❝I remained too much inside my head and ended up losing my mind.❞

EDGAR ALLAN POE

✩

0.4 : spirits of the dead

OR

season 6, episode 12 : corazon

"IT'S SO WEIRD THAT WE HAVE TABLETS NOW." Fin scrolls through the photos on her personal tablet with raised eyebrows. "I'm so used to paper."

"If you want paper, Garcia can get paper," Emily replies. "Reid still won't use the tablets." She glances up and grins. "Speak of the devil!" And then her smile fades. "Hey, you okay?"

Fin looks up to see Spencer hurrying through the door, pulling the strap of his bag over his head and blinking rapidly. "Yeah, why?" he asks, glancing up at Emily.

"You're never late," Morgan says to his right, frowning.

"Have we started the briefing yet?" Spencer asks.

"Just about to," Penelope replies sweetly, dropping into the seat between Emily and Fin.

"Then I'm not late," Spencer mutters, staring down at the table pointedly. His tone is unusually curt. Fin wonders if he's actually okay.

"Oh. Yeah." Penelope quickly skirts this, a smart move in Fin's book. "Attention, intrepid BAU adventurers. The land of Bermuda shorts, white leisure suits, and Sansabelt slacks requests your presence."

"Vegas?" Rossi asks.

"Arizona," Morgan suggests.

"Biloxi," Fin counters with a grin.

"Palm Springs," Emily says.

"Please," Hotch adds, and Fin covers her mouth to hide her smile.

"I was going to say Miami, but point well made about the dizzying number of locales with unfortunate fashion tendencies." Penelope clicks a button on the remote, bringing up photos on the TV. "Here we go."

"Shells on the eyes and mouth," Emily says, looking up at the screen. "You don't see that every day."

"Not even in Miami," Rossi mutters, scrolling through the photos on his own tablet.

"Three victims, the last one found with a..." Penelope trails off, grimacing.

"A decapitated cat?" Morgan raises his eyebrows in disbelief.

"All were found within a mile of each other in a mostly Latino neighborhood in Miami called Allapattah," Hotch says, gesturing to Penelope, who brings up more photos on the screen.

"Eduardo Guzman, homeless. He was shot to death seven days ago. Yanira Espinal, prostitute, bludgeoned to death three days ago. And then Victor Cabrera. He was an unemployed janitor. He was slashed with a machete yesterday, as was his cat."

"You know, considering the homeless man lived in that alley, all of the victims essentially were killed in their homes," Rossi says, intently studying the crime scene photos.

Fin looks over at Spencer across the table. He's unusually quiet, chin resting on his hand, staring at his file. He hasn't said a word yet, no statistics, no facts about Miami or leisure suits or machetes. Nothing.

"This took some time," Morgan adds, turning the photo of Victor Cabrera around so that everyone can see it.

"In the open." Hotch nods.

"You know, cowrie shells and ritual offerings are common to a number of Afro-Caribbean religions," Spencer says, speaking for the first time. His voice is low, almost hoarse.

"But the upside-down cross looks like satanism," Emily counters, glancing over at him.

"Eduardo Guzman and Yanira Espinal had fingers missing, didn't they?" Fin asks, scrolling back to the crime scene photos of the two. "Yeah, they did, but the unsub took both of Victor Cabrera's hands. That seems significant, maybe even religious."

"This could have specific religious meaning or it could just be part of the unsub's signature," Spencer replies softly, avoiding her eyes.

"Either way, his timetable's accelerating," Hotch says, before Fin can say anything else. "We have a day, maybe two, before the Miami PD has another body on its hands. Wheels up in thirty."

✩

When the plane touches down, Fin's not in a great mood, because Hotch sent her to a community center that Victor Cabrera spent time at with the two most fun people in the world: Derek "Head in My Ass" Morgan and Dr. Spencer "I'm Acting Weird" Reid. Yay her.

Of course Morgan's absolutely thrilled to have Fin tagging along, but when she tried to convince Hotch to let her go with him and Emily to the crime scene, or with Rossi to the local PD, he told her she'd be "more valuable" with Morgan and Spencer and that they should be able to "put aside their personal differences in a professional environment", which, translated from Hotch-speak to normal English, means, "Play nicely or else."

So here Fin is, walking between Morgan and Spencer down a dusty Miami side street, warm Florida sun beating down on her, and feeling the awkwardness like a 200-pound weight on her shoulders.

