❝What was in our stars/That destined us for sorrow?❞

ANNA AKHMATOVA

✩

0.6 : risk everything

OR

season 6, episode 14 : sense memory

"METHANOL IS, COMPOSITIONALLY SPEAKING, THE SIMPLEST OF THE ALCOHOLS." Spencer's standing near the coffee bar, holding the jar of tea bags animatedly as he talks. "It's actually ubiquitous in the environment. There are small traces of its vapor in the atmosphere, but atmospheric methanol is easily oxidized by sunlight."

"Is it toxic?" Emily asks, leaning around her seat to look at him.

"Uh, ingesting ten milliliters of it will cause permanent blindness, and as little as thirty is potentially fatal," Spencer replies, almost absentmindedly as he tears open two tea bags: green tea for himself and earl grey for Fin. Fin seems to remember something about a chemical compound in green tea that improves brain function and releases muscle tension; it's probably good for headaches.

"Well, these victims had between five and six ounces in their lungs," Morgan says, looking down at his file, eyebrows knit together thoughtfully. He's of course talking about Shelly Onto, Vickie Hagerg, and Linda Dean, three women from L.A. who were drowned in methanol in a matter of weeks and then dumped in public spaces.

"You know, if they were immersed in it, they would have died even without ingesting it or inhaling it." Spencer pours the hot water carefully, tongue between his teeth. "When absorbed through the skin, it depresses the central nervous system to an unsustainable degree."

"What do people normally use it for?" Fin asks, as Spencer sits down across from her, handing her a steaming cup of tea. "Thanks."

"Uh, a solvent, an antifreeze." Spencer lifts his cup of tea to his lips, blowing on it cautiously. "In World War II, the Germans used it for rocket fuel. It's used in winemaking. Its most commonplace use, however, though, is in the creation of other chemicals. Methanol can become plastic, plywood, paint, explosives, permanent-press textiles. It's essentially the chemical used to separate other chemicals from each other."

He takes a deep breath and glances at Fin, who just shakes her head. "You know, Spencer, you're really something." She's missed his random knowledge and rambling; it's endearing somehow.

Spencer blushes and looks down at his tea.

"Can it be bought?" Emily asks curiously. "Is it tracked?"

"California's got some of the strictest environmental laws in the country," Hotch replies quietly. "I'm sure it's regulated."

"Yeah, but methanol is also used in making biofuels, which quite a few people have been doing at home," Rossi counters. "I'd imagine the sale of it is fairly commonplace."

"But he needs enough in which to immerse a body," Hotch says, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, all the victims were nude, but there's no evidence of sexual assault on any of them," Morgan says, looking back down at the file in his hands.

"And don't forget about the patch of skin he took off of their feet," Fin adds with a grimace. That's the part that gives her a really gross feeling inside.

Emily nods in agreement. "Unless we're talking about a foot fetishist, you actually can't get further away from sexual areas."

"Yeah, impotent sadists like Robert Napper typically take their frustration out on their victims," Spencer says, playing with the string of his tea bag absentmindedly. "You'd think there'd be a lot more overkill."

Fin lifts her own mug to her lips and sips it carefully. Butterflies flutter in her stomach at the taste; Spencer remembered how she takes her tea–no creamer and just a splash of honey.

"And what he's doing is very specific, very focused." Hotch nods.

"What about the skin patches?" Rossi asks, looking entirely disgusted. "Is this a trophy of some sort?"

"I have no idea," Spencer says, setting his mug back on the table in front of him. "Skin, independent of any other substance, would wither and die rather quickly."

"Well, that might be the thing that's forcing our unsub back out on the hunt," Emily says, and Fin nods.

"He needs fresh skin for something, so he kills for it."

"Considering the wide divergence of abduction and dump sites, this guy could be anywhere," Morgan says. "L.A. is over five hundred square miles."

"Uh, 498.3," Spencer corrects him awkwardly.

But for the first time ever, Fin is right and Spencer is wrong, and all the thanks goes to a BuzzFeed quiz she took at four a.m. three months ago. "Actually, Boy Genius, it's 502.7." She grins at him. "Sorry, but Morgan's right."

Morgan's not quite as pissed as he was a month ago, but he's still a little frustrated at her. She receives a curt nod, which isn't too bad, but she remembers that Morgan eight months ago would have given her a fist bump and a "thanks, little mama", and that makes her heart sink just a little.

