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Valentine’s Day, for many, was a time where those who had a job would take off from work or would have planned months in advance for a superficial dinner in the evening complete with candlelight and romantic music. However, the same can’t truly be said for anyone working for the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The FBI doesn’t truly take days off, nor does crime nationwide. Well, there are exceptions. Those working for the FBI can take days off. Like any other job, it is perfectly fine. And sometimes even encouraged if an agent hasn’t used their sick days or paid vacation time.
The weather was moderately cloudy, the sun being blocked for large chunks of time. Her shoes thudded softly– no, dully against the tiled linoleum floor. The strap of her black bag on her shoulder, and the bag itself tightly clutched between her elbow and her body filling the space like a slotted puzzle piece. The brief wind had swept her black hair, but in the elevator to the floor of the unit, she’d tied it back with a spare hair-tie stashed at the bottom of her bag. A small miracle to avoid talking about the possibility of others thinking she was trying to look nice for someone. The person she was trying to look nice for, was herself. She was trying to feel good about herself. And the chill had followed her through the building as it always had. American Government buildings, although insulated well, were always cold. Possibly due to the attitudes of those that worked there. Or the environment in which cases transpired. Part of her figured there had to be some sort of correlation.
In an idle hand she was twirling a black pen, a hefty habit. Her hands had to be occupied somehow, almost always. Motor function in the background improved memorability, but also kept her mind focused. It was essentially like having multiple tabs open on a computer. It all stored memory and used up RAM which leaves little for much else unless the tabs were closed and done away with. The chill of the office rolled over her skin, and across her dressy clothes. Perfect for a formal, professional, business environment. Sweatpants and sweatshirts were frowned upon. The elevator doors opened and she stepped into the hall, taking a deep breath and rolling her shoulders back.
“Morning, Morgan.” The agent with muscles visible beneath his grey t-shirt, a five o’clock shadow and chocolate brown eyes was most likely nursing his first cup of coffee in the morning. She noted the watch on his wrist wasn’t ticking as it usually did. “Oh, did something happen to your watch? Is it not moving?”
“What?” Derek looked down at his wrist, and his brows shot up. “I didn’t even notice. Wow.”
“Perhaps it’s wise to keep spare batteries.” She didn’t smile. She never smiled. Not with anyone she knew. Not with anyone in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. No one. It just wasn’t something she did. And despite living in America for a few years now, that barely thick accent of hers hadn’t gone away. Some of the English verbiage didn’t fit right in her mouth, or was too clunky when she said it aloud.
“Do you know what day it is?” Then the blonde sidled up next to her, straight, flaxen hair tucked neatly behind her ears. Clothing pressed, and almost virtually wrinkle free. In her hands was that small calendar she kept on her desk with the photo of her kids.
Narrowing her eyes, she frowned. No longer keeping her neutral expression. Her dark brows furrowed, the skin between them creasing ever so slightly. Today’s date was decorated with little pink and red hearts that made her stomach churn. No. She wanted to forget Valentine’s day existed, at least while at work. Because while at work, she might not be bombarded with all the romance or romantic aspects plastered all around. After all, it wasn’t truly professional. Not in this type of setting.
“February 14th.” She stated bluntly.
“Oh, come on, Val. You can’t seriously be upset about Valentine’s day.”
“No. Just blatant advertising.” She shook her head. Valentina was very private, for all intents and purposes. Those she worked with knew very little, and she liked to keep it that way. But some things tended to slip through the cracks.
“Right, right. And not because you’re feeling lonely. I get it.” JJ grinned and nudged her.
“Not lonely. I like being alone. Different things.” Valentina stiffened. “This is just a normal day, no need to make it seem any different.”
“What? Different? Is this day any different than usual?” JJ raised a brow, looking to Derek for any help. The man shook his head.
“Nope. Everything is normal.”
“Then, if you do not mind me.” And she was moving past them to her desk, clean and neat. Not many personal effects. “I will get paperwork done.”
“Seriously?” JJ raised her brows and scoffed incredulously. “You’re just going to pretend there’s no significance to the date? Can’t you at least give us something interesting about what you’ll be doing after work?”
“Nothing.” Valentina set her bag on her desk and sat down. The vanilla folders next to the computer were organized by severity and urgency. “What I do in my spare time does not affect my work. Vice versa.”
“I think you misunderstand.” Derek cleared his throat. “We’re just curious about your personal life, is all.”
“Why?” She raised a brow, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes before it was snuffed out. “It is pointless.” She shrugged.
Then she shifts uncomfortably, it’s subtle and small. A movement possibly barely noticed if not paying attention too closely. Her legs hurt, her calves ache. Until she sat down again, she hadn’t yet processed just how much strain her body had been put through but she had no choice but to get up again and keep going. To get ready in the morning, to drive herself to work, to put on a pleasant look and stuff everything else as far down as she possibly can. Despite the ache, the cushion of the chair was somewhat satisfactory. Not anything that she would want in her apartment, but it was pleasant enough that for at least a while she would be distracted by everything else. It also felt so good to sit down.
“Someone woke up on the wrong side of bed,” JJ muttered, casting Valentina a side-ways glance.
“I don’t like small talk. And this is small talk.” Valentina sat up straighter. “I’m sorry if it comes off as rude.”
“No, you’re fine.” Derek smiled awkwardly.
Valentina gave a curt nod and only relaxed slightly. The platform above the bullpen was empty for now. Offices on the upper level surrounded the quadrants on the floor portion surrounded by filing cabinets and more wooden doors with tiny rectangle windows. The drab blue carpeting and the grey, lifeless walls were only a reminder that this was no home for personal talk, not like she ever wanted to talk about what she did. Instead of going home most nights with everyone else or hanging out after work, Val stays behind to complete paperwork and stall. If she wasn’t staying after then she would have to cook for her brother and clean for him, even if she was too tired and wanted to crawl into bed and squeeze a pillow while she slept. She cleared her throat, trying to lighten her expression. Quite a few times already, JJ and Prentiss had asked her throughout the day if she was mad at them while her face was simply at rest.
