lost cause - thecloudsburst - Criminal Minds (US TV) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: Day 90

Chapter Text

“Hello ma’am, how are you feeling?”

“Where is... BAU team?”

“They’re on their way. We only called them a couple hours ago. They’re probably still in the air.”

“They need to... here. I... to see them.”

“I understand, Miss. In the meantime, would you be willing to answer a few questions for us?”

“Okay.”

“Great. What is your name?”

“Supervisory Special... Agent Veronica Banks. I work... the FBI’s Behavioural Analysis Unit.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“The Foothills Hospital... Boulder... Colorado.”

“Do you know what today’s date is?”

“I… No, I... what is it?”

"Today is July 29th.”

“J…July?”

“Can you tell us what happened to you?”

“From the... beginning?”

“If you can.”

Chapter 2: Day 0

Chapter Text

Veronica sits in the conference room at the Phoenix police station, twiddling a black ballpoint pen in her fingers. Outside, in the police station’s bullpen, every available officer is milling around anxiously, waiting for the inevitable. She had closed the door to the conference room forty minutes ago, when the noise got too loud for her to hear herself think.

“As much as I want to be doing something, I’m glad they’re out there and we’re in here.” She says out loud. “It could turn into a total stampede.”

Her youngest, smartest and lankiest coworker sits beside her at the conference table with a sigh. He had been pacing for the past several minutes, but Veronica’s comment seems to have convinced him to take a rest.

“There are about 2,770 officers in the Phoenix Police Department,” Spencer Reid says, “This precinct building has an area of 24,000 square feet. If every police officer in Phoenix were to be in this building, with an average of six square feet of space per person, there would still be 7,380 square feet left over.”

Veronica stares at him. “Surely it’s illegal for you to know some of that information.”

Spencer shrugs. Veronica watches him as he stares at the profiling board again. His shoulder length, curly brown hair bounces with every movement he makes, and it mesmerizes her. Even his university professor fashion works for her, with his sweater vests and blazers. At least his leg had finally healed enough that he didn’t need the cane anymore; that was a little too ‘daddy issues’ for Veronica. Actually, a better term might be ‘granddaddy issues’. For a man in his late twenties, he definitely blends in with an older crowd.

Anyways, enough staring at Reid. Veronica has better things to do… maybe. She goes back to her black ballpoint pen. It always has to be black. No blue ink allowed; it irritates her in a way she can’t explain.

“Four hours to midnight.” Reid says, glancing at the watch on his wrist.

Midnight would be one week since the UnSub had abducted his latest victim. The profile they had drawn up said that he was a blue-collar worker abducting young women and holding them for a time before killing them and dumping them in bodies of water, although there was no evidence of sexual assault. The BAU had been summoned to Phoenix after the fifth woman turned up with the same cause and manner of death. His timelines were shortening, so the team was feeling the pressure.

Veronica crosses her arms. “We’ll find something. We always do.”

Her cell phone rings and she answers it, putting it on speaker. Agent Hotch forgoes a greeting and immediately starts talking. “Garcia found us three names and addresses. Prentiss, Morgan and JJ are on their way to the first. You two take the second. We’ll take the third.”

Veronica springs to her feet. “We’re on our way, sir.”

“Thank you, and be careful. Do not split up. Remember the victimology.” Hotch hangs up the phone.

“Remember the victimology?” Reid asks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Veronica straps on a bulletproof vest and takes the car keys from the table. “He means me. I’m his type.”

Reid opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then closes it. He, too, straps on a vest and follows Veronica to the SUV.

As they drive, Reid programs the address into the GPS. It’s a twenty minute drive.

“Think this is it?” Veronica asks.

“I hope so. Who knows how long we’ll have to find the next victim.” Reid says, tapping his long fingers on his knees.

“When we saw the M.E., she said that the victims hadn’t been dead long before they were dumped. We could find the latest girl before he kills her.” Veronica tightens her grip on the steering wheel.

Spencer stares out the window, watching the street lights whizz by in the dark. “Veronica, isn’t today one year since you joined the BAU?”

Veronica takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess so. Why?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Spencer shrug. “I just remembered. It doesn’t feel like a full year.”

Veronica’s heart pounds in her chest. She knew it was one year today. One year since she first saw Spencer Reid in the conference room of the BAU and immediately felt butterflies. One year since she embarked on her quest to befriend and then, for lack of better words, cuff, the resident genius.

So far, she had excelled in the first area. Veronica and Spencer got on like a house on fire. The rest of the BAU liked to call them the dynamic duo. Any move she made to try to advance the romantic aspect of the relationship, however, fell flat. Dr. Reid didn’t seem to ever go to dinners or bars, and when they did see movies, he was too engrossed in pointing out scientific inaccuracies or geeking out over the special effects. Veronica had promised herself that she would just come out and say it, and confess her feelings to him at the end of their current case.

Deciding to jump straight into the deep end, Veronica gathers her courage and probes.

“Okay, sure, Mr. Eidetic memory, you ‘just’ remembered that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Spencer asks.

“I don't know, you brought it up,” Veronica responds, “Are you wondering how I’m feeling about this past year?”

“I suppose I’m just… glad you joined the team. I feel like none of the others really understand me the way you do.” Spencer says.

Veronica smiles. “Spencer, I feel the same way.”

“Yeah?” Spencer asks, smiling back at Veronica.

“Yeah,” Veronica nods. She takes a deep breath and decides to pull the trigger, “Spencer, I-”

“We’re here.” He interrupts.

Veronica stops the car. A wooden cabin, surrounded by overgrowth and brush, looms in front of them. There are no lights on. No car out front.

“What were you about to say?” Spencer asks.

“Nothing,” Veronica says reflexively, turning off the car and drawing her gun.

Spencer stays in the car. “But I said ‘yeah?’ and then you said ‘Yeah, Spencer, I-”

“I’ll tell you after. And actually, I think you owe me a secret first. Come on, we’re running out of time.” Veronica jerks her head towards the house.

The pair creep towards the house slowly, barely making a sound up the gravel driveway. As they get to the front porch, Veronica lets Spencer go ahead to open the door. She steps to the side of the porch to let him pass, and feels a sharp poke in her left leg. She looks down to see she’s basically standing in a bush.

“Ready?” Spencer asks, looking back at her. His hand is on the doorknob, ready to open it.

Veronica nods, aiming her firearm and turning her flashlight on. Spencer throws the door open and they enter.

“FBI!” Spencer yells. “Charles Webster, show yourself.”

They walk slowly through the main floor of the house. Veronica takes a deep breath, her heart pounding. She turns right, into the kitchen. There’s a screen door that’s cracked open, bouncing lightly off the doorframe from the night breeze. Through the screen door, Veronica can see a red pickup truck parked behind the house. The kitchen is really cold, enough to make Veronica start trembling. Other than that, it’s empty.

“Clear.” Veronica says. No response. She stops in front of the screen door and turns around, stumbling slightly. Reid isn’t behind her, but her eyes are blurry. She takes a step forward, just as her vision tunnels. The last thing she sees is the floor rushing up to meet her.

Chapter 3: Day 1

Chapter Text

When Veronica wakes up, she’s forgotten how to open her eyes. She groans and tries again, then realizes she’s blinking. She’s in the dark. Rolling over to sit up, she finds her feet touching the floor much sooner than she expected. And she doesn’t have a blanket. Did she fall asleep on the floor?

Reaching out for her lamp, Veronica doesn’t find anything. It’s empty air. She stands quickly. Her gun and vest are missing. Her eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark yet, but there are absolutely no sources of light. Reaching her hands out in front of her, she walks until she bumps into a wall. Making her way to the right, she turns three corners before she finds a door. Trying the knob, it swings open away from her, into more darkness.

Veronica walks forward again, until she bumps into something cold and smooth. It’s circular, with two knobs and a spout at the back near the wall. A sink? There’s a bar of soap on the ledge. Moving over, Veronica’s leg kicks something solid. A toilet. There’s nothing else in the room.

She leaves the apparent bathroom and continues mapping the first room with her hands. After turning one more corner, she finds another door. This one has no knob or handle. She’s locked in.

Veronica shuffles her feet until she finds the mattress she woke up on, and tries to take stock of her situation. She’s in a small, rectangular room with an adjoining bathroom. Her shoes, gun, badge and vest are missing. She’s still wearing the sweatshirt, jeans and socks she had put on the day before. Assuming it was the next day.

Veronica buries her face in her hands. How did this happen? There are no sore spots on her head, so she likely wasn’t knocked out. The last thing she remembered…

Driving to the house with Spencer. Standing on the porch. Entering the house. The kitchen. No Spencer. The screen door. Darkness.

The screen door was slightly ajar when she entered the kitchen. Whoever took her must have gone in and out of it to grab her to avoid Spencer. She had been standing right in front of it when she fell. But why did she fall? Again.

Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. No Spencer. Screen door. Darkness. Nothing. Again. Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. Screen door. Darkness. Nothin. Again. Driving. Spencer. Porch. The porch. She had felt a poke in her leg from the bush.

Veronica rolls up her pant leg and runs her fingers over the back of her left leg. There’s a collection of small holes, like from a large needle. Multiple intramuscular needles to the calf, it feels like. Not the ideal way to administer drugs, but they had obviously worked.

“f*ck you.” Veronica says to the door. Yelling is pointless; obviously Charles has taken her to a different location, probably just as, if not more, remote than his cabin. If she knew what time it was, she could do the same math that the BAU is probably currently doing: the farthest distance he could have possibly driven in his truck. They have his credit cards and his license plates; they would know if he had stopped at a gas station. And besides, he wouldn’t risk stopping anywhere for long with an unconscious federal agent in his truck.

The BAU would come. They would find her. Spencer would find her.

Despite her best efforts, Veronica has no way to know how much time has passed. At one point, she had started counting. She’s at 4,899 when a small hatch at the bottom of the locked door opens up and a tray of food is pushed through. In the small patch of light that comes through, Veronica sees that it’s a small cup of water, a slice of bread and an apple.

“Charles?” Veronica says. “Can I talk to you?”

Silence. She decides to continue, crawling across the floor and sitting in front of the tray of food.

“Charles, I know you took me because you lost someone. If you let me go, we can get you some help. We can give you medication. We can keep you safe.”

The hatch on the door slides shut. Veronica slams her fist against it in frustration.

The tray of food is on the floor. All of Webster’s other victims hadn’t had anything in their stomachs at the time of their deaths. They had been starved. Why is he feeding her?

“Guess he already f*cking has me anyways.” Veronica says out loud, sniffing the cup of water before taking a sip.

The bread is stale and the apple is bland, but it’s something. Even though Webster has changed his MO to feed her, Veronica is still confident that he’s going to keep her without touching her, then drive her to a body of water to kill and dump her. That’s her best chance of escape. If she can overpower him before he kills her, she’ll be able to get away.

His timeline is devolving. It would only be a matter of days before he let her out. She just has to be patient. The BAU will find her.

Chapter 4: Day 2

Chapter Text

Veronica groans and rolls over, still in total darkness. With no way to tell how much time has passed, she has no idea how long she’s slept. She wonders what that’s going to do to her circadian rhythm.

Sitting in the darkness, Veronica notices something. Or rather, a lack of something. There is absolutely no noise. No traffic. No birds. No footsteps. Nothing. Wherever she is, most likely a basem*nt, is completely soundproofed. Which means that no matter how loud she screams and yells, no one will hear her.

Veronica sighs. Some one year anniversary. No more food has appeared since the first tray, which sits empty in front of the hatch it came from. Veronica is starting to regret drinking all the water in one go.

The BAU has an ID. They have a license plate, an address, a work address, tax records, credit cards, fingerprints, phone number, email, everything. All they have to do is find him.

They will find him. And then they'll find her.

-&-

May 1, 2009

“Hi there, are you looking for someone?” A woman with dark, jet black hair asks.

“Hi, my name’s Veronica Banks. Today’s my first day and I need to speak with…” Veronica looks at the sticky note in her hand, “Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner?”

The woman smiles. “Hotch’s office is the one with the windows up there. Welcome to the BAU!”

Veronica smiles back and walks up to the office that the woman had pointed at. A serious looking man sits at the desk. Veronica knocks lightly on the door.

“Yes, good morning.” The man says, looking up at her.

“Good morning, Agent Hotchner. My name is Veronica Banks, today’s my first day with the BAU.” Veronica says.

“Of course, welcome. We’re very happy to have you joining our team, Agent Banks.” Agent Hotchner stands, holding his hand out. Veronica shakes it and smiles.

“I’m happy to be here, sir.”

“Please, call me Hotch. Your desk is ready for you…” He walks over to the window that overlooks the open office, “It’s the, well, empty one down there across from Agent Morgan. Please take some time to settle in. We’ll have your name placard and computer set up for you by the end of the day.”

Veronica thanks Agent Hotchner and heads back down to the main office. Nobody else is around, not even the woman she spoke to, so she finds the emptiest-looking desk and starts setting up camp. The small box she had brought is unpacked and put away within minutes. A mug from a trip she took to Alaska in her senior year of university. A small potted plant - a gift from her mother. An empty notebook. A novel by Dr. David Rossi. Another one by Temperance Brennan.

“Agent Banks,” Hotch says from behind Veronica. She jumps and swears she sees an amused smile glance across his face. He continues, “The team is meeting in the conference room. I thought I should make the introductions.”

Veronica nods and follows Hotch to the conference room. She glances at her reflection in every window they pass. Her lucky blue sweater and black slacks fit her perfectly, while her black boots make her feel tall and confident. Her red hair is curled and smoothed down. She’ll make a good impression.

In her past jobs and at the FBI Academy, she hadn’t really had a close group of coworkers. She was too shy, too quiet. But this time, she’s determined to be part of the group. Being in a specialized unit requires a high degree of camaraderie and trust between agents. It’s time to try being extroverted, or at least put effort into making friends.

“Team, we have a new recruit joining us. This is SSA Veronica Banks. She’s a behavioural analyst and undercover specialist.” Hotch says.

A room full of people sitting at a round table stare at her.

“From left to right, Agents Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi, Dr. Spencer Reid, and our Technical Analyst Penelope Garcia.”

Each person waves at the mention of their name. With relief, Veronica recognizes the woman she spoke to earlier as Agent Prentiss. Everyone else smiles warmly as she nods at them, trying to burn their names into her brain. When Hotch gets to Dr. Reid, however, Veronica knows that his name and face are going to stick. Her face immediately burns red-hot, and she worries that all of these profilers are going to read her like a book. That is, until Penelope saves the day.

“OMG, hi! You are so pretty, I demand that you sit next to me.” She says, patting the chair next to her.

Veronica smiles. “Thank you, I would be honoured.”

As she sits next to Penelope, she glances at Dr. Reid. For a split second, she thinks he’s looking back at her, but before she can process it, his eyes are looking across the room.

“So, Veronica, Hotch said you’re an undercover specialist?” Emily asks.

“Yes, I am. It’s not an official title, but during my academy training my supervisors determined that I have a knack for undercover operations. I got my Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees in Anthropology, with a concentration in sociocultural anthropology, which includes linguistics. I… also took drama classes throughout high school and college for fun.” Veronica smiles shyly.

“So, we’re doing undercover missions now?” Derek looks at Hotch.

“When necessary, and they will be carried out by Veronica whenever possible.”

Veronica smiles politely, feeling self conscious. The team is clearly close-knit; they've likely all been working together for several years. Veronica's the newcomer who's threatening to shake up the balance of the group, albeit unintentionally. She looks at Penelope reflexively, who gives her a thumbs-up. She instantly feels relieved. Penelope is going to be a good person to get to know.

“Welcome to the team, Veronica. I wish we were able to ease you into your first day, but I actually have a case for us.” The blonde woman, Jennifer, says, standing and turning on the projector at the end of the room.

Veronica sits, watching Jennifer’s presentation attentively. She realizes that everyone else has files and documents in front of them, and wishes Hotch had at least told her to bring her notebook. Penelope takes one look at the crime scene photos and lets out a squeak, sliding the rest of them over to Veronica without looking. On top of the photos is a sticky note.

“That’s all for me, folks! I’ll be in my batcave when you’re done with the icky stuff.” She stands and beelines for the door, her hot pink heeled pumps retreating out of the conference room. Veronica opens the sticky note. 537 .

“Murder-suicide?” Derek asks.

“That’s what the Cleveland PD thought, but after two more identical crime scenes, they started to get suspicious.” Jennifer answers.

“Identical?” Emily asks.