The neighborhood they're in is busy; people are outside smoking cigarettes on their porches, riding bicycles up and down the road, weeding their flower beds, chatting with neighbors, but as Morgan, Spencer, and Fin pass, everyone's eyes follow them. Fin pulls her sleeves down uncomfortably; despite the heat, she doesn't like being watched by this many strangers.

Spencer's hand twitches beside her, as though he might reach for her, but he doesn't. Fin's not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved.

After a few minutes, Morgan looks across Fin at Spencer. "Hey, what's the matter with you? You're not gonna give me a bunch of facts about the area and the demographics?"

Fin was wondering the same thing; Spencer's been strangely quiet all day, although now that she thinks about it, he might be quiet because of her. God, why did she even come back?

"The Allapattah neighborhood is named after the Native American word for 'alligator'," Spencer replies softly, staring at his feet.

"There you go." Morgan nods. "There's the kid I know." He looks over at the buildings to his right. "All right, 5372 Seminole Street. This can't be it."

5372 Seminole Street...is nothing. Fin glances around, looking for another building, maybe a house, but there isn't one.

Spencer walks over to a small table across the street and clears his throat nervously. "Um, excuse me, sir, do you know where the community center is?"

Fin glances up at Morgan, who doesn't even look at her, and they follow Spencer over to the table.

The guy behind the table, a burly man wearing suspenders and scrubbing blood off his hands with a dirty rag, frowns up at them. "It's down there," he says, pointing to the narrow street behind him. "This is Seminole Alley."

Fin has a hard time focusing because there's an entire goat head sitting on the table right in front of her and its dead eyes are staring at her. She clears her throat uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at that goat head.

Spencer's looking away, too, but not because of the goat. He pushes up his sunglasses, rubbing his eyes, and grunts, almost like he's in pain.

"Reid, you all right?" Morgan asks.

Fin knows he's not.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Spencer lies, turning away from the both of them. "A lot better than that goat."

Morgan's not convinced, and neither is Fin, but there's nothing either of them can do about it right now. So Morgan just shrugs, chuckling. "Yeah, you got that right."

When they reach the community center, Fin chooses to hang back, leaning against the wall, while Morgan and Spencer talk to an older man who knew Victor Cabrera, a Mr. Mercado. At first, he seems extremely willing to help them, but when a tall, imposing black man comes from the kitchen to take his tray, Mr. Mercado clams up and hastily excuses himself.

Morgan gets up to go and talk to the man in the kitchen, and Spencer pushes back his chair, too, but before he can stand, Fin drops into the chair beside him, putting her hand on his elbow. "Hey."

Spencer blinks in surprise, looking over at her. He clears his throat quietly. "Uh, hi."

"Are you okay?" Fin asks, keeping her voice low so no one–especially not Morgan–can hear her. "You seem really out of it today."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Spencer rubs his eye with the back of his hand, forcing a smile.

"Spencer... You're not fine." Fin attempts to find the words to say what she's trying to say, but it's hard. "Is–is this because of– Are you mad at me or– Is this because of me?"

Spencer's mouth forms an 'O' and then he shakes his head fervently. "No, no, no. No, I'm just tired."

And then he gets up and follows Morgan out the door.

✩

"Okay, your bad boy grew up in foster care," Penelope says, her voice tinny through the speaker of Morgan's phone. "He did fifteen years in Apalachee Correctional for attempting to murder a police officer. He was also a member of a violent street gang known as 'Los Machetes'."

"Subtle," Hotch quips humorlessly.

"Damn," mutters the detective behind him, whose name Fin has completely forgotten, raising his eyes to the ceiling. When he realizes everyone in the room is staring at him, he sighs. "They like to cut off the hands and sometimes the heads of their victims."

"Can you get us some crime scene photos to look at?" Hotch asks.

The detective nods. "I'll get someone on it."

As his footsteps fade away down the hall, Hotch turns back to Morgan and the phone in his outstretched hand. "Anything else, Garcia?"

"I can tell you that Julio did his time without incident. He was released in 2003. He regularly visited his parole officer. There are no waves in these crime waters since he got out."

"All right, thanks, baby girl," Morgan says quietly, raising the phone to his mouth.

"I shall await further instruction," Penelope replies cheerfully, and then she hangs up.

Morgan shoves his phone into his back pocket, eyes on the two-way mirror in front of them–or more specifically, the man behind the two-way mirror: Julio Ruiz, soup kitchen worker, follower of Palo Mayombe, and currently number one suspect. "This guy's been eyeballing the mirror since he got here. Let's see what he has to say."

"Wait, Morgan," Spencer interrupts, before Morgan can open the door. "I think maybe I should go in first."

