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Spencer’s flight to Paris was boarding less than ten hours after Booker’s text.
They’d barely landed in Virginia when Spencer pulled Hotch aside and said he had a family emergency, that something was wrong with his mother and he had to leave immediately. Hotch was kind enough to not call him on his blatant lie - he’d seen that Reid had received a text, not a phone call from Bennington’s - and let him have a week. “Or more, if things don’t improve. Use some of your months of leave.”
Penelope quickly booked him on an overnight flight to Paris, with only one comment about the location - “You will tell me, Spencer Reid, when you get back!” - while Morgan had quickly volunteered to drive him back to his apartment. It was clear that Spencer shouldn’t be driving. Nothing was spoken on the thirty minute drive, just silent reassurance.
It was testament to how much they traveled that Spencer was ready for the international flight in record time. He was packed and out the door within twenty minutes, passport clenched in hand, phone pinned between ear and shoulder.
Morgan had quickly opened the door for his friend and did nothing to hide the fact that he was eavesdropping at Spencer’s conversation. He had a feeling he knew who was on the other end of the call.
He was wrong.
“What do you mean you haven’t been tracking him, Copley?” Spencer had practically growled into the phone, anger clearly radiating off of him. “He shook your tail? Well, duh, they’ve only done that all of their lives. You can not be that surprised. Do you even know where his apartment is?”
Derek deserved a damn medal for not groaning when he realized who Spencer was talking to. James Copley and Spencer Reid did not get along. In the past six months, they’d spoken a handful of times (mostly Spencer confirming things for his family, and correcting almost everything that came out of Copley’s mouth) and every conversation usually ended with a quick hang-up and a rant about useless researchers blinded by their own bias.
The other man was shook from his musings at the quick end to the conversation. Spencer leaned back in his seat and fumed.
“That man is an idiot. He truly believed that Book was still in the States. Doesn’t matter that every time he sends a check up, the location data is from somewhere in France. No, he’s obviously with me, and I’m overreacting.”
… Forget the medal. He wanted a damn trophy for not cracking up at the sight of Spencer Reid outright pouting in his front seat. He honestly looked like a child who just got told they weren’t going to the park. It was almost heartbreaking.
Unfortunately, Spencer knew him too well at this point. “Come on, man, don’t laugh. I’m worried!”
Derek allowed himself a chuckle as he pulled onto the highway. “I know, I’m sorry. That face you made though… I’m almost regretting not letting Garcia come with us, so that she could have captured it for your entire lifetime.” He gave the immortal a quick grin before focusing on the road, glad that the traffic was lighter this late at night.
Spencer just shook his head. “It’s fine. You’ve heard me deal with Copley enough. It is hilarious that he still thinks he can beat me with knowledge.”
They let the conversation lapse for a few minutes. Sometimes, the silence helped Spencer reset and get his mind in order for what was coming next.
“Okay, Spencer, let’s run through this like a case. I can’t come with you, but I’m only a phone call away.” Derek had not been happy that his own emergency leave was denied, but he also understood it. He had no real claim to going with Spencer, though Hotch had been kind enough to not put it quite as harshly. They were already down one man with Spencer gone. If a case came up, being down two would be a problem.
He didn’t have to like it.
Spencer sat a little straighter in his seat. “Booker’s text came at 9:25 pm our time, which would be approximately 3:25 in the morning in France. Three words, no salutation. Just ‘Quynh is alive.’ It’s the first communication that any of our family has received from him since he left my apartment six months ago. The only person who has had any sort of communication with him is Copley, and that’s a “still alive” text every month on the 10th by noon, which of course is now two days late. Return texts and calls have gone unreturned and unlooked at, even from other phones.”
“Does he normally go completely radio silence like this?”
Spencer was quick to shake his head. “No, it’s basically a rule. He’s gone silent before, usually around the anniversary of his first death, but that’s because he’d go to a hotel and get black out drunk for a few days, then be back with the team. He only misses it for missions, and even then, he’ll go once the mission is complete. But that anniversary isn’t until next July. And putting all that aside, something this important can’t be ignored.”
Derek paused in his questioning for just a moment.
“Who is Quynh? You’ve never mentioned her, I don’t think.”
“Only in passing. She’s… she was Andy’s partner. Lover, really. Andy doesn't talk about her, for obvious reasons. She was the second immortal, the first Andy found. Quynh… She was close to Nicky and Joe and loved Andy and was apparently amazing. During the witch trials in Europe in the sixteen hundreds, Quynh and Andy were captured and accused of witchcraft. She was trapped in an iron maiden and lost at sea. Andy nearly went mad looking for her.”