“In all three cases, the female victim was found on the master bed with one gunshot to the temple. The male victim was found in the bathtub of the nearest bathroom with one gunshot to the temple.”

“Did the unsub take all of their wedding rings?” Veronica asks, hoping it’s not a dumb question.

“It doesn’t appear any of these victims wore wedding rings,” Dr. Reid says, his nose only a handful of centimetres from one of the crime scene photos, “From what I can see in these photos, none of their hands have any indentations that come from wearing a ring.”

“None of the couples have the same last name, either.” JJ says.

“But we confirmed they were married?” Emily asks.

“Penelope confirmed that each pair was living at the same address for over three years.”

“Common-law relationships?” Veronica asks, taking a guess. Professionally, it’s called making an inference.

“Maybe our unsub doesn’t like those who live in sin.” Emily quirks an eyebrow.

“That could be our connection. We’ll talk to the families when we land in Cleveland,” Hotch stands and makes for the door, “Good start, everyone. Wheels up in 30.”

Veronica looks around helplessly as everyone starts to stand. “Uh, wait.”

Emily and Derek stop to look at her. Jennifer and David have already gone, and Dr. Reid walks out without a word.

Veronica holds up the sticky note. “537?”

Derek smiles. “Directions to Penelope’s ‘batcave’. That’s the room number of her office. Out the doors, to the left.”

“Cool.” Veronica says. “Also, what do I bring to Ohio?”

“You didn’t bring a go-bag?” Emily sighs. “I’m sorry, I guess you didn’t know we’d be getting a case today. Where do you live?”

“Arlington.”

“No good. We’ll do some shopping in Cleveland.” Emily smiles. “Just grab whatever you have here and bring it.”

Veronica follows the pair of them back down to the bullpen. Derek’s desk faces hers, with a short plastic divider in between them. Across the aisle, to his left, is Emily’s desk, and across the aisle from Veronica, to her right, is Dr. Reid’s. The four of them have a little square pod, bisected down the middle.

Veronica looks at the glaring emptiness of her desk and feels strangely self conscious. She picks up the purse she brought in with her. It wasn’t much of an overnight bag, although it had served as a small pharmacy and first aid kit on occasion. There was a bottle of ibuprofen, some bandaids, tampons and bobby pins, a tube of chapstick, sunglasses, her keys, her wallet, a pack of gum, her regular glasses and a travel-sized tube of hand lotion. She never went far without any hand lotion; her hands were perpetually dry and she hated the sensation of her dry skin touching any sort of paper or similar texture. It literally made her nauseous.

Fortunately, Veronica had had the sense to put David Rossi’s book in her desk drawer. She didn’t want to seem like a crazed fan. The Temperance Brennan book, however, she takes, along with her notebook and a pen.

“You read Dr. Brennan’s novels?” She hears from behind her.

Veronica turns to see Dr. Reid looking quizzically at the novel in her hand.

“Yes, I’m a big fan of hers. I picked up the latest one the other day.” Veronica answers.

“Don’t you find the inaccuracies irritating?”

“Inaccuracies?” Veronica looks down at the novel, then up at Dr. Reid, “Dr. Brennan is a Forensic Anthropologist at the Jefferson Institute in the Smithsonian; she works very closely with the FBI.”

“I know who Dr. Brennan is.” Dr. Reid says flatly.

“I met her at a book signing two years ago. She puts in a lot of effort to make sure the information in her books is as exact as possible. Just because they’re fictional stories doesn’t mean they’re inaccurate.” Veronica raises an eyebrow. She would normally stay quiet before provoking a confrontation like this, but for some reason she feels the need to prove herself to Dr. Reid. “Do you think that because her doctorates are in hard sciences that she doesn't care about good writing, or is it because she’s a woman?”

Dr. Reid opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, then closes it. Derek interrupts, laughing gleefully. Emily stands with her arms crossed, but her face displays incredulous amusem*nt.

“Damn, kid. You got him good. It’s not everyday someone leaves Reid speechless, and you’ve only been here, what,” Derek checks his watch, “2 hours?”

Veronica turns back to Dr. Reid, her eyes wide. “Oh, I’m sorry, Dr. Reid, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine.” Dr. Reid says, pushing past the group and slinging his bag over his shoulder as he walks away.

Veronica watches him go. Derek and Emily share an amused look, then look back at Veronica. She sucks air in through her teeth.

“Scale of 1-10, how badly did I f*ck that up?” She asks the other two agents. They have a strong brother-sister energy, and Veronica already feels like she wants to be part of their group.

Emily laughs, “In my experience, he’s surprised he got schooled and is going to go think of a comeback while we’re on the plane. Don’t be surprised if he gets back to you in a couple hours.” She, too, shoulders her bag and leaves, following the path of Dr. Reid.

Veronica sighs.

“Hey, kid, don’t feel too bad,” Derek says, walking with Veronica as they head out to the elevators, “Emily’s right, but if I’m not mistaken, Reid’s also impressed. I haven’t heard anyone talk that much, that confidently, since… well, Reid.”

“Really?” Veronica asks.

Derek grins. “We may have just found a worthy opponent for our resident boy genius.”

-&-

Veronica sighs, sitting on the mattress. Her stomach growls and her mouth is dry as the Sahara. Webster had left her hair in its ponytail, which she takes out. She tries to comb through her hair with her fingers, then puts it back into the ponytail.

She’s wearing her Cleveland State University sweatshirt that she had bought on her first case with the team. Thankfully, they had only been out there for about a week, so she and Emily had just run to the supermarket and picked up the basics. She couldn’t resist the sweater she saw at the airport, however. She liked to be sentimental, in her own, not-obvious ways, but it was also functional. Penelope had shown her how to get the purchase reimbursed as a travel expense, given that wearing a University sweatshirt would help Veronica when she needed to go undercover as a student. Whether or not that operation had actually happened yet? That was on a need-to-know basis, and the FBI’s corporate suits didn’t really need to know.

Veronica can’t believe that had been a full year ago. Spencer had been right, it didn’t feel like a year. It felt like two days and two lifetimes simultaneously. On average, they had had one case every week, although some of them lasted only days, and others several weeks. The constant travel and unpredictability had kept them moving, though they were also grateful for the days in the office, where they were drowning in paperwork. At least, Veronica was.

It's still so quiet. Veronica stands and paces back and forth. She’s only able to get about five steps in along the longer wall of the room, and she could cross it the other way in three. Pacing doesn’t get her very far, but it gives her something to do. As she paces, she reviews the facts of the Webster profile.

He never took more than one girl at a time. Unfortunately, the fact that nobody had found her yet meant that they probably hadn’t found the last victim alive. Otherwise, they’d know where he was keeping Veronica.

He doesn’t sexually assault them, or touch them in any way at all. There were no premortem injuries found, other than those that indicated struggles when the girls were initially abducted. The only major injuries found were those sustained antemortem - the strangulation that resulted in their deaths.

His timelines were shortening. The first victim had been missing for three weeks before turning up. The second, 18 days. The third, two weeks. The fourth, 12 days. The fifth, 10 days. The latest had been expected to be found after one week. That meant that Veronica would likely be taken out around the fifth day.

The last victims hadn’t seemed to put up much of a fight. They were likely weak from being starved. Veronica stops pacing. She drops to the floor and does thirty push-ups. As long as she was being given food, she has to try to keep her strength up so that she could fight off Webster before he strangled her.

That was the other thing; Webster only killed his victims after he had driven them to the dump sites. Why not kill them at home, then drive them to the dump site? Rossi had profiled him as a sexual sad*st. He wanted them to see the outside. He liked to give them a glimpse of hope, then watch as that hope and their lives were crushed simultaneously.

Veronica sighs and buries her head in her hands again. The sound of scraping metal makes her jump, and the window at the bottom of the door slides open again. A wrinkled, rough hand reaches in to take the old tray of food, then replaces it with new food. The same; a glass of water, a slice of bread, an apple.

“Mr. Webster? May I talk to you now?” Veronica asks. Her voice is raspy, but calm. The window slides shut. Veronica sighs. He’s a sad*st; he wants her to scream, to cry, to beg. She won’t give him the satisfaction.

Veronica sips the water slowly this time. If she had to guess…. she had no way to know how long it had been since the last meal. Breakfast and dinner? No, if she had slept from the drugs on the way here, she wouldn’t sleep again so soon after waking up. It couldn’t still be the same day as when she was taken. Or rather, the day after she was taken. Today had to be day two… right?

Veronica’s stomach sinks. That means it had been more than 24 hours since she was taken. Everyone on the team knew the importance of the first 48-72 hours of a missing persons case; Veronica can practically hear Spencer’s voice reminding her.

She eats the bread slowly. Spencer… this is some trick of fate, her being abducted on the day she was going to tell him about her feelings. The high school drama of it all was partly annoying, partly exciting. Maybe Veronica was a masoch*st; she found herself enjoying the rush of having a crush, stealing glances across the aisle when they were sitting at their desks, when they were paired up together to visit a location, when they sat together on the jet.

Veronica had experienced her fair share of high school boys; nothing serious, but she was bolder than most of her classmates. After a month or so of the crush, she’d walk right up to the guy and ask him out. More often than not, they’d say yes out of pure shock that someone would be so forthright. That had changed after she'd graduated high school. She became quieter, more introverted.

Spencer was different, though. No matter how hard she tried, Veronica could never work up the nerve to say what she wanted to. She had always been particular to the shy, nerdy boys, but something about Dr. Reid wouldn’t let her get her feet under herself long enough to commit to saying it. Maybe it was a fear of rejection; she’d probably end up making things awkward, and that would ruin the dynamic of the team. Or maybe it was the fact that he was a profiler; she would probably walk right up to him and he’d guess exactly word-for-word what she was about to confess just based on the position of the stars when she was born or some bullsh*t like that.

Maybe when she got back, she could say it at the hospital and blame it on whatever medication they gave her.

Veronica sits with her back against the wall, pulls her knees up and crosses her arms over them, and lays her head down. Anytime, team. No rush.

Chapter 5: Day 5

Chapter Text

If Veronica is being fed once a day, today is day five. She finishes her bread and takes another sip of water. Today is likely the day that Webster will try to kill her. She has to stay on her toes.

She’s found herself getting used to the silence. Every so often, she talks to herself, usually thinking through the case or a possible escape. Mostly, though, she sits. The opening of the little window startles her every time. When it does, the small amount of light coming through the allows her pupils to flex for a minute, so she hopes it’s enough to allow her eyes to adjust quickly when Webster takes her out.

She hasn’t tried to talk to him any more. Clearly, he wasn’t going to engage. She hasn’t begged or screamed or hit the walls, either. Veronica is a patient woman.

She passes the time by alternating between sitting, pacing, doing push-ups and doing jumping jacks. Besides reviewing the profile and her various escape strategies, she also reviews the events of the night of her abduction. There isn’t a doubt in her mind that once she’s recovered and back at the FBI, some suit-wearing higher-up is going to want to interview both her and Spencer to see what went wrong.

Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. No Spencer. Screen door. Darkness. Nothing.

Yes, she and Spencer splitting up to search the house wasn’t what the Bureau would classify as “within protocol”. However, time had been of the essence, and Veronica had assumed that Spencer was behind her, anyways. Could they have taken a local police officer with them? Possibly, but the Phoenix PD hadn’t paid them much attention after they’d given their profile. Veronica had gotten the sense that they wanted their conference room back.

Veronica sits in wait. She hopes Webster will give her shoes back before he takes her out. She really likes those boots; they're comfortable and give her an extra inch of height, bringing her closer to Spencer’s towering face, a fact that's extremely helpful in their petty arguments.

May 5, 2009

“Dr. Reid? May I… Is that seat taken?”

Dr. Reid looks up from the book he’s scanning with his finger, blinking to focus his eyes. Veronica stands in the aisle of the jet, looking at him. She watches his eyes scan the rest of the cabin, assessing how everyone else has sprawled across all of the other seats. Her instinct is to avoid him altogether, still feeling embarrassed by her rebuttal of his opinion on Dr. Brennan’s book. But she has no other choice, and in the interest of making a good impression with the team, she should probably apologize.

He nods. “It’s yours.”

Veronica sits across from him, putting her bag down on the floor and pulling out her Dr. Brennan book. She stares at the cover, then glances up at Dr. Reid, who’s gone back to scanning the book in his hands.

“Dr. Reid, I-”

“Please call me Spencer. Or Reid.”

“Okay… Reid. I’d just like to apologize for my outburst on the day we met. It was inappropriate, and I shouldn’t have presumed anything. I… don’t even know you.” Veronica says, looking up at the doctor from under her eyelids.

“I forgot all about it.” Reid says, his voice calm. He hasn’t lifted his eyes from his book.

Veronica furrows her brow. Derek had told her that Reid had a perfect memory, so how could he forget? Unless Derek had been pranking her. Or maybe Reid was just trying to end the conversation.

“Okay, well. In any case, I’m sorry.” Veronica says. She clears her throat and opens her book. She fiddles with her black ballpoint pen as she reads, resisting the urge to glance up at the face across from her. She had found herself looking at him many times during their case, studying his strong cheekbones and jawline. He has a quiet, nerdy thing going on, and it is working for her, aesthetically speaking. Plus, the faces he makes when he thinks no one is looking at him are highly amusing, especially when someone says something dumb.

She gets maybe three pages in before Reid clears his throat across from her. “Do you need to do that with your pen? It’s incredibly distracting.”

“Sorry.” She puts the pen down without looking up. “It’s a habit.”

Veronica feels Reid staring at her, even as she continues reading. She hopes she hasn’t spilled anything on her new Cleveland State University sweatshirt. It’s probably silly, but she’s glad she has a memento of her first case with the BAU; the case had gone about as well as it could have. They were in and out of Ohio in under a week, and they had found the latest victims before the target had a chance to kill them.

“I don’t believe Dr. Brennan is a poor writer,” Reid says, prompting Veronica to look up at him. He clears his throat and continues, “I was merely unaware that she puts so much effort into her novels. I don’t read a lot of modern fiction, especially in the true crime genre. I find most of it is dramatized and exaggerated.”

Veronica nods. She’s putting effort into making friends. She's having a conversation. “You should give her books a try some time. You can borrow them from me, if you want. I have all of them at home.”

Reid stays silent for a moment, before closing his book. “Would you like to play chess?”

“I… don’t know how.” Veronica puts her own book down.

“Don’t say that, kid. He’s only gonna teach you how to lose.” Derek says from over the seats. Apparently Agent Morgan has a propensity for eavesdropping.

Reid scowls, then pulls the board out from under the table. “You never learned how to play?”

Veronica shrugs. “Never really had an interest.”

Veronica swears that Reid somehow looks more offended at that than when she told him off a handful of days ago. She smiles sheepishly. “Sorry, it’s just… it’s kind of ridiculous. All the moves have silly names like the Spanish Inquisition.”

Reid gapes at her, his mouth slightly open. “The Spanish Inquisition is not a chess move, it was part of the spread of Catholicism across Europe starting in the fifteenth century and was primarily intended to identify and prosecute heretics, including those who practiced Judaism and Islam-”

“I know, Reid. I was making a joke.” Veronica says.

“A… a joke.” Reid responds, looking absolutely dumbfounded.

“Kid, you gotta slow down. I don’t know if Reid has ever been left speechless twice in one week before,” Derek appears in the aisle, “You might break his brain.”

Veronica sighs. Why did she keep talking? “I’m sorry, Doct- Reid.”

At the sound of his name, Reid’s face changes. It softens, his body language changing from guarded and tense to slightly more relaxed and open. He starts setting up the chess board, placing the white pieces closest to himself.

“Would you like to learn how to play?” He asks.

Veronica and Derek share a look, then she looks back at Reid and smiles.

“Sure.”

Derek chuckles, then pats the top of Veronica’s seat. “Play nice, you two.” He says as he turns to go back down the aisle.

Chapter 6: Day 9

Chapter Text

Veronica hadn’t panicked when she woke up in the same dark room on Day 6. She had only slightly panicked when she woke up in the same dark room in Day 7. Now, it’s Day 9, and she’s full out panicking.

Webster has broken his pattern. His timelines were shortening, that was her rationale, the entire reason she hadn’t been freaking out. Now, she doesn’t know what to think.

She paces around the room, muttering. Maybe she had counted wrong? Maybe she had been fed twice a day, and today is Day 5 after all. That has to be it, right? The darkness has f*cked with her body so much, she has no idea how time is passing.

Veronica does push-ups until her arms give out; jumping jacks until a stitch grows in her side. It’s been nine days since she had a cup of coffee, and her withdrawal headache is just beginning to subside. Her hands haven’t had any lotion this whole time, either. They’re uncomfortably dry. She reviews the case again.

