Chapter Text
“Sending Pretty Boy to the Red Light District again, Hotch?” Derek’s brows rose towards his hairline, waggling them in Spencer’s direction; much to the younger man’s embarrassment. “Do you think that’s wise?”
Aaron scowled briefly, glancing from Derek to his youngest agent. “I think Reid can handle it just fine,” he said flippantly, knowing how much his words would mean to the other man. Sometimes Spencer just needed his confidence to be bolstered.
Reaching out, he patted the younger man hard on the arm. “Spencer, I’m sending you and Alex to the Red Light District to talk to some of the girls there, gauge the temperature of the area, see if any John’s have been behaving…violently.” He eyed the rest of the team. “JJ, you’re with me. We’re going to the newest crime scene; the unsub seems to be dumping all within a three mile radius, this is definitely his comfort zone. Dave, Derek, I’d like you two to head over to the morgue—I’ve been in touch with the local ME, and they’re expecting you. There are three bodies, Jane Does, all with the same ligature marks around their wrists and ankles. I’m counting on you two to pay attention so we can compare to this newest victim, we need to know if we’re dealing with the same attacker here.”
Aaron gazed at them all briefly before giving a quick nod and heading off towards the black, government-issue SUV that every town – no matter how small – seemed able to conjure up for them.
Alex eyed Derek with interest as Aaron and JJ got into the SUV and sped off towards the highway.
“Do I dare ask what that was about?” she ventured.
Derek shot a sly look at Spencer before saying anything. “Spencer is our resident prostitute magnet, for lack of a better word.”
At a glare from the younger man, Derek cuffed him around the back of the neck playfully. “You know I’m just teasing you, kid. The women feel safer talking to you rather than me or Hotch; you’re young and approachable, and polite. It works.” He turned his attention back to Alex once more. “That’s why we usually send him with either JJ or a local female cop to go and speak to the working girls in the area. They’re more likely to open up to Pretty Boy’s charm and particular, sweet brand of awkwardness.”
Spencer snorted. “You just all like throwing me to the wolves and watching what happens.”
“There’s that benefit as well, of course.” Derek winked at Alex, who looked a mix between exasperated and amused. “Keep an eye out for him, will you?” And that was the last Derek had to say before he was catching up with Dave.
“It’s not true,” came Spencer’s quiet voice, “one time I was interviewing some of the women with Hotch and they all liked teasing me, trying to proposition me. It wasn’t serious, but Derek will never let it go.”
Alex gave him a sad smile; Spencer seemed resigned to the fact that Derek would tease him about it forever. She wasn’t like that—she never had been.
“I’m sure he’s just ribbing you,” she said consolingly, gesturing for Spencer to follow her to their own car. She slid into the passenger’s seat, giving the younger man an encouraging smile. “If anything, I could see young women on the streets being comfortable speaking to you, as you’re so professional and well-spoken.” She gave a little nod then, as if to settle her own point. “It just makes you an asset in the field, Spencer.”
That seemed to lift the younger man’s mood as he snapped himself into the driver’s side, thankful to Alex for being so understanding about all of this. She was still relatively new, but they shared a connection that he hadn’t really felt since before the Emily fiasco, with JJ. Try as they might, things had never been quite the same between the two of them after that betrayal.
Even if now, Spencer understood the reasoning.
“Cheer up,” Alex said, glancing at Spencer in the rearview mirror. “We could be spending our time in another morgue. This time, we get to talk to real live people.”
A small smile cracked across Spencer’s face; it was a long-standing joke with himself and Alex about why Hotch was always sending them to the morgues, while everyone else got to go to crime scenes and interview possible victims and witnesses. They had started referring to themselves (privately) as the Toe-Tag Two.
It was successful in lifting the younger man’s spirits a bit, and Alex fiddled with the radio while he out of the parking lot and eased them onto the highway. They only spent a few minutes on the busy road before they were taking an exit that would lead them straight to the Red Light District of Washington D.C.—an area that most upstanding citizens avoided.
Little did Alex know, he had spent quite a bit of his time trolling around this area years ago after what had happened with Hankel. It didn’t exactly sit well with him to visit this place with a colleague in toe, and he had it in his mind to split off from Alex as soon as possible.
In the event that anyone recognized him; even though he looked quite a bit different in those days. Less confident, more drawn and desperate. Track marks, and definitely no visible FBI badge like he would be flashing tonight, along with a composite sketch of the man they believed to be their unsub, a folder full of photos of the girls that were in the morgue he and Alex had had the fortune not to visit tonight.