It would make the most sense if those on the team felt they couldn’t trust her because they didn’t truly know her, but she also knew that was highly unprofessional. Or probably should be filed under being highly unprofessional. She didn’t need to know their personal lives, and did not need to tell them about hers. Letting them know more gives them more material to profile her. It’s so very obvious that this team likes to profile one another for social graces. They use each other’s tells like it’s second nature. The last thing she needed was to become a statistic. The more they know, the closer they would get to her and the closer to discovering things.
At least once, she wouldn’t mind joining them after work or celebrating victories after a long case. Valentina was living with such a disconnect from her team, but she would trust them with her life because somehow deep down she knew they were good people. She swallowed thickly and reached across her desk for the files at the top, tearing her eyes away from her coworkers and turning them down to the vanilla folder. But she didn’t fit in. She’d only just get hurt again if she were to join them. Observing from the sidelines had always been much safer.
“Looks like we just got a case.” Emily Prentiss, was leaning against the upper railing waving a file of her own in her hand. “C’mon. Hotch and Gideon are already in the meeting room,”
Again, crime never slept. And for Valentine’s day there was bound to be an uptick in crime.
The eight of them fit into the meeting room around the round table. The crime scene photos were posted to the cork board, and a couple pieces of evidence. Doctor Spencer Reid was already presumably going through the case file and committing it to memory, he had that kind of observation that almost made him like a human surveillance camera.Valentina wasn’t exactly squished, and the room wasn’t cramped in the slightest but somehow her knee knocked gently against Spencer’s. He’d only spared her a small, possibly awkward sideways glance and adjusted his posture accordingly. She bit the inside of her cheek and hunched down, turning a page in the case files as Hatchner and Gideon were debriefing on the new crime of the day, or week.
“There was no sign of forced entry on the crime scene, but the bodies displayed the victims putting up a significant fight. Meaning—”
“The killer left DNA under their nails, if they’d scratched him.” Penelope Garcia finished his sentence without thinking. “So, then that doesn’t make this an unsub if we’ll know who he is from his DNA.”
“The local police force believes that he is the same killer as the other three bodies. This makes the fourth woman in her late twenties to be found dead in four days.”
“The incisions on the chest there,” Valentina’s pointing at her case file like everyone is following along. “The X mark on her chest doesn’t make it seem like a regular old serial killer. The victims may have fought back, but the mark on their chest was their fatality."
“Do you think this is a ritual of some sort? The area in which it is marked is where the heart resides, in many cultures the heart can be symbolic for more than just romanticism.” Spencer jumped to the conclusion with this twinkle in his eye. Like he was itching to explain something. "The ancient Egyptians buried the mummies with their hearts because they believed it offered eternal life.”
“Serious case of deja vu over here…” JJ muttered to Emily softly.
“We were dealing with a cannibal then.” Spencer rifled through the crime scene photos. “Only tipped off by the liquid rings the killer's containers left behind, there is nothing indicating the killer used containers but it does appear he is only taking the hearts of his victims, physically not figuratively.”
“It could be both.” Derek suggested and leaned back. “Hearts on Valentine”s day are pretty symbolic of love, and physical hearts just prove he will go to extremes if this is a crime of passion.”
“You’re taking the date's significance too literally.” Valentina shook her head. “A cold-blooded killer doesn’t care what day it is, anything like that is purely coincidental. On Friday the 13th does anyone feel the urge to kill?”
“We could very well be dealing with a cannibal, but if that were the case then the other organs would be harvested. The body is untouched save for the bruising around the neck.” Hotch switched to the next slide on the projector, bringing up one of the first victims. “Incidentally, from what we gathered about the first three victims they live close.”
“Which means the killer lives close, he wouldn’t operate too far from home just yet.” Gideon nodded slowly, the gears in his mind turning.
“This can’t be so simple to solve, can it? There is something dangling right in our faces that we overlooked.” Valetina was flipping through the crime scene photos, leaning close to them to try and absorb the full picture. Get a feel for what feels like it's missing through them. Because there was something missing, she knew it.
“You said there was no sign of forced entry, which then means the victim felt comfortable with the killer.” Emily pointed out, leaning forward.
“It could be a woman.” Spencer suggested. “Not many people assume—”
A woman would be the killer. They all knew. He had to at least say it once during the case, or at least that was how his team saw it. Without fail, he had to mention it. It was certainly something that they tended to overlook, but a majority of crimes they’ve looked into had in fact been done by older men.
“We’re heading out to Maryland in thirty minutes.” Hotch concluded, seemingly satisfied. It may have been a quick brief, but if the killer only took four days to get four bodies then there was no point in wasting time. If anything, the killer could be aiming for a fifth victim or a sixth and so on. These types of people don’t stop until they themselves are stopped.
Maryland was only a car ride from Quantico, Virginia where the office was based. Even though the FBI had many deployments in many states, oftentimes another branch will call in an outside division as fresh eyes to provide more insight on a case. Or certain branches haven’t yet been developed in different states. Not that the Behavioral Analyst Unit wouldn't be in other states.
This was the part of her job that Ivan, her brother, didn't understand. Going to other states and solving crimes there. Travelling. According to him, if the FBI was so large then why did his sister have to play hero in other places. Why wouldn’t the government not start with where the agents are located closest. In his eyes, it was only a waste of money and time. Then again, he’d never take it seriously that his sister was an FBI agent. He couldn't truly believe that she was trusted purely because she wasn’t a born American citizen. It didn’t matter. His opinion was the loudest, but she never took his opinion to heart.
She’d gotten the job to stay away from her family, of course she wouldn’t trust what they have to say about it.