The bodies had been found no more than six hours after being dumped, the latest at 6 a.m. Time of death for every single victim was determined to be immediately before they were dumped. The next victim’s missing persons reports were processed by the time the last victim was found. That meant that Webster was killing and dumping the victims at around midnight, then immediately picking up his next one.

Veronica paces. She bites into the apple from meal number 9. It’s either Day 9, or the morning of Day 5. She still can’t figure out why none of the other victims had been found with empty stomachs, while she was being fed, albeit not a substantial amount. They do almost nothing to fill the emptiness in her stomach, even when she tries to space out when she eats. She also discovers that Webster won’t exchange the trays unless the old one is empty, with the cup on it. She can’t hoard the water.

After the eleventh meal, she remembers the bathroom sink. She grabs the cup and drinks the last of the water that had been given to her, then hurries into the bathroom. She can pretty much walk around freely without having to hold both of her arms out like a zombie, although she still uses one as a precaution. She finds the sink and the ‘cold’ tap, and turns it on. She fills the cup.

She brings the cup to her mouth, then hesitates. She sniffs. She doesn’t smell anything strange. Taking a sip, it doesn’t taste out of the ordinary. She downs one cup, then another, and another. She fills it again and brings it back into the main room.

Back at the office, she had been committed, almost religiously, to drinking at least two litres during the work day. Then, when she got home from work, she made sure to drink at least one more litre throughout the evening before bed. The habit not only made her feel great, she also got to brag about never passing out after donating blood, never feeling sluggish, and never getting dehydrated after sitting on the jet for hours.

Veronica goes back to pacing now. 11 meals. 11 days? Almost two weeks. Webster’s timeline pattern has long since broken. Does that indicate that his devolution stopped? Is that even possible?

Or… Veronica’s heart sinks. Had he taken another victim on the same night he took her, and he’d already killed and dumped her? She would have had no way to know if there were other rooms like this one next to her.

Veronica sinks onto the mattress. She feels the tears welling up in her eyes, and muffles her sobs and sniffles as best as she can. She can’t let Webster hear her crying. She can’t give him the satisfaction.

May 22, 2009

Veronica steps out of the shower in her motel room in Windsor, Ontario. They’d closed the case of the pig-farming murder brothers and they still had more RCMP/FBI bureaucracy to deal with in the morning. Veronica had taken extra time to scrub every inch of her skin in the shower, trying to wash off the disgustingness of the case.

As she pulls on the motel bathrobe, something on her lower back, right on her spine, starts to itch. She tries to reach it with her fingers and thinks she feels small bumps, but they’re in the exact spot that she can’t see in the mirror. She was out in the forest; it could be any number of things. Ticks, mosquitoes, horseflies, bees, poison ivy, poison oak, poison sumac. Her heart starts to beat faster. What if it’s some flesh-eating disease?

Veronica’s never been one to overreact, at least not outwardly. It’s probably nothing. She’d fallen over earlier that day, tripped over a root or something, and landed squarely on her butt. Fortunately, no one had seen. She would have heard an earful from Derek if he’d witnessed it. Maybe she’d landed on a patch of poison ivy. Or an anthill. She doesn’t know enough about the flora and fauna of central North America. Maybe they have those beetles from The Mummy that burrow under your skin. Veronica involuntarily shudders at the thought.

She sighs. It’s one in the morning. Maybe Emily will still be up. Something about female solidarity and checking each other. A lower back rash isn’t so different from a period, right? Securing the bathrobe around herself, she pulls on a pair of socks and leaves her motel room, padding quietly across the hall to Emily’s room. She knocks on the door. No response. She knocks again. “Emily?”

To the left, another door opens. Reid’s head sticks out of his doorway. “Are you looking for Emily?”

Veronica clutches the neck of the bathrobe tightly, feeling her cheeks heat up. “Y… yes.”

“Everyone else went out for a late dinner.” Reid says. Veronica remembers the invitation she’d declined. Of course they had. Of course she needed them right now.

“Everyone?” She asks.

He nods. “Except me, Hotch and Rossi. Is there something I can do?”

None of those options are ideal, but of the three, Reid is probably the least worst. She’d rather know if she has flesh-eating disease. That thought about the beetles pretty much ensured she’s not going to be able to sleep until she gets a confirmation.

“Okay, but… we need to do this in private.” Veronica says quietly.

Reid’s brow furrows, but he steps aside for her to enter. She does, and turns to face him as he closes the door behind them.

“So, what’s wrong?” He asks.

“It’s… I found a rash on my back and I’m kind of worried that I have Lyme disease or necrotizing fasciitis or something.” She says, trying to keep her voice calm.

Reid co*cks an eyebrow skeptically, but nods. “I can take a look.”

Veronica turns around so her back is to him. She takes a deep breath, then opens her bathrobe and lets it drop to just above her hips. Her heart is racing, either from the paranoia that she’s going to die or from the thrill of being completely topless in front of her cute coworker, she’s not sure.

She gasps softly as cold fingers brush against her lower back. Resisting the urge to shiver, she stands as still as possible.

“So, what’s the prognosis?” She asks lightly.

“It’s just poison ivy.” Reid says, and then his fingers are gone from her skin. “You’ll be fine. If it really bothers you, I’m sure you can find several over-the-counter topical medications in any pharmacy.”

Veronica pulls her robe back up and ties it tightly, then turns to face him again. His cheeks are tinged with pink. “Are you sure it’s not Lyme or those beetles from The Mummy -”

“Veronica.” Reid says, gentle yet definitive, “It’s just poison ivy. I promise.”

She nods, suddenly feeling embarrassed. So much fuss for no reason. “Well, thanks for checking, Reid.”

“‘Those beetles from The Mummy ?’” He asks, echoing her words.

“You know, those scarabs that burrow under your skin and eat your flesh.”

“Is that… a movie?”

Veronica raises her eyebrows. She’s still not used to Reid’s utter ignorance of popular culture. “Yeah, it came out in 1999, sort of launched Brendan Fraser into mainstream success.”

Reid shakes his head, lost. “I don’t know who that is.”

Veronica suppresses an eye roll. “Well, at least you know the earth revolves around the sun… right?”

This time, Reid’s eyes flash in recognition. “Are you comparing me to Sherlock Holmes?”

“ A Study In Scarlet ,” Veronica throws her hands in the air, though she smiles, “Of course you’d know that and not The Mummy .”

She laughs, and Reid smiles, and for a second she forgets that she’s wearing nothing but a bathrobe. Then she remembers and crosses her arms, just in case. Her face is burning again.

“You should watch The Mummy . I think you’d like it. Or if you don’t, I’m sure you’ll enjoy shouting historical corrections at the T.V.” Veronica says.

“I don’t own a T.V.” Spencer says.

“Oh.”

He nods back. The air between them drips with awkwardness. The room is too silent. “Veronica, are you… do you consider yourself a hypochondriac?”

“No, no, not usually.” Veronica says with a shrug, “I guess this case just kind of put me on edge.”

“I understand.” Reid responds, putting his hands in his pockets. Veronica hadn’t noticed before, but he’s still dressed in his clothes from earlier that day. She should let him get some sleep.

Veronica clears her throat. “Well, I’ll leave you alone. Sorry to bug you with that.”

“Don’t apologize,” Reid smiles, “It was no bother.”

She smiles back. “And, um, if we could just keep this between us…”

Reid opens the door for her. “Of course. But, fair warning, Garcia and Morgan have a way of finding out about this kind of stuff.”

What kind of stuff? Veronica dares not ask as she steps out of his motel room, worried that he’s going to reveal something she doesn’t want to hear. “Thanks, Reid.”

He smiles at her one last time before closing his door. She smiles back at the solid wood, then turns to see Penelope and Derek watching from the end of the hall, having evidently just returned from their night out. sh*t .

Veronica doesn’t remember taking a nap, but her eyes are puffy and sore when she opens them. She’d cried herself to sleep.

The scent of her perfume had long worn off of her sweatshirt. In fact, the room was starting to smell a bit musty, the smell of sweat and stale air mixing with the dankness of the basem*nt. Veronica stands and stretches her arms. She makes her way into the bathroom and strips off all of her clothes, even her underwear. She plugs the sink and starts to fill it with warm water, then lathers up the soap and starts to hand wash her clothes.

After wringing out her clothes and draping them over the top of the bathroom door, she holds the bar of soap in her hand. Weighing her options, she decides to wash herself too. Splashing the water on herself, she gives herself a makeshift sponge bath, although there’s no sponge, no washcloth, no towels.

After washing herself as much as she can, Veronica stands in the dark, shivering and wet. She goes back to the mattress, and curls up. Her clothes won’t be dry for a long time. Her hair feels greasy and gross, she doesn’t have a toothbrush or deodorant, and she hasn’t seen the sun in… who knows how many days.

Veronica goes through the basic biology knowledge she has in her head. She has water and a limited supply of food. She could survive for months with the water, although the low amount of carbohydrates and sugars she’s getting will eventually put her into ketosis. She’s getting no protein, so her strength won’t be maintained. She’s getting no sunlight and no Vitamin D, so her bones will weaken and she’ll be fatigued.

Webster could keep her forever.

Veronica takes a gulp of water from her cup. She’s feeling hydrated enough, thanks to the sink. She sighs and puts the empty cup back down on the tray. Meal number 12 should be arriving any minute now.

Chapter 7: Day 13

Chapter Text

Veronica wakes with a start, her stomach churning. She feels a bead of sweat roll down her back as she involuntarily gags. Standing, she rushes into the bathroom and locates the toilet just in time to vomit into it. She shivers as she sits back against the wall of the bathroom, dripping in sweat.

What now? She’d been fine for almost two weeks, but… what had changed?

She runs through everything she had been eating since she woke up in the basem*nt. It isn’t an extensive list; water, bread, apples. She hadn’t been examining the bread or apples very closely, although she didn’t have much time while the window in the door was open to let light in. Nothing had tasted funny.

Her stomach churns again. Thankful for the stack of toilet paper rolls she had discovered in the corner of the room the other day, Veronica groans.

This feels like food poisoning. Veronica flushes and washes her hands, then puts her back against the wall and slides to the floor, resigning herself to staying in the bathroom for the foreseeable future. Not like she has anywhere else to go.

She hears the little window slide open, hears the tray being replaced. Shivering, she crawls to the new tray and sips from the full cup of water. She needs to replace the fluids she’s losing. She returns to the bathroom with the cup and sits against the wall, dropping her head back to stare at where the ceiling would be.

Time is meaningless. Who knows how long it's been since Webster grabbed her? Days, weeks, months? How long can a human eye go without visual stimulation before it's permanently damaged? If she escapes, will she be the same as she was before?

Woah... when did her thought process go fromwhen to if? That can't be a good sign. Veronica's head throbs. She groans and falls onto her side, feeling the cold stone on her skin. The only option she has now is to take it one day at a time.

May 24, 2009

Veronica climbs out of the SUV to see Spencer laying on the front lawn of the house, clutching his left leg. She runs over to him and drops to her knees.

“Spencer, what happened?” She asks, seeing a pool of blood soaking his trousers and pooling onto the grass.

“I’m fine, go help Meyers.” He says, pointing across the lawn. Veronica looks over her shoulder to see the other agents running to a man laying in the grass. Dr. Barton is also there, hunched over him and apparently trying to stop Meyers from bleeding out.

Veronica turns back to Spencer and inspects his leg. She’s no paramedic, but her basic CPR/First Aid training tells her to apply pressure, which she does by taking her cardigan off and pressing it to the wound. Spencer grimaces.

“He shot you?” She asks. Spencer nods, and she sighs. “It doesn’t seem to have hit your femoral artery, which is good, because you’d already be dead. The ambulance will be here any second, and they’ll fix you up and you’ll be as good as new.”

“Sorry about your sweater.” Spencer says with a grimace.

Veronica looks down at her hands, pressed into his thigh. The only thing between them is the leg of his trousers and her cream coloured knit cardigan, which are both very quickly turning a deep shade of crimson. Normally, she’d insist on being taken to dinner before touching a man like this, but desperate times call for desperate measures. She attributes her pounding heart to her spiking adrenaline, and hopes Spencer will have the decency to conveniently "forget" this little situation.

A blue gloved hand appears on her bicep. “We’ll take it from here, ma’am.” Veronica stands back and watches the newly-arrived paramedics as they tourniquet Spencer’s leg and load him onto a gurney.

As the ambulance peels away, lights and sirens blaring, Veronica looks down at her hands, now stained red with her friend-slash-coworker’s blood, and the equally stained sweater still clutched in her fists.

Chapter 8: Day 14

Chapter Text

Veronica doesn’t sleep well. When she’s not crawling back and forth between the mattress and the bathroom, she’s tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable. And when she’s not doing that, she’s laying perfectly still, trying to ride out the waves of nausea.

She takes a sip from her cup of water. Her hand shakes as she lowers it back to the ground, and she wonders briefly if one can puke themselves to death.

Actually, there are multiple ways to die from emesis. You could inhale some of it and aspirate. You could become severely dehydrated, which in turn could lead to abnormal electrolyte levels. If your potassium gets too low, you could go into cardiac arrest.

Spencer’s voice rings out in her ears as clear as if he was in the room with her. For a moment, she glances around, half expecting to see him. But of course he’s not here. She wonders if solitary confinement can trigger psychotic episodes.

No response from brain Spencer. That’s probably not a good sign.

She misses stupid things, like her toothbrush. Or her CD collection. She misses important things, too, like her Australian Shepherd, her friends, her freedom. And not feeling terrible all the time. And Spencer.

For the millionth time, she tries to replay that night in her brain. She just can’t wrap her head around how or why Spencer disappeared. No matter how many times she tries to go through it, nothing ever makes any more sense than it did before.

There’s a drug called ipecac that used to be sold as a remedy for poison ingestion. It’s an emetic, which means it induces vomiting. It was found to be mostly ineffective at reversing the effects of poison, and its use in modern medicine has been discontinued. It has also been used by people who suffer from the eating disorder bulimia nervosa.

Brain Spencer’s still hung up on the vomiting. Veronica can’t lift her arm without trembling. She must have spent too much time with Spencer. Now she feels bad for even thinking that. Of course she didn’t spend too much time with Spencer. She needs to spend more time with him. She’s twenty-five years old; she needs to spend more time being alive. And not in some creep’s dingy basem*nt.

She takes a gulp of water, swishes it around in her mouth, and spits it onto the floor. It doesn’t do much to get the acrid taste out of her throat, but she doesn’t have any other options. She’s going to be sick again any minute now, anyways.

Veronica lowers herself to lie down on the thin mattress, and curls into the fetal position. Her stomach hasn’t stopped cramping in what feels like days, and it’s getting harder and harder to keep her eyes open. It must be some sort of medical anomaly that her stomach keeps finding things to throw up.

The room finally stops spinning. Veronica wonders what Webster’s game is. Suddenly, she sits up, and the room starts spinning all over again. Webster’s previous victims had been found with empty stomachs. Maybe they had gotten sick too, somehow, and that’s how he ensured they were too weak to fight back.

She has to get better. She has to stop being sick. But she doesn’t know how to do that. She’s helpless.

May 28, 2009

“What about Pan’s Labyrinth? It’s directed by Guillermo del Toro, and it’s pretty recent, but I bet we can find a DVD of the original version in Spanish somewhere.” Veronica says, typing the title of the film into her laptop’s search engine.

She continues typing on her laptop, positioned next to Spencer who is still sitting in his hospital bed. It’s been three days since he was shot and Hotch was stabbed. Spencer’s doctor had requested he stay for some extra tests to determine how much physical therapy he’ll need, but he’d been discharged earlier that morning.

The rest of the team had conveniently been too busy to drive Spencer home, so Veronica had been appointed his taxi driver for the day. She’d brought his go bag from the office so that he could change before they left the hospital.

“I’m going to change now.” Spencer says. Veronica packs up her laptop and bag and steps out of the room, closing the door behind her.

The hospital is quiet for a weekday afternoon. The ladies at the nurse’s station are taking a probably well-deserved break. Veronica wanders over to a vending machine, perusing the options. None of the good stuff is left, just gum and stale chocolate bars.

She returns to Spencer’s room and knocks. He calls for her to come in, so she does.

He’s sitting on the bed, now dressed in a pair of trousers and a button-down shirt. Apparently he didn’t want to wear the pajamas he keeps in his go bag.

“Dr. Reid?” A nurse asks, knocking at the door frame, “Your discharge paperwork is all in order. Are you ready to leave?”