“That’s…”
“Five hundred years. Alone, trapped, drowning again and again. I did the math a few years ago. She’s died millions of times. And so many nights, that’s what I dream of.”
Derek gave him a sharp glance. “Dream of?
Spencer shifted in his seat again, clearly not happy to be going down this train of thought. “That’s how we find out about new immortals. We see the ones we have never met before. When I died in Georgia,” Spencer didn’t miss Derek’s wince at the reminder, even five years later, “I saw them all. Andy, Joe, Nicky, and Booker, all together. And then I saw through the eyeholes of an iron maiden, deep in the sea. I woke up choking, the feeling of nonexistent water trapped in my throat, not because of the CPR. When Nile died, I wasn’t asleep. We were on a case, and I hadn’t slept in days at that point. Instead, I saw her later, after what happened in England, which I’m leaving it up to her to finally tell you.”
“You still dream of drowning?”
Spencer opened his mouth to answer, but paused. Wait. “Uh, no, actually. Not for… months. Since I saw Nile, now that I think about it...” He turned to Derek in shock. “I saw her. And I had no idea.”
Derek reached over and clenched his knee. “Hey, we’ll figure it out. But first, you have a plane to catch.”
The young immortal was surprised to realize that they’d already made it to the airport. Derek was just pulling into international departures. “Great. Eight hours to agonize over that revelation.” He turned back to his friend as the car was put into park. “I know you can’t stay, but thank you Derek. For getting me here.”
Morgan stepped out of the car with him. “You’re not getting away that easily.” He tugged the other man into a quick but tight hug. “Give me a text when you land, and keep me in the loop. I’ll make sure the others don’t have a clue that you’re not actually in Las Vegas.”
Spencer gave him that shy smile that he reserved for his family, and for Derek. “I’ll be ok. You just… stay safe, alright?” He turned to walk into the airport.
Derek grabbed his arm, not liking the tone of finality that seemed to echo through the busy terminal. “Hey. this isn’t your goodbye, kid. This is a see you later. I will fly to Europe to drag you back kicking and screaming if I have to. We still have five years left with you.”
Spencer grinned. “I know. I just don’t know how long this will take. Knowing our luck, you’ll get a call for a case by the time you’re walking into the BAU tomorrow. So, really, stay safe. I want my friend to be here when I get home.”
Derek hugged him one more time. “You do that again, and I’ll kick your ass just because. Now go, and save that idiot. And if you run into Copley, full permission to give him hell.”
Spencer waved and started walking. “I’ll see you soon!”
One eight hour flight later, Spencer dragged himself through customs and into the busy city that was Paris.
Once his phones were turned back on, he wasn’t surprised to see a multitude of texts from the BAU, all wishing him a safe flight, as well as well wishes for his mother. He disliked lying to them, but it was the only way. He hated using his mom as an excuse even more, though luckily none of them would ever know.
Garcia had also texted, reminding him that he owed her big for not ratting out his international trip to Hotch, and she expected something expensive. Or sparkly. Or touristy. She wasn’t picky. Spencer had to chuckle while skimming all of her texts. She didn’t have a clue that he wasn’t here for pleasure. But that was ok.
Derek had only sent one text, with a reminder to let him know that he’d arrived safely, and reminding him to call and use him as a sound board if he needed it. The man knew just how stressed he really was, and his offer meant more to Spencer than he’d ever know.
Quick replies were sent to all, then he concentrated on the issue at hand. Spencer quickly made his way to a taxi stand and was off to Booker’s last address.
The ride was slow going, giving Spencer more time to finally make contact with Nile. According to her, she and Joe had both received the same text, before everything had gone silent. Nile had been the one to alert Copley, who swore up and down that Booker was still in Virginia.
Even the technophobe that was Spencer Reid knew that spoofing a cell phone off a satellite was a thing.
It turned out that the team had just finished up a mission in Antwerp, and had easily made the drive to Paris while he was still over the Atlantic. They were currently checking into some of Booker’s old haunts, seeing if he left anything behind to give them a direction. Spencer almost passed on the address that had been left in his apartment the night Book left, but something stopped him.
He’d start there first instead.
The address led him to an old dilapidated apartment that probably hadn’t been updated anytime in the last two centuries. The front door was ajar, leading to a hallway and a staircase in much need of a repair. Glass was scattered across the landing, as if someone dropped a bottle and left the shattered remains instead of taking the time to sweep them aside, let alone up.