The drive may not have taken much time on the highway, but by the time they got to Maryland it was well past the afternoon. An entire state away, the BAU weren’t strangers to setting up in hotel rooms, or getting paired off by Hotchner. It wasn’t really a surprise Valentina and Spencer are sharing a room, although the doctor gets along with everyone on his team; those two just seem to blend together like a smoothened paintbrush. At least, no one else was surprised. Valentina was caught off guard for a couple of moments before regaining her composure. Despite what she’d like to think, they were on the job at work. The hotel room was for work, to keep them from losing even more daylight driving back to Virginia to sleep in their beds at home.
And so she observed as she always did. Spencer was methodical and neat, placing his clothes in neatly folded piles and refolding the clothes from the duffle bag if they had gotten messy. Or, well, that wasn’t the right word she was looking for but she couldn’t remember it or even sound out the right word in her head. The American language was clunky, and the sharp edges felt even sharper in her mouth. Words didn’t quite fit the same way she spoke Russian. But if she did, then they’d all just be even more concerned. They wouldn’t trust her as much as they already sort of did. Just when she had thought she’d gone unnoticed, Spencer turned around. His eyes studied her like she was a specimen on a lab table. Out of everyone, he was the one who was trying his hardest to “figure her out” whatever that meant.
“Are you okay? Is there something wrong with the room?” The soft questions flew out of his mouth faster than she could comprehend his words. Her hand tightened around the handle of her duffle bag, beaten up and slightly stained with who knows what.
“I’m fine.” She often thought longer about what she wanted to say. Not because she was translating back from Russian, but because she was always balancing on a figurative tight rope whenever it came to conversations. If she said the wrong thing someone would simply get offended, instead of offering to help her find the right wording. “The room is fine.” She hesitantly set her duffle bag down on her bed, her other hand still stuffed in the pocket of her black jacket.
Even though she wore a pressed collared shirt, and trousers, everything about the clothing she wore was black. Only very rarely did Spencer ever see a pop of color, and that was a red leather jacket she brought with her for the company wide business casual day. There was a small moment where he thought the color looked divine, and subconsciously his brain had already committed it to memory. She was laughing at something someone said when he spotted her across the room, a smile turning the corners of her mouth upward and lighting up her otherwise solemn and serious face. He’d thought it was a bit strange that he was hoping she brought the red leather jacket with her. That he wanted to see it again. And just like she had done, he watched her pull out her clothes, fold them, and organize them. She ran her hand along the fabrics and checked inside the pockets. If she was looking for a tracker, he was fairly certain no one would have put a tracker in the clothes in her bag but instead on the bag itself.
“I was thinking about what you said in the briefing room, that this was too simple of a case.” And just like that Spencer launched into a casual conversation, bringing up a topic rather than letting her wallow in the silence that settled between them. It was his way of making her know she should be comfortable with him. “What do you think we’re missing? Was there something in the files you noticed but didn’t bring up for some reason?”
“It does not feel cut and dry.” She was staring down at the bed, one of her black shirts still in her hands ready to be folded once more. “Either the killer is hiding something or,” she paused. What was it she wanted to say? More like, how did she want to say it? Furrowing her brows she shook her head. “Not important. Cannot remember.”
Spencer raised a brow and nodded slowly. “Perhaps you could try and explain it the way you think of it in your head? I’m sure the books I’ve recommended are helping improve that language barrier, but sometimes it’s best to meet you where you’re at.”
“<<Typically the killer would hide things. They would try to make it impossible for us to figure anything out about him, and it’s not that this is about voyeurism or that he simply wants to show off.>>” She was moving her hands as she spoke, continuing to fold her clothes. Spencer may not understand everything but he watched how her mouth formed the words and nodded along. He may not know what the connotation was about, but he did know it didn’t sound angry. “<<We could very well be missing a key detail. Yes, he used precision to cut out their hearts but what about what he does with them after? And we still haven’t figured out why he is doing this.>>”
When she looked over at him, he was paying attention. The others might have a clueless look on their face or a shit in their body language, but not Spencer. No, he at least made it look like he tried to understand. Or that he heard her instead of dozing off mid sentence. It planted something in her chest that made her blink rapidly and look away, putting her clothes back in her duffle bag to occupy her hands before she started fidgeting with the hem of her sleeves of the hem of her black jacket and give away how that methodical look he has never failed to turn her legs to jelly.
“Well, we know we haven’t completely figured the unsub out. There are still many factors unknown to us.” And sometimes it was such a strange coincidence it sounded like he knew what she said, which never failed to make her heart nearly skip a beat. “But it can be noted that looking at the physical crime scene may give us more details that we were missing that a couple of photos could not. As the crime scene is still relatively fresh and untouched until investigation is over considering they found it just this morning and have yet to completely document and preserve physical evidence for forensic analysis.” In turn, Spencer liked that she didn’t look at him like he had three heads. Or that he was rambling about something she didn’t know about. Although she didn’t wear her emotions on her sleeve, he at least felt he had a good read about how truthful she is as a person. Her empty expressionless face wasn’t made for deceit, it was made for something else. She also tended to tell the truth very often, and without fail. She was to the point and succinct.
He liked working with her for multiple reasons, but could never truly get close like with his other coworkers. There were still many parts of her unknown, and he wouldn’t lie and say it didn’t intrigue him. Not because she was a mental puzzle, but because it only meant he would have to try harder to be tolerated by her. Adapt to how she is as a person, and being in closed quarters is the perfect time to observe and collect the date he needs.
Valentina was quiet for the most part, she let him do most of the talking and listened intently. But she was quiet. Spencer couldn’t tell if it was because she was embarrassed or if it was because she was trying to formulate a proper response without sounding like she didn’t know the words. It didn’t exactly bother him, he liked having company that at least listened if they didn’t want to talk but he felt a bit restless. Trying to get her to say something as a response. Trying to engage her. He was throwing out verbal bait that she wasn’t taking, and it was only a little frustrating. She had a nice voice, and spoke very eloquently. Her words may be rough or sound rough around the edges but it was nothing compared to hearing her. It was like she was mentally plotting her sentences and verbiage before she opened her mouth, like she was trying to make it perfect before the first word.