“Yes, I am.” He says.

"Great, I’ll get a wheelchair for you to get out to the parking lot. Would you like me to bring you out, or your girlfriend could…”

“Not his girlfriend,” Veronica says, a little too quickly. She smiles at the nurse apologetically, “I can take him, no worries.”

The nurse nods and leaves. Veronica turns back to Spencer. He’s looking at her strangely.

“What?” Veronica asks.

“You were quick to correct that nurse.” Spencer says.

“So?”

Spencer shrugs. The nurse returns with the wheelchair and she pushes it up to the bed, right beside Spencer’s legs. She holds her hands out to him to help with the transfer to the wheelchair, but he doesn’t move a muscle.

“Sorry, I have a thing with germs.” He says, then looks pointedly at Veronica. “I’d rather have my friend help me.”

Veronica huffs, but smiles at the nurse again. The nurse leaves, and Veronica holds her arms out to Spencer. He grips onto her biceps and leans forwards, putting his good foot down on the floor. Veronica uses her right arm to move the wheelchair under him, then lets go of him as he sits down in the chair.

“Good?” She asks.

Spencer nods, then jerks his chin to the foot of the bed. “Can you hand me my bag?”

Veronica puts his duffle bag full of the rest of his travel clothes and all of her Dr. Brennan novels on his lap, then pulls his chair out from the bed so she can push him out of the room. He puts his hands on the wheels to drive himself before she can get behind him.

“What?” Veronica asks, “You don’t want me pushing you around?”

“I can do it myself.” He responds.

“Just let someone help you for once.” Veronica says, grabbing the handles of the wheelchair and taking over. She pushes him down the hallway of the hospital and out the front doors. When they reach her Honda Civic, she opens the passenger side door and helps him transfer from the chair to the seat of the car. Veronica loads his crutches into her backseat, returns the wheelchair to the hospital, then sits in the driver’s seat and turns the car on.

“Where to, my liege?” Veronica asks.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Penelope.” Spencer replies. “I’ll direct you.”

“So, we’re friends?” Veronica starts to drive, pulling out of the hospital’s parking lot and turning onto the street.

“Aren’t we? Friendship is defined as a relationship of mutual fondness between two people. I’d say that describes us.” Spencer says as he gestures for Veronica to turn left.

“You’re fond of me?”

“You’re the only person who doesn’t cut off my rambling. Of course I’m fond of you.”

“Oh, is that all it takes?” Veronica grins as she drives, though she feels a little sad to hear that nobody else on the team enjoys his rambles. She’s noticed it, of course, but she thought it was just a matter of them having heard his fun facts before.

“It also helps that you let me beat you- I mean, teach you chess.” Spencer says, laughing at his little joke.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, fuzzball.” Veronica rolls her eyes, though she’s laughing, too.

“What?”

“It’s Star Wars,” Veronica takes her eyes off the road for a moment and stares at him as she stops at a red light. “You’ve never seen Star Wars? I thought you liked sci-fi.”

Spencer purses his lips. “It’s too modern for me.”

“Too mod- it came out thirty years ago.” Veronica says in exasperation.

Spencer laughs again. “Of course I’ve seen it, but not since I was a kid. Are you saying I look like Chewbacca?”

Veronica tightens her lips. “You do have a pretty good head of hair on you.”

“Thanks.” Spencer tucks a lock of hair behind his ear.

The light turns green and Veronica continues driving through DC, following Spencer’s directions. She knows he has a near-perfect memory, but this is ridiculous; she’s going to need to use her GPS to get back to her own apartment in Virginia.

“This is it.” Spencer says as she pulls up to an apartment building. Veronica parks the car and gets out to grab Spencer’s duffel bag. She slings it over her shoulder, then opens his door and holds out her arm for him to take.

She smiles at him. He returns her smile and takes her arm, slowly putting his feet down on the pavement. She passes him his crutches and tails him as he slowly makes his way into his building, then up the stairs. She holds her hands out in front of her as they climb up to the second floor, ready to catch him if he falls, although she doesn’t really know how much of a chance she’s going to have against a full-grown man and gravity.

Finally, they reach Spencer’s front door. He unlocks it and moves inside. Veronica stands in the doorway and puts his duffle bag down on the floor. His walls are almost completely covered in built-in bookshelves, which are practically bursting with thousands of leather-bound books. The rest of the walls are painted green. There’s no TV to be seen.

“You know, I’m going to want those books back.” She says as she watches him move over to his couch and sit down.

“You can take them, I finished them the day you brought them to me.” He says.

Veronica rolls her eyes, something she finds herself doing quite often when in the presence of Dr. Reid. “Of course you did.”

Spencer clears his throat and looks down as his hands, then up at Veronica. “Would you, uh… would you like to stay and watch Pan’s Labyrinth? Or… or maybe Star Wars? I don’t have a TV, but we could use your laptop.”

Veronica can’t contain the smile that creeps onto her face. “That would be-”

Her phone buzzes. A text from Rossi; they have a new case to review.

She sighs, “...Much better than going into work right now, but, alas, duty calls.”

Veronica swears that Spencer looks disappointed. “Okay, um, maybe another time?”

“Absolutely. If you need anything, give me a call.” Veronica says, trying to hide her own disappointment. She closes Spencer’s front door before he can say anything else, and heads back down the stairs of the apartment building. As she gets into her car, her phone rings.

“Derek.” She says.

“Ronnie, how did it go babysitting the kid?” Derek asks on the other end of the phone.

“Very smoothly. How were yours and Prentiss’ matching dentist appointments?” Veronica asks, hearing a woman laugh in the background.

“Smooth as butter, kid. I’m just calling to make sure you weren’t too distracted to miss Rossi’s text.”

“Ha ha, you’re very funny, Agent Morgan. In fact you’re so funny, you should quit the FBI and do stand up instead.” Veronica scowls as she starts her car and pulls away from the curb.

“Aw, you’re not getting rid of me that easy,” Derek responds, “See you soo-oon.”

Veronica hangs up the phone and sighs. She had been so close to something resembling an actual date with Spencer, and of course, someone just had to choose today to dump a body. She turns off of Spencer’s street, setting her GPS for Quantico, Virginia.

Chapter 9: Day 16

Chapter Text

Veronica is still sick. She doesn’t understand how; food poisoning doesn’t last this long, and she hasn’t been able to keep any of the food down long enough for it to still be making her sick. The only thing she’s been able to have is the water.

The water. Veronica sits up fast, too fast, and has to rush to the toilet again. After she’s voided her stomach, she curls up on the cold stone floor, breathing deeply. She got sick only a couple days after she started drinking the tap water. She’s been drinking it this whole time.

Veronica pounds her fist against the floor weakly. f*ck this place. f*ck this man. Who doesn’t have potable water on their property?

The little window slides open once again. She hears the tray being slid out, then slid back in. He won’t replace it; she didn’t eat the bread or the water, and the cup is still beside her mattress.

So much for not begging.

Veronica forces herself to crawl over to the little window. “Please, Charles, please, I’m… I’m sick. I… it’s the tap water, I was drinking it. Please, help me. I’m going to starve to death.”

She’s laying on the floor, staring at the pair of worn black leather boots that stand in front of the little window every day. There’s nothing else that’s recognizable out there, only the legs of a table being illuminated by gross, yellow light. The window slides shut, and Veronica sobs silently. She curls back into the fetal position, feeling her stomach cramp and churn.

Veronica thinks she’s losing it, because it appears that the little window slides open again. A new tray is pushed through, this time with a little white pill and a new cup of water.

For the first time ever, Veronica hears Charles Webster’s voice.

"Antibiotic. Don’t drink the tap water.”

The door slides shut again. Veronica feels for the pill in the darkness, rolling it between her fingers for a minute. She hopes that Webster has enough medical knowledge to know that taking an incomplete course of antibiotics can actually make a sickness worse, before she pops it in her mouth and swallows a mouthful of the fresh water.

Veronica crawls back to the mattress. Despite her sweatshirt and jeans, she shivers. Every time she closes her eyes, she sees Spencer’s face in the SUV as they drive to Webster’s house. His chin-length hair, his jawline, his cheekbones illuminated under every streetlamp they pass.

When she and Spencer had been told to work the geographic profile at the Phoenix police station, by themselves, she had barely been able to conceal her smile. They had sat in that room for hours poring over maps, then other evidence as it had rolled in. It was a nice break from the field - as much as Veronica enjoyed being out on location, she was also glad she got to stay within in the air-conditioned walls of the police station. Spencer’s presence was a bonus.

It had been tough when he returned to work after being shot. As much as Veronica had wanted to be around him whenever possible, she also felt it was unfair to him to bring him out into the field on crutches. She had voiced this concern to Hotch on numerous occasions, but he only reiterated that after he had been cleared to travel by an actual medical doctor, it was Spencer’s decision whether or not he stayed in Quantico to work remotely, like Penelope. The extent to which Hotch could intervene only went as far as being able to stick Spencer with building the evidence boards at the police stations they visited while the rest of the team got to go out into the field.

Of course, she had also voiced this concern to Spencer, but he would have none of it. Veronica figured it was a mixture of a desire to work with them hands-on and being intimidated after his one case as Penelope’s bitch.

As Veronica lays shivering on the mattress in the dark, she wonders if, now that they’ve effectively switched places, Spencer will be concerned with how quickly Veronica will want to return to work.

If she returns to work.

Something nags at Veronica’s thoughts. Charles Webster’s entire MO was changing. Re-evolving? Whatever it was, he was almost a completely different UnSub now. He had visited her twice in one day. He had provided her medical attention. He had told her not to drink the tap water, although she had already figured that one out. He was trying to keep her alive. Why?

Is it just so that he ensures she’s alive enough for him to watch the life leave her eyes as he strangles her? Is she not allowed to suffer without him as her audience? That would certainly fit his profile as a sexual sad*st. But then wouldn’t he want to watch her groaning and writhing in pain?

Veronica rolls onto her back. She lets a tear roll down her cheek. She had to beg him for the antibiotic. She had broken her facade. Maybe that had been enough for him to find the release he needed for now. Maybe he’d decide it wasn’t enough, and he’d come take her soon.

There is no way Veronica would be able to fight back in her current state. She just hopes the strangulation will be quick.

June 12, 2009

Veronica, Rossi and Hotch stand in front of the one-way mirror, watching the interrogation happening on the other side of the one-and-a-quarter-inch-thick glass. Derek and Emily have been working at the suspect for what feels like hours, and he’s getting agitated. Their time is running out.

“How far are we gonna let this go? “ Rossi asks, “We profiled anger issues and this guy’s almost as red as a tomato.”

Hotch uncrosses one arm and holds his hand out instead of answering. Veronica’s eyes leave the suspect’s face briefly to flit between the two men in front of her. They’ve been tense all week; this UnSub’s MO is apparently eerily similar to the Reaper’s, and it’s had Hotch on edge. He came back from his medical leave early just to work this case. Veronica can tell that he’s not happy with how long the suspect has been here without cracking.

The police captain to Veronica’s right checks his watch, then sighs and clears his throat gruffly. “Sorry, fellas. It’s been twenty-four hours. We have to let him walk.”

Veronica rolls her shoulders back and catches Rossi’s eye as he turns around. They share a look in reaction to the captain’s choice to only address the men in the room just as Hotch pushes past them brusquely, heading for the door. Veronica turns back to the mirror just in time to watch two police officers enter the interrogation room and unlock the suspect’s handcuffs.

She and Rossi walk out into the bullpen of the precinct, watching the suspect being escorted towards the front desk. They look over to Emily and Derek who have also emerged from the interrogation room. The four share a defeated look. Hotch is nowhere to be seen, probably back in the conference room, reviewing the evidence boards.

Veronica checks her watch. It’s close to midnight and Spencer had asked for an update on the case. He’s also not supposed to be working, but he can do the work of three agents over the phone. Plus, it gives Veronica an excuse to talk to him.

“I have to call Spe- Reid.” She says, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She thinks she hears Derek make a noise as she walks away from the group.

Her hands are shaking embarrassingly violently as she dials Spencer’s phone number. Even though they’ve become something like friends, her heart still races when she talks to him. She knows she doesn’t have to impress him. But part of her still really wants to, for some reason.

Veronica brings her cell phone up to her ear and listens to it ring. And ring. And ring. Then drop.

She looks at her phone. There’s no service. It must be some network error. Veronica sighs and scans the precinct’s bullpen. There’s a landline phone at the front desk. The suspect is still standing there, waiting for his personal effects, but they’re literally surrounded by police officers.

Veronica crosses the bullpen and picks up the phone. She dials Spencer’s number and listens to it ring. She hopes he’s willing to pick up a call from an unknown caller late at night.

“Hello?” She hears Spencer’s voice on the other end of the line.

“Spencer, it’s me.” Veronica responds, “You, um, asked for an update on the case-”

Veronica is yanked away from the desk by her shoulder and pinned back against someone’s chest. She feels the barrel of a gun being pressed to her temple and a strong arm tightening across her chest and shoulders.

“Everybody stay calm!” The man who’s holding her barks.

Veronica sees her teammates draw their guns and approach slowly from the other end of the room. She has to resist the urge to say something about the man’s audacity to do this in a police station. Her assumption is that he grabbed her gun from its holster, so she’s unarmed. While her mind is racing through all of these thoughts, her body is completely frozen. She can't even convince herself to lift a finger. Not like it would be much help, anyways.

“Why are you doing this, Lyons?” Derek asks. That’s their suspect’s name; Peter Lyons. He grabbed Veronica. She can't lock down a reason why.

“You were so close to getting out of here, Peter.” Rossi chimes in, “What’s the point?”

Emily raises her gun just slightly, and Lyons’ grip across Veronica’s shoulders tightens. He’s getting worryingly close to her neck. He could choke her out terrifyingly quickly.

“Careful,” Lyons says, “You don’t want to accidentally shoot your friend here.”

Emily scoffs. “Please, I could unbutton her shirt if I wanted to.”

Veronica’s throat is closing up from the anxiety. She has a lot of things to say, but none of them seem like they would help her current situation. At least she does know that Emily’s an excellent shot. Unlike Spencer.

Veronica tries to look at the front desk. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the phone receiver dangling, swinging gently back and forth. In horror, she wonders if Spencer’s still there, blindly listening to this whole scene unfolding.

“I thought I’d gotten away with it. The investigation was cold for months, so I took a chance on one more,” Lyons says. Veronica furrows her brow at the way this is going — is he really monologuing? — but Lyons starts up again. “But then, you had to go and call the goddamn F. B. I. And they started chipping away at all my hard work. And I knew there was no way out.” Lyons continues.

Veronica meets Rossi’s eyes, then her gaze shifts to Hotch, standing at the door to the conference room. His hand is on his gun, which is still in its holster, but he speaks.

“Nobody else has to get hurt, Lyons. We will get you the help you need.” Hotch says.

“There’s no way out.” Lyons is… crying now? “There’s no way…”

The arm around Veronica’s shoulders disappears and she’s suddenly pushed forwards, just as a gun goes off. She stumbles, but catches herself on a desk. Her ears are ringing. Her heart stops, bracing for a wave of searing, intense pain that never comes. She wonders if she’s in shock. Where did the bullet go?

Commotion surrounds her. There’s a hand on her back, and she turns to see that it’s connected to Emily, who has somehow crossed the room in seconds. Emily pulls Veronica into a hug, which gives her a perfect view of the aftermath of Lyon’s outburst.

Lyons, or rather, his corpse, lies on the floor of the bullpen, a single gunshot wound in his head. He’d shot himself after pushing Veronica out of the way. That’s where the bullet went.

“Are you okay?” Emily asks from miles away. Veronica’s hearing is slowly coming back, but she’s still disoriented. And the phone receiver is still dangling off the desk.

Veronica breaks out of Emily’s arms and picks up the receiver. Spencer’s voice sounds even farther away, but it sounds like he’s freaking out.

“Spencer?”

“Veronica? What happened?” He’s trying to keep his voice calm, but it’s only a thin veil for the panic that laces his words.

“Sorry, um, our… the suspect, he… he grabbed me and was holding me at gunpoint.”

“What?” Spencer nearly shouts into the phone.

Veronica glances down at the corpse again. “I… don’t know. I think he tried to pull a suicide by cop. I guess he was the killer.”

“He tried to?”

“He pushed me out of the way and shot himself. With my gun.”

Spencer exhales forcefully. “Are you alright?”

Veronica nods, then remembers she’s still on the phone. “Yeah. Yes. I’m fine. Not even a scratch.”