"And the fact that no one has seen him either abduct or dispose says he knows the city and its patterns well," says Rossi, rolling his eyes at Spencer and Fin.

"Alright, we've got an hour until we land," Hotch says, closing his file and placing it on the table. "Prentiss, go and talk to the latest victim's family, see what you can find out. Morgan, visit the last dump site, see if you can find something the detectives missed. Finley and Reid, set up at the LAPD, get a geographical profile going. Rossi, you're with me. We'll be meeting the primary detective at the ME."

✩

As Fin sips her third cup of coffee of the day, staring blankly at the map on the wall, covered in sticky notes with Spencer's handwriting all over them, she rolls several things over in her mind, relishing in the first five minutes she's had alone in what feels like days.

Since she discovered Esther's photos in the abandoned store, Hotch doubled the number of agents at her safe house, although Ethan and Blair assured Hotch that there's a significant chance Esther doesn't know where Fin is, only that she's back in the States. Everywhere she goes in the house, there's an agent there, watching silently.

Well, not, like, in the bathroom, but pretty much everywhere else.

And Fin's fairly sure that since then, he's been sending her to places where he knows he can keep an eye on her, because he was not happy that she went into the store alone. Both he and Ethan gave her a severe talking-to, and it was not pretty. Which is probably why he keeps sending her to the local PD with Spencer, or to talk to victims' families, or to get coffee for everyone. She doesn't get to go to crime scenes or to the M.E. anymore.

But the other thing on her mind is how strangely Emily's been acting. For one thing, she was late this morning, and when Morgan asked her why, she got really snippy. It's unlike her, but she's also been fairly reserved the past couple of days. Fin's got no room to talk about hiding things, but as one woman with secrets to another, she can say that Emily's definitely keeping something from them.

The difference between them, though, is that Fin's a little better at hiding it than Emily is, because everybody noticed this morning, and Morgan's raring to ask questions about her mood.

Fin sighs and sips her coffee again. It's shit coffee, considering it came from the PD's own $24.99 coffee maker from Wal-Mart, but hey, it's caffeine.

There are footsteps behind her, and she turns around to see Morgan, carrying his own steaming coffee cup. He glances at her, and the twinkle in his eye disappears, replaced only by the faintest glint of annoyance.

"Hey." Fin smiles, raising her cup in solidarity. "You know, I wish I had more of a handle on my need for caffeine, so maybe I wouldn't stoop this low, but I guess nobody's perfect."

Morgan just grunts and walks over to the map, turning his back to her. Fin rolls her eyes. Time to handle this now.

"Derek, you can't ignore me forever," Fin says softly. "Can we talk?"

"Nothing to talk about," he mutters, still avoiding her eyes.

"Bullshit." Fin pushes her chair back, walking over to him and pushing him hard in the shoulder, forcing him to look at her. "I know you're mad at me, and I get it, but we're part of a team–"

"Were part of a team." Morgan's brow furrows angrily as he stares down at her. "When you're part of a team, you work together. You help each other. You trust each other. That's not what happened eight months ago."

"You have no idea what happened eight months ago," Fin blurts, and there's a spiteful satisfaction that rises in her at the brief shock that flickers across Morgan's face. "I did what I thought was best, and I'm sorry that you didn't like it."

"What you thought was best?" Morgan asks, raising his eyebrows. "You thought it was best to disappear without letting us know? Without saying goodbye at all? Without even a damn explanation? Fin, you hurt us. All of us. And especially Reid."

Fin opens her mouth to respond, anger welling up inside her, but Morgan cuts her off. "I can't in good conscience welcome you back with open arms and pretend like none of that ever happened, when I watched my boy grieve for eight months because you left him without any warning. Maybe everyone else can, but I can't."

Not everyone else, Fin thinks, remembering Spencer's comment outside of the interrogation room in Miami. But she pauses. Takes a deep breath. "I'm not asking you to pretend it didn't happen. I'm just asking for your respect as a coworker. We don't have to be friends, Derek, but I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't just act like I'm a part of the wall or something."

Morgan sighs heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose, and opens his mouth to reply, but then Hotch and Detective Bailey come striding into the room.

"Morgan, did you ask Garcia about the cab companies?" Hotch asks, as if there wasn't a conversation going on previously.

"Yeah. Yeah, there's seven," Morgan replies without hesitation. "She's running them to check if any picked up fares near the abduction site."

"Good." Hotch nods, glancing at Fin briefly before looking back at Detective Bailey.

