❝I live in the light/But carry my dark with me.❞

JOHN MARSDEN

✩

1.7 : riley jenkins

OR

season 4, episode 6 : the instincts (ctd.)

"YOU LOOK NICE."

Fin looks behind her in the mirror and sees Morgan standing in the hallway, leaning against the bathroom doorframe. She grins. "Thanks, although I'm a little insulted you only think I look nice when I wear heels." Technically, they're heeled boots, but still.

"Nah, angel, you look beautiful all the time," Morgan says lazily, crossing his arms across his chest. "Purple's a good color for you." He gestures to her blouse, which today is a dark shade of violet.

"It's one of my favorite colors," Fin replies, straightening her hair in the mirror above the sink. It's not often she puts her hair up completely, but she likes the way it looks today. "I've always loved it."

Morgan chuckles. "Interesting."

"What's your favorite color?" Fin asks him, turning around and leaning against the opposite side of the doorframe.

"Probably blue," he replies thoughtfully. "You know, like navy blue. It's a nice color. Looks good on everybody. Uniform, easy on the eyes."

Fin nods approvingly, then realizes someone is missing. Hotch and JJ are talking to the Bridges about what to look for at the funeral–five-year-old Ethan Hayes, the first boy the unsub took–and Morgan's with her, but Spencer is nowhere to be found.

Morgan seems to read her mind, because he jerks his thumb toward the stairs. "Kid's upstairs. I thought I'd give him some time, after last night."

Last night... Fin knows what Morgan means, she knows he's talking about the nightmare, but for some reason, the first thing that comes to mind is how she held him. The way his hand felt on her hip, his hair between her fingers...

"I'm hoping you two didn't do anything more than cuddle on that sofa," Morgan says, lowering his voice, and he just laughs at the look on Fin's face. "I'm joking, I'm joking! But I caught you, didn't I?" He pokes Fin's cheek, which she's sure must be bright red by now. "You and Pretty Boy have got somethin' going on!"

"We do not!" Fin slaps his hand away, scowling. But even thinking about holding Spencer like that brings the butterflies to life, the way it so often does. She can't deny that something's different, something new and strangely intimate about their relationship.

"Morgan." It's Hotch, standing in the hallway. "We're almost ready. JJ's going to stay here to watch the phone, but I want the rest of you in the car in ten."

Morgan nods and looks back at Fin questioningly. "You want me to go get him?"

No. She shakes her head and moves past him, jogging up the stairs and turning left on the landing. There's a door with a sign tacked to it, a simple piece of paper covered in dinosaur stickers with the name MICHAEL written on it in bright red block letters. Fin knows he's in here. The door is slightly ajar, and she pushes it so that she can poke her head inside.

Spencer's standing in the middle of the room, wearing a dark blue shirt and red tie, staring around at the walls, which are covered in dinosaur posters, childish drawings, and cartoony photos of animals. He looks lost, which isn't something he often looks. Fin feels pity tug at her heart.

"Hey, Doc. We're leaving in ten."

Spencer turns around, startled, but when he sees her, his eyes soften. But that doesn't last long. "You know, they're right," he says offhandedly. "Odds are, we'll catch the unsub when he dumps the body or when he tries to snatch another kid." His sleeves are rolled up, his hands in his pockets, and his mouth set in a determined line. He looks sad today.

Fin sighs and steps all the way into the room, closer to him. "Spencer, we all know the odds. We just have to do the best we can. You know that."

His eyes linger on hers for the fleetest of moments, before he turns and grabs a dinosaur toy off one of the shelves. "It's weird. Some things never go away. When I was a kid, every boy I knew had piles of dinosaur toys."

The way he says this has an underlying meaning, something he's trying to say but can't find the right words, so Fin humors him. "Did you?"

Spencer shakes his head, still taking in everything in the room, his eyes flitting back and forth. "I had books and notebooks. My mom filled hundreds of them with poems by W.S. Merwin, songs by Bob Dylan. She liked it when I memorized them. She was convinced that they were watching us and writing songs about our lives."

