❝I want everything back, the way it was. But there is no point to it, this wanting.❞

MARGARET ATWOOD

✩

0.8: formulaic progressions

OR

season 6, episode 16 : coda

THIS IS THE FOURTH TIME EMILY'S BEEN LATE THIS WEEK. Not that Fin's been counting–she has–but Emily's never late. Everyone, not just Morgan, suspects something's up, but no one has the guts to say anything. Fin doesn't have the right to say anything, considering the things she's hiding from the team. So she keeps her mouth shut when Emily walks in, blaming traffic for her tardiness, and hopes against hope that Emily was just up late having sex with a hot guy from Italy or something.

 "Let's get started," says Hotch, with a glance at Emily, before looking across the table at Penelope.

"Okay." She nods back at him. "Ten-year-old Sammy Sparks, of Lafayette Parish, Louisiana, showed up at his elementary school this morning covered in blood. When police got to his house, they found that his parents, Charlie and Alison Sparks, were missing."

"Well, forensics indicate that at least one of them was injured," Morgan says, gesturing down at his tablet. "And by the looks of it, it was pretty severely."

"Has there been a ransom demand?" Emily asks.

"There's been no communication whatsoever," Penelope replies.

"Then why call in the BAU?" Rossi frowns curiously.

"New Orleans is hoping we can interview Sammy." There's a subtext to what Hotch is saying, something he's not revealing to them yet.

"No one's talked to the witness yet?" Spencer scrunches his nose up confusedly.

"Hotch, what aren't you telling us?" Fin asks, leaning across the table, hoping to move this conversation along quickly.

"Sammy's autistic." Hotch's mouth tightens into a thin line. "Getting him to tell us what happened isn't gonna be easy. Wheels up in thirty."

✩

After the four-hour flight to Louisiana, Hotch and Morgan go to the crime scene, and Fin and Emily were originally going to go to the store, but after a whispered conversation between Emily and Hotch, Hotch decides to send Fin with Spencer and Rossi to go talk to Sammy instead. Fin guesses it has to do with the reason Emily was late that morning, but once again, she doesn't broach the subject.

Anyway, she's not complaining: Ever since Emily's been acting strangely, she's not very good company. Spencer's not much better, but Rossi might be the only person who treats Fin like she's normal.

The sheriff is at the Sparks' house with Hotch and Morgan, but one of his deputies shows Fin, Spencer, and Rossi back to the room where Sammy's sitting, drawing with crayons on a large sheet of paper.

Spencer bends down, hands in his pockets, smiling sweetly. "Hi, Sammy," he says softly. "I'm Dr. Spencer Reid. What are you drawing?"

The deputy leans over, resting his hand on Sammy's shoulder, and Sammy jerks away, screaming and rocking back and forth on the sofa.

"Some autistic children don't handle touch well," Rossi explains, as the deputy yanks his hand back, looking perplexed.

Fin glances back at Sammy, who's still rocking back and forth, breathing heavily, eyes staring blankly into space.

"It's possible that witnessing his parents' abduction pushed him into emotional overload and he shut down," Spencer says, lowering his voice so only Fin and Rossi can hear. Then he squints at Sammy's paper. "Look at that..."

So Fin looks. All Sammy's drawn is the letter L, in different colors and sizes, all over the paper. She's not quite sure what to make of it.

"Is he trying to tell us something?" Rossi asks, eyebrows raised.

Sammy's stopped rocking now, although he's still staring apprehensively into the middle distance, so Fin decides now's as good a time as ever. She walks around the coffee table, sitting as far from Sammy as the sofa will allow, and points to a blue crayon. "May I draw with you?"

Sammy doesn't scream or shake his head, so Fin picks up the crayon and points to the paper. "Is this okay?"

Sammy looks up at her fleetingly, then shifts the pad of paper so that it's facing her.

Fin glances at Spencer, who gives her a small smile, nodding encouragingly. She takes a breath and sets to work, drawing a small stick figure with large eyes and long hair. Above it, she writes ALISON in block letters, and above the next figure, who's slightly taller with shorter hair, CHARLIE.

"Sammy, this is your mom and dad," Fin says, pointing to each drawing in turn. "They're not here right now, but we're looking for them. Do you know where they are?"

Sammy doesn't respond.

"A bad man took them, Sammy," Fin continues softly. "Did you see him in your house?"

Nothing.

Spencer drops down onto one knee, leaning forward slightly. "Did 'L' take them?" he asks, gesturing to Sammy's paper.

Sammy lifts his crayon into the air and draws L-shapes in the air, staring at the wall just behind Spencer's head.

Rossi sighs, pulling out his phone, and steps out into the hallway, presumably to call Garcia about the L thing.

Spencer pulls Fin off the sofa and toward the wall, away from Sammy, and says quietly, "I think we should talk to Sammy's teacher. She might have some more insight on how to get through to him."