“Would there be a chance the unsub comes back to the scene of the crime? They often do.” Valentina asked, kicking her duffle bag under the neatly made hotel bed and standing there with her arms crossed. Her body language was folded in, and the alarm bells in Reid’s head were already going off. Was she uncomfortable already?
“Statistically, it is very rare for a killer to go back to the scene of the crime unlike in media like dramatic procedurals. Visually, it makes for an engaging show but in the real world killers only try to cover their tracks further by pretending the crime scene doesn’t exist. Like how liars will try their hardest to believe their own lie.” Spencer was tapping his fingers while he talked, engaging his brain subconsciously.
“But it happens, yes?”
“Perhaps about every one in ten, yes. It can happen.”
“Hypothetically,” she paused for a moment sifting through her mental dictionary. “Say the unsub goes back to the scene of the crime. He is able to slip through undetected.”
“Highly unlikely, unless he was part of the police force. Or had snagged a uniform from and officer.” Reid raised a brow. “But, I see where you’re getting at.”
“It could be very possible he… uh– tries to change something about the crime scene.” Valentina nodded to herself, dark eyes clouded as she stared at a spot in the carpet. Already in the deep trenches of thought. “You may think paranoid, but we shall go back to the crime scene to investigate again.” And then she was heading to the door with her hands shoved in her pockets. “More details could be uncovered the later it is in the day. The environment can change what we see.”
Spencer tilted his head slightly. He could understand her train of thought, but part of him couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t thought of that. Not that he didn’t take the environment into account when he was surveying the crime scene with the team, but at the time it seemed like only a small, minute factor that changed nothing about what happened. The woman in her mid twenties was just like the other three in the photos with that same X mark on her chest and clearly missing her heart. And Spencer looked for every detail to ascertain what was being done with the hearts after the crime. How they were transported or removed from the body itself. If it was an experienced extraction, then it could hint towards the killer being in the medical field but this was nothing but amateur at best.
Before he knew it, he was following Valentina. Double checking for the room key as he hurried down the hall, his footsteps thudding fast and dull on the tawny carpet. How did she get so far ahead of him? She wasn’t too much shorter than him nor was she too much taller than him. Approximately, according to her file, only two inches shorter than him. She also had a head start of course. When she stopped at the elevator she was pulling her dark hair into a ponytail and smoothing the sides down behind her ears. Her complexion was only slightly pale and she had prominent cheek bones. Her face was slim with deep set dark eyes and strong brows with dark and thick lashes. He tried not to truly look at her too much, not in this way, and certainly not with their proximity. Unknowingly he’d stopped just a bit too close to her but she didn’t seem to notice, or didn’t even seem to mind. To still his moving fingers, Spencer tucked his hands in his pockets as they waited for the elevator. She was already most likely texting Hotchner about going back to look at the crime scene again, as their captain needed to know. And he was no doubt thinking it was a good idea to go back after getting some rest, even though they did not rest and spent a lot of the time just standing there or checking the hotel room for anything suspicious.
When they first saw the crime scene, it was a mess. The second time around it was decorated with yellow tape. Evidence was marked by yellow cones or flags with numbers on them, the range varied depending how much evidence there was. Spencer and Valentina put on rubber gloves, left their coats in her car and rolled up their sleeves. They walked carefully and tried to avoid the dried blood as much as possible because it could still leave footprints if they weren’t careful. The body was taken to the morgue, but there was still a lot that was left behind. Not everything was cleaned up just yet, like he had said. Only, she thought he said that to make her feel better about the possibility of it being mostly cleaned.
The first thing to observe when stepping into the house was that there was blood everywhere. Mostly centered in the living room, so it was on the couch, seeping into the floorboards because the person who owned this house got real wooden floorboards not laminate. The stench of death no longer clung to everything since the body had been moved, but what it left behind other than the drawn chalk outline mimicking how the body laid, but the blood splatters and the leftover pools that drained from the incision wound. Valentina squatted down, balancing on her heels and peering closer to get a better look. The body had been lying in the exact position a body on the examination table would be. It was like a makeshift hospital room in a way. First, the “patient” had been on the couch on their back and the unsub had started cutting hence the very little blood dribble on the couch cushions, before he realized her body would be steadier on solid ground where he then moved her. It was all fitting together like a puzzle piece, except there was no hint about who he would go after next.
“Victims. What links them?”
“Aside from their age, they don’t live too far from here actually.” Spencer was looking at the household knickknacks lining the untouched shelves. The dust had been caked up for a while, the woman wasn’t cleaning nor did she have anyone come to clean the house. Something he filed away for later. “Although, the first victim was found across town away from her house. So the unsub can’t exactly stay close to neighborhoods all the time.”
“But he is changing.”
Spencer gave her a curious look.
“Changing his method. I mean,”
“Yes, because the second victim had been stashed in the bushes just outside of her neighboorhood. It wasn’t until he encountered the third that he began to kill inside their homes. There could be a reason why the first two hadn’t been killed like the most recent two.”
“No witnesses. It’s obvious she lived alone.” Valentina stood up and looked around. “The house is unkempt in a particular state of uncleanliness after seven days, meaning the dust buildup and the laundry overflowing in the laundry hamper. The first two probably were married or even lived with someone else.”
There was a flicker in Spencer’s eye like he just caught onto something. The way he hovers by, not necessarily towering over her but visibly taller than her, isn’t too alarming but that fact files itself in the back of her mind to mull over later when she’s trying to sleep. Any other time she would most likely try to chastise him over standing just too close, but she can’t bring herself to click her tongue and frown. She doesn’t hate that he’s hovering by in a weirdly protective way, but it strikes up an odd sensation in her chest that makes her heart beat faster.