Fin has never heard Spencer talk about his mother or his father. This is new and she wonders if he even realizes what he said.

After a moment, Spencer looks back up at her. "Basements are the first part of a house to be built, right? So if you're having a recurring dream about a basement, kinda speaks to the core fundamentals of who you are as a person." He's gesticulating, getting more heated. He's finally saying something he means.

"Spencer, stop." Fin has had enough. The Spencer she knows wouldn't roll around in this ridiculous self-pitying hopelessness. He'd get to the bottom of whatever was bothering him, he wouldn't let it get in the way of saving a kid. "Look at me."

He does. She resists the urge to melt. "You are the smartest person I've ever met, but you're being a colossal dumbass right now. So you're having a nightmare. Fantastic. I have nightmares every night. Sometimes I die, sometimes other people die, but I don't let it ruin my life. You cannot let this control your every move. You have to get up and move on. And if this means something and you can figure it out, that's great. But right now, we're focused on saving this boy, the boy in danger right now, not the boy in your nightmare, and we need all of that beautiful brain, yeah?"

Spencer looks at her for a long, breathless moment, then sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I know. I know. It's stupid, I shouldn't–"

"No, it's not stupid," Fin replies softly. "And I mean what I said last night, I'll help you figure this out. But can it wait until after we save Michael?"

He nods, swallowing hard, and avoids her eyes. He's ashamed, ashamed that he feels.

Fin walks closer, reaches up and pulls him down into her arms. The feeling of holding him again is like warm sunshine in her chest and she can't resist smiling into his hair. He tucks his chin into her shoulder and pulls her closer. Butterflies. His familiar apple-vanilla smell reaches her nose and it smells sweet and soft and wonderful.

But before she can get too comfortable, she forces herself to pull away, to walk toward the door. "Come on, Spence. Car's started."

✩

Amy Bridges is shaking. Fin doesn't blame her. She's watching a dead boy get lowered into the ground, the same fate that's almost inevitable for her own son. Fin can't imagine how she'd feel.

But she doesn't have time to imagine. She's looking for a killer. On Craig Bridges' other side, Hotch is doing the same thing. Scanning the crowd, running over the profile mentally, occasionally making eye contact with the others across the circle.

White, late 20s to mid-30s, middle-class. Focused on Craig and Amy. The minister's words go in one ear and out the other as Fin scans the large crowd of people, trying not to look at Spencer the whole time, even though he looks incredibly handsome, wearing his nice black coat, hands in his pockets. She really can't remember when it became this hard to keep her eyes off him. When did this happen?

The minister asks everyone to bow their head in prayer for Michael, and everyone does–all except for Fin and the others. They're watching carefully, waiting for the first suspicious sign.

And then Amy's head jerks up, her eyes fly open. Fin leans over slowly and whispers, "What is it?"

"He's here."

Shit. Fin leans around, makes eye contact with Hotch. He raises his eyebrows and she mouths, "He's here."

Hotch gives her an imperceptible nod and returns to his stoic position.

"In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, amen," says the minister, and Fin's paying just enough attention to know to cross herself as he ends the prayer.

Across the circle, Rossi and Emily are moving. Fin follows Emily's gaze and sees a balding man–honestly, he looks like a pedophile–holding his cellphone out like he's videotaping and almost smiling. Ew.

Emily and Rossi come to stand on either side of them and Rossi says something to him quietly. Fin watches the man. He closes his cellphone, keeps his facial expression passive, but Fin can see his hands shaking slightly, his temples begin to sweat. He's nervous and he probably has a good reason to be.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket and she pulls it out to see the message displayed on her screen. It's from Hotch.

Grab Morgan and Reid, go with Prentiss and Rossi. I'm driving the Bridges' home.

Fin leans around so that Hotch can see her nod and makes eye contact with Morgan across the circle. He raises his eyebrows, jerks his head toward the receding backs of Emily and Rossi. She nods, grins. This is gonna be fun.