"That's a good idea." Fin nods, glancing back at Sammy, who's still drawing Ls in the air. "God, that poor boy... I can't imagine what's going on in his mind right now."

"I might have some idea," Spencer mutters, almost inaudibly, and Fin's about to question what he means when she remembers: the incident in Vegas with his repressed memories and dreams about Riley Jenkins. The bloody clothes. His parents.

Spencer probably knows exactly how Sammy feels.

When Rossi's finished with his phone call, Fin and Spencer suggest to him the idea of talking to Sammy's teacher, and he agrees. But someone has to stay with Sammy.

Fin shrugs. "I don't mind staying behind." She glances back at Sammy, who's returned to drawing Ls on the pad of paper in his lap. "I'm pretty good at drawing the letter L."

Rossi smiles at her. "Thanks, kiddo."

Spencer has this look in his eyes, one that Fin remembers clearly and vividly as the way he always looked before he leaned in–

Stop.

Not now.

She looks away from him before she can let her mind go that far, turns around and heads quickly to sit next to Sammy on the sofa. Sammy doesn't look up at her, but after a moment, he rips off a piece of paper and sets it on the coffee table next to the blue crayon, tapping the table insistently.

"Thank you, Sammy." Fin smiles and slides off the sofa onto the floor, sitting forward on her knees and beginning to scribble out some clouds at the top of her paper.

She and Sammy sit like that in silence, the only sound the scratching of crayon on paper, both intently focused on their drawing. Fin's pretty proud of her waterfall scene, complete with trees and a sunny sky, and Sammy, dedicated to the plan, fills his next sheet of paper with Ls.

"You know, Sammy, I was never any good at drawing," Fin says, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she attempts to draw a squirrel by the water's edge and fails miserably. "But my friend Spencer Reid is better than me. You'll have to draw with him some time."

Sammy doesn't respond, of course, but Fin thinks talking about nothing might help, so she tells him about Lars, who's a lovely artist, and how she used to cover the walls of her bedroom with sketches and paintings of everything under the sun.

It feels like no time at all that there's a gentle knock on the door and a quiet voice, whispering her name. Fin looks up from her paper. Spencer's standing there, leaning against the doorway, and he gestures for her to come over there.

"I'll be right back, Sammy," Fin says, setting her crayon on the table and standing up. She walks over to the doorway, brushing the crayon dust from her pants. "What did you find out?"

"Sammy's parents had him on a strict routine," Spencer replies softly, glancing over at Sammy. "He had it memorized, which is how he was able to walk to school on his own."

"Did she say anything about the best ways to get through to him?" Fin asks. "I haven't had any luck yet."

Spencer grimaces. "She says he's reserved and often non-verbal. He doesn't like touch, either."

"You two have something in common, then," Fin says with a trace of a smile, attempting a joke.

"That's actually not true," Spencer counters. "It's not that I don't like touch; I don't like germs, which are often passed via high-contact actions such as hugs, handshakes, and–and kissing." He blushes, clears his throat, and mutters, "Physical touch is actually my primary love language."

It's suddenly highly uncomfortable standing in the doorway, inches between them, talking about physical touch, so it's a relief when Morgan leans around the corner, beckoning them toward the conference room where they've got Penelope on the phone.

"I don't know how we're going to get through to him," says Spencer, peering through the window that connects the room Sammy's in to the conference room. "Sammy's teacher says he's never even been able to return his own mother's hug."

"Garcia, what have you got?" asks Emily, perching on the edge of the table.

"Oh, E, I wish I could be more help," Penelope sighs sadly, her voice tinny through the phone speaker. "If this is about money, it would be a hell of a lot easier for me to give you a list of people who wouldn't need it, and I'd probably save a forest in the process. Due to the spill, fisherman and fishing-related industries have been hit the worst."

"Sheriff, was it common knowledge that the Sparks had gotten this loan?" Hotch asks, his arms crossed over his chest.

The sheriff, a taller, balding man named Oliver, shrugs. "I knew. A loan around here is like winning the lottery."

"So why no ransom note?" Emily frowns.

"Maybe the unsub thinks he can get the money directly from the source," Morgan suggests. "Cut out the middleman."

"Well, Charlie's already incapacitated," Fin says, pulling her sleeves over her hands. "With him injured, the unsub could manipulate Alison into doing whatever he needed her to do. 'If you don't withdraw this money, your husband is going to die.' That type of thing."

"Fin, my darling, you may have just hit the nail on the head," says Penelope hastily.

"What have you got?" Hotch asks.

"I froze the Sparks' assets earlier today, but someone at the Bayside branch one parish over just managed to withdraw $10,000 from their joint savings account."

Fin's heart thrums into gear, beating double-time against her ribs.

