, limping after Derek as he walked inside. Neither man spoke a word to the other as they walked in. The coroner greeted them and they walked downstairs to look at the bodies. She pointed out that all three of them had been restrained, given the ligature marks on their wrists and ankles, then stabbed multiple times. Spencer counted fourteen stab wounds on each of them and wondered if this could somehow be ritualistic. He thought back and couldn't recall anything and felt defeated. He collected the reports from the coroner with a thank you and walked back out to the SUV, getting in and reading through them, mumbling to himself as Derek drove.
At the police station, the rest of the team was already situated, trying to go over the victimology and find a link to the three girls, other than the obvious. Garcia was talking to them via webcam, researching anything that they could come up with. Spencer took a seat beside JJ as Derek leaned against the wall, his arms crossed.
"Baby Girl, there were fourteen wounds on each of the victims. Can you tell me if the number fourteen means anything?"
Everyone looked around at each other, wondering why he didn't simply ask Spencer, their human encyclopedia. Spencer seemed unfazed by it and simply let it happen, which also threw them off.
"Well, lovely, from what I can see, it's the atomic number for silicon. In sports, it's a retired jersey number for a lot of teams. In religion, it's the number of 'Stations of the Cross'. It's also the number of days in a fortnight, the number of lines in a sonnet, and the roman numeral is XIV. Other than that, I've got nothing."
They all seemed to think on it and Derek spoke up. "Could each numeral stand for something?"
"It's entirely possible," Hotch said.
Spencer had been mumbling about this on the drive over, but figured Derek hadn't been listening.
"The X could be to symbolize their chromosome?" Emily suggested.
"The I could be the unsub's personal signature? Classic narcissists will want to involve themselves in some way, subconsciously or not."
"What about the V?" Rossi asked.
Spencer chewed on his cheek. "The Braille symbol for 'V' is essentially an L, which is the first letter of each of our victim's names."
They looked at their case files and were unsurprised to find Spencer was right.
Once they were able to give a profile, Hotch gave everyone their room assignments.
"We were only able to secure three rooms in the hotel – they're overbooked as it is and we're lucky to have these." He set the keys on the table.
Spencer quickly turned to JJ, a hopeful look. She shook her head. "Definitely not. The last time I slept in the same room as you, you rambled off statistics in your sleep. I love you, Spence, but I don't need to know the forty-second digit of pi at 2:00 in the morning." She then turned to Emily. "Room?"
"I'm sold," Emily said, grabbing one of the keys and putting it into her pocket.
Spencer watched as Hotch and Rossi paired off, leaving him and Derek alone in the room with the hotel key on the table in front of them.
Walking into the hotel, Spencer walked right to the elevator, pressing the door open button for Derek to get in. He then realized he didn't get a good look at their room number and needed to ask. He opened his mouth to speak, but instead motioned toward the row of buttons. Derek pressed the button for the fourth floor and Spencer leaned against the wall, thinking to himself. This was a set-up: it had to be. First, he was sent with Derek to the morgue, which they'd never done together, and now they had to room together? Sure, there was the chance that it wasn't, and it was all pure coincidence. The team knew of their relationship, and it could've been that Hotch put them together because he knew they'd be comfortable. He knew he was overthinking it and shook it off, following Derek off the elevator and toward the bedroom.
While Derek put the key into the door, he waited a few steps behind him. Derek walked in and threw his bag down. "You've got to be kidding me."
Spencer raised an eyebrow, walking inside. He looked over at the bed and wondered himself what the deal was: the room only had a king-sized bed, as opposed to two queens. He internally groaned, before reaching for the phone and calling the front desk.
"Hi, um, this is Spencer Reid in room 419. I was wondering if I could have some extra blankets and pillows brought up to the room as soon as possible? Thank you." He hung up and put his bag down on the floor, awkwardly waiting for them to get there. When there was a knock on the door, he grabbed the blankets and pillows, thanking them, before walking to a corner of the room and putting them down, making himself a makeshift bed. He propped up the pillows against the wall and laid the blankets down.
They sat in an awkward silence until Derek decided to grab his clothes, taking a shower. Spencer set down the case file and saw this as an opportunity to get some ice for his knee. He grabbed the bucket and limped down the hall, filling it and limping back. He grabbed a plastic bag, pouring in some ice and tying it off, before lying down and putting it on his knee. Wincing slightly, he picked up the case file, reading through it as he propped his leg up with his go-bag. He saw Derek's phone sitting on the bed and looked back at the bathroom, still hearing the shower going. Biting his lip, he moved the bag off, limping over and unlocking Derek's phone. He checked Derek's texts and saw they'd all been read, and his voicemails had all been heard, a few of them saved. Slightly relieved, he locked the phone again, lying back down and resuming his position before Derek came out.
When it was time to turn in, Spencer threw the case file up onto the desk beside him, before reaching up and turning his reading light off. He saw no movement from the bed, and figured Derek must already be asleep, any hope of them talking that night out the window. Sighing, he plugged his phone in, before kicking his go-bag away from his legs and pulling on his knee brace. He curled up into a ball, pulling the blankets over him and attempting to get some sleep.
Considering there was only a blanket separating Spencer and the hard floor, the night's sleep hadn't been his best. He woke up extremely sore the next morning, feeling It in every inch of his body. He sat up, stretching slightly. From the looks of it, Derek hadn't even been awake yet. He saw him only taking up the left side of the bed and contemplated taking the right, as he had many nights before – an hour or so in an actual bed sure as hell beat an entire night on the floor. Soon realizing how much of a mistake it would be, he grabbed his go-bag, limping to the bathroom and closing the door, getting ready for the day ahead.
He sat in the lobby, a cup of coffee in one hand and the case file in the other. He'd read it so many times that he'd be able to recite it verbatim, but something told him he had to keep looking. When a hand squeezed his shoulder slightly, he winced, as he'd had that shoulder digging into the floor the entire night.
"Everything okay, kid?" Rossi asked, taking the seat across from him.
He sighed, sipping his coffee. "That depends. Is everything okay when you're forced to share a room with somebody who despises your existence, and the room only has a king sized bed, meaning that you, to avoid any awkward tension, get extra pillows and blankets from room service and sleep in a ball on the floor?"
"I guess not," he said, raising his eyebrows.
"I'm sorry for snapping, I just," he sighed, setting his cup down, "you didn't tell Hotch, did you?"
"No, I didn't, but I told you, you didn't need to be a profiler to see something was going on with you two."
He ran a hand through his hair. "Shoving us together on the job and making us share a room isn't going to fix anything, unfortunately."
"Does he have them?"
"…Excuse me?"
"You shared a room, that means there was a time when he was away from his phone. Anyone would, now, did you check his phone for your messages?"
He bit down on his lip, nodding slightly.
"And?"
"They're all read, saved, and some of the voicemails are saved in his mailbox too."
"I wouldn't give up hope, kid. He hasn't."
"He gave me a box of my things – I'm pretty sure that's an indication it's over."
"Tell that to the guy who reads your messages and listens to whatever it is you said on the voicemails several times, because we can all see he's hurting."
Spencer chewed on his cheek, thinking about it. If Derek had saved the messages, maybe it did mean there was some hope for them.