The apartment was the first on the right. Spencer put his hand against the warping wood, feeling the door give easily and open quietly. It wasn’t latched or locked. Sorely missing his gun, he pushed forward.
The room was empty.
Two chairs were toppled from where they should have sat next to the old dining table. A glass, half filled of water, with a red lipstick stain sat next to the sink. A Glock lay fieldstripped and abandoned on the table, along with some sort of paper.
Before even addressing that, Spencer moved quickly, clearing the rest of the apartment. A feat easily done, since all that was left was a small bedroom tripling as a library and Booker’s (rather impressive) alcohol stash, and a smaller bathroom.
Once he was sure he was alone, he moved back to the table. He picked up the paper, only to discover that it was a postcard. No note was written, but the picture was from an immaculate garden. He recognized it, but for once, his recall couldn’t place it.
He turned away from the table, set the card on the counter, and sent a picture to both Nile and Garcia. Hopefully one of them would know where it was.
Within seconds, his work phone was lighting up with a call. “You’re visiting the Gardens of Versailles and all you send me is a picture of a postcard? Spencer Reid, I will ruin your credit report.”
Of course Garcia had recognized it. She’d been mentioning lately that she wanted to take a month-long vacation to Paris. In the background, she could hear the sound of Derek cracking up. They must have been alone in Garcia’s office.
“Ten minutes in Vegas, Pen, and Reid won’t have to worry about his credit,” his best friend said, sounding far away from the phone. His voice was strained, laughter still evident.
“Still banned in Vegas, Derek. And Garcia, I will get you something nice and shiny, I promise.” Spencer glanced at his other phone. Nile had texted, asking for his location so that they could pick him up. He quickly texted the address, mentally apologizing to his friend for giving away one of his hideouts, before slipping that phone away.
“Hey Reid, are you okay?”
His hands hovered above the fieldstripped gun. Garcia had been going on about what she wanted him to pick up for her. He’d been listening, but also worrying.
“Of course I am. Why?”
It wasn’t her bubbly voice coming out of the phone. It was the tone that she used whenever her ‘babies’ were in danger. “You fly to Paris, and you haven’t said why. You sound worried and frantic, and something’s wrong. And the fact that there’s blood on that postcard-”
Blood? Spencer looked back at the piece of cardstock. Sure enough, in the corner was blood. Splatted in tiny drops, as if from a wound from far away, only for it to be caught in the spray.
“Garcia, I swear to you, I will tell you everything. Just please trust me, I’ll be fine. But I have to take care of something first. As soon as I get home, you, Derek and I will have a movie night.”
He heard a faint beep from the direction of the street. “I have to go, but I’ll call you soon. I promise.”
He didn’t wait for her to answer, just quickly hung up and put the phone on silent. The door opened as he slid the phone in his pocket.
“Wow. Did Booker come here to die or something?”
Spencer gave Nile Freeman a guarded smile as she stepped into the apartment. “Something like that. He was here. And I think whoever took him is bringing him to the Gardens of Versailles.” As he talked, he was quickly reassembling the Glock. It wasn’t his favorite model, but he needed a weapon.
If Quynh took Booker with force, he didn’t want to be empty handed when they confronted her.
Tucking the gun away (a silent prayer that no one from his other life saw him placing a gun to the small of his back, they’d laugh for weeks), he joined Nile at the door. She seemed almost frozen, taking in the tiny room.
“Why would he come here? It’s…”
Spencer set a hand on her shoulder. “It’s his story. Once we get him back, ask him. He’ll tell you, I promise.”
The drive to Versailles was quick and mostly silent. There wasn’t any small talk inside the car. Andy looked both murderous, but also resigned, which didn’t surprise the profiler at all. Nicky and Joe were talking quietly in the front seats in their unique mix of languages that he still didn’t understand.
They didn’t have any sort of plan when they arrived at the Palace. Andy seemed to know where to go, so the rest of them just… followed. She moved with a fury that had them almost have to run to keep up.
After nearly an hour of walking, they came upon a garden mostly surrounded by trees. It was in the shape of a bowl cut in half, with water cascading down in tranquil waterfalls. If the situation wasn’t so tense, Spencer would have been impressed.
And in the middle, holding a gun to Booker’s head, was Quynh.
In an instant, Spencer recognized her. Not from his nightmares, but from that day in New York City, when he bumped into a woman in red. Fierce, tall, and slender, she looked as though she could kill every one of them without breaking stride. He could easily see why Joe had described her as beautiful, but also as a pit viper.