"Call the branch," Hotch says. "If they're still there, don't let them leave."

"Yeah."

"We're probably too late," Emily groans, grabbing her blazer and hurrying out the door, Morgan on her heels.

"If the unsub has what he's after, Sammy's parents just became expendable," Rossi says, shoving his hands into his pockets and staring grimly at the window, through which they can see Sammy, rolling his favorite wooden train engine back and forth on his knees.

✩

"You know, all this time, I never knew you played piano," Fin says quietly to Spencer, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. It is just past midnight and they are the last ones awake in this tiny hotel hallway, the kind with the 1970s carpet and peeling wallpaper, ever-so-slowly making their way back to their rooms.

"I really don't," Spencer replies, hands deep in his pockets. "Like I said, it's just math. Anyone who understands formulaic progressions and numerical relationships can figure out scales."

Fin's not sure why, but standing next to Rossi in the Sparks' house, watching Spencer and Sammy play that piano together, it made her feel something. Something like...pride? Compassion? Maybe a little of both, she's not sure.

But Spencer with kids seems inevitable. It seems right.

"Do you think we should take him back tomorrow?" Fin asks now, stopping and staring up at him, as the wall-mounted lamp next to them flickers and dies.

"It depends on what his aunt thinks." Spencer runs a hand through his hair, pursing his lips thoughtfully. "She's his legal guardian, it's her decision."

"But what do you think?"

Spencer pauses for a moment to think before replying. "I think we're close. He wants to tell us, but we haven't quite found what he's saying yet. I think we should go back."

"I think you're right," Fin says, smiling and turning so that she's facing him, back to the wall. "You're always right, why am I surprised?"

"Not always right." Spencer shakes his head, chuckling softly. "Not even half the time."

"Oh, I don't know," Fin teases. "I'm not too familiar with formulaic progressions myself."

"It's not too hard," Spencer replies, grinning. "I could teach you."

And then suddenly the atmosphere changes. It is no longer friendly teasing. It is the fact that Spencer and Fin are only six inches apart. The fact that it is dark in this part of the hallway. The fact that Fin can smell Spencer's cologne from here. That Spencer has that look in his eyes.

Fin can't move. She's trapped here, between Spencer and the wall, and there is no one to save her, no excuse to drag her down the hall to her room.

Spencer looks down at his shoes, sighing heavily. Mutters "Shit" under his breath.

And then he shoves Fin up against the wall and kisses her.

It is not a typical Spencer kiss, gentle and almost cautious. This kiss is fierce, a collision between two powerful forces, a pressure valve releasing after weeks of tension. It is Spencer's hands in her hair, it is Fin's hips digging into the wall, it is his teeth tugging at her bottom lip, it is as if nothing has changed.

Fin gasps against his mouth, and her hands instinctively slide up to his jaw, pulling him closer as his lips kiss away every inch of common sense, every inhibition, every reason why she ever left. It is simply Spencer and Fin, intertwined against a hotel wall, the same as they have ever been.

And then Spencer breathes "Hazel" against her mouth and Fin is snapped back to the present.

She pushes him off of her, gasping for air, and he stares at her, mouth agape, cheeks flushed, breathing hard. "Hazel–?"

"Spencer, that was a mistake," Fin says, running her hands through her hair, cursing herself for forgetting. "I should never have–"

"Hazel, this is driving me crazy," Spencer says, closing the distance between them, standing so close she can see every freckle on his perfect, perfect skin. "I can't stand this–this distance between us. I can't be strangers with you. Not when all I want is to–to be with you like that."

"We talked about this," Fin says, almost pleadingly. It would be so much easier if he would just leave her alone. "I can't let anyone–"

"That's a lie." Spencer shakes his head. "You let me in before. Let me in again. Let me help."

"Spencer, she murdered my landlady," Fin hisses, angry tears welling in her eyes. "Nothing is stopping her from killing you because of things like this. You are a threat to her, and the only way I keep you safe is by keeping my distance. And I swear, I'm handling it."

Spencer exhales slowly, biting his lip and looking down at the floor. "Does anyone else know?" he asks, and Fin almost sobs at the trembling in his voice.

"Just Hotch. And you."

He nods. "Okay."

"Spencer, you can't tell them," Fin says quickly, before he turns away. "They can't know."

"I know." Spencer looks back up at her, beautiful dark eyes watery, almost black in the semi-darkness. "When you need help, Hazel, I want to be the first person you come to."

Fin swallows hard. Nods. "Okay."

"Okay." Spencer nods back.

They're still only inches apart, but somehow now it feels as though they're half the world away from each other.

Maybe that's how it's supposed to be.

~

i switched up the episode so that the last few scenes are stretched out over two days, simply for that last scene's sake. creative license xx

spencer playing piano does things to me...

i promise this spin angst does come to a head at some point??? at least i think so......