She glances up to see Hotch giving her a meaningful look from across the room, where the rest of the team is standing. Right. She just almost got shot. They're going to have to debrief about that.

“Look, Spencer, I have to go. I’ll give you that update later.”

Spencer starts to say something, but Veronica hangs up the phone. She clears her throat and crosses the bullpen without looking back at the corpse on the floor.

“Banks, are you alright?” Derek asks, putting a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m fine. My first time being held at gunpoint.” She raises her shoulders in mock excitement.

“Banks, because your gun was fired and it resulted in the death of a suspect, you’ll have extra paperwork.” Hotch says.

Veronica stares at her boss incredulously. She can’t believe how unconcerned he is that she could have died in front of him. And now he’s punishing her with paperwork?

“Hotch, I-”

“We’re done here. Let’s go.” He says abruptly, turning on his heel and walking away.

Veronica looks at Derek, at a loss for words. He gives her a sympathetic look.

“Sorry, kid. He’s not happy about the interrogation.” Derek pauses. “Or about the suicide.”

Veronica scowls at the door Hotch disappeared through. Her phone buzzes in her pocket. Now she has service? She glances at it and sighs. It’s Spencer.

“Spencer?”

“Veronica, you cannot just hang up on me after you tell me you were held at gunpoint.”

Veronica’s heart leaps at the thought that Spencer is concerned about her, but part of her head is still spinning. She sighs quietly. “I’m sorry, I had to talk to Hotch.”

“Are you okay?”

For some reason, despite Spencer being the third person to ask her that question, he’s the only one who makes her really consider it. Maybe it’s her crashing adrenaline, but tears start welling in her eyes as she thinks about it.

“I’m fine, Spencer.”

“Veronica, I know I’m not good with subtext, but I can’t even see your face and I know you’re lying.”

Veronica glances around. She’s the only one in the corner of the bullpen. Her teammates are in the conference room, cleaning up their work. The police officers are gathered around the corpse on the floor near the reception desk.

“I don’t know, I guess I was scared. I had a million thoughts going through my head. I’ve never gone through anything like that before.” She says in a half-whisper, afraid that the rest of the BAU is going to walk out at any moment.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Spencer says.

Veronica’s breath catches in her throat and she takes a deep breath to keep her voice even. “Me, too.”

They’re both silent for a minute. Veronica wants to continue the conversation, if only to hear Spencer’s voice, but she doesn’t know what to say. What would she have done if Spencer had been here in person? The image of him in his FBI vest crosses her mind and she shudders involuntarily. She can’t think that way about her coworker.

“So that means the case is closed? Are you coming back to D.C. tonight?” Spencer asks.

“Yes, I think we’re just about to head to the airfield.” Veronica answers.

Spencer hesitates for a moment before he speaks again. “Would you… like to get coffee with me tomorrow? You can tell me everything about the case.”

A rush of heat clouds Veronica’s neck and face. She glances into the conference room where the rest of the BAU are almost done packing up. “That sounds great.”

“Really?” She can hear Spencer’s smile through the phone as he speaks, “Okay, because I know you like your coffee a certain way, but there’s a small local place down the street from my apartment and I think the way they do light roast coffee is really innovative, because it’s not so common to have a light roast due to the lack of oil in the beans-”

Veronica smiles at the rambling, but Hotch catches her eye. He gestures for her to end her call. Reluctantly, she cuts in, “That sounds really great, Spencer. I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, fly safe.” He says, and Veronica swears there’s a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“Bye.” Veronica hangs up and puts her phone back in her pocket, her mood considerably improved. How quickly she can forget about her near-death experience when she talks to Spencer. She re-enters the conference room and packs up the few stray belongings that she took out of her bag. The rest of the team gives her apologetic smiles as they pass her. After a moment, it dawns on her that she and Hotch are the only two people left in the room.

Although she’s trying not to meet his eyes in order to avoid being snapped at again, Veronica glances over to Hotch’s shoes. He clears his throat, and she reflexively looks up to see him standing with his arms crossed.

“Agent Banks, I want to apologize for my tone a few minutes ago.” He says evenly. “I let my frustration with the case affect my conduct, and that was wrong. I am glad that you weren’t hurt.”

“Thank you, Hotch.” Veronica says quietly.

“Are you…” Again, Hotch clears his throat once, then continues, “Are you okay?”

Veronica looks at him. He’s only been out of the hospital for a few weeks, and he still seems fragile. He shouldn’t even be here on this case, and he’s definitely going to get an earful from Section Chief Strauss when they return to Quantico, but Veronica knows how much being back in the field means to him. His face is as stony as ever, but his eyes betray his genuine concern. He’s very good at being a father when he wants to be.

“I am, Hotch. Thank you.” Veronica gives him a small, forgiving smile. “I just need a good night’s sleep and to get my gun back.”

Hotch chuckles briefly, a welcome sound after all the trauma he’s been through. Veronica thinks it’s the first time she’s ever heard him laugh. He uncrosses his arms and gestures to the door. She exits the conference room, him a step behind her.

“Unfortunately, what I said before still applies. Because your firearm did go off and it resulted in the death of a person, you will have to fill out some extra paperwork.” Hotch says.

Veronica scowls. “But I didn’t pull the trigger.”

“It’s FBI policy. But you can have the gun back now.” He holds out the pistol to her, and she takes it and quickly re-holsters it.

“Thank you, Hotch.” Veronica says.

As they walk out the doors of the precinct, he simply smiles at her in return, another rare and welcome sight.

Chapter 10: Day 20

Chapter Text

After her fourth serving of antibiotics, Veronica is starting to feel normal again. She’s still dehydrated, with only one cup of clean water per day to both replenish everything she had lost while she was sick and maintain the amount of hydration her body needs to function properly. She knows there’s no way the antibiotics are being given to her correctly, but they seem to be working at the moment.

She’s managed to keep down the bread and apples from the past two days. Webster hasn’t said anything more to her.

The silence is starting to unsettle her. Sure, maybe a delayed response, but 20 days in this place and she’s starting to think the BAU isn’t coming.

How long had they waited before giving up? Who had made the call? Usually, someone had to be missing for seven years before they could be legally declared dead.

Surely, if there had been another victim, another body, they would know it wasn’t her. There would be no DNA match. All of her stuff was still in the hotel, they’d have plenty of samples to choose from. Did they assume she was being held somewhere, or did they think her remains were still yet to be found? Had they dredged every body of water in a fifty mile radius around Phoenix?

Why had Spencer not stuck by her when they searched the house? Why had he left her alone? Why had he let her get taken?

Veronica throws the empty cup of water away from her, hearing it hit the wall and clatter to the ground. She sighs and lets the tears flow, any strong-willed, stoic facade thoroughly shattered. How many days is she never going to get back?

June 19, 2009

Veronica excuses herself from the group and elbows her way through the crowd, taking extra care not to bump into anybody holding a drink. She does not need a stain on her new skinny jeans.

She locates Derek, standing at a table in the corner and watching her. She slides in next to him and he hands her an unopened water bottle. Gratefully, she takes it and downs about a quarter of it in one go. Even at the back of the dance club, the throbbing bass from the DJ’s speakers pounds in her ears. She has to talk directly into Derek’s ear..

“I always forget how hot these places get.” Veronica fans herself with her hand.

“Me, too.” Derek replies absently, watching a pair of young women in matching leather mini skirts walk past.

Veronica swats his bicep, “Can you stop acting like a neanderthal for one minute?”

Derek laughs, and Veronica’s gaze returns to the others – Emily and Penelope. They’re dancing to the beat of the music and laughing to themselves, not sparing a glance at any of the men around them, some of whom have been making futile attempts to join in on their fun.

“Any candidates tonight?” Derek asks.

“Nah, none in my type,” Veronica says, “Plus, one-night stands aren’t really my thing.”

Derek raises his eyebrows and grins. “In the market?”

Veronica shrugs. Truthfully, she’d enjoyed being single for the last year and a half, but she was starting to miss the comfort of a relationship. The closeness, the trust, the intimacy. Her last ex had been a drummer in some indie band that never really took off. He eventually did though, with the woman he’d been paying to walk his dog. Veronica had dated her fair share of musicians, jocks, and artists. Now, she was looking for a quiet type. Mature. Wise. Intelligent. Confident but not arrogant.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Derek says.

“What’s that?”

“If Reid were here, he would have said something about neanderthals actually being smarter than pop culture makes them look due to the fact that their brains were actually larger than modern humans.” Derek responds.

Veronica stares at him. “How did you know that?”

Derek laughs, but his face suddenly grows serious. “Listen, Ronnie, I’ve known Reid for a long time. I’ve seen you two becoming friends, maybe even closer than he and I. I don’t know exactly how you feel about him, but I do know about relationships, so let me tell you this.”

Veronica blinks at him, bracing herself for some dark, disturbing secret about Spencer; or a warning to stay away. Despite Derek’s suave, charming persona, he could be intimidating when he wanted to.

“Reid has been through some dark sh*t. It’s not my place to tell you exactly what, but the kid has seen a lot in his young life. He’s struggled. He’s fought tooth and nail to prove himself on this team, and he’s done it,” Derek takes a deep breath, “You need to ask yourself, if you want Reid to be a part of your life, and if you want to be a part of his, in any capacity… are you ready to handle his baggage as much as he’ll have to handle yours?”

Veronica looks at her water bottle. “I… I don’t have any baggage.”

“Kid, we all have baggage.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

Derek’s serious face is replaced by his bright smile, and Veronica immediately feels at ease again. “To be honest, Veronica, I’m starting to think of you as a little sister.”

“The little sister you never had?” Veronica smiles.

“No, I have two.”

They laugh as Emily and Penelope join them, and the conversation shifts to the hot bartender to their left. As they start in on the office gossip, Veronica lets her mind wander.

She’s been going out with the girls, Derek included, more frequently since Spencer had been shot almost a month ago. She’s grateful to be included and considered one of their own, but she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t mainly a distraction. If she stayed at home, she’d just be thinking about Spencer the whole time; how bored he must be without work.

Their trips to the movie theatre were a nice change of pace, but they didn’t even come close to a sufficient replacement. They couldn’t talk during the movie, and they couldn’t exactly walk around after, with Spencer being on crutches. Veronica had suggested getting dinner before, but Spencer had brushed her off, citing the gouged prices and overcrowded nature of restaurants. Which Veronica agreed with, begrudgingly.

Veronica’s mind races. What dark secrets could Spencer possibly be hiding? Veronica respects him and his immeasurable intellect, but he looks like a stiff breeze could knock him over. Her heart aches to think that someone could have hurt him.

She decides she’ll call him the next day and suggest a movie they can watch. She just hopes she can find something interesting enough in time.

“Derek, how do I put this kindly….” Emily says suddenly, interrupting Veronica’s train of thought. The girls have run out of men to watch, apparently. Emily smiles mischievously, “Get lost.”

Derek spreads his hands. “What?”

“Yep, it’s girl time. Unless you want to hear about our cycles…” Penelope says sweetly.

“Nope, nuh uh.” Derek backs away.

“Go on, I’m sure those two leather mini skirts aren’t far.” Veronica says to him.

He rolls his eyes and turns away, disappearing into the crowded dance floor. Veronica squints as one of the club’s spotlights flashes across her eyes, then she turns back to the table to see the other two ladies staring at her.

“So, Veronica. You’ve been with us for some time now.” Penelope says, stirring her drink with her tiny straw.

“Yes…” Veronica responds, unsure of the directions the conversation is going. Wherever it is, it can't be good, judging by Penelope’s sharp change of tone.

Emily nods in false appreciation. “You’ve had time to get to know the BAU. If you had to pick one… who do you think is the hottest guy on the team?”

Veronica’s eyes widen. She definitely had not been expecting the conversation to take a sharp left turn into middle school sleepover territory. It didn’t help that her mind had immediately pictured one person in particular, and that she hadn’t been quick enough to mask her face when it did. Enily and Penelope definitely knew that she had an answer locked and loaded. Veronica clears her throat and looks down at the table.

“Um… I don’t know, I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Please,” Emily says dismissively, “Everyone’s thought about it. Come on, if you had to pick one.”

“Gun to your head.” Penelope chimes in, giggling into a hiccup.

Veronica raises an eyebrow, determined to maintain her calm facade of indifference. “Gun to my head, I’d say pull the trigger.”

“Come on.” Penelope says. “We’re keeping a tally. All the girls we work with have to answer. It’s for science.”

With great dramatic effort, Veronica sighs. “Okay, I guess i'd have to say Derek.” An easy, predictable, sensible answer. No one could possibly question it.

“Really? Not Dr. Reid?” Emily asks, crossing her arms.

Her boldness throws Veronica off guard. “What?”

“You may not see it yet, but we do. And we give you our blessing.” Penelope says cryptically.

“Blessing? For what? What are you talking about?” Veronica stammers.

Penelope’s attention is gone, though. “Ohmygod, is this Britney? Come on, we’re dancing again.”

She grabs Emily’s hand, and Emily grabs Veronica’s arm, and the three snake their way back onto the dance floor. As Veronica lets herself sway to the pounding beat of the DJ’s remix, she wonders what exactly the point of that conversation was. And she thinks about just how much damage Emily and Penelope could do if the tech analyst was allowed to do interrogations.

Chapter 11: Day 28

Chapter Text

Veronica hasn’t made a sound in… however long it’s been since she’d fully recovered from her sickness. Webster hasn’t given her an antibiotic pill in two days. She just hopes whatever bacteria she had isn’t mutating to resist the antibiotics; that would be much worse than E. coli or whatever she had.

Today is day 28. 29? 27? Veronica’s heart drops as she realizes she’s lost count of how many meals she’s had. That was the one thing she had to do – what she could do to have some semblance of control in this f*cking basem*nt prison. She doesn’t even have the luxury of light to be able to keep a physical tally.

She hits her fist against the floor. It’s sore, and she’s sure it’s bruised by now; she’s been doing that whenever she gets frustrated at her situation. Which is quite often.

Her stomach has been empty forever. She curls up in the fetal position on the mattress. She can barely remember what it felt like to be full. To be warm. To be clean. She sobs silently; something else she’s been doing a lot. Her routine essentially consists of waking up, being mad, eating and crying herself to sleep.

The worst part is, she can’t decide who she’s mad at. Herself? Charles Webster? Spencer? A pang of guilt rolls over her for even daring to be mad at Spencer; how could he have known? He’s her best friend, he’d never do anything to put her in danger. Right?

Unless he had been lying. He’s an expert profiler. What if he’d just pretended to be her friend to gain her trust? He probably hadn’t even noticed that he’d left her at Webster’s house. He hadn’t considered her. He’d probably been the one to suggest they stop looking for her. His calculating, logical mind would have known immediately that the BAU’s resources were better spent solving actual cases than trying to track down one junior agent.

Veronica feels so stupid. All those movie nights, the inside jokes, the heart-to-hearts. They meant nothing. He’d probably only hung out with her out of pity. He’d known the rest of the team much longer than he’d known Veronica, of course he wouldn’t be instantly drawn to her. How could she have been so stupid, so naive?

When Veronica gets out of here, she’s going to kick his ass. Verbally, of course. Then she’ll take a nice, long vacation. Hawaii, maybe. Or Italy. Somewhere warm and far away, with a lot of food.

Veronica’s eyelids start to feel heavy. She needs to sleep; she’s so exhausted, she must have been up for hours. She lets her body relax, feeling its weight sink into the mattress.

-o-

Veronica sits on a wicker lounge chair on a white sand beach. The sun is bright, and warms her skin where it’s not covered by the shade of the large umbrella behind her. Her sage green bikini is dry after the dip she took in the ocean earlier.

“Actually, about 65% of all melanoma cases are caused by exposure to UV radiation,” Spencer says from Veronica’s right, “Melanoma being a type of skin cancer characterized by spots of dark pigmentation.”

Veronica looks over at Spencer. He’s still wearing his slacks, dress shirt and sweater vest, even on the beach. He hasn’t even taken his Converse sneakers off. Veronica knows those are going to drag sand into their hotel later.

“Spence, are you allergic to relaxing?” Veronica giggles in the same voice she uses when she’s undercover. It’s bubbly, slightly southern, and about an octave higher than normal.

“I don’t know,” Spencer looks away, then back at her, “Are you allergic to dying at the age of 77 after a long, fulfilling life?”

Veronica laughs, her real, genuine laugh. Spencer smiles back, then looks down again.

“Spencer, what is it?”

