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“Those who wish to sing always find a song.”
Swedish Proverb
“This next one is a request and it just so happens to be one of my personal favorites.”
You announced softly, lowering the microphone stand to meet your height as you readjusted yourself on the sitting stool. You glanced over at Reynolds, the pianist, and exchanged a look indicating you were ready whenever he was to come in with the band. As he began to play you in, your eyes scanned the patrons who had just entered the bar. A woman with dark black hair and steel features who looked very out of place, and behind her, a young doe-eyed male. He wore glasses and an argyle crewneck, and you couldn’t help but smirk. He seemed somewhat unnerved, as if he wasn’t totally comfortable to be in a bar. His eyes met yours and he stilled when he realized you were smiling directly at him.
You began the song, a vintage arrangement of Radiohead’s most successful hit single. Despite the band and their fans labelling the song as ‘overplayed and overrated’, you always felt the text resonated with you, as cheesy as that was. The lyrics were dripping with sorrow, but you hoped your rendition would give the song some light to it’s darkness. Some hopefulness.
Unable to tear his eyes away from you, Spencer watched in awe as you sang. Your voice was soft yet powerful enough melodically to deliver a unique sound, it had a bit of an old-timey feel to it. As for the song, Spencer knew it but he felt like it was the first time he actually heard it. You were telling him a story. A story he felt he could relate to better than anyone.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here.
I wish I was special.
I don’t belong here.
I don’t belong here.
You shut your eyes, your voice rasping slightly as you belted the bridge of the song. Singing had always made you feel better, even if the song was a particularly sad one. You wrapped your fingers around the microphone stand, conveying all your emotions into the outro and taking a deep exhale as you finished. The band's accompaniment faded out slowly and the room was met with absolute silence, until someone broke into very loud clapping.
Your eyes shot open and followed the direction of the crowds turning heads, only to land on the boy from before. Reid immediately played it off when he realized he was the only one applauding then awkwardly shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing around the room gawkily. The heads turned back, most in amusement, and the light bar chatter resumed.
“Thank you. We’ll be taking a short break, folks. Tips aren’t necessary. Drinks are always welcome.”
You winked at a group of men sitting at a tabletop across the bar and they responded with scattered hollers and a wolf whistle.
“Do you want to question her?”
Prentiss said with a slight laughter in her voice. She wasn’t sure if she had ever seen her fellow agent’s face look the way it did while he watched you. His neck almost snapped from how fast he turned his head to look at Emily.
“Yes. I can do that.”
He gave her a half nod and started towards the bar. You were perched on a barstool, your elbows rested on the countertop as you sipped a whiskey glass of Glenfiddich 12 on the rocks.
“Perhaps hot water would’ve been more beneficial for your voice.” He said almost immediately when you noticed him beside you, his eyes unblinking.
“Pardon me?” You replied, slightly more sassy than you intended to sound.
Reid swallowed.
“You see, alcohol can irritate the mucous membranes that line the throat. It has the potential to dry out a singer’s voice, potentially rendering them incapable of hitting high notes and preventing them from making the most of their range.”
You couldn’t help but giggle. Was this his version of a pick up line? His expression fell slightly when you laughed.
“I’m not laughing at you. Promise. I just thought that fact was cute.”
Reid squared his shoulders slightly. You thought he was...cute? Wow.
“I enjoyed your set. That song...it’s very-”
“Depressing?” You chimed in.
“I was going to say relatable, but that could work too.”
You warmed at his confession.
“Well personally I think you’re special, as corny as that sounds.”
He gave you a small smile, attempting to mimic your nonchalance. He tried to stand relaxed, but he kept moving his hands from his sides, to the bar, to arms folded over his chest. None of these positions seemed to take, so his arms were in constant motion. Spencer was conscious of his nervous display, which only made him more anxious. Extending your hand and introducing yourself, you watched as he hesitated to accept your offer.
“I don’t bite unless you want me to.” You purred half-jokingly and he shook it, smiling sheepishly.
“Dr. Spencer Reid.”
“Doctor? What’s a doctor doing in a place like this.” You finished your drink, waving the glass at the bartender when he caught your eye.
“Well I’m not a medical doctor - actually, I’m with the FBI.” He fumbled for his wallet, opening it to display his badge and identification card. Your eyes widened slightly. Spencer cleared his throat and continued.
“We’re investigating some disappearances in town and I was wondering if you could answer some questions for me?”
You nodded, suddenly very nervous even though you hadn’t done anything wrong.
Spencer, of course, didn’t tell you that you matched the victimology of the missing persons or that you could possibly be the unsubs next abductee. Instead, he inquired about seemingly random things - your relationship with your brothers, the location of the last gig you played, your favorite place to go in town, and the last time you saw your father alive.
Then it hit him.
The reason why the unsub was taking people who looked just like you.
“Were you with your father when he died?”
You paused. The agent’s face suddenly unreadable in the dim light.
“No. I was stuck in Europe for a gig. I couldn’t get a flight home for days when I found out. We were...estranged. I hadn’t seen him in years before that.”
“Did he have a funeral?”
You shook your head.
“No, but I was mailed a copy of his death certificate.”
Spencer glanced back at the Prentiss, who understood his look and immediately exited the bar with her cell phone dialing.
Their unsub was a dead man walking...literally.
“I’ll need a copy of that. And if it’s alright with you, we’ll need you to come down to the station for a little bit.”
You slowly glanced around the room, immediately feeling like you were being watched. Spencer noticed the shift in your body instantly.
“Hey. It’s alright. I didn’t mean to alarm you. We just think you might be able to help us find the person who’s been kidnapping these women.”
You nodded, now knowing very well why Spencer had approached you. It didn’t take a rocket scientist, or an FBI agent, to be able to piece together the facts.
“Spencer, can I ask you something? And will you promise not to lie to me?”
His eyes softened, and his face was serious now.
“I would never lie to you. I promise.”
“Scouts honor?”
“Scouts honor.”
“Is this man after me?”
Reid watched you for a moment, then he reached for his wallet and pulled out a twenty dollar bill for your tab, placing it on the bar.
“Yes. He is.”
You stilled. A large lump had formed in your throat. You tried to swallow but came up with protest.
“But my team and I will make sure he doesn’t get to you, okay? I promise. I won’t let him.” Spencer reassured.
Without a word, you stood up and made your way to the stage to inform your bandmates that you’d need to step out for a bit to go talk to the police. You gave a vague explanation for the situation and convinced them that they need not worry, and that you’d fill them in later.
Spencer rested his hand over his mouth as he watched you, dealing with a sudden strange surge of protective instincts that flooded him. He had just met you, but despite the information he had already gathered, he wanted to know more. Reid was so deep in thought he didn’t realize you had come back and were now beside him.
“I’m ready.” You said.
It took him a moment to register you were touching him - no, holding onto him, as he walked you to the front of the bar.
“You know, that sweater looks good on you.”
You said sweetly, trying to lighten the bleak mood that had landed itself between you two. You could practically feel the heat radiating from Spencer’s face.
“Thank you.” Spencer said simply, leading you out of the bar and to the car.
Your touch was magic to his senses, and he hoped he could savor it for just a little while longer.