"Most taxis here run out of cab stands," Detective Bailey says. "It's not like New York where they're running all over the place."

"That should help narrow down the choices," Hotch replies, and then the phone in the center of the table rings.

"That's probably Garcia," Morgan says, and Fin reaches across the table and lifts the receiver, pressing the speaker button at the same time.

"Hey, Pen. You've got me, Hotch, Derek, Detective Bailey, and–" She glances over at the doorway, hearing footsteps, and Emily, Rossi, and Spencer join them at the table– "Emily, Rossi, and Spencer. Well, you've got everybody."

"Okay, I checked all seven cab companies that service the Hollywood and Vermont area, and none of the drivers reported picking anyone up between eleven and two the night Linda went missing."

"And they know that for sure?" Emily asks, her brow furrowed.

"Yeah," Penelope replies. "They seemed really certain."

"Well, one of the drivers may have picked someone up off the meter," Morgan says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Do the cabs have GPS?" Hotch asks, leaning toward the phone slightly.

"Yeah. Taxis are tracked more than Gaga's Twitter."

Fin snickers, but Spencer just looks confused. "What does that mean?"

"Lady Gaga, Spence," Fin replies, grinning, and when he looks even more confused, Rossi just shakes his head.

"I'll explain it to him, Garcia."

"Yeah, teach him to worship the other Lady G, boss. Ta and ta." And Penelope hangs up.

Fin chuckles, running a hand through her hair. "That woman is something else."

"And what something, we're not sure," Rossi quips with a grin.

"So there were no taxis in the area," Emily says, attempting to steer the conversation back on track.

Fin nods. "That kind of puts a damper on our cab driver theory."

After a moment of tense, thoughtful silence, Rossi says, "What about a gypsy cab? They roam around in unregistered vehicles with fake insignias that look legit."

"There are 2,300 registered cabs in the city," Detective Bailey replies. "And at least as many unregistered."

"And no one pays any attention when they get into a cab." Rossi nods slowly, and Fin can hear the gears turning in his head as he works it out.

"If he's unregistered, he's not gonna sit outside taxi stands and wait to pick up fares in the traditional way," Emily adds, shedding her blazer and hanging it on the back of her chair.

"Which makes him even harder to find." Morgan sighs. "This guy could be anywhere."

"Detective, can you gather everyone?" Hotch asks, pausing his relentless pacing in front of the map. "We'd like to deliver the profile."

Detective Bailey nods and heads toward the door, and Emily, Morgan, and Rossi follow. Fin pauses, reaching for her cup of coffee: Spencer's staring at the whiteboard thoughtfully, marker in hand, and then he spins around suddenly, lunging toward the table and rifling through the crime scene photos urgently.

"What is it, Reid?" Hotch asks, arms crossed.

"When I was in school, we used to use methanol to separate chemicals from each other," Spencer replies softly. "Whatever we did, we'd clip a sample of the source material to label and keep next to the output."

Fin glances down at the photo Spencer's got his hand on: the bottom of Linda Dean's foot, with a small patch of skin cut carefully away.

And then she understands. "Two inch by two inch squares."

Spencer nods fervently. "I think this guy's a scientist and–"

"He's experimenting," Fin breathes.

Hotch gives them the Hotch equivalent of a proud smile. "Good work. Finish up and meet us in the main room to give the profile."

As he disappears through the doorway, Fin turns back to Spencer. "I'm impressed you made that connection, Spencer, I–"

But she pauses. He's blinking rapidly, rubbing his eyes again, inhaling sharply.

"Do you have a headache right now?" Fin asks, lowering her voice and stepping closer to him.

Spencer shakes his head, but his eyes are suddenly bloodshot and his hands are shaking as he rubs his forehead.

"Spencer, do you have a headache right now?" Fin grabs his wrists and pulls them down, away from his face, holding him there in front of her.

He nods, biting his lip. "It–it's the lights. They're just...really bright and everyone's talking really loudly."

"Have you taken anything for it?"

"No. I thought it would maybe–maybe just go away on its own."

Fin lets him go, leaning over and reaching for her purse. There's a bottle of Advil in the front pocket, her best friend depending on the day, and she opens the bottle and pulls Spencer's hand toward her, shaking it so two pills fall onto his palm. "Take those, okay?"

Spencer nods, eyes closed, and Fin wishes for a split second they were anywhere else but here.

But they have a profile to give.