✩

Prentiss and Rossi are interrogating Walter Davis, the man from the funeral, but Spencer's not really listening. It's just him, Fin, and the lead detective, Ashby, staring at the two-way mirror. But, like he said, Spencer's not really listening.

There's always a basement. He always walks down those stairs, flashlight held ahead of him. And there's always a dead boy behind the dryer. It's too quiet. Spencer shivers just thinking about it.

The door opens and Morgan joins them, holding a file, his mouth set in a line. "How's it going?" he asks quietly.

"He's nervous," Ashby replies. "They're trying to pin him down."

Spencer looks at the file in Morgan's hand. It's too small to be Ethan Hayes's file, and anyway, they don't need that one anymore. He gestures to it, frowning. "What's that?"

Morgan gives him a significant look, then turns to Fin and Ashby. "You two mind giving us a minute?"

Ashby shrugs and heads toward the door, and so does Fin, but before Spencer can stop himself, he says, "Hazel."

Her eyes flick up to his and for a split second, he thinks she might punch him or yell or something. He knows she hates being called by her first name. He's not entirely sure why he called her that. But she just raises her eyebrows at him.

"Uh, please stay," he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. He wants her here, knows she should hear whatever Morgan's about to say.

A tiny smile crosses her lips. "Okay." And she stands on Morgan's other side, leaning over to look at the file in his hands. Spencer wishes she'd stand next to him, then wonders why that crossed his mind.

"I had one of the detectives pull this," Morgan says, shaking the file in his hands. "The name Riley Jenkins mean anything to you?"

Riley Jenkins... Spencer's mind whirrs, shuffling through the filing cabinets in his brain to look for Riley Jenkins. Nothing. He shakes his head. "No."

"Think," Morgan presses him. "Back to when you were a little boy?"

So he does, even though Riley Jenkins isn't there. "I had an imaginary friend named Riley when I was little," he says, and instantly regrets saying this, when Fin fails to turn her laugh into a cough.

"Sorry," she says apologetically. "I just–I never thought about little Spencer before. You had an imaginary friend?"

"Not helpful," Morgan says, glaring at her.

"I bet you were the cutest kid." Fin ignores him, eyes only on Spencer. He feels his cheeks heat up. He knows she's not calling him cute now, he knows it, but it doesn't matter.

Morgan just rolls his eyes and hands him the file. Spencer opens it, looks down the first page. Fin walks around to his other side to read with him. He feels her hand on his upper arm. It's like fire, burning through his shirt sleeve.

"Riley Jenkins," Morgan says, watching Prentiss and Rossi through the mirror. "He was murdered right here in Las Vegas when he was six years old."

Six... Spencer looks up at Morgan, his mind already running over all the possibilities.

"My math says that you would've been about four at the time," Morgan continues. "He was found in the basement of his own house, behind the dryer."

There's a sharp intake of breath and the hand on Spencer's arm tightens. He chews on his lip under the pretense of thoughtfulness, willing the butterflies to go away. Not the time.

"He'd been sexually abused and stabbed."

"Spencer–" Fin's voice is barely a whisper, hardly even audible, but he knows what she means. He spent almost half an hour last night describing his nightmares to her, whispering every detail to her. He remembers everything. Riley Jenkins is the boy in his dream. He knows it.

For a long moment, there's silence. Uncomfortable, biting quiet. So Spencer turns his attention to the mirror, where Prentiss and Rossi are pressing Walter for answers.

"Why were you videotaping a funeral?" Prentiss asks, disgust lacing her tone. "Does death excite you?"

Walter shakes his head, scoffs, looks away.

But Prentiss just laughs. "Oh, wait, that's it. Death gets you off."

"I told you, I don't touch," Walter blurts, and Spencer can almost see the pressure fighting to burst underneath his skin. He's antsy, and they're close to getting something out of him.

"No, you just kill 'em and find new ways to watch him afterwards," Rossi snaps, leaning over Walter's shoulder.

"I am not sick," he protests, determinedly avoiding eye contact with both of them.