He might not be able to die, but at that moment, Spencer Reid was terrified.
It was clear that she’d been waiting for them. A fleeting look of annoyance passed over her face as she took in their group of five. But at the same time… was that longing?
“You took your time, Andromache.” Her voice carried over the sound of the water hitting stone, a slight accent behind the English words. “I almost thought you wouldn’t come for him. As you didn’t come for me.”
“Quynh.” Just the one word. One name, filled with so much pain. Spencer could hear the regret in her voice.
The lost immortal shook her head. “You never found me. I found you.” She didn’t sound angry. Rather, regretful. And resigned.
He knew in that instant that this wasn’t going to end in violence.
Nicky had realized it in the same moment, and was already holstering his gun, gesturing to the others to do so as well. Nile gave him a confused look, then gave the same to Spencer.
“She’s not going to attack us, Nile. This was just to meet Andy on neutral ground.”
“She. Has a gun. To Booker’s head.”
Spencer looked over the two immortals with a critical eye. “No blood on Booker. He’s actually sitting, not being held hostage. Most likely, this was more his idea, a place away from the crowds for us to chat if things went wrong. Also, the safety is on her gun and she’s holding it loose.”
As he was muttering to the youngest, Andy had moved forward. “Quynh. I swear to you-”
The gun was removed from Booker’s head, who shot the older woman a glare. “I know. This one explained it, after he sobered up. How you spent nearly two hundred years trying to track down the men who did this, then searching the sea yourself.” She let the pistol fall to the grass and moved forward, stopping steps from Andy.
“I was so deep in the water, it was impossible for you to find me. The locks finally rusted away, and I swam to the surface. I drowned so many times before I breathed air again. This isn’t your fault. You tried so hard, my love.”
Andy finally let go of the centuries-long hold on her emotions, and cried. She pulled Quynh in her arms and broke.
Nicky and Joe both made their way over to Booker, still sitting on the grass, away from the reuniting couple. Both crouched down in front of him, both giving him the same look.
“Why La Salle de Bal ?”
Booker snorted out a quiet laugh. “My wife once saw a painting of it when we were newly married. I promised to bring her here, though I was unable to. I come here every ten years or so on the anniversary of her passing.”
Joe chuckled. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
Nicky helped Booker to his feet before turning to Joe. “It would be a shame not to dance in such an aptly named place, wouldn’t it, tesoro ?”
Booker rolled his eyes at the pair of them. “Oh go on, you’re acting like a newlywed couple again.” He made his way over to the youngest immortals. “They got married again, didn’t they.” It wasn’t a question.
Nile let out a laugh that could put halos on angels. “Like a week after everything went down. Vegas this time. It was beautiful.”
Booker gave the couple a sarcastic glare. “What about the ‘sanctity of marriage’ and ‘never in Las Vegas, Booker, our love is so much more’?”
“More like, ‘let’s cheer up Spencer by driving across the country and giving him an excuse to hide his nonexistent injuries’,” Spencer grumbled. “The wedding was just a bonus. But it gave Nile a good inside on how the team works when Andy is soul searching, and I’m on cases.”
“Injuries?”
Nile cut in. “The quick version? Spencer’s dad was a dick, and decided to go Jack the Ripper on people in Vegas. Spencer got caught up in it, and Derek took out his dad with what he said was ‘extreme prejudice’. It was a whole thing.”
Spencer rolled his eyes. “He had nothing to do with Jack the Ripper. He kidnapped and killed young men that coincidently looked like me. I was to be his last victim. He failed. Next question?”
Booker just shook his head. “ Petit frère , you always end up in trouble…”
The younger man gave him a sarcastic grin. “And yet, I’m always fine. I wonder why.”
“Because Derek is always there to save your ass?”
“Damn it Nile!”
After the reunion, the group relocated to an apartment of Booker’s that was in much better condition in the heart of Paris. From there, the full story came out.
Quynh had been angry when she reached the surface, especially when she discovered just how long she’d been trapped under the waves. For weeks, she’d traveled in an attempt to find the team, though with them split up so much, it was almost impossible.
By the time she’d reached New York City, she’d been on the surface only a month. She was still getting a grasp on how American English worked when she’d realized that Spencer was in the city. Running into him was in an attempt to get back to the team. The only problem was, he’d been so focused on his phone call that he never registered that he’d run into Quynh. And with his lifestyle and (lack of) sleep schedule, he never noticed that the dreams of drowning had stopped.