She squeezes his wrist gently and walks out of the conference room to join the others in giving the profile.

✩

They almost caught the guy. When they showed up to his address, he panicked and ran. Morgan, Rossi, Hotch, and Detective Bailey gave chase, while Emily, Spencer, and Fin stayed behind to clear the building and get Anisa Gold out of there. Anisa was crying and shivering, strapped naked to a platform that would lower her into pure methanol with the press of a button.

Her eyes were the same as Lars', and Fin had a fleeting memory of being tied to a chair in the kitchen, Lars beside her, screaming and crying as Esther beat Oliver with a table leg, closing her eyes and blocking it out, wishing she could help.

She resolves to call Lars on the plane, just to check in.

The flight home is quiet, and by the time they land, it's almost eleven o'clock. Fin's exhausted and just wants to go home, but as she gathers up her things at her desk, slipping her coat on, there's a gentle tap on her shoulder.

Fin turns around to see Spencer, who's standing there, hands in his pockets, smiling shyly at her. "Hi," he says softly.

"Hi." Fin smiles back, shouldering her purse.

"Um, you–you like science fiction, right?" Spencer asks, and Fin's immediately taken back to the night Spencer showed up at her apartment out of nowhere, bringing soup for her sore throat, and the way he blushed and stumbled over the books he'd brought her.

That was the first night he ever slept over.

"Yeah, I do." Fin nods, pushing the unhelpful memory away. "Why?"

"Because they're, uh, showing the original Solaris in theaters tonight, and it is in the original Russian, but if you wanted, I could translate for you, and it's almost three hours, but I could drive you home and–"

Spencer pauses for breath, blushing furiously, and for a moment, it's as if they've only just met. Like he's asking her out for the first time.

Fin supposes it is actually the first time he's ever truly asked her out.

"So–so would you maybe want to go with me?" Spencer finishes, chewing his lip anxiously as he looks down at her.

Damn Esther and damn this awkward situation, Fin thinks, because she so desperately wants to say yes, so desperately wants to push Spencer up against a wall and kiss that spot just below his jaw, to hold him and be with him, to go back to the way things were eight months ago.

But she can't. Not after those photos. Not after Esther told her exactly what she feared.

That because of her, Spencer and everyone else she loves is in danger.

As long as Fin's around, their lives are at risk.

And she won't hurt them any more than she already has.

So Fin shakes her head. "Sorry, Spencer. I'd love to go, but I already made plans to meet my friend Jo for an early breakfast tomorrow before work, and I'm on the verge of passing out already." She forces a silly chuckle. "Maybe we could reschedule some time."

Spencer sighs, runs a hand through his hair. "Hazel–"

Fin closes her eyes at the sound of her name on his lips–

"Hazel, please don't push me away. I know you're afraid of her and what she might do–"

"Spencer, please don't do this right now," Fin says, cutting him off. "I don't want to talk about it. Not tonight."

"But I would risk everything for–"

"For what, Spencer? Risk your life for what?" Fin keeps her voice low, but there's a bite, a hissing anger that makes Spencer flinch.

"For you," he replies softly. "I would've gone with you. I would've quit and moved away, whatever you needed me to do."

"I could never have asked you to do that."

"You don't have to ask, Hazel."

Fin inhales sharply. Closes her eyes, willing the tears to go away. "Spencer," she says, her voice trembling, hands shaking. "I can't do this. I can't put you in harm's way again."

Spencer nods, biting the inside of his cheek, looking away from her. "Okay."

"So just–let's just be friends, okay? Let's work together and–and not talk about this–" Fin scrubs her face with the back of her hand, wiping the tears away– "and maybe pretend it doesn't exist."

Spencer opens his mouth to respond, but then Hotch steps out of his office, makes eye contact with Fin. "Finley, can I see you in my office for a moment?"

"Good night, Spencer." Fin gives him a watery smile and leaves him standing there, eyes shining, at her desk.

The words I love you sit on the edge of her tongue, aching to be said, to be shouted across the office as he shoulders his bag and walks out the door toward the elevators. But then again, I love you can be said without saying the words.

I would risk everything for you.

Fin wishes she was as brave as Spencer Reid.

~

hoooo boy this chapter was spicy. i gave y'all foreshadowing with emily, angst with morgan, anddddd heartbreak with spin </3

(spin is the official ship name. i don't know if y'all knew that but thank you to whoever suggested it a long time ago)