“The first step is always figuring out what kind of person is being targeted.” Spencer hums in satisfactory contentment. Something he’d heard Hotchner or Gideon tell her about a million times because she’d never quite compartmentalized that the victims almost always give away the most information about the unsub.
She scoffed and rolled her eyes crossing her arms. “I know that.”
“I think we should head back before it gets too late.” Spencer tilted his head towards the front door.
“We’re FBI Agents–”
“Yes, and FBI Agents need sleep to help them catch the bad guys.” Spencer almost smiled, something amused him about her reaction. Like he was trying to pull a child away from their toys. “If we stay here all night, however, who knows what kind of functionality our brains will have when morning comes.”
She muttered something under her breath that he didn’t quite catch, but she was reluctantly heading towards the door. Careful to step around things marked with cones or flags if they were on the floor.
“You say many words that all mean the same, like trying to fill silence you do not need.” Valentina hadn’t meant it harshly, more like a gentle observation of his behavior. She couldn’t not notice how most of the time Spencer launched into a rant, or used a lot of big words around the office, not to make people feel stupid but because he knew how to use them well. She liked studying his speech pattern, and how the words sounded in his mouth. She also likes watching how the words fit in his mouth, but she’d never admit that aloud.
“Oh– I can stop talking—”
“Not a bad thing.” She quickly shook her head, too aware of how he deflated like a balloon and now she wanted to kick herself. “I enjoy it. Talking.”
“Okay, so, did you enjoy the books I recommended?” Spencer asked, it wasn’t anything about the case and was such a shift that she almost didn’t notice already forming the answer in her head.
“Yes, especially when it was Dostoevsky. Which I’ve already read in the original language.” She exhaled softly from her nostrils. “I will say though, there is a much different ambience with the words in English than in Russian.”
“Does the comparison at all help? I know I only mentioned those books because you had asked for literature to help with your development with English.”
“Ah. Yes, they did help.” She nodded. “Or well, partly. I still have some trouble when I am… uh– missing words? You’d think after learning a language for a year or two already would help make these problems seem miniscule. Everyone makes it look so easy.”
“Comparing yourself to others plays a key part in your downfall, often more times than not comparison only proves to hurt your intake of knowledge rather than improve it. It can lead to pushing yourself to learn things before someone else to prove that you are better in ways that you do not need to.” She knew Spencer didn’t mean her directly, and it was more of a generalization but it stuck to the root in her brain like thorns on roses.
“If you were to read an audiobook, I believe it would help me sleep.”
“Oh? Do you have trouble sleeping?” Spencer jumped on that piece of knowledge like a mouse on cheese. “There was once an unsub who was an insomniac who listened to Metallica, you could perhaps try to listen to their song Enter Sandman. If all else fails, then, maybe I could consider reading to you if it helped.”
She was staring at him now, with partially furrowed brows. He circled the car to get in the driver's seat and she was left standing on the curb processing what he said. It wasn’t the advice she needed help figuring out, it was how he so easily offered to read to her as if it were nothing. Sometimes, she didn’t think she could understand Spencer Reid at all. Her day to day experience with him was often vastly different; it left her head spinning like a vinyl on a record player.
Unfortunately, during the car ride her phone wouldn’t stop alerting her. It was most likely her brother bombarding her with texts. She ended up just chucking the flip phone in the back seat and tried to ignore it by turning on the radio. The last station she had been listening to was an alternative station, on the way over to Maryland she was in the car with Prentiss who didn’t mind her music choice. Spencer inclined an eyebrow and tossed her a sideways look.
“I didn’t take you for an alternate music lover.”
“What? Did you think I listened to classical music?”
“Ah, no, I was under the assumption you preferred listening to podcasts instead of music.” Spencer answered with a lopsided smile. “And that your ringtone was perhaps a popular podcaster telling you that your phone was ringing.”
“Haha. Very funny.” Valentina rolled her eyes. “I can’t focus on podcasts. I’m not all that big on listening to people speak unless I’m with them in person. Seeing and hearing help it process better. Closed captions are just boring.”
“I see, so you’re much more inclined to spending time with another person physically instead of online.”
“Where are you going with this?”
“I just figured that you didn’t like being around people because you never join us after work when we offer. I have nothing against it, I promise. It just created certain perceptions of you in my head.”
“Oh.” Valentina shifted in the passenger seat again, and something about the atmosphere shifted. “That’s— It’s nothing to worry about. I don’t mind spending time with coworkers outside of work, I just… don’t have the time.”
Perhaps this was the gold mine answer he had been waiting for, and that being patient with her was proving to be more efficient than bombarding her with questions. But the shift in demeanor was not something he anticipated. Maybe he had expected her to be a bit more open because he was meeting her in the middle but it was like she closed up on him all of a sudden. A clam closing up with the diver isn’t gentle enough.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry in a negative way–” The apology flew out of Spencer’s mouth before he could stop himself. “It’s just– You’re displaying many antisocial behaviors, and we wanted to be sure that you didn’t hate us—”
“Antisocial behaviors? I tell you all my personal life is none of your business—” Then she’s muttering something in Russian again, the connotation is rough and frustrated. “I feel like I am not being listened to here. Teammates should listen to each other.”
“Yes, and I am sorry for crossing a boundary but you feel very disconnected.”
“I have my reasons. It is not like any of you need to be reminded I do not hate you.”
Spencer sighed, his muscles tightened and tensed. He was trying not to let it get to him, trying not to let it change how his voice sounded. If only, he was frustrated that she was frustrated at him. Yes, it was his fault for hitting a nerve he shouldn’t have but she in turn is almost making it seemingly impossible to converse with her outside of work related matters. It’s like the only time she ever opens up is when she can work on a case and distance herself from… well herself.