“What happened at the house, Veronica?” Spencer looks up, his face solemn. Veronica flinches. There’s a giant purple goose egg bruise on Spencer’s left temple, and he has a gnarly black eye. Blood drips from his nose and his lip.

“Spencer?”

“What happened, Veronica?”

“We… we drove to the house together. We stood on the porch and I felt something in my leg. You opened the door and we went in. I turned into the kitchen and saw the screen door was open. I cleared the kitchen and I called out to you, but you didn’t answer. I was starting to feel dizzy, and when I went to go find you, I blacked out.”

“Tell me again.”

“What?”

“Tell me again!” Spencer yells, his gun now in his hands. She’s never heard him yell like that. Except when he’s facing down an UnSub.

“We drove to the house. We stood on the porch and I felt something in my leg. We went in the house and I turned into the kitchen. The screen door was open. I cleared it but you didn’t respond. I felt dizzy. I passed out.”

“Again!”

“Driving. You. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. Screen door. Missing. Darkness. Nothing.”

“Again!” Spencer pushes the muzzle of his revolver against Veronica’s temple.

“Driving. You. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. Screen door. Missing. Darkness. Nothing.”

Spencer co*cks his gun.

“Driving, you, porch, searching, kitchen, screen door, missing, darkness, nothing!”

Spencer squeezes the trigger.

-o-

Veronica sits up in the darkness with a sob. Her face is wet with tears. She tries to take a deep, shuddering breath. Her heart is racing. She doesn’t even remember falling asleep. Had she been dreaming? She hadn’t been to a beach in almost ten years, certainly never been to one with Spencer.

Veronica lays back down on the mattress. She’s afraid to fall asleep again, in case she returns to that beach. What was it that nightmare Spencer had made her recite?

“Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. Screen door. No Spencer. Darkness. Nothing.” She whispers into the darkness. “Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. Screen door. No Spencer. Darkness. Nothing.”

June 29, 2009

Veronica all but falls into her bed with a sigh. She relishes in the feeling of her fresh sheets, fresh pajamas, freshly scrubbed skin and hair. Sometimes, she swears the best part of her job is the appreciation it gives her for the comfort and security of her own home. That home being a top-floor apartment in D.C. with deadbolts on every door and a motion-sensor security system.

Her cell phone rings, and she debates ignoring it. Hotch had specifically told the team that they had the next 24 hours off. Something tells her to check it, anyways, so she rolls over and sees Spencer’s name on the caller ID. She answers it.

“Evening, Doctor.” She says.

“Hey, uh, is it too late? What time is it in Montana?” He asks.

Veronica blinks. “Spencer Reid doesn’t know what time it is in Montana? Montana’s two time zones behind D.C..”

“I know, I was just… trying to be conversational.”

“Well, I’m actually back in Virginia.” Veronica says with a smile, “We landed a couple of hours ago.”

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t know. You’re… the first person I called.” Spencer says.

“Aw, did you miss me?” Veronica grins, hoping he’ll say yes.

“Yeah, right. I miss playing chess with you.”

“Spence, you’ve played with twelve year olds who are better than me. You can play yourself and find it interesting. There is no way you miss playing chess with me.” Veronica says.

Spencer is silent for a moment. “So, how was Montana?”

“Pretty boring. Except for the part where I got shot.”

“What?” She can hear the panic in Spencer’s voice through the phone.

“In my vest. Just a little bruise on my ribs.” Veronica says, smiling at the concern from her coworker.

“You, uh, should have called me.” Spencer says quietly.

Veronica looks down at the bandages encasing her ribcage, slightly peeking out of her tank top. “It happened pretty fast. They didn’t even take me to the hospital, just bandaged me up in the ambulance after they decided nothing was broken. Then we flew home.”

“It’s hard to be away from work. Away from… the team.” Spencer says.

Veronica’s ears burn at his choice of words. “Well, you’d better hurry up and heal that leg. The team isn’t the same without you.”

“I’m trying my best over here.”

“Just trying to help.” Veronica laughs, then clears her throat, “Hey, it’s uh… I’m getting pretty tired, but I have tomorrow off. We could do something.”

“Sure,” Spencer says, way too quickly. “There’s a coffee shop near my apartment. I would offer to pick you up, but I don’t… really drive. In fact, I’m not supposed to anyway, with my leg.”

“It’s no problem, Spencer, I’ll pick you up.” Veronica cuts him off with a laugh, “I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Okay, I’ll… let you sleep, then.”

“Goodnight.” Veronica smiles.

“Goodnight.” Spencer says, his own smile evident in his voice.

Veronica hangs up the phone, still smiling. She checks the time. 12:23. It’s past her usual bedtime. And Spencer may have permanent bags under his eyes, but every time they’d been somewhere on a case, he’d been in his hotel room with the lights off by 11pm. Had he stayed up just to talk to her? No, he was probably calling the rest of the team right now. Still, a part of her is happy to know that she was his first call.

Despite her excitement for her coffee date with Spencer, she lets her exhaustion take over and she falls asleep within minutes of turning out the lights.

When she wakes up to sunlight streaming in through her bedroom window, Veronica stretches in her bed. She exhales deeply, then sits up. She checks her phone. 8:12. With a grin, she remembers her plans, and gets out of bed.

She’s ready in record time, even with the internal battle to choose what to wear. She settles on a white t-shirt, jeans and her converse sneakers. Her excitement - and maybe nerves - overshadow the pain in her ribs, bringing it down from a searing stab to a dull throb as she moves through the morning.

Veronica shoots a text to Spencer to ask if he’s ready for her to pick him up. He replies almost instantly, so Veronica heads down to the parking lot of her building and gets in her car. As she drives to Spencer’s apartment, she feels her stomach start twisting in knots. She’s nervous? She’s hung out with Spencer before. Why is today different?

Veronica turns her music up to distract herself and focuses on driving. She’d dropped off Spencer at his apartment only a couple of weeks ago, and she likes to think she has an advanced sense of direction, but she still needs to use her GPS to get around D.C.. Finally, she pulls up outside of Spencer’s building, and he steps out of the front door right away, still leaning on his crutches. Veronica steps out of the car to open the passenger door for him, but he pulls her into a hug before she can say anything.

“Ow, ribs, ribs, ribs.” Veronica says in surprise as she winces, though she hugs him back. Spencer Reid, germaphobe extraordinaire, does not hug, unless it’s one of the team members he’s known for years. Veronica wonders what she’s done to deserve the sudden leap in physical contact, and fights to stop her blush from spreading.

“Sorry, I should have asked.” Spencer says sheepishly. Veronica shrugs, then helps Spencer into the passenger seat of her car. As she climbs into the driver’s seat, she hears him wince and sees him grab his leg.

“Are you okay?” She asks, eyeing him with concern, her hand poised to put her keys into the ignition.

“Yeah, it just hurts sometimes.” He says.

“Do you want me to run up to your apartment and grab your painkillers?” Veronica asks.

“No, I just took an acetaminophen.”

“Tylenol? The doctor should have given you codeine or something.”

“Tylenol is fine.” Spencer says firmly. “It’ll kick in any minute now.”

Veronica stays silent and starts the car. She pulls away from the curb and lets Spencer direct her to the coffee shop. She feels terrible for him; he must be in a lot of pain, and Tylenol can only do so much. She just hopes he can heal and get back to work quickly. For the good of the team, of course.

Chapter 12: Day 30

Chapter Text

It has to have been a month already. Maybe more. Veronica tries to do her pushups again, but has to quit after 11. The last time that had happened was when she had sprained her wrist in college and had to rest it for a month.

Veronica lays on the stone floor, her limbs sprawled out in a star. She thinks about her apartment, about the grey sectional couch with the built-in storage for all of her blankets. She’s the kind of person who’s perpetually cold; in the winter she sits at her desk with a blanket on her lap, and she keeps another one in her go-bag at all times. It may take up most of the space, but she’d rather have fewer outfits than be cold on the jet.

Speaking of, Veronica is currently shivering. The logical part of her brain starts thinking, sounding a bit too much like Spencer. She’d give herself another spongeless sponge bath, but she might turn hypothermic. Moving her body generates a small amount of energy, but without adequate nutrition and hydration, her body can’t circulate blood efficiently enough to keep her warm. And anyways, it’s not close to freezing in the basem*nt, so she rubs her arms to feel some heat and stands up.

Having been sick for three days and recovering for so long, Veronica had been crawling to the bathroom instead of standing to walk. Sometimes, she didn’t even get up off the mattress in between waking up and falling asleep. When she stands this time, her legs are shaky, and she has to steady herself against the wall in order to put one foot in front of the other.

That’s not good. Fortunately, her ears are okay, so she can still balance, but sight is also a part of that. She really should be trying to keep her strength up, but, again, without proper nutrition, she can’t make much progress anyways. She gives up on walking and sinks back to the floor, feeling the now-familiar concrete of the walls and floor.

Veronica has never been religious, but she believes that everything happens for a reason. Everything that had happened to her in her life had led her to joining the BAU; every teacher who had recognized her knack for forensic science and psychology and encouraged her to pursue anthropology, every rejection she had received from the graduate schools she applied to before her acceptance at UC Berkeley, every job she’d been rejected from before finally being accepted into the FBI Academy. They had led her to the BAU, to giving families closure, to making the world safer one serial killer at a time, to the best friends she’d had since her undergrad.

At least that’s what she had thought. The rest of the BAU has seemingly given up on her. She’s seen them work, knows how thorough, how efficient, how dedicated they are. If the country’s finest can’t find her in a month, how could she hope to be found as the weeks dragged on?

If it was any other member of the team, Veronica wouldn’t stop until she found their body, alive or not. She just hopes that when they do find her body, she’s not all bloated and faceless like some of their other victims. Even in the face of death, she’s concerned about looking pretty in front of Spencer. Which she hates. She hates him.

Veronica takes a sip of the water from yesterday’s cup. If she were Webster, she’d have let the previous victim go, staged her suicide and run away. She’d keep herself locked up for a long time, long enough to make the police think she was done killing and force the FBI to go home. Then she’d kill one last time. It probably should disturb her that she has a serial killer plan ready to go, but getting inside the minds of killers is part of the job. At least it gives her something to think about other than the darkness.

Veronica leans her head back, resting it against the wall. She hopes her missing person’s report has made its way to Virginia. She hopes her mom is doing okay. She hopes her neighbour has been feeding her dog.

July 14, 2009

“Okay, okay, okay, I seriously can’t believe you guys did that.” Veronica laughs, taking the paper party hat off of her head as the bar staff leaves their table, having brought out a giant cupcake with a sparkler stuck into the icing. The entire bar had stared at them as the staff sang Happy Birthday, and Derek had smirked proudly the entire time.

“You’re welcome.” He grins mischeviously.

“I think we all need another round after that.” Emily says, standing from the table. Veronica stands with her, putting her party hat down.

“I’ll come with you,” Veronica says, “Don’t eat my cupcake.” She points at the table as everyone laughs again.

The ladies walk up to the bar and ask for seven more beers for the group and a moscow mule for Veronica. She looks down at her phone, frowning slightly when she sees no new messages.

“So, I can’t believe you actually wanted to hang out with us outside of work,” Emily smiles at her while they wait. “You didn’t get enough of us in Topeka this week?”

Veronica smiles back. “I only moved to D.C. for the job. I haven’t exactly had time to make new friends outside of work.”

Emily nods, “I get that.”

The bartender puts two shots of something amber in front of them. Veronica looks at him quizzically, but Emily slides one over to her.

“I ordered them while you were checking for messages from Spencer.”

Veronica’s face burns. Busted. “I wasn’t-”

“Drink up, birthday girl. Never forget I’m a profiler.” Emily winks then takes her shot.

Veronica rolls her eyes and does the same. It’s spicy and warm, but she gets it down and lets the heat spread through her body.

“It’s called a silver bullet. This one feels a lot better than the real thing.” Emily says.

“Room for one more?” A voice says behind them. Veronica whips her head around to see Spencer in a green blazer, standing on his crutches.

“You came!” Veronica says a little too loudly, throwing her arms around his neck in a hug. Maybe it’s the two drinks she's already had, or the shot, but she feels light and giddy now. The sight of Spencer, standing in a pub dressed like an English professor, makes her extremely happy.

"Uh… sorry I’m late, I had to get this.” He says, holding out a box with a bow on it.

Emily has slipped away, back to the group. Veronica opens the box to see a manuscript autographed on the first page by Dr. Brennan. A manuscript to a book that hasn’t been released yet. She looks at it incredulously, then up at Spencer.

“How did you…” Veronica says.

He shrugs as much as he can while standing on the crutches. “I have a lot of free time now, and my FBI badge gets me into the Jeffersonian.”

Veronica gives him another hug, feeling his arm wrap around her back and his face bury into the crook of her neck. The alcohol in her blood tells her to stay there, holding onto him, forever, but the part of her brain that’s still remotely sober tells her to pull away. She does, and smiles up at him.

“Come on, join us. You want a drink?” Veronica says, tugging at Spencer’s sleeve.

He shakes his head and follows her back to the group. Veronica announces his arrival and they all cheer, raising their drinks at him. As Veronica slides back into her seat, she catches Derek’s eye. He winks and she kicks him under the table. His shout of protest is lost in the laughter of the table, and Veronica joins the conversation eagerly, sneaking glances at Spencer when she thinks he isn’t looking. As the night carries on and Veronica’s heart and brain grow warm and fuzzy, she assigns the blame equally to the alcohol and the best group of friends she’s ever had. It’s the perfect way to turn 25.

Chapter 13: Day 36

Chapter Text

Veronica’s eyes must be starting to go from sitting in darkness for over a month. She keeps seeing people in her room.

“You should be looking for me.” She says to Rossi, who stands in the corner of the room with his arm crossed. As much as she hated to admit it, he’d become like a father figure to her, and she’d only lost hers when she was 20. Okay, more like 14, when his addictions took a drastic turn.

You’re not an easy person to find. Rossi answers, his voice ringing in her head.

Veronica rolls her eyes. “That's reassuring, coming from the founder of the BAU.”

Rossi shrugs. Maybe. Or we can write you off as an acceptable loss and move on. There are other victims in the country, you know. New ones every day. We can’t just waste the FBI’s money on one person forever.

“How dare you talk to me like that.”

I thought you were a big believer in ‘the good of the many over the good of the few’.

Veronica scowls. “I don’t need an ethics lesson. You can at least be nice about it.”

Rossi steps closer to her, putting his hands in his pockets. Kid, you’re the newest member of the team. The rest of these guys have been friends for what, five years? Even I’ve been with them for three. You really thought they’d have that much loyalty to you?

“f*ck off, David.”

Rossi just shrugs, again. Veronica blinks and he’s gone. She sits on the mattress and buries her face in her hands. She knows she’s read somewhere before that if your brain goes without visual or mental stimulation for a long time, it’ll start concocting visions. But talking back to those visions as if they’re real - that’s all her. Apparently her mind isn’t as strong as she likes to think it is.

Of course it’s not, Ronnie.

Veronica peeps through her fingers to see Derek standing where Rossi had been.

“Great.” Veronica rolls her eyes.

Not happy to see me?

“Not if you’re just going to tell me how little I mean to you.”

Derek’s face is stony. He stares at her, and she thinks she sees disappointment flash across his eyes before he speaks.

I guess you’re not as good a match for Reid as I thought. He says. That kid deserves better than someone who gets taken out in five minutes. You didn’t even put up a fight.

“I was drugged.” Veronica spits at him.

So? Derek responds. You should have stuck with him. Why did you abandon him?

“He abandoned me.” Veronica says. “He didn’t follow me into the kitchen. He didn’t respond when I cleared.”

It’s your fault, Veronica. You need to accept that.

“I thought I was like your little sister.” Veronica says, her eyes starting to well with tears.

Derek scoffs. I can’t believe you fell for that. Actually, he pauses, Yes, I can. I’m a profiler. I read you like a book the first day you walked into the conference room. I saw the way your eyes lit up when you saw Reid. I saw all your little glances. The whole team knows about your little crush.

“Even Spencer?” Veronica asks quietly, though she knows the answer.

Especially Spencer. He’s a better profiler than I am. Derek starts to pace. And you thought you could be with him. He’s way too smart for that.

“Why are you saying this?”

Because it’s the truth, Derek says, then shrugs, Figured you should die knowing the truth.

Veronica glares at him. “Get out of my room.”

Derek chuckles. Nice knowing you.

Veronica falls backwards onto the mattress, going over her plan. Her suicide plan. She’s been saving her apples from the last six meals. Eventually, they’ll grow moldy. Eating enough mold will give her food poisoning, liver disease, even just kill her. It’s dumb, and probably not even going to work, but it’s the best she can come up with under the circ*mstances. After she’s dead, who cares what happens to her.