Morgan pauses, frowning. "What?"

"Do you remember at the community center? He said he would come with me..." Spencer trails off, squinting down at the floor. There's definitely something going on that he's keeping from them; Fin's sure of that.

"If they already have a rapport..." Rossi shrugs, glancing at Hotch.

"You want Morgan to come with you?" Hotch asks, turning to Spencer.

"No, I'm alright." Spencer shoves his hands into his pockets, heads for the door.

"Hotch–" Fin touches Hotch's arm instinctively, without even thinking.

Hotch looks down at her, lips pursed, wheels turning in his head, and then says, "Reid, take Finley with you."

Spencer freezes with his hand on the doorknob, eyes slowly rising to meet Fin's. Then he gives her a noncommittal shrug and gestures to the door wordlessly.

Fin gives Hotch's arm a "Thank you" squeeze and walks through the door ahead of Spencer, into the chilly interrogation room. T-shirts are great in the Miami sun, but not so much with an air conditioner blasting you in the face.

Julio doesn't move when they walk in, just inclines his head slightly, curiously. He's tall, dark-skinned, muscular, his white linen shirt unbuttoned almost fully, exposing his toned chest and stomach. His eyes are so dark they're almost black, almost unreadable, intensely serious.

Spencer grabs Fin's wrist before she can step fully into the room, pulls her back against his chest, and leans down to whisper in her ear, "Stay behind me. Watch him for tics, tells, anything suspicious."

Fin nods, devoid of oxygen this close to him. The achingly familiar scent of apple and vanilla is overwhelming, his hand is warm and tight on her wrist, and his mouth is centimeters from her jaw. It's like someone turned her senses up to eleven; she can feel, smell, hear everything.

And then Spencer's all business, standing across the table from Julio, file in hand. "My name is Dr. Spencer Reid," he says quietly, laying photos from the file out on the table, and then drops into the chair, leaning forward slightly. "Did you know these people?"

Fin hovers between the shadows and the light, close enough so Julio knows she's there, but removed enough not to intrude. She is an observer only, attuned to the ebb and flow of the conversation.

Julio's eyes flick down to the photos for a second, and then back up to Spencer's, his expression unchanging. "They are my godchildren," he says finally, in his deep, slow voice. "They all came to me to be healed."

There's a pause, and then Spencer says, "And you healed them," in a clearly disbelieving voice.

Julio inclines his head slightly. "You think I killed them."

Spencer doesn't reply, so Julio continues. "The saints don't need a human sacrifice. That is a man's sickness."

"Maybe it's not about sacrifice," Spencer counters softly. "Maybe someone needs body parts to build an nganga."

An nganga is an image of a deity, Fin remembers, which houses a spirit to serve the palero who keeps it. Palo tradition holds that the fresher the human remains within the nganga, the more powerful the spirit.

When Spencer mentions the nganga, Julio's shoulders tense. "What do you know about Palo?" he asks, almost defensively.

Again, Spencer doesn't answer.

Julio pauses, studying Spencer's face, and then leans forward slowly in his chair, elbows resting on the table between them. "This light... It's no good. Gives you a headache."

Now it's Spencer's shoulders that tense. Fin sucks in a breath. Julio could be lying, but she thinks he's probably right. Headaches would explain the way Spencer's been acting the past few days.

But she can't ruin his rapport with Julio, so she stays quiet, watching them from the shadows.

The door opens and Morgan walks in, holding a stack of photos. He shoves one in Julio's face angrily. "This remind you of your youth? Some pretty ugly things to be involved in. Did you help, or did you just watch?"

Fin assumes it's photos of the gang violence the detective mentioned earlier. Julio doesn't even flinch, just stares into Spencer's eyes more determinedly, tapping a slow beat on the table in front of him.

Julio's silence clearly frustrates Morgan, because he shakes the photo more urgently. "Is that what you call religion? What kind of man does that to another man? Not a man of faith."

Julio just taps his fingers slowly, keeping eye contact with Spencer. And then he starts to mutter in a language Fin has never heard before, slowly at first, and then faster and louder as he continues.

Morgan's body language shifts dramatically: he's nervous. He turns, glances at Fin, and then back at the two-way mirror, where Fin knows Hotch is standing.

Julio's shouting now, slamming his fingers on the table, and Spencer still doesn't move. Fin hesitates, glancing back at Morgan, unsure of what to do. She wonders if Julio might leap out of his chair at Spencer, but then, just as quickly as it began, the chanting stops. Julio slides back into his chair, blinking as though dazed, and doesn't say a word.