When they get to the hotel room, they change in the bathroom one at a time. No words are exchanged, no pleasantries. Nor do they wish each other good night. It simply lights out and they tuck themselves into bed. Only, neither of them sleep. Spencer lays awake because he knows that she is awake, and Valentina is awake because she is replaying everything from when they arrived in Maryland as though her memories were playing on a broken record. Then her phone rings for the umpteenth time and she shoots up in bed, reaching over and grabbing her flip phone. Spencer stills, and even holds his breath. He can’t really hear whoever is on the other end except for their voice being loud. But he can hear her, how she’s whispering, and how everything in her voice has softened. She speaks softly in Russian, and he can only assume she’s profusely apologizing for something because it sounds that way. In the morning he might need to pick up a dictionary to help point anything out but this phone conversation doesn’t sit right with him, and then he’s sitting up just as it’s about to end. He can tell by the way the person is still very loudly screaming at her, not yet clearly but still the volume is transversal.
She notices his movement and jolts, scooting away from the edge of the bed in a panic. Flipping the phone shut and ending the phone call without as much as another word exchanged, she looks at him in the dark. Her eyes haven’t yet adjusted.
“Did I wake you?”
“No. I’ve been awake.” Spencer shakes his head even though she can’t see the movement. “Are you okay? You sounded… off.”
“It is fine.”
“If being in a hotel room with me is a problem, I can get JJ or Emily to switch—”
“You are not the problem.” Valentina sighs and runs her hands over her face. “Being here is his problem. I forgot to prepare dinner for him, and he needs me to clean the apartment.”
“You have a boyfriend?” Spencer doesn’t know why, but something in his chest sinks.
“No. Brother.”
And it’s like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.
“Are you your brother’s caretaker or–”
“No. He is mobile and able-bodied. But it is simply how things are done in my family. He is the patriarch after my father has died, my punishment is to look after him. Take care of him.”
“Punishment? For what?” Spencer furrowed his brows, angling his body towards her and sitting criss-cross applesauce on his bed now, partially under the rumpled covers.
“For moving away.” Her answer is succinct and to the point. He was expecting a long ramble, or a breakdown about how it wasn’t fair, but she isn’t doing any of that. Simple only resigning to this being her life for the rest of time. “And it is the reason I do not join after work I stay after and do paperwork instead. I am not allowed to go on social outings, it was his decision and I must follow.”
And now that puts something heavy in Spencer’s chest. It doesn’t sit right, and pulls at his skin uncomfortably. “Valentina, is everything alright? Are you safe?” He doesn’t know why he’s compelled to ask, or why he is thinking of the possibility of her brother harming her in any way but it is there and it is stuck in his frontal lobe like glue.
She doesn’t respond. Instead, she yawns and stretches which only leaves Spencer more concerned. The lack of response is uneasy, and the way it settles in his throat is unnerving but he won’t ask a second time. He doesn’t need confirmation when her lack of response already provides a response in of itself.
“Goodnight, Doctor Reid.” The title sounds so formal, it makes him frown. She never once calls him by his first name, but he has used hers many times. It almost feels like something he wants to pull out of her. Like he wants her to say his name as if they were close friends, but by her reaction from his question in the car he already knows they are good friends.
In the morning, he is up first. Not that Valentina Cermak could ever sleep in for once in her life, but Spencer is up so early the sky is still dark. He never took her for a morning person anyway, so it didn’t surprise him in the slightest. The breakfast on the ground floor won't yet open up for a few more hours, and he has grabbed his phone to text Garcia to test if she is awake yet. Or if she had stayed up all night pouring over internet profiles in the case to try and triangulate where the unsub is or who he is related to. She loved pouring over data, and although she would prefer to work remotely as opposed to being in the field, she came to Maryland with them. She wanted to look at the details as fresh as they were, even though she doesn’t exactly handle the sight of blood in person well. He’s not at all surprised when she responds to his text with exclamation marks and happy faces mixed with internet slang. Then he asked if he could talk to her, and he could feel her giddiness through the phone without her having to be there.
Penelope shared a hotel room with Derek, who was most certainly still sleeping if it was dark outside. He woke up when the sun was up, after all. Everyone in the BAU knew she loved to play matchmaker, that she liked when things got sparklier than usual. So, her brain was already racing with ideas. Coming up with assumptions about why Spencer wanted her help since he had been only slightly vague, though she could handle that crypticness of his. Of course, she always wanted to hope there was something between Spencer and Valentina, they read each other well enough that it communicated just how comfortable they were with each other.
At the knock on the door she jumped to her feet. Derek, of course, was still asleep in his bed so she tried to be as quiet as possible to simply be polite and courteous to her coworker. For someone who hadn’t been up long, Spencer already looked like he was fully awake though his hair was rumpled and there was probably rheum in the corners of his eyes as it was a natural byproduct from sleep. Skin cells, dried tears, and mucus. The eye gunk was pretty standard stuff.
“It’s not that often you come to me for social help.” Her voice was soft, and quiet, using her inside voice even though she really, really wanted her excitement to get the best of her.
“I’ve been meeting Valentina in the middle, like you suggested. Letting her guide instead of asking questions and taking information from her, but I still can’t help but notice there is something that almost acts like a division between us. A disconnect.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Penelope pressed a hand to her heart. “What’s going on? What happened in the last twenty-four hours?”
“We went back to the crime scene with fresh eyes, and had a somewhat polite and mostly professional conversation with only a few hiccups. And then when we couldn’t sleep she’d gotten a phone call, an angry phone call.”
There was a flicker in her eyes, a corner of her mouth twitched upward.
“And who is this mystery caller?”
“Do you mind if we step outside, I do not want to disturb Morgan while he sleeps.” Spencer had been glancing at his sleeping friend almost anxiously. It felt strange to have a conversation so freely in the room while he was sleeping, even if it wouldn’t wake him up.
“Yeah, of course.” Penelope switched gears with ease, opening the door and stepping out with her lanky coworker.