It’s definitely not going to work. Says a voice she thought she’d never hear again. Her heart leaps for a moment, before it sinks.

“Spencer, just… leave me alone. I don’t… I don’t want to hear-”

What? How I really feel about you? You don’t want to die knowing the truth?

Veronica lets out a quiet sob. “No, please.”

Spencer lets out a frustrated sigh. See, this is why I could never be with you. I’d never swing so low.

“Ouch.” Veronica can’t even muster the false confidence to roll her eyes.

I know, that’s why I said it. Spencer shoves his hands in his pockets now. You’re too… simple. I need someone who appreciates highbrow art and literature, someone who understands quantum physics, someone who can handle me.

“You think I can’t handle you? We’ve been friends for a year. You said yourself, you consider me your best friend.” Veronica stands, reaching for him. He moves away. “I… I love you...”

Spencer stares at her for a long moment, then smirks. His eyes are cold. You think this is my first time getting a confession out of someone? This was the longest chess game I’ve ever played. I only said those words so you’d trust me.

Veronica starts to cry.

Please don’t cry, it’s pathetic. Spencer says. Veronica reaches out for the metal cup, then throws it at Spencer. He disappears and the cup clatters against the wall, falling to the floor.

Veronica sinks back down to the mattress again and starts to sob. She’s talking to herself. She’s having visions. She’s going crazy.

How much longer can Webster keep her here? Surely the police have moved on by now, he can dump her body and be done with her. She wants to be dead. Being dead would be better than this.

October 11, 2009

Veronica takes a sip from the coffee she ordered. It’s bland and nothing special, but it’s getting the job done. The cafe is quiet. Most students are in class now, and the ones that aren’t are working quietly, typing on their laptops or skimming textbooks. Veronica looks down at the copy of the Textbook of Diagnostic Microbiology that sits open on the table in front of her. It was a loaner from Reid; apparently he had chosen it for his reading material for the flight. Most of it is gibberish to Veronica.

“ Banks. Tommy Hughes just entered the cafe. 1 o’ clock.” Hotch says in Veronica’s ear. She looks up at the cafe’s front door. A handsome young man walks to the counter, adjusting the backpack slung over his shoulder.

To the right of the door, against the wall, Derek adjusts the newspaper he’s pretending to read.

“Got it.” Veronica says quietly, tilting her book up so that the front cover is visible to Tommy. From under her eyelashes, she watches him place his order and walk down the length of the counter to wait for his drink. Tommy notices the book and walks up to Veronica’s table.

“You go to Cleveland State?” He asks, not-so-subtly staring at the sweatshirt she’s wearing. Veronica looks up from the book, feigning surprise.

“Yep, senior year.” She responds with a smile. “You?”

“I go here.” Tommy says with a smile of his own, gesturing out the window to the campus of Oberlin College. He owns his charm confidently with a boyish swagger. He was definitely the star quarterback of whatever farm town he was born and raised in. “I’m something of a biology nerd.”

“No,” Veronica gasps, using a bit too much sarcasm in her mocking tone, “You? A nerd?”

Tommy laughs and spreads his hands. The barista calls his name, and he turns to reach for his drink. Over his shoulder, Veronica catches the barista’s eye. She’s blonde and short, and glaring right at Veronica.

“ Ronnie, get him to ask for your number. ” Derek says in her earpiece. Tommy turns back to her.

“I’m actually kind of struggling with this…” Veronica says, trailing off purposefully.

Tommy’s face softens. “I’m sorry, I have class, but if you gave me your number, I could call you after and see if you’re still struggling?”

Veronica grins too widely, then loudly recites Hotch’s phone number. Tommy punches it into his cell with a smile, then looks at her with big brown eyes. “What’s your name?”

“Natalie.” Veronica says.

“Tommy.” The boy says, before checking his watch and saying goodbye. Veronica watches him leave the cafe and disappear across the street, passing the SUV that Hotch, Rossi and Spencer are waiting in.

Veronica waits for a full count of 100 before she packs up her bag, tucking the massive textbook away. She finishes her coffee and drops it into the nearest recycling bin, slinging her purse over her shoulder and exiting the cafe. She crosses the street and goes around the corner of the building, where the team’s SUV is waiting for her.

“ Kimmy went into the back .” Derek says in her ear as Veronica sits in the backseat beside Reid. He gives her a polite smile, and she hands his book back to him. As if on cue, Hotch’s cell phone rings. He thrusts it out, holding it in front of Veronica. Rossi holds his phone out as well, Emily, JJ and Penelope waiting silently on the other end.

Hotch holds his hand up to let the phone ring twice, then points at Veronica as she answers the call.

“Hello?” She asks.

“Stay away from Tommy. He’s mine. If you don’t stay away from him, I’m gonna make you wish you’d never come to Oberlin. Do you hear me? I’ll tie you up and keep you in my basem*nt and make you scream, but nobody will hear you and nobody will save you. You’ll be just like those other girls, like Erika and Janice and-” A woman’s voice rambles.

“Who is this?” Veronica asks innocently.

The phone clicks off and Hotch nods at Veronica. “Good job. Let’s go.”

They all step out of the SUV as Veronica tightens the last strap on her FBI vest. She draws her gun and follows the men around to the alleyway behind the cafe. Kimmy the barista sees them and immediately starts running down the alley. Veronica holsters her gun and takes off after her as Derek bursts out the back door of the cafe.

Kimmy isn’t terribly fast, and she only makes it past a couple of dumpsters before Veronica grabs her and pushes her up against the wall. She pulls out her handcuffs and slaps them onto Kimmy’s wrists.

“Kimmy Glenn, you’re under arrest for stalking Tommy Hughes, the kidnapping and torture of Erika Crowe, and for threatening Janice Loman, Tanya Teows and Pauline Davis.” Veronica says, reading Kimmy her rights as she walks her back to the main street.

Veronica helps Kimmy into a police car and closes the door. She feels a hand clap onto her shoulder and turns to see Derek grinning at her.

“Well done, kid. You’re a natural.” He says. Veronica shrugs, though she’s glowing from the compliment. Derek continues, wrapping his arm around Veronica’s shoulders and turning her to look at the other side of the street. “I think there’s someone who wants to talk to you.”

Tommy grins as Veronica approaches him, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Veronica smiles back. Tommy extends his hand out to her.

“Thank you so much, Agent Banks. You have no idea how much better I feel now that I don’t have to worry about my stalker.” Tommy says.

Veronica shakes his hand warmly. “Of course, Tommy. You were great in there. I’m glad my team and I could help.”

Tommy nods, then takes his other hand out of his pocket, holding out a folded sticky note. “Hey, if you’re, uh, ever in Ohio again, maybe you could give me a call for real.”

Veronica takes the sticky note, swallowing the heartbeat that’s crept into her throat. She smiles and puts it into her pocket. “Maybe I will.”

She says goodbye to Tommy and walks back to Derek, who’s leaning against the SUV talking to Reid. She hopes her face isn’t too bright red, but there isn’t much she can do about it anyways. Derek seems to have a knack for knowing everything about her supposed love life.

“Well, well, well, if this isn’t a double whammy for our very own Veronica.” He says loudly as she joins them. “Her first arrest and her first phone number. You gonna call him?”

Veronica pulls the sticky note out and waves it through the air, then looks at it seriously. “Am I allowed to?”

Derek and Reid both shrug. “I’d give it a couple weeks, make sure the case cools off.” Derek says. “But you were all over him in there.”

It’s Veronica’s turn to shrug. “What can I say? Tall, dark and nerdy is my type.”

Derek co*cks an eyebrow and laughs, but Reid stiffens. Veronica chooses to ignore it and climbs into the SUV, tucking Tommy’s number away safely. She intently avoids meeting Reid's eyes as they drive back towards the Oberlin PD.

Chapter 14: Day 42

Chapter Text

Veronica shivers on the mattress. She’s pulled her sleeves down over her hands and tucked them under her armpits. She doesn’t know how long she’s been down here; it could be getting close to fall.

She knows she could use the hot water from the sink. She could wet her sock and use it as a heating pad. But that heat wouldn’t last long; it would be like putting a band-aid over a bullet wound.

Veronica sits up and crawls over to the corner, where she’s been keeping the apples. They’re mushy, and the smell is overwhelming. Some of them have a small bit of fuzz. She takes a deep breath and takes a bite out of one.

She gags, but puts her hand over her mouth and swallows. The taste is disgusting, sour and acidic, close to vinegar. Every instinct, every nerve in her body screams at her to spit it out, to make herself throw up. Instead, she eats another apple. Then another. And another. She eats all of the apples in her stash, every bite feeling like a lump of rocks that settles in her stomach.

She crawls back to the mattress and closes her eyes. It’ll be a few hours until the food poisoning sets in, then she’ll have to suffer through that until her body shuts down. She just hopes nobody tries to visit her while she’s going through it.

October 18, 2009

Veronica stands at the edge of the shallow grave, watching the CSI team carefully excavate the remains. She and Rossi had been tasked with going to the most recent crime scene with the lead detective when they’d landed in Seattle, but they had spotted something as they were walking the hiking trail. It had turned out to be a partially decomposed hand. Apparently their UnSub was comfortable in the woods.

“This guy works fast. The last remains were only found two days ago, and this is a relatively popular trail.” The Seattle detective says from across the shallow grave.

“These remains have a very accelerated rate of decomp for being dumped in the last two days,” Veronica responds, “I know we’re in nature, but you’d need a whole zoo to do this .”

The CSI team had discovered that the hand was attached to the rest of its body. Parts of the skeleton are completely exposed, and the flesh that remains is dried out and leathery under all the maggots and bugs. Something had been gnawing on this body for weeks.

“Do you think he moved them here?” Rossi asks. The shallow grave and the hiking path are both at the bottom of a steep hill. The grave is just a few feet from the path. Thankfully, the entire trail had been closed to the public since the earlier remains were discovered.

Veronica feels a drop of water on her head and looks up. The sky is cloudy and gray; it’s only 4 in the afternoon, but it’s as dark as midnight. More and more rain starts to fall. Veronica pulls an umbrella out of the pocket of her FBI windbreaker. Apparently, she was the only one with enough foresight to bring an umbrella to the Pacific Northwest.

“Hey.” She hears from behind her. Spencer and Emily have arrived from the M.E.

“Is this our guy too?” Emily asks. Spencer walks up to Veronica’s side, still on crutches. She lifts her umbrella so that Spencer can fit under it. He’s standing with his left shoulder just behind her right, pressed up against her. Veronica’s breath hitches when she feels him standing so close.

“From what we can ascertain, it seems like it. It’s certainly in his territory.” Rossi says.

Veronica stares up the hill above them. Though the pine trees are thick, she sees marks in the soil that are evidence of erosion. She looks down at the remains again. They’re covered in mud.

She turns to the detective. “Have you had heavy rains in the last week?”

He shrugs. “It’s Seattle. We usually have heavy rains.”

“What are you thinking?” Rossi asks. Veronica starts up the hill, grateful that she’d worn her hiking boots. She hears Spencer protest as her umbrella leaves him behind, then he starts scrambling up the hill on his crutches.

She studies the ground as she climbs, partly to make sure she doesn’t trip and eat dirt, and partly because she has a hunch about what she’s going to find. At the top of the hill, about ten feet up, there’s a depression in the earth with a trail of erosion leading straight down to the current location of the remains.

Spencer catches up to Veronica, breathing heavily. He leans forwards, dropping his crutches and putting his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

“What… was that for?” He asks. Veronica points at her discovery, bending down to inspect the depression in the earth. There’s a streak of mud leading down the hill from the spot, like something - or someone - had slid down the hill.

Spencer makes a sound of… appreciation? “Good catch, Veronica.”

“Rossi, Emily!” Veronica yells in the direction they came from, “Up here!”

They appear after a minute, Rossi huffing and puffing like Spencer.

“You kids… why did I do that?” Rossi asks.

“Look, Veronica found where the body was originally buried.” Spencer says, kneeling down to inspect the original grave. “The heavy rains must have washed it down the hill.”

“Good job, Veronica.” Emily says. “Rossi, let’s go get the photographers.”

With an eye roll, Rossi follows Emily back down the hill, leaving Veronica and Spencer up top.

“Well, that was the most thrilling thing that’s happened all day.” Veronica says, standing up once again.

“Climbing a hill?” Spencer asks.

“Finding a clue.” Veronica says. Spencer makes a face at her. “Okay, pretty boy, what’s the most thrilling thing you’ve done today?”

Spencer looks at her for a second, visibly shocked at the nickname. “Turned 28.”

Veronica stares at him. “What? It’s your birthday?”

Spencer nods.

“Were you going to tell me?”

“Maybe. I didn’t think it was important.” Spencer shrugs.

“Wh-” Veronica’s brain runs a mile a minute, cycling through a stampede of thoughts and feelings. Shame she didn't know his birthday, committing the date to memory, surprise at his age. He's so young for someone so accomplished, but is he too old for her? Also, he's, what... a Libra? Does that mean anything? “Okay, I owe you a dinner this week.”

“You don’t have to.” Spencer says, holding out his hand for assistance in standing. Veronica helps him up and passes him his crutches, ignoring the way her hand tingles where her skin meets his. Maybe it's selfish of her to think, but if there's one good thing that came out of Spencer being shot in the leg, it's that he's begun unconsciously reaching out for assistance in standing or sitting. He exclusively reaches for Veronica, and it's only ever hand to hand. They've made more physical contact in the last month than in the entire time they've known each other.

“Yes, I do. You’re my friend, and I buy my friends dinner for their birthdays.”

The crime scene photographer reaches them, and Veronica explains the scene to her. Then she and Spencer start to slowly and carefully make their way down the hill. When they reach the bottom, where the rest of the team is, Hotch calls Emily, who puts him on speaker.

“Forensics is advising that the rain is going to ruin the dump sites. There’s nothing more you can do out there, everybody get back to the police station.” He says, then hangs up rather unceremoniously.

The team exchanges looks, then splits up to return to the Seattle PD. Before Veronica can say anything, Emily and Rossi have sped off in one SUV, and she swears she sees both of them grin at her before they leave. Veronica turns to Spencer, glad that Rossi had at least tossed her the keys to the other SUV before he left.

“So, birthday boy, what would you like for dinner?” She grins at Spencer.

When they walk into the conference room of the Seattle PD precinct forty minutes later with bags of Indian takeout in their hands, Derek raises his eyebrows. Hotch and Rossi are standing at the evidence boards, while JJ and Emily are both taking separate phone calls.

“What, did you two get lost ?” Derek asks mischievously.

“Just picked up dinner.” Veronica says, putting the bags of food down on the table. Spencer sits across from her, and Veronica tries to conceal her disappointment that he didn't choose the seat next to her. She does this by peeling off her soaking wet windbreaker. Her hair is also dripping, but she swipes the loose pieces out of her eyes and sits down. Spencer is just as soaked, his hair plastered to his face. He had shaken it out like a dog when they got into the precinct building, showering Veronica and making her laugh.

“Any for us?” Emily asks, hanging up her cell phone.

Veronica and Spencer simultaneously shake their heads as they start eating. Derek and Emily share a look, then gaze back at the two.

“And why not?”

“That’s the thing,” Veronica shrugs, taking the lid off of her butter chicken, “You left us behind, so we couldn’t get your order.”

Hotch wanders over, his arms crossed. “We’ll have to wait for the lab results on the second remains to get to us tomorrow. Then we’ll be able to start talking to families.”

Veronica stands, walking over to the evidence board, where they’ve pinned up a picture of the remains they’d discovered today. She unpins it from the right end of their timeline and reattaches it on the left of the remains they’d been called in about.

“I don’t think the remains we found today are the second. I think they’ve been out there for a while. The forensic lab will be able to determine a more accurate time of death, but judging by the state of decompostion, I’d put them at being dumped a couple of weeks ago.” Veronica says, turning to face the group.

“So, why were they only found today?” Hotch asks. Apparently, nobody had filled him in.

“They were buried up the hill from where they were found. My guess is the recent heavy rains eroded the soil so much that they took a tumble down to the edge of the hiking path.” Veronica says. “I found the original grave. We should be getting photos soon.”

“Call Garcia and ask her for the precipitation reports in the area of the hiking path for the last 30 days. When we get COD and TOD on these remains, we’ll know if it’s our UnSub.” Hotch says. “Everyone else, let’s call it a night.”