"I think you are." Prentiss leans in closer, every word bitingly sharp. "And I think you desperately want to tell us exactly how sick you really are, Walter, don't you? You want us to search your computer and your home because this is eating you up inside and you know you need to be stopped–"

The pressure breaks. "I never would've molested that boy!" He slams his fist on the table, panting like he's run a marathon.

Fin squeezes Spencer's arm again, and he knows, knows that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Walter isn't their guy.

"Which boy?" Rossi asks, fighting to keep his voice even.

"The one from the funeral."

Spencer reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone, and dials Hotch's number. It rings twice, then Hotch picks up. "Hotchner."

"He doesn't know the details of the murder," Spencer says grimly.

There's a long pause, then: "You sure?"

"He assumes the boy was molested." There's that nauseating feeling, the one that comes whenever pedophiles get brought up.

Hotch sighs defeatedly. "All right. Thanks." And he hangs up.

Spencer looks over at Fin, who's leaning against the window now, watching Prentiss and Rossi pack up their stuff. "What do you think?" he asks her.

She sighs. "I don't know. This whole case, there's something off. We profiled this guy as a sex offender because he tortures them, but then there's the whole thing about the non-starving starvation and the weird pseudo-funeral... I just–I don't know. It doesn't feel right."

Spencer knows exactly how she feels. He's got the same feeling, a little tickle right on the back of his neck.

Prentiss and Rossi join them now, both with grim expressions on their faces. "It really sucks that we have to let this creep go," Prentiss groans, rubbing her forehead, eyes closed.

"He's definitely a preferential offender," Rossi says, shaking his head. "But he's not our guy."

Fin drops her head onto Prentiss's shoulder, yawning. "Coffee. I could use some."

"Late night?" Prentiss asks, raising her eyebrows and smirking.

Spencer quickly looks down at Riley Jenkins's file, hoping to distract from the heat rising to his cheeks. He has no reason to blush like a twelve-year-old girl, and yet here he is.

"Emily, I swear to God–" Fin sighs and swats her on the arm. "Yes, I stayed up all night ferociously making love, never mind the fact that we're using 110% of our brains to catch a pedophile who's killing kids."

Spencer's face feels like it's on fire. Apparently, he can't take a joke. Making love... He remembers the feeling of her hand in his hair, the sweet honey scent of her shampoo, the way she whispered stories to him, just for him...

"Hey, lover boy." Morgan nudges him, smirking. "Your phone's ringing."

Shit. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and answers it. "Hello?"

It's Hotch. "There's been another phone call. Get over here as fast as you can."

"We'll be there in ten minutes," Spencer replies, and looks over at the others. "We gotta go."

✩

The SUVs careen around the corner and Fin grabs Morgan's arm, holding on for dear life. Claire Bates, a brand new mother who's had her baby taken away because she has a history of mental illness. She imagines the boys as her baby, so she breastfeeds them and cares for them. They profiled it wrong from the beginning, but hopefully, Michael's still alive.

Hotch slams on the brakes and Morgan's the first out of the car, Fin and Rossi right behind him.
"Watch yourselves," Hotch says, leading the way up the drive toward the house, gun held down in front of him. "If she's truly delusional, she'll have moments of clarity where she realizes what she's done."

"Morgan, Fin, and I will go around back," Rossi says, and Fin nods to him.

"Prentiss and I will take this doors." Hotch and Prentiss turn right toward the house, and Fin follows Rossi and Morgan to the right, crouching low, heart racing in her throat.

Hotch's voice crackles over their earpieces. "She's going out the back. Careful–she's got the boy!"

Shit. Fin forces herself to breath and just follows Morgan and Rossi. They come around a corner–and there she is, sprinting toward an old, dilapidated barn, a bundle clutched tightly in her arms.

"Hotch, we got her!" Morgan yells into his vest mic, and he leads the charge after her.

Fin's feet pound against the dusty ground and she feels her heart thumping wildly against her ribs. Claire disappears behind the building, and Morgan shouts, "She's going to the garage!"