In the meantime, Booker had gone on one final drinking bender upon reaching Paris, before stopping cold turkey. He’d been attending an online Alcohol Anonymous group based out of DC for veterans in an attempt to better himself. The day Quynh jumped him in his apartment was the first time he’d had a drink in nearly five months. He’d really been trying.
Luckily, he’d sobered up quickly and was able to convince Quynh that killing Andy wasn’t exactly the best idea. He’d shown her all the research they’d done into finding her, including in financing and funding several research submarines in the area they had believed she’d been dropped in a desperate attempt to find her. Though they had finally stopped diving into the water themselves (after Joe nearly died three different times in three drowning incidents within a forty five minute period in the late eighteen hundreds), they had never stopped actively looking for her.
The only reason they’d moved to Versailles was because Booker was worried that the reunion might come to blows, mostly because he was there and he knew that the team (especially Joe and Nicky) wouldn’t exactly appreciate his presence. Versailles was neutral territory.
As for the blood? When he left the post card, he managed to give himself a papercut. He never noticed it. Because that was Booker in a nutshell.
When Quynh had gone over the research, she was able to forgive her lover and brothers. And Andy was finally able to forgive herself.
They ended up spending several days at Booker’s apartment, regrouping, learning each other again, and building trust.
Spencer spent many hours with his lost sister, learning about her life both before and after she became immortal. In turn, she asked him about his story, why he had stayed with the FBI instead of joining the team. During one conversation, late at night, long after everyone had turned in, Quynh finally asked the question he’d been expecting.
“What will you do when you have to leave? Will you be able to leave behind that man that’s been courting you?”
Spencer had taken a long while to answer. Because he didn’t have one. He trusted Derek. He could see spending the rest of his life with the man, like Joe and Nicky. But he knew there was a timer on their relationship.
“I’ll worry about Derek when the time comes. As for the others, we have several plans in place.”
Quynh wasn’t exactly happy with the answer, but she let it go. She also helped him buy some souvenirs the next day for both Derek and Penelope, so she wasn’t angry.
By the end of the week, it was time for Spencer to head back to the US. And to his surprise, he wasn’t exactly excited to leave.
For the first time since his first death, he felt at true peace. He’d grown closer to his family, and felt as though there was a place for him when he was ready.
He also managed to have a conversation with Copley without strangling the man, so there was something. Copley had finally realized exactly who he was and why Spencer had wanted his preverbal head on a platter. Now that they were on the same side, Copley was working to get back into Spencer’s good graces, including silently helping Garcia during a case that the BAU ended up working while Spencer was still away.
Spencer accepted the apology for what it was, but he was not about to trust the man fully. Not just yet.
He still wasn’t ready to leave behind the BAU, not yet. But when that time came, it was clear that there was a place for him when he was ready.
By a stroke of luck, he was just collecting his bag at the baggage terminal when he received a text from Derek that they were landing in Dullas. Instead of making his way over to the taxi stand, he instead headed for where his teammates had parked, waiting for them to return.
It only took Derek a moment to see him leaning on his car, nose in book, as though it was the end of a regular day.
“Pretty boy!”
Spencer looked away from the book that he was pretending to read - he’d finished it on the flight - and waved.
As his BAU family came over to greet him, he smiled. He wasn’t ready to leave yet. He had too many memories to make.
Three years later…
Water.
Rushing around him, over him. It wasn’t the same drowning nightmares. Instead, the danger felt real.
He saw a young boy reaching for help. He swam towards the child, screaming a name that didn’t register to him.
Water filled his lungs, and everything went black.
Across the country, Spencer Reid startled awake at his desk, feeling as though he just tried to swallow an ocean. Everything was aching. And then it was gone. He felt alive again.
Derek glanced across at Spencer from over a folder of paperwork. It was rare for the young immortal to fall asleep at work, rarer still for him to actually startle away from nightmares during the day.
“Spencer?”
The man finally caught his breath. “Yeah, I’m fine. I guess that last case finally caught up with me. I need more coffee.”
He grabbed his phone and headed into the break room. Only once he’d walked away did Derek see which phone he was using. Derek followed his path with his eyes, not wanting to crowd him if he’d truly had a nightmare.
“Sébastien? No, I saw it too. Dozed off at work, what timing. Tell Joe I never saw his face, but I can at least narrow it down. Male, yes. American accent. He has to be near a coast. I didn’t see anything to indicate a pool or something.”
As Spencer continued to whisper into the phone, Derek’s eyes were drawn to one of the televisions mounted on the wall, tuned into one of the international stations. And scrolling across the lower third…
Freak Tsunami strikes Los Angeles Coast .