They parked just out of sight, far enough away so that their intimidating vehicle wouldn’t spook anyone away, and Spencer pulled the manila envelope out of his messenger bag and started to divide up the pictures.
“Are we not sticking together?” Alex asked, unable to completely mask the surprise in her tone; Spencer knew her too well for that.
His gaze flicked up to her face, and he gave her an apologetic little smile. “I figured I’d go around to the working girls and the junkies—considering my, ah, level of understanding with one of those groups, I feel like I’d be more likely to get them to open up.”
Spencer didn’t often reference his time with Tobias Hankel, let alone the hardship he had been through afterwards in trying to kick a dilaudid habit without much help from the team. A fact that always rubbed Alex the wrong way; but she certainly wasn’t going to begrudge Spencer this.
“Makes sense to me,” she said, giving Spencer an encouraging smile as she leafed through the photos he had handed to her. “I’ll take the pimps and homeless over in that alleyway. We meet back here in, oh,” she glanced down at her watch, flicking brown hair out of her field of vision, “thirty minutes? Anything more and I’ll come looking for you, and call for back up.”
Spencer nodded his assent, relieved beyond words that Alex wasn’t going to argue with him on that simple point. The last thing he wanted to come upon with Alex—who he respected greatly—was an old fling, or someone who he had shared questionable hypodermics with. Another reason to stay away from the dealers; he knew those men never forgot a face.
They slid out of the SUV, closing the doors quietly behind them as they each made their way for separate alleys. Much like real life, there was a hierarchy here; the dealers didn’t hang around the working girls or the junkies, unless they were looking to shake one of them down for some cash.
Spencer would be safe enough from all of that, at least.
The asphalt was wet from a sprinkling of rain earlier, making his shoes squelch disgustingly on the mix of dirt and decay that had gathered from a whole colony of people living where they were never meant to. He tried to ignore the memories it brought back, tugging his jacket tighter around his torso, fingers clenching so hard on the envelop that his knuckles were turning white.
He had no reason to be ashamed, or nervous; that was all behind him, the dilaudid, the crack houses—it was in his past, and he had beaten it nearly on his own.
Nothing would drag him back into this world.
The first woman he came across was understandably wary, looking Spencer up and down in his khaki Dockers and navy blue sweater vest. He knew he didn’t look like he belonged here; not anymore, at least.
“My name is Spencer Reid, and I’m with the FBI,” he started, holding out a hand to stop the woman when she looked like she was going to immediately cut him off. “I’m not here to hassle you, or arrest you; we’re actually looking to identify a woman in your line of work. Would you mind looking at some photographs for me?”
Without waiting for a response, Spencer leafed through the folder and pulled out one of the least gruesome of the photos, presenting it to the woman in front of him with a small flourish.
At first, the woman gave it only a cursory glance. And then she appeared to recognize something in the dead woman’s face, and she studied the photograph with an icy gaze.
“I recognize her,” she said, flicking her eyes up at Spencer and tapping at the photo with one long, manicured nail. “I don’t know her name, but she hung around here a lot. You might have some luck with that group over there—” Here, the woman gestured to a group of three woman a few yards away, all of them with their eyes questioningly on Spencer and his folder. “She used to hang around with them, for sure.”
Giving a small nod, Spencer tucked his photo away. “I appreciate your help,” he said.
The woman grunted in response, wandering away from him and down the street, wobbling a little on the blue stiletto heels strapped to her feet. Not long after he had left her to move onto the small huddle of women leaning against the brick building, a silver sedan pulled up and she stepped inside.
It gave Spencer pause; that woman could have just gotten in a car with their unsub. It was horrible to think that someone could see the harsh realities of that line of work – morgue photos, actual deaths – and still step willingly into a car with tinted windows and little chance of escape.
Trying to push the thought from his mind—he had after all told the women he wasn’t there to hassle them—and continued down the alleyway.
Before he could even get a word out, the tall brunette popped her gum and shook her head. “Honey, I ain’t got nothin’ for you,” she said, gesturing towards his folder.
“I’m not here to—” Spencer started out, but was cut off by the shorter redhead, her wig cocked precariously atop her head.
“We know what you’re here for,” she said calmly, flicking a cigarette between two stained fingers. The ashes fell at Spencer’s feet, smoldering out against the damp asphalt. He thought he might even recognize this woman; her fuzzy woolen coat stuck out amongst the rest, looking clean and fluffy despite the situation. She wore too much make-up, her kohl-lined eyes making her face look sunken in, far older than her years.