“You asked about the mystery caller, and I think it’s her brother but I’m not quite sure of it just yet. Context clues point me in that direction, and she did say she didn’t have a boyfriend.”
“She’s single?” It slipped out before Penelope could compose herself, then again it wasn’t unexpected for her to latch onto that little factoid. “Okay, so she’s single and is living with her brother. What’s the matter? It’s Valentine’s Day, or at least it was last night. Doesn’t mean it still isn’t today, especially if you didn’t get time to celebrate it.”
“I don’t know what the issue is.” Spencer was fidgeting with his hands, tapping his fingers together rhythmically. “But it doesn’t feel right. There is a chunk of information missing that she doesn’t want to give away. I don’t know if it’s because she does not trust me or—”
Penelope stopped him before he began to ramble. “I’d say meeting her where she’s at is all you can do. Some people take time to get to a point where they share things about themselves they normally wouldn’t, and if anything she probably needs to feel comfortable to come out of her shell.”
“I don’t want to push too hard and make her feel like I am prying with malicious intent.”
“I don’t think you ever could give off malicious intent.” The blonde patted his shoulder with a softer smile, one that captured how she most likely had just woken up but was still open to helping her friends. “When all this is said and done, maybe stay with her after work. Order some Chinese, and help her with paperwork.”
“She does stay late quite often, instead of going to social outings with her team.”
“And you say you don’t have social graces. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”
“Thank you, Garcia.” Spencer nodded curtly.
“Oh, you don’t have to thank me!” She smiled brighter and waved her hand around. “I just like helping my friends, and helping people get along. You know, give a spark of hope in this cold and dark world.”
“I— Thank you,”
He stayed a little longer and they talked more. The boy genius was pretty sure if he’d talked to Derek the previous night he would have left the conversation with a red face and new images to be glued to the inside of his brain like a magazine hidden under a mattress. Spencer liked that he could go to his team for help, that he could ask them things outside of work. That he could rely on them as people outside of a job. That was what he wanted to show Valentina, that she could rely on them– him– outside of work. Maybe he just hadn’t been showing it in the right way, or perhaps he hadn’t been meeting her where she’s at as much as he’d been telling himself he had. He still pries about things he doesn’t know, and initiates to take information instead of letting it be willingly given.
For some reason, he didn’t expect her to be up when he got back to the hotel room. Her hair was rumpled, and there was a line on her cheek from how tightly she pulled the covers up to her face. Her shirt hung off her shoulder slightly and for a moment she didn’t look so guarded just after waking up. He saw the soft edges of her face that normally hardened like protective armor. The droop in her eyes as she rubbed them with the backs of her hands.
“<<Good morning,>>” It was a greeting, he knew that much, but he still stood there like an idiot blinking owlishly at her.
“Good morning. I’m sorry, did I wake you?”
She shook her head in response and threaded her hands through her hair, stifling a yawn.
“I usually wake up this early, you’re fine.”
Spencer opened and closed his mouth, unable to think of the next thing to say. But he didn’t have to fill the silence that settled in the space around him. No, instead he could let her start the conversation. Let her draw him in. He often led the conversation too many times, but he was used to doing that. Used to being the one who wanted to talk the most.
“What? Is my face swollen?” Valentina gingerly touched her cheeks, and that’s when Spencer realized he was staring. He promptly looked away, staring at the windows instead.
“No, no. I was lost in thought.”
“About what?”
“How I uh– Talk too much.”
“Eh, you talk a perfect amount.” She shrugged and pulled the covers off, reaching her hands to the ceiling as she stretched, arching her back in a way that made his eyes float back to her as if she had a gravitational pull. “Whoever told you that you talk too much does not understand how human interaction works. Many conversations can often seem one-sided because one party may talk to a certain extent as opposed to the other.”
“You’re saying I talk more than you? I thought it was intentional on your part, you tend to say those who talk the most have more to reveal.”
“Yes, but I meant that about criminals.” She laughed and cracked her neck, Spencer winced when he heard the joint crack. He didn’t really like when people cracked their knuckles, or when it was too audible. “But I suppose it does apply to others, not that it is a bad thing.”
“You also said once, there was a saying where you’re from, those that smile all the time are often fools.”
“Ah, that is— You have a certain person in mind, yes?”
“Well, no, but I was looking for some elaboration.”
“It is more so to do with the mindset, but if I am being honest, I could not tell you what it means, only what I can interpret. To me it is much like the saying of ignorance is bliss, the fools are happy while smarter misunderstood minds are miserable. Tortured.”
“Are you saying I’m miserable?”
Valentina turned to look at him, and actually looked at him this time. “Do you think I think you are miserable? Do you think I not like you?”
“Well, no. I at least hope not, for both of those questions.” Spencer rubbed the back of his neck.
“I can assure you, I like you. You are a good person with a kind heart.” Valentina assumed this was what he wanted to hear, and it wasn’t like she didn’t like saying it because it was in fact true even if it seemed like the opposite most of the time.
Before he could respond, the phone to the hotel room rang and she was the one who picked it up. Nodding and rummaging around in the drawer for a pen and a notepad, she mouthed a word but he didn’t quite pay attention. He couldn’t when he was thinking about what she said only to pacify him. That his curiosity about how she felt was possibly even annoying. That she didn’t like constantly reassuring him that everything was fine, or that she wasn’t mad at him. Sometimes Spencer could get so far into his own head that he would forget what was happening around him.
“That was Hotchner, the local police believe they found where the unsub might be.” She put the phone down and ripped the page from the notepad. “He gave an address, Gideon is working on waking the others.