Spencer stands up, gesturing for Fin to follow him, and she's never been more grateful to get out of a room before. The energy changed palpably in that momentary silence, and it made her extremely uncomfortable.

"What the hell was that?" asks the detective, the minute Spencer, Morgan, and Fin are outside the interrogation room.

"I think we just witnessed a classic case of transpossession," Spencer replies without hesitation. "Uh, it's a form of religious hysteria. He wholeheartedly believes he was being occupied by some form of deity."

Fin glances back at Julio through the window. He hasn't moved since they left, just sits there, staring down at the table, eyes unfocused. It sends a shiver down her spine.

"He wasn't faking it?" asks the detective skeptically.

Spencer shakes his head.

"Up close you can see physiological signs," Morgan adds, nodding. "His body actually changed in response to the belief."

"There've been a lot of studies on this phenomenon," Spencer says, and Fin notices he's squinting more. She remembers what Julio said about the lights, how they give him headaches. "There was one case where an eighty-year-old woman was able to lift a grown man above her head when she believed she was occupied by her saint."

"Detective, did you understand what he was saying at the end?" Hotch asks quietly.

The detective chuckles softly. "Brother, look, I'm a Puerto Rican Catholic that grew up in Orlando. That wasn't any language I ever heard."

"I remember the words. I'm sure he'll be able to translate them." Spencer's jaw is set; he's determined on something.

"You sure?" asks Hotch, as Spencer turns to go back toward the door.

"That I remember them?" Spencer raises his eyebrows.

"That you want to go back in."

"Yeah." Spencer nods, and Fin follows him hastily, catching him with his hand on the door handle.

"Spencer. Spencer, stop." She grabs his hand, stopping him before he can open the door.

Spencer freezes, shoulders tense, and slowly looks down at her, eyes wide and serious.

"Hey. Was he–About the lights and–" Fin pauses, attempting to collect her thoughts. "Spence, are you okay?"

Something changes in his expression fleetingly, almost in the time between seconds, and then he's back to indifferent. "Yeah. 'M fine."

"Don't lie to me."

"Why not? You lied to me."

Fin sucks in a breath. The words are quick, almost as if they slipped out and he didn't mean to say them, but then the door's open and Spencer's dropping into the chair in front of Julio, and she wonders whether he might have meant to say them after all.

"That was my saint," Julio is saying, as Fin leans against the back wall, half-shrouded in shadow, arms crossed. "You're lucky Elegua spoke to you. What did he say?"

Spencer takes a breath, and then repeats exactly, with perfect pronunciation, the words Julio was chanting to him five minutes ago.

Julio leans forward, eyes dark and serious. "'You have a bad eggun on top of you that's spoiling your head,'" he translates softly.

Spencer's shoulders tense, and he repeats the second half of the phrase, slower, more cautiously.

"Do a cleansing quickly.'"

There's a tense, pregnant silence, and then Fin decides to screw it. "What are eggun?" she asks, pushing herself off the wall and walking up to stand behind Spencer.

Julio's eyes flick up to her, searching her face, and then he replies, "Spirits of the dead."

Spencer whips around to look at Fin, but she just keeps her own eyes on Julio. Observing, just like she was supposed to.

"Why would you say that–?" Spencer begins, his voice unsteady.

"I didn't," Julio interrupts calmly.

"Well, why would your saint say that they're spoiling my head?" Spencer corrects himself.

"Now that's a question only you can answer." Julio pauses, tilts his head slightly, as if to smell the air. "Something's wrong. Can you feel it?"

"Gee, I wonder why that might be," Fin bites, before Spencer can say anything. "Maybe it's because four people have been murdered."

"And someone else is about to get hurt." Julio's eyes snap up to hers, and then back to Spencer's. "Listen with your heart, not your head."

The door opens and Morgan strolls in, clearly pissed. "Your helper, the kid that took over your ritual when we brought you in here?"

"Elian." Julio nods, his expression full of concern.

"My associates just found sale-weight heroin in his room," Morgan continues. "And an nganga."

Julio's eyes widen. "And where is he?"

"He's running."

Julio sighs, slams his hands down on the table, and stands up, running his hands over his head. Fin starts at the sound, and Spencer's hand moves on the table, almost as if to grab hers, the way he did earlier, but just like earlier, he doesn't.

"Hey, calm down," Morgan warns, his hands outstretched.

Julio glares at Morgan, and then his expression shifts back to concern. "Please. I've gotta find him. He's got nobody but me."

"Do you think it's possibly that Elian is our palero?" Spencer asks, leaning forward.