All of a sudden it came rushing back to him; this was Misty, who had been a sixteen year old runaway when Spencer had spent a majority of his time here. He was sad to see she’d never made it out of the life; they’d often talked about it, huddled together on a piece of cardboard on the ground, Misty tearfully explaining to him how exactly her step-father had touched her to make her choose this over going home.
At the time, Spencer had wanted to save her. But he couldn’t even save himself.
It was clear that Misty didn’t recognize him in this context however, and for that small thing Spencer was infinitely grateful.
“Could you at least look over some photographs for me?” He ventured, trying to pitch his voice a little lower, not wanting Misty to have any chance of recognition. For a moment, she peered at him as if she knew – but it was only a flicker in her eyes, and then it was gone, replaced once more by that deadened look she carried with her like a cross to bear.
All three women remained silent, one of them completely averting her gaze.
It was clear he was going to get nowhere with this group; the folder shook slightly in his hand, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold, or the way Misty looked back up at him before he walked away without another word.
If she knew, she could use it against him. Somehow.
He was so preoccupied with these thoughts that Spencer nearly missed the thin, slight woman edging deeper into the shadows. She, too, was dressed for a night of work, black pumps and short skirt, hair curled delicately around a face he couldn’t quite make out.
“Excuse me,” Spencer called, heading in her direction. He could see panic in her eyes now – clear as day – and it was so sudden and stark that he felt a little winded.
Before he had much time to process the information, the woman had turned on her heel and bolted down the alleyway, headed towards a fence that led out onto the street.
“Hey!” Spencer called after her, flight response immediately kicking in as he broke out into a sprint after the woman. If she felt like she needed to run away from him, clearly there was something she felt like she needed to hide.
His hand on the holster of his gun, Spencer pursued the woman all the way to the end of the alley. By the time he caught up to her, he was slightly winded; Derek was usually the one to do all of the pursuing.
“I just—want to ask you a few questions,” he managed to get out, before the woman made a desperate leap to climb up the chain link fence. The heel of one of her pumps caught on a loose piece of metal, and she came crashing down to earth with a pained whump and a desperate gasp of air.
Alarmed, Spencer closed the distance between them, wondering what could possibly have spooked this woman so badly that she would try and climb a fence to get away from him?
She was curled nearly on her side, clutching the ankle she had fallen on so unceremoniously, trying to hide her face behind her hair even as Spencer drew closer.
“I’m not here to hurt you, or arrest you, or anything that you think I am,” Spencer said, unable to keep the exasperation out of his voice as he knelt down on the damp ground next to her. “I just want to ask you a few questions about some missing persons.”
The woman flinched away when he held out a hand to help her up, and Spencer’s frown deepened. Could she possibly be a victim?
“If you’re hurt, I can help you,” he said, trying to soften his voice.
The woman let out a shaky breath, seeming to steel her nerves before looking up at him from her spot on the ground. She seemed to be waiting for something as she looked up at Spencer, a strange mix of hesitancy and sheer terror in her brown eyes.
Then, she spoke her first words.
“Please don’t tell Jason,” she croaked, reaching out and clutching at the front of Spencer’s vest. “Please don’t tell any of them that I’m here.”
Spencer blinked, perplexed. Jason? As in…Jason Gideon? How could this woman possibly know—
It was then that Spencer placed the small mole on the woman’s chin, the way her eyes still sparkled even though her face was hollow and gaunt. Her hair was different – curled into loose ringlets, but other than that and a layer of grime, Spencer had no idea how he couldn’t have known immediately.
“Elle?” He said, voice coming out in a whisper. Immediately, his mind began to spin, whirring out of control. He hadn’t laid eyes on Elle since she’d left the BAU. Seven years ago.
Elle’s lip quivered pitifully, the expression so foreign on her face that Spencer thought for a moment that he must be mistaken – the Elle Greenaway he knew would never sound like that, look like that, full of such terror at the sight of him.
But it was her. And she was clearly in a bad place.
“Spencer, please,” Elle said again, shaking her head so that her hair bounced prettily around her face, making her look younger and more vulnerable than she had just moments ago.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Spencer said. How he was going to keep that promise, he had no idea. Alex was bound to come looking for him soon, and even though she didn’t know Elle, she would immediately feel the history between the two of them. “I promise. Let me help you, okay?”
Elle nodded her head, looking bewildered as she let Spencer tug her to her feet. She wobbled for a few seconds, catching herself on his arm. “Do me a favor and pretend you never saw me here,” she said.