There are pounding footsteps behind her, which Fin takes to mean Hotch and Emily have joined them, and she sprints down the side of the barn after Morgan, anticipation like bile in her throat.

Ahead of her, Morgan clears the front of the barn, and Fin follows him. She gets one clear glimpse of Claire, clutching what has to be Michael wrapped in a blanket, before a pile of wood between them bursts into flames.

The heat stings at Fin's face and arms, her eyes water, but she holds her gun steady, pointing directly at Claire's chest. Steady, Fin.

"Claire," Hotch says, standing to her left, "back away from the fire and put him down."

"My baby's dead," Claire replies weakly. She's smart, staying directly behind the fire. The heat makes it so they can't get a clear shot.

"No, he isn't." Emily moves slightly to her right, shifting her aim slowly. "He's being taken really good care of by someone else, just like you need to take care of this boy."

"I kept healthy. I did good!" Claire clutches the bundle even tighter to her chest. She sounds so pitiful, Fin feels a pang of compassion in her chest.

"We know you did!" Emily replies.

"Claire, we just need you to step back and put the boy down," Fin says carefully.

"My baby's dead," she says again.

"That's not true." Fin shakes her head, willing Claire to believe her. "Your baby is alive, Claire."

"Let us prove it to you!" Emily insists, stepping closer.

"Do you have a clean shot of her?" Rossi asks Morgan quietly.

Fin's mouth drops open. "Rossi, she's not armed! She's out of her mind!"

"If he's still alive and she drops him in the fire, we may not be able to save him," Rossi explains, his tone grim. "Do you have a shot?" he asks Morgan again.

"Yes," Morgan replies, and Fin can tell he's struggling with it, just like she is. "I got one."

Then there's a crackle over their earpieces and a familiar voice–Fin's favorite voice–comes through. "I've got Michael! I've got Michael!"

She lowers her gun and lets out a long exhale. God, I love you, Spencer.

Claire's eyes dart between Fin and Morgan, and then she steps forward.

"No, don't do it!" Morgan tries to close the distance before–

She drops the bundle in the fire.

It falls open.

Morgan frowns at it. It's just a teddy bear.

Claire's staring at it, transfixed, and as Fin watches her, a tear trickles down her grimy cheek.

Gently, Morgan takes her hands and cuffs her, and Prentiss reads her Miranda rights as they walk back to the SUVs. Out of the corner of her eye, Fin sees Spencer emerge from the house, carrying a dirty, blond-haired little boy in his arms. Thank God.

She pulls out her phone and calls JJ. It barely rings once before JJ picks up. "Hello?" She sounds panicked, and Fin doesn't blame her.

"He's okay."

There's a sigh of relief, and then JJ asks, "And Claire?"

"We got her." Fin doesn't have the energy to say much more.

"We'll be there in ten minutes." And JJ hangs up.

Spencer's sitting on the front step with Michael beside him. They both look exhausted, though probably for different reasons. Fin sinks down next to them, wanting nothing more than to close her eyes and sleep. "You did good, Spence."

He chuckles softly. "So did you."

Michael looks up at her, his face smeared with dirt but still beautiful, still bright and joyful. "I'm thirsty," he says in a small voice.

"I'll get you some water," Fin says, smiling down at him. She calls for Rossi to bring her some water, and Michael drinks almost the whole bottle before he's done. Fin's heart clenches as she thinks about how he must have felt the past few days. No child should have to go through that.

Michael leans his head against her side and asks, "Are my mommy and daddy coming?"

"Yeah, kiddo. They'll be here soon."

He nods and yawns. "Good."

Fin looks up and notices Spencer watching her. When she raises her eyebrows at him, he just smiles and lowers his voice. "You're good with kids."

"I told you, I like kids." Fin runs her fingers through Michael's hair absentmindedly. Sweet boy.

In what feels like seconds, two squad cars and an ambulance pull up to the scene. Fin picks Michael up and carries him toward the ambulance so the EMTs can check him out. He wraps his arms around her neck, and she can't resist smiling a little. It's odd how a day can be so terrible, and then the smallest things seem so beautiful.

