spencer reid

not many cases had spencer reid being poked and prodded at like a particularly interesting species of frog, or perhaps a squishy animal.

if he had a nickel- well, he'd have two. which was not a lot of money, granted, but it was odd that it had happened twice. the case with that budding tv star, and this one.

this was a very strange case. not strange like the fisher king had been, not strange in a way that had made his skin crawl and mind buzz with fearful curiosity.

no, strange in a good old fashioned what the hell? way.

there were two unsubs. two entirely unrelated, entirely opposite unsubs.

it had started as a string of bank robberies and heists- the high end shit. art galleries, huge, fancy jewelry stores. expert things.

nothing too uncommon. laughably easy, almost. and then it had evolved into a string of mass murders- significantly less easy, because god, it was confusing. and that is when the bau had been called in.

witnesses- ie, security guards who had veen half asleep- before the killings, when the heists were just heists, reported the unsub whispering sorry before knocking them the fuck out.

they'd first assumed split personalities, gideon having suggested it- but soon, that didn't check out.

cameras showed the robber leaving, and then someone else coming in and killing the people.

so then they'd assumed a pair.

and then they'd caught you.

you fit the profile perfectly-- jittery and disruptive sometimes, and dead silent other times. you'd admitted to the heists and robberies. said it made you feel good, the adrenaline of it all.

but you'd vehemently denied the murders. sounded horrified at the prospect, head-shaking, stupidly earnest looking.

apparently you hadn't known about them. like, at all.

they'd been considering taking you in anyway- because it was possible to lie, but elle, bless that woman, had burst in and reported another murder spree.

which was how spencer reid sat in a warehouse with you. babysitting duty. babysitting a previously assumed dangerous criminal, who, despite being deemed harmless, were very odd.

odd in a way spencer recognized, though. in a way that he felt kin to. you were so...

in all his genius, the only describing factor he could come up with was unmasked.

you'd, so far, spent about an hour laying in the middle of the floor with your legs in the air, kicking. sometimes talking to him. sometimes having a conversation with yourself. sometimes buzzing your lips- but not once quiet.

and then you had gone quiet. stood with no warning, brushed the dirt off your legs, and started touching...everything.

ran your hands along the walls. traced dust patterns. grabbed everything you could- even tossed something at a wall at one point, almost absent until spencer had given a hitching gasp and hiked his shoulders to his ears. you'd apologized, wandering over to him in the process.

and now here he was. your hands were on his shoulders, practically looming behind him as he tk-tk-tk'ed away on his laptop, not really reading over his shoulder so much as zoning out.

and then you poked his face. 'kay. sure. whatever. "yeah?"

you did not answer. rather than answering, you poked him again. and then swept your hand over his forehead, holding his bangs back. let then fall down again.

"what are y-"

he would have finished his sentence, but you physically closed his jaw. okay. this was. his fate now, he supposed.

until you stole his glasses. which, despite the dact that he only wore them half the time, he really needed right now. the text on his laptop was infinitesimally small.

"i need those," he said, brows creasing. "{{user}}, i can't- {{user}}. i need those- kinda. to, uh, see?"