“You know I can’t do that,” Spencer said, voice a little feverish. He couldn’t stop staring; taking her in, all the things about Elle that had gone blurry even in his mind over the years. The sharp contours of her cheekbones, even sharper now than they had been. Her long lashes, eyes slightly damp, mascara clinging like spider’s legs to her eyelids.
Truthfully, she looked like a mess.
“Are you using?” Spencer blurted out before he could manage to stop himself. He knew the look; he’d had the look.
Elle’s face immediately closed off, making her look more like the woman he had known all those years ago. “Do you think I’m stupid?” She snapped, yet not quite meeting his eyes.
“Did you think I was stupid?” He asked carefully.
“Yes, when I heard,” Elle said without pause, eyes flashing. “I did think you were stupid, Spencer. You were doing a stupid thing. Not everyone makes mistakes like that.”
But she was clutching her forearms tight to her chest, words and gestures not meeting up; Spencer didn’t have to be a profiler to know that she was bullshitting him, hoping that he’d let her get up and hobble off before any of this had to be dealt with.
He wasn’t going to let that happen.
“Just—just hang on a minute,” Spencer said distractedly, fumbling in his jacket pocket for his cellphone. At the very least, he had to call Alex and let her know that he didn’t need back-up; he wasn’t sure what he was going to tell her, but there was no way he was going to leave Elle like this.
Keeping a close eye on her to make sure she didn’t try and run off again, Spencer tapped Alex’s name on his iPhone screen. She picked up after only one ring.
“What’ve you got, Reid?”
“A lead,” Spencer said simply, cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder. It was a good thing he had driven them tonight. Usually, someone else was behind the wheel; he had the added benefit of a car.
There was a pause, as if Alex was waiting for him to elaborate.
Spencer didn’t.
“What sort of lead?” She asked finally, and Spencer knew he had to lie. Alex would cover for him; she had done so before, with Maeve, more than once.
“It’s—well—” Spencer glanced down at Elle, who was staring up at him with dark, angry eyes. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated.” Even over the phone, Spencer could feel Alex’s irritation.
“Just trust me on this one, okay? I’m going to follow this lead; I’m sure Hotch and JJ could swing by and pick you up after you’re done conducting interviews.”
Spencer bit his lip, not even realizing he was holding his breath in wait for Alex’s response. Did she trust him enough to let him go off on his own without explanation?
“Alright,” she said simply, and Spencer knew that she would want an explanation as soon as possible. She’d do this for him now, yes. But she would want answers; he could practically hear the crackle of Alex’s mind, spinning and whirring, trying to puzzle out what he was up to and why he didn’t want to bring her into it.
“Thanks, I really appreciate—”
Alex cut him off. “Just one thing before I hang up this phone; does this have anything to do with what happened with you after the case in Georgia?”
That stopped Spencer cold, and he shook his head violently before he remembered Alex couldn’t see him. “No. It doesn’t.” He said simply.
“That’s all I wanted to know,” Alex said before the line went dead.
Breathing a small sigh of relief, Spencer tucked his phone away and focused his attention back to the matter at hand. He’d just earned himself a small amount of privacy; a way to get Elle back to the hotel with him, if she’d go. From there, he could work out what to do. Without the team breathing down his neck, the situation felt far more manageable.
“New agent?” Elle asked, sounding both bitter and defeated at the same time.
“Not exactly new, no,” Spencer said. Reaching out, he took Elle’s hand and tugged her to her feet, watching as she winced on her twisted ankle. “Do you think you can make it to the car? I parked a little ways down the road.”
Eyes narrowing, Elle tugged her arm from Spencer’s grasp, nearly toppling in the process. “Oh no, I’m not going anywhere with you. You’ll take me right to Hotch, and he is the last son of a bitch that I want to deal with right now.”
Surprised by Elle’s vehemence, Spencer recalled the night before Elle had murdered the rapist—he couldn’t even remember the man’s name, now—when she had gotten into a heated argument with Hotch. How she had blamed him for leaving her vulnerable and exposed in her own home.
Apparently, she hadn’t gotten over that.
“I’m not taking you anywhere but back to the hotel with me,” Spencer said. “I promise,” he added, after Elle jutted her jaw out at him distrustfully.
“Look Spencer,” she started, sounding a little bit like her old self for the first time, “I know that we were—are—friends, but I don’t need your help. I’m not some charity case, I’m certainly not a victim, and you have a job you could be doing judging by all the women that have gone missing around here lately.”
Pointedly ignoring the jab, Spencer kept on. “You don’t have to stay; just let me have a look at that ankle, and maybe get you some food, and a shower, and a good night’s rest?” His face cracked into a small, almost teasing smile. “You look like you could use it.”
