Chapter Text
Four Years Ago
You're exponentially more nervous than you expected to be on your first case. You've worked on hundreds of cases in your time at the FBI. You've seen some grizzly shit, and yet, sitting on the infamous private plane of the Behavioral Analysis Unit is 100% more intimidating than you anticipated. No pump up speech in your bathroom mirror could have prepared you for the briefing in which two dozen graphic images of brutally murdered women were flashed before your eyes at seven in the morning.
You watched them while they went through the pictures, most of them not even batting an eye at the intestines pouring out the women's' slashed lower abdomens. Four of them dumped this way, naked and sadistically brutalized. Your first case and you still are working out everyone's names in your head... and you're on a plane to Missouri.
The plane is quiet. More information was sent in right after take-off detailing a new victim's body being discovered much earlier than the original timeline had predicted. He was escalating and fast. The small town was gong wild, calling in mistaken reports of missing women whenever someone wouldn't answer their cell phone... a rather large overreaction considering the area is well known by the locals to have awful cell service in the first place.
Nonetheless, the news seemed to cause all the agents to withdraw into their own pre-case rituals. Morgan was curled up listening to music and Prentiss sat next to him reading a book. Rossi and Hotch talked quietly together over a file and JJ was on her laptop and periodically making calls. Reid was also buried in a book in the corner of the jet. You got up to go to the bathroom, partially to actually relieve yourself but also because you were internally starting to freak out a little bit. On your old teams, you fit in so easily. Everyone was ultra welcoming and let you know the routine right away. This team, while welcoming in their own special ways, was intimidating to walk into. They're all so intimate with one another and their personal lives. The BAU is well-known as a life sucker--perfect for you, who has no close family or many friends outside the FBI who live in the area--but now you understand why these people have been here for so long. They are each other's family. Just like a stranger sitting among a close family, it is pretty overwhelming.
You splash some water on your face and neck and reemerge into the main cabin to find that your previous seat on the opposite of Rossi and Hotch has now been occupied by Prentiss who is deep in discussion about something with the pair. Not wanting to steal Emily's seat, you settle down on the long couch-like seat next to Reid, who lowers the book he was reading to smile at you.
"Can I sit?" you ask and he nods.
"Excited for your first case?"
"Is it even worth it to lie about being nervous on a plane full of profilers?"
He chuckles softly, laying his book down in his lap. "It's okay to be nervous. I still remember being scared out of my mind on my first case."
"Don't you remember everything though?"
He half rolls his eyes. "Everything I see. It's not like hyperthymesia or anything but I suppose it can seem like it sometimes."
You reach down and grab his book out of his lap. Keeping a finger on his page, though you're sure he remembers where he left off, you flip to a random page.
"Page 47, line 5."
He raises his eyebrow, his lip curling a little at the corner. "But that was just my luck, you see, my dear."
"Page 68, last sentence in the second paragraph."
"But that was her ultimate demise, I suppose."
"Pretty good." you chuckle, setting the book back down in front of him. "You must be great at parties."
"Pretty boy, here?" Morgan's voice rings out from his seat, where he seems to have tuned into your memory test. "depends on if the party is actually Comic-Con."
"I went twice, Morgan. I was like, twenty-five,"
"Once is passable. You found out it's at your hotel and decide to check it out, 'cause, what the hell, right? Twice is deliberate and I am legally required to give you shit about it once every month."
Reid groans and Morgan returns to his music, probably much to Spencer's relief.
You lean forward once you're certain Morgan isn't listening in to your conversation anymore, the corner of your mouth twitching up as you try not to smile at your own revelation you are revealing to Spencer.
"I've been five times. Even dressed up one year," you whisper and he breaks out into a huge grin.
"Who did you dress as?"
"Black Canary."
"No way, my mom used to have Birds of Prey #82 in her house. She accidentally took it home with her from a doctor's office when I was like five, but it was the first real comic book I had ever seen. It really got me into some other comics. Did you know that in the reworking of Dinah's story the writers of Bloodspell..."
And thus, Reid got off on a quick talking tangent about DC comics and the evolution of not just your favorite DC hero but also the idea of the Justice League and the symbolic properties behind the members. You had absolutely no idea how long he talked, but you were fascinated. It was like someone reading off an article to you, but the facts were just pouring out his brain. You sat and listened intently, making a few mental notes to look a few things he was mentioning up later. It also gave you a good chance to really take a look at Spencer. You've previously had the least amount of interactions with him and knew the least about him...besides some warnings to not indulge him on his rants...
On the outside, you would never have guessed the tall, floppy-haired and puppy dog eyed man was an FBI agent. His soft smile and kind eyes make him seem so approachable and unintimidating as compared to the others on the team. Things make more sense when he opens his brain up, as he was. His brilliance exudes off of him in a way that would seem unfair to find him doing anything but catching serial killers. It's weird energy, but it works for him. Gray slacks, a dark purple shirt, and a light gray sweater buttoned over his cardigan just suit him in a way you don't really understand. Spencer Reid is an enigma in your mind, and you want to find out why.
A hand clamps down on your shoulder, giving you a soft squeeze. You look up to see Rossi standing behind you, staring at Reid as he continues to rattle off about an obscure comic you truthfully had never even heard of.
"You're allowed to tell him to shut up, you know," he says softly, amusement laced in his voice.
"I know. It's interesting though, I don't mind."
Rossi chuckles softly. "Then kid, you are much stronger than the rest of us."