"No." Julio shakes his head. "No, he's a good kid."

"Then why did he run?" Morgan asks, and Fin nods.

"Good kids, innocent kids don't run, Julio."

"He must be using again," Julio says. "His mama and papa were junkies. I took him in, got him clean, taught him right from wrong. Please. I gotta find him before he gets hurt."

His tone is genuine, his eyes scared. He loves this kid, and as much as Fin wishes she didn't, she believes he's not responsible. Maybe Elian is, and maybe he's not, but Julio is innocent.

"The entire police force is out looking for him," Morgan replies.

Julio shakes his head more fervently. "Nah, he's off the streets." He looks away from Morgan, to Fin, and then to Spencer. "He's gonna go so far under, he'll be gone for good. I'm your best chance to find him."

"You know, you can't protect him if he did this," Morgan says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"I'm not protecting him." Julio doesn't back away when Morgan steps closer.

"It looks like you are," Fin says, raising her eyebrows.

Julio doesn't answer.

"What are you not telling us?" Spencer asks softly.

No answer.

"If you wanna help Elian, you're gonna have to give us something that we don't know." Morgan crosses his arms, stepping as close to Julio as he can without touching him.

Julio glances at Fin and Spencer again, and then nods. "I'll ask the orishas to help find this killer."

✩

Fin's still bitter about the lying comment, but the minute that she hears Hotch yell, "Reid?" from the top of the stairs, when Spencer's supposed to be in Julio's room going through his things, her heart speeds into overdrive and nothing he said matters anymore.

She races up the stairs, colliding into Morgan and Hotch in the doorway, and her eyes land on Spencer's vest in Rossi's hands. Why would he take his vest off? And then she realizes that Spencer is somewhere alone, without his vest, and Hollis Walker is nowhere to be found–

And Fin flies back down the stairs, Morgan, Rossi, and Hotch at her heels, past Emily and the detective, and she wrestles against Rossi's grip on her as Morgan, Hotch, and Emily bust their way into the abandoned foster home just behind Julio's house.

"Rossi, let me go–"

"Fin, you're too emotionally involved–"

"To hell with that, I have to go in there–"

Fin doesn't want to hurt him, but she has to get in there, has to see if Spencer's alright–

And then the door opens and Spencer walks out, rubbing his eyes, a familiar green and yellow beaded bracelet in one hand. Rossi's grip on Fin's wrists loosens and then she's running, right through the gate and into Spencer's arms, gasping for air, realizing she's been holding her breath for too long.

"Oh, my god, Spencer, what the hell were you thinking?" Fin wraps her arms around his neck, closing her eyes against the sudden influx of emotions that flood up inside her.

Spencer doesn't even hesitate, just drops his head onto her shoulder and relaxes, his arms around her waist. "I just–I saw the photo and–"

"And you went alone? You dumbass, why didn't you just get one of us–"

"I wasn't thinking straight," he mumbles, voice muffled in her shoulder.

"And why the hell would you take your vest off?"

"I–I got claustrophobic," Spencer whispers, suddenly sounding choked. "I just–My head hurt and my eyes hurt and it felt like the walls were closing in on me."

Every shred of anger Fin was feeling disappears at his words, every feeling of resentment at what he said earlier, and for a brief moment, it's as if she never left, as if they're in his apartment, holding each other in his kitchen.

But they're not.

They're in Miami.

They're on a case.

And she did leave.

So Fin lets go, patting his shoulder awkwardly, and then Hotch hands Spencer his gun, and Fin lets Rossi pull her toward the SUVs, away from Spencer.

But god is it hard when she loves him that much.

~

i am so sorry that i missed last week's update ;-; but i took a full week's detox from all technology and i feel so refreshed. updates might be a little farther between from now on, just because i'm trying to resort out my priorities, but i promise i will still do my best to finish this story out well.

and because i missed it, an extra long chapter for you lovelies <3

before anyone says anything (i hinted at it last chapter): yes, ashley is gone. her character was a big inspiration for fin, and i really loved the idea of her at the beginning, but the writers did not do her story justice. it felt like she was just an angsty jj replacement and a filler dialogue dump with no character development, and i thought having her in this fic would really clog up fin's story. so as much as i didn't mind ashley, i chose fin over her. sorry </3

also!! little quick update: i listened to your requests and i am extremely happy to announce that my new fred weasley fic, WILDFLOWER, is now up and i am posting new chapters every wednesday or so (again, might be a little sporadic, but i'll do my best), so i hope you'll go check that out! i'm super excited for it hehe it should be fun