But before she can make it to the ambulance, a brown sedan pulls up behind the squad cars. The doors fly open and Craig and Amy burst out, looking wildly around for their little boy. Fin smiles and taps Michael on the shoulder. "Hey, look. I think I see some people you know."

He looks around and a massive smile grows on his face. "Mommy!" he exclaims.

Amy's eyes land on him and she almost collapses with relief.

Fin sets Michael down and he runs to her. She scoops him up in her arms, and Craig holds them both, kissing Michael's cheek and closing his eyes in relief. Family. Fin's eyes sting, and she rubs them with the back of her hand, walking toward them.

"A doctor's gonna have to check him out," she says softly. "But y'all can stay with him the whole time. He'll be home by tonight."

Amy's too overwhelmed to pay any attention, but Craig nods to her, and Fin can see all the gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you."

There's a warm hand on her arm, and Fin looks up to see JJ, who's smiling and holding back tears, just like she is. This time, it's Amy who looks up. "Thank you," she says to JJ. "You're gonna be great. I know."

JJ just smiles, and she and Fin leave the family there, giving them a moment alone before the EMTs take Michael.

Spencer and Morgan are standing alone, far away from everyone else, so Fin walks over to them, leans her head on Spencer's arm. He tenses, but he doesn't pull away. The butterflies in her stomach flutter restlessly.

"Hey, angel." Morgan reaches over and ruffles her hair, grinning, and then looks back up at Spencer. "You know, this is about as good a day as we're gonna get on this job."

Spencer nods slowly. "I know."

"And yet, you're still thinking about a boy you're not even sure if you really knew."

Spencer pauses for a long moment before he responds. "When I was four, my mother had a sense that I was in danger."

"Reid, your mother wasn't well," Morgan says quietly.

Fin frowns. She knows nothing about Spencer's mom, and maybe, she thinks now, he didn't want her to, as he shifts from foot to foot. He's uncomfortable.

"I know facts about the case," Spencer says, like he's trying to justify it.

"Reid, you have a photographic memory."

Eidetic.

"Odds are, you saw the story," Morgan continues. "He was just a kid like you. And it caught your imagination."

"I don't really think that you believe that," Spencer mutters, a little defensively.

Okay, enough. Fin reaches out and pats Morgan on the arm. "Give us a minute?"

Morgan grins down at her. "Sure, mama." He pats Spencer on the shoulder, and then walks away, toward Emily and Rossi by the SUVs.

"Spencer, look at me." Fin moves so she can look him in the eyes. "I don't know why this boy has been in your dreams, nor will I pretend to think that I'm smart enough to figure out why. But regardless of what it means, you saved a little boy today. More than that–you saved a family today. Just for tonight, let that be enough, yeah?"

Spencer smiles reluctantly, bites his lip. "Yeah."

"Like Derek said, today is a good day, and we don't get those enough." Fin reaches down and squeezes his hand, letting go quickly so she doesn't make him uncomfortable. "Make the most of it."

Before Spencer can say anything, there are footsteps behind them and Hotch appears, vest-free and mission-oriented. "You two ready to head back to the hotel?"

"Uh, Hotch, do you think it'd be possible to wait until tomorrow to return home?" Spencer asks, all in a rush, like he's worried he won't say it if he doesn't now.

Hotch, the all-knowing pseudo-dad, nods, then looks at Fin. "Do you think you can find something to do in Las Vegas for tonight?"

"Uh, I think the word you're looking for is someone, boss man," Morgan says, walking up behind them with a smirk on his face. "And the answer to that is hell yeah."

"Ew." Fin makes a face. "You are the biggest stereotype I have ever met."

"You know what else is biggest?"

"Derek, if you say it, I swear to God, I'll shoot you."

It's really true, what they say. Laughter is the best medicine.

~

i personally love this case, so sorry for the long chapter! i'm really bad at writing short chapters; i feel like i skip too much yk?

but also morgan and fin are brotp. and fin and emily. god, fin with everyone. i'm way too in love with her.