Everything was kind of a blur. Getting in the car, and driving to the address Hotchner had given over the phone. That is, until they found the discarded body, the girl was badly injured not just from strangulation– the bruises on her neck– but perhaps even a broken leg. She was lying on the concrete crying, it was a miracle she was even awake. Spencer and Derek first went to pacify the victim, to confirm she was still fully intact with all her organs, but Valentina went off on her own. It was stupid, and pointless for the most part. But she had a gun with her, that was a plus. Derek and Spencer tried to pull as much information on the assailant as they could until they heard a gunshot and snapped to attention.
Spencer went running. He didn’t know why, but he went running without thinking. Gun drawn, kept low and pointed at the ground. He heard yelling, and because it was in a language he didn’t understand he could only assume it was Valentina. When he got closer, however, that was when he saw her sitting on top of a white man in his thirties with the gun pointed at his head screaming at him. Or maybe it wasn’t screaming and her language was just very aggressive, but it did sound like screaming. Though, the unsub was crying but it could be because he only felt bad after being caught. She most likely didn’t care much about the details though. All that mattered was getting him off the street.
It was shortly after that the unsub was put in handcuffs and arrested, the ambulance took away the victim although they might need to question her afterward just to get all the context for the paperwork they all will need to be filling out later. Valentina holstered her gun and brushed dirt off the knees of her trousers.
“Now, we can go home.” The way she said it almost sounded too happy compared to how she usually sounded, Spencer raised a brow.
“He didn’t hurt you, did he? I’m assuming you chased him once you saw him since you had run off as soon as we arrived on the scene.”
“No need to worry, Reid. I am okay.” She patted his shoulder, and the surface of his skin tingled under his shirt. Valentina almost never put a hand on her coworkers. Not to shake their hands, or pat their shoulders, or provide hugs. She was strictly against any display of affection.
“I’ll be happy to report I’d much rather stay back at home base,” Penelope laughed with a smile. “Enough excitement for one day.”
“Who’s driving with who?” Emily asked, already probably mentally pairing people off before they verbally confirmed it. They all knew she and JJ would be in a car together regardless.
“I had driven with Morgan, but I don’t mind being in your company for a while longer.” Spencer’s voice was quiet, just enough for her to hear alone.
“Yes, but I get to drive. It’s my car.”
“Fair enough.” Spencer shrugged, slotting his hands into his pockets.
An hour and fifteen minutes was all it took to get there, and that was roughly how much it took to get back. Regardless, everyone had paperwork to finish at the office so as soon as they got back they mostly split up and went to their desks to start filing and filling out forms. It was like clock work, the way people finished their paperwork and began making plans for the evening after work. But as always, Valentina stayed behind sorting through the folders on her desk. Looking over files before finally deciding to put them away after making sure there were absolutely zero errors in her work or miscommunications. The blue light glow from her computer lit up her face, she bit her lip in concentration and tucked strands of hair behind her ear. As far as she knew, she was the only one who stayed behind. Not that it mattered.
“There you are,”
Lifting her head, she was surprised to see Spencer with two cups of coffee in takeaway foam cups. She could smell it so potently and her eyes fluttered closed for a moment. Coffee was a godsend right now.
“I had a feeling you’d be staying behind, and figured I could keep you company. Studies have shown that long periods of solitude at night tend to have adverse reactions on the human brain. You can start to hear things, or hallucinate shadows out of the corner of your eye.”
Valentina raised a brow and smirked. “Is that all, or do you just want to spend time with me?”
“Both, but I had assumed you would have a negative reaction to wanting to spend time with you.”
“I don’t bite, Spencer.” She laughed softly. “I am just… A private person for many reasons.”
“I know, and it makes sense. Especially in a setting like this, telling too many people your secrets will make you vulnerable to many things.”
“You do not need to walk on eggshells.” She moved her seat aside. “Bring a chair over, sit a while.” And she didn’t have to tell him twice, Spencer brought over a chair from a nearby desk.
“Are you still working on the paperwork form today, or are these different cases?” Spencer eyed the stack curiously.
“I’m just double checking my work, don’t need any miscommunications.” She tried to hide the dictionary on her desk, but it was a fruitless effort.
“Ah, I see.” He eyed the dictionary but didn’t say anything. “Is there anything you’re having trouble with? Logistics or linguistics?”
“You are cute, but do not be so eager to help.” He liked her smile, it was something he didn’t see much at all. So far, he had gathered he was the only one who’d seen it. “The work is already finished, I am simply polishing.”
“Then, I believe it would be beneficial to share Chinese takeout while we polish these files.” Spencer grinned. “I’d assumed you hadn’t eaten since we got back from Maryland, you do like Chinese, right?”
She clicked her tongue and sighed. “You and your question,” rolling her eyes she nodded. “I suppose I have to start being upfront with everything, yes?”
Spencer tilted his head.
“Nevermind, I think you like the mental puzzle.”
“I’m not following.”
She handed him a file. “Look for typos, please. Maybe grammatical errors, if you can find any. The last thing I need is to sound like I’m a second grader.”
“You don’t sound like you’re a second grader.” Spencer furrowed his brows. “But alright, I look for grammatical errors. Don’t get upset if I find too many.”
She muttered something in her mother tongue and Spencer gave her a look.
“What did you say?”
“It was nothing, do not worry.”
Valentina waved away his question and opened another file, cracking open the dictionary as a reference even though she had a living, breathing reference guide sitting next to her. So close their knees were just barely touching. In the quiet, late night lamp light she finally relaxed. Her shoulders sloping downward and no longer rising to meet her ears. The squared edges of her face had softened once more, matching the look she had when she had just woken up. Spencer didn’t stop himself from staring. Not when the desk lamp caught the shine in her eyes in just the right way.
“Happy Valentine’s Day.”
It was so quiet she might not have heard it if there had been more noise in the room, but either of them would be able to hear a pin drop on the carpet.
Valentina looked at him out of the corner of her eye, observing his body language, studying him like a live specimen on a lab table. Most of the time, she noticed he had a habit of scrunching himself down to appear smaller, but it was as if he was allowing himself to take up room for once. It suited him very nicely.