Elle sighed then, and Spencer knew he had won. Reaching down, she slipped off her shoes, losing about three inches of height in the process as she lowered to the asphalt in bare feet. “Fine, you’ve got me there. But I’m not staying, and if any of the rest of the team gets wind of this…”
She didn’t finish the sentence; probably because there wasn’t much she could do by way of a threat, but Spencer understood her meaning all the same.
“Just us; scout’s honor,” he said, reaching out and taking the pair of shoes from her so that she could walk unhindered to the sedan that was parked a few hundred feet down the street.
The ride to the hotel was spent in silence, with Elle staring moodily out the window as Spencer sped past street signs and buildings. They were staying at a Marriot only a few miles from the local police station of Roanoke, and naturally everyone else was still out and about, at the morgue and crime scenes.
Smuggling Elle into his room was easier than he had anticipated; although walking into the lobby with her felt a little bit like a twisted re-enactment of Pretty Woman. Elle had certainly slimmed down wardrobe-wise and looked the part of any girl working the streets.
Thankfully, nobody questioned them as they made their way to the elevator and up onto the third floor, Spencer fumbling awkwardly in his wallet for the keycard to the door while Elle stood next to him, gaze darting about wildly. She looked like a frightened rabbit, no doubt thinking a ghost from her past—namely Jason, JJ, or Hotch—would come striding out of one of the rooms.
“Nobody is here but us,” Spencer reassured her gently, pushing the door open as the three little lights flashed green over the lock.
Elle only snorted in response, but hurried in nonetheless. She immediately dropped down onto the queen sized bed closest to the door, hands folding awkwardly in her lap. In this light, she looked even less like the Elle Greenaway Spencer had worked with in the BAU. Her hair was lank and dirty, what had once been soft ringlets hanging about her sallow face like curtains.
She had somehow managed to get even smaller; and she had always been slight to begin with. Spencer had an inkling that he knew how that particular change had come about.
He’d been at his thinnest when he’d been using.
Suddenly self-conscious about the clothes and litter strewn about his room, Spencer quickly picked up a pile of discarded shirts and dumped them on top of his suitcase, tossing a few empty Chinese take-out containers into the trash next to it.
Now that he had her, he wasn’t quite sure what to do with her. The last real conversation they’d had had been in a hotel room much like this, empty airplane bottles of liquor separating them across a table.
Somehow, it didn’t feel like it had been seven years.
“I can order room service,” Spencer blurted after a moment, perching on the bed opposite Elle. “And then while we wait for our food to get here, I can wrap that ankle for you. I know I have some ace bandages in my first aid kit…”
Elle smiled then, a sad sort of smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Always prepared, aren’t you, Spence?”
For some reason, the nickname struck a chord, and Spencer’s heart lurched up around the vicinity of his Adam’s apple.
“Luckily for you,” he countered, trying to make light of the situation as he tugged the hotel’s room service menu towards him. He gave it a cursory glance before handing it over to Elle. “Order whatever you want, and I’ll go get the first aid kit.”
This was more of a test than anything else; if Elle was gone by the time he came out of the bathroom with the first aid kit and bandages, he would leave her be. He wouldn’t pursue this; he wouldn’t pursue her.
But if she stayed—well, he would figure out what to do then.
Spencer closed the bathroom door behind him, taking a moment to splash some cool water on his face and gather his thoughts. This was not at all how he had expected his night to go; never in a million years would he have expected to find Elle on that street corner.
It was almost ludicrous. Elle had been an amazing agent; a trustworthy colleague; a great friend.
Spencer suddenly felt at a loss—why hadn’t he even tried to keep in touch with her? Clearly, something had been wrong when she turned in her badge and gun to Hotch. And as much as the team was his family, not one of them had thought to go after her, to make sure she was alright?
What had they all been thinking?
Trying to bring his mind back to the present, Spencer snatched the first aid kit and bandages out of the bathroom cabinet. He couldn’t hear any noise on the other side of the door.
He fully expected Elle to be gone when he came out, so he gave her a few more minutes to decide what she wanted to do before he opened the door.
“I hope you like turkey clubs and apple pie,” Elle said, reclining in the bed and watching Spencer carefully. “I ordered enough for two. It should be here within the hour.”
Clutching the little metal box tightly in his hand, Spencer nodded, feeling relieved but with a curious ripple of anxiety bubbling beneath the surface.
“Turkey clubs and apple pie sounds perfect,” he said, pushing what he actually wanted to say to Elle to the back of his mind.
Why are you still here?