The rest of the team files out of the conference room. As Hotch leaves, he gives Veronica a nod and slight smile of approval. Her heart soars at the validation.

Spencer still sits at the table, eating his food. Veronica shoots a text off to Penelope, asking for the precipitation data. She sits down across from Spencer to finish her own food with a sigh.

“Good job, Veronica.” He says with a smile.

She smiles back. “We make a good team.”

“I didn’t really do anything.” He responds.

“You also hiked up a hill on your crutches.” Veronica laughs, “That was probably an overall net negative for you.”

Spencer laughs as well. Veronica smiles, revelling in the rare sound. “Happy birthday, Spence.”

Chapter 15: Day 44

Chapter Text

The food poisoning has come and gone, and Veronica is still alive. She’d thrown up everything within the first few hours and had laid there shivering for the rest. She’d pounded the floor with her fists. She cried and wailed. She’d thrown her cup at the wall, multiple times. And still, she couldn’t seem to die.

I told you. Spencer says from the corner.

“I thought you hated me.” Veronica says, not looking at him. She’s lying on her back on the mattress with her arms crossed.

So?

“So you came to watch me suffer.” Veronica responds, mentally noting how Spencer didn't deny his hatred of her.

Not necessarily. Don’t you want to talk? Spencer asks, his voice now soft and tender.

“Not to you. Or… me, I guess.”

I guess you are smarter than you look. We were taking bets on how long it would take for you to figure that out. Spencer says.

Veronica sits up on her elbows and glares at him. “I hate you.”

No, you don’t.

Veronica lies back down on the mattress and pinches her arm, hard. When she looks back up, Spencer is gone. She looks at the little window as it slides open, her tray of food being replaced. The light from the window has started to hurt her eyes, but before she turns her head away she sees Webster’s hand, the same one that’s been swapping out the trays the whole time.

The little window slides closed. Veronica’s mind starts to form a plan, but it’s a little foggy. That’s definitely not a good sign. But she doesn’t have anything else to do. The effort of thinking up a plan makes her head throb. She decides to close her eyes, just until the pain goes away.

When Veronica wakes up again, she reaches out for the tray of food. She eats the apple and the bread in one go, then drinks some of the water. She knows Webster’s routine for replacing her food. He opens the door, he reaches in for the old tray, pushes the new tray in, and closes the window. All in under a minute.

Veronica picks up the tray and carries it over to the back corner. Then, she crosses back to the little window and stands beside it, parallel to the wall.

She nearly dozes off a couple times while she’s waiting, but she forces herself not to lean against the wall, to rely on her own strength. It takes a lot of effort. Finally, the little window scrapes open. Veronica watches Webster’s hand reach in, looking for the tray. When he doesn’t find it, he pats the ground, reaching further into the room. Veronica brings her heel down on top of his hand forcefully. She hears him swear as he pulls his hand back. Then, a larger shadow falls in front of the window. Veronica kicks at it and feels her foot make contact with something soft and wet.

“f*ck, my eye! You f*cking…” Webster roars, “Bitch!”

He pushes the new tray of food into the room so forcefully that some of the water spills over the side of the cup. The window slides closed. Veronica exhales.

He’ll be fine. You need about 25 pounds of force to break a small bone like a metacarpal. Spencer says from behind her.

“I know.”

And you probably weigh about 100 pounds soaking wet by now.

“I could say the same for you.” Veronica responds, running a hand down her face. She’s weak now, and she didn’t hear or feel any snaps when she stomped on Webster’s hand.

Why are you trying to provoke him? Spencer asks.

Veronica sighs and sits down on the mattress again. “Because I’m mad. And I want him to kill me.”

That seems a bit dramatic.

“Does it? Thank you for the diagnosis, Dr. Reid.”

I asked you not to call me that.

“I don’t care.” Veronica says. “If you really cared about what I thought of you, you’d have found me by now.”

You really want to die? Spencer asks.

Veronica hangs her head. “I don’t know what else I can do. I don’t have any other choice.”

Spencer sighs. That’s not true.

“Isn’t it?” Veronica pinches her arm again. Spencer disappears.

Why did Webster give her the new food? She’d attacked him, she’d clearly pissed him off. Why was he still trying to keep her alive?

You know why. You know his profile. Spencer says, making Veronica jump.

“I told you to go away.” She says, scowling.

Your mind is stronger than you think.

She scoffs at the irony of that statement coming from an active hallucination.

Veronica, Spencer says, his voice softening, You know what will make Charles Webster kill you. Think of the profile.

“I… I don’t remember.” Veronica says quietly.

Yes, you do. Think.

Veronica pinches herself again. Spencer vanishes. She sighs and closes her eyes, trying to think of their profile.

White male. Aged 30-40. Blue-collar worker. Abducting young women between the ages of 23-27. Patient. Presumed misogynist. Drives a truck. Travels for work. Knowledge of wooded areas and bodies of water in Arizona. Sexual sad*st.

Sexual sad*st. He wants his victims to beg for their lives before he kills them.

Veronica can leave. All she has to do is beg for her life. Give up her final defense, her final shred of pride. She just has to mean it.

November 2, 2009

“Not only is our dependence on technology cutting out blue-collar jobs for people who otherwise wouldn’t be able to find jobs, the use of social media among teenagers and children is having devastating effects on their social developments as well as their mental health and self-esteem.” Spencer says, leaning back in his chair with a pen in his hand.

“All I said was that you should check your email more often, especially when that email contains pertinent facts about both our cases and the newest films showing at the theatre.” Veronica shoots back, flicking a paper clip at him. He catches it in one hand and she sticks her tongue out.

“I think my one daily check in is more than enough. I don’t want to become a slave to the internet.” Spencer retorts.

Veronica rolls her eyes. “Okay, Ted Kaczinsky.”

Hotch clears his throat as he passes them on the walkway above. Veronica and Spencer quickly turn back to their individual computers, suddenly very hard at work. From under her eyelashes, Veronica watches Hotch walk all the way into his office and close the door. She locks eyes with Derek and they both burst out laughing. Spencer tosses the paperclip back at Veronica, which she dodges expertly.

“Easy, Spence. Beverage run?” Veronica asks, standing up from her desk and stretching her arms back.

“Woah, woah, woah, what’s happening? You’re calling him ‘Spence’ now?” Derek asks, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair as Spencer stands as well, leaning on a single crutch for support.

“‘Well, ‘Spencer’ is too plain, ‘Reid’ is too formal, and he really hates ‘Dr. Reid’. JJ gave me her blessing to jump on the ‘Spence’ train.” Veronica rests her hands on her hips smugly.

“Uh huh,” Derek responds, looking between the pair of them, “I don’t recall being party to this conversation.”

“Oh, we decided last weekend,” Spencer explains, “We went to see a screening of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari in the original German. Actually, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is one of the earliest examples of a style of cinema known as German Expressionism, characterized by the sharp contrast between dark and light colours and the stark angles of the film set, resulting in a nightmarish-”

“Well,” Derek cuts him off, but he’s staring right at Veronica, “Isn’t that precious?”

Veronica sticks her tongue out and starts walking, albeit much slower than her normal clip, to allow Spencer to keep up. She feels Derek watching them as they walk together towards the break room, and can almost hear his thoughts from across the bullpen.

She knows she’ll get an earful on their way out of the office; Derek had been walking with her, Emily and Penelope out to their cars at the end of the day. Assaults on women in parking garages had recently increased across Virginia, and even though Quantico was a secure facility, Derek had very generously offered to prove his chivalry for the ladies. It was also a way to ensure that he was in on the team gossip, which as of late had primarily revolved around Veronica and Spencer’s apparent will-they-won’t-they relationship. Veronica was a firm denier of the allegations, although she was the only one.

She and Spencer reach the breakroom and restock their respective vices; Spencer, a large mug of coffee, even at 2p.m., and Veronica, a refill of her 32oz insulated stainless steel bottle with ice-cold water. Spencer leans against the counter to turn on the coffee maker, his hands flexing as he puts a new filter in the machine and watches the brew drip into the pot. As if it’s a reflex, he reaches to the right of the machine for the sugar. Veronica passes him the creamer from the fridge so that he doesn’t have to move.

Veronica doesn’t even realize she’s staring at Spencer until he looks up at her and says her name.

“What?” She asks, snapping out of her daze. She definitely hadn’t been looking at his curly brown hair as it brushed against his shoulders. She certainly hadn’t been watching his forearms flex as he moved. She makes a mental note to thank whoever had brought men rolling up the sleeves of their dress shirts into fashion.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked. “You were staring at me.”

“Oh, was I? Sorry.” Veronica looks down at her water bottle and rubs her thumb over the sticker that says Yosemite National Park .

“Would you tell me if I had something on my face?” Spencer asks. When Veronica looks up, he’s somehow moved closer to her without her hearing, even with his crutch. Freaky.

“Huh? Yeah, of course.” She mutters, absolutely not being distracted by whatever cologne he’s wearing, or how piercing his eyes are, despite being the most normal, run-of-the-mill shade of brown. Maybe it’s the raccoon bags around them that never seem to go away, no matter how much he claims to be getting enough sleep.

“What?” He furrows his brow.

“Spencer…” Veronica takes a deep breath, then looks into those eyes again. “Would you ever cut your hair?”

Spencer purses his lips for a moment, one of the facial gestures Veronica has come to think of as adorable. Then he frowns. Less adorable.

“What’s wrong with my hair?”

Veronica’s eyes widen. “No, nothing! No, I… I was just wondering, because it’s… been at your shoulders for as long as I’ve known you, so I was just… wondering.”

Spencer’s eyes narrow for a moment. But the moment passes and he shrugs. “Maybe. I like it like this right now. When I don’t like it, I’ll change it.”

He grabs his crutch and hands his mug to Veronica. She walks him back to their desks, careful not to spill any of his coffee on herself. She can only recover semi-smoothly from so many social blunders in one day.

They sit back down, and Veronica glances at Derek, whose eyes are focused on his computer screen but aren’t moving. The man is waiting to eavesdrop. Veronica throws a paperclip at him, which hits him square in the forehead.

“Hey!” He says, “Easy, Miss Attacking-A-Federal-Agent.”

Veronica rolls her eyes. She hears Spencer’s desk chair roll around, like he’s turning.

“Derek, would you tell me if I had something on my face?”

“Yeah, kid. Actually…” Derek squints his eyes at Spencer, like he’s looking really hard. “What’s that on your forehead?”

“What?” Spencer swipes at his forehead, completely spotless.

“You missed it.” Derek says.

Spencer swipes at his face again, furrowing his brow in concentration.

“I think you might need a mirror.” Derek says.

“A mirror…” Spencer mutters, standing from his desk again and hobbling in the direction of the men’s bathroom.

Veronica watches him go, then looks at Derek. Once Spencer’s out of earshot, she says “You’re evil.”

Derek shrugs. “He needs to practice his walking, doesn’t he?" Then, with a grin, he adds," Sorry for taking away your eye candy.”

Veronica turns away quickly, before Derek can see the blush rising to her cheeks. She makes a mental note to work on her poker face.

Chapter 16: Day 50

Chapter Text

Webster has started swapping out the food trays with a broom handle. Veronica almost laughs at the lengths he’ll go to just to hear her suffer. She hasn’t fully committed to begging just yet; her suicide seemed much more reasonable when she was the one in control of it. Now that she has to rely on another person, her determination is shaken.

She wonders if it’s July yet. She’s going to turn 26 in some dingy, dark basem*nt. It’s just not fair.

She starts to cry again. She’s been doing that more and more recently. A conversation she had with an FBI psychologist after Haley Hotchner’s murder has been replaying in her head. She hadn’t realized it at the time, but Haley’s murder had been about seven months after she’d joined the BAU, and she’d been questioning her choice of career about that long, ever since Hotch and Spencer had been hurt. She didn’t even have any close relatives or loved ones, but the fact that she and Spencer had so quickly become close had given her reason to question her commitment. Not seriously, of course, but she was due for a quarter life crisis anyways.

After seeing the FBI psychologist, he’d referred her to a regular psychiatrist, who had helped her realize her depression and abandonment issues. She’d been prescribed Zoloft. Now that she hadn’t taken it in so long, coupled with her being locked in a dark basem*nt, to say that she’d been noticing her symptoms returning was an understatement.

Helplessness? Check. Suicidal ideation? Check. Angry outbursts? Check. Lack of energy? Quadruple check.

The worrying part is the talking to herself. Theoretically, her brain has fully developed, so the possibility of her turning feral is low. However, months of what is essentially sensory deprivation is sure to have some sort of negative effect on even the healthiest of brains. Maslow had probably figured that physical, visual and auditory stimulation were a given when constructing his hierarchy of needs.

Since that first instance, Rossi and Derek hadn’t shown up again. It was just Spencer. Veronica figures it makes sense; he’s the one she was closest to. She could practically hear his voice reciting random facts in her head before she was taken. Now, she was basically cursed to hear his voice and nothing else.

Of course she felt guilty about feeling betrayed by Spencer, but every new day that she was stuck in this place made her more and more convinced that he and the rest of the BAU had given up on her. Maybe it was her depression telling her she meant nothing to them, but what if it wasn’t?

Veronica starts to do her pushups again. She gets to five before rocking back on her knees. She has become, by all accounts, weak. The last thing that needs to break is her resolve.

Veronica thinks about the stories of patients on their deathbed who keep living in pain as their loved ones visit. Their visitors say “See you tomorrow”, until one day they say “goodbye”. The next day, the patient dies. They needed permission from their loved ones to let go.

Who could give Veronica the permission she needs to let go? Her dad is dead. Her mom will be fine, eventually. She’d move on and heal. The BAU is also good, if not better, at compartmentalizing and moving on.

The only person left that cares if Veronica dies is… Veronica. Her self-preservation instinct is too strong. Probably because some little part of her mind still has faith in her team. Still sees a possible future with Spencer. Still sees a friendship with Derek.

Webster has been feeding her because he knew she would hold out. He wasn’t expecting her to give up quickly, and had planned for her to have a long stay. As a reflex, Veronica makes a note to add that to his profile, before remembering that there was no way she’d be able to do that. Nor would it matter.

Veronica’s mind goes blank. That’s been happening more and more, too. It’s like the absolute darkness of the basem*nt is creeping into her skull. To stimulate some sort of mental activity, she defaults into reciting the events of her abduction.

Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. No Spencer. Screen door. Darkness. Nothing.

Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. No Spencer. Screen door. Darkness. Nothing.

Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. No Spencer. Screen door. Darkness. Nothing.

Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. No Spencer. Screen door. Darkness. Nothing.

Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. No Spencer. Screen door. Darkness. Nothing.

Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. No Spencer. Screen door. Darkness. Nothing.

November 11, 2009

They sit on the jet, headed for the city of Angels. A series of women have been found exsanguinated, with two puncture wounds on the neck, which Emily so tactfully described as fang marks. After a “vampires aren’t real” lecture from Spencer that he'd apparently given before, they’d taken off and were just now discussing the strategy for when they landed in California.

“Okay, thanks,” JJ says, ending her phone call, “So they’ve already set up a task force in Los Angeles.”

“This isn’t their first serial case.” Rossi says.

“You remember Detective Owen Kim?” JJ asks, pointing at Derek and Spencer. Veronica sits perched on the armrest of the bench seat, towering over Spencer. Her leg is very close to his, their pant legs just barely touching.

“From the stalker case.” Hotch supplements, barely looking up from the case file.

“Yeah, you remember that case, don’t you, Spence?” JJ looks at Spencer with a slight smile. Veronica raises an eyebrow at him.

Spencer nods. “I do remember that case.”

“Yeah, you ever talk to, uh, Lila any more?” JJ asks, pretending to forget the name.

“You know, I think we should probably focus on this case right now. It’s a little more pertinent.” Spencer answers, much too quickly. He shifts away from Veronica, ever so slightly. Derek meets Veronica’s eyes and chuckles. She already knows she’s going to be pressing him about this later. She looks at Emily, who looks just as confused.

“Alright, so tell us about blood drinkers, Reid.” Derek says, expertly changing the topic.

“Human blood consumption, or clinical vampirism, is known as Renfield’s Syndrome; named after the insect-eating character in Bram Stoker’s novel, Dracula.” Spencer recites, pointing his finger in the air for emphasis.

“Are they sad*sts?” Emily asks.

“Not necessarily,” Spencer answers, “Pain to the victim is usually only a byproduct. Blood is the focus. Renfield’s Syndrome is usually accompanied by varying levels of schizophrenia and occasionally more classic cannibalism as the condition evolves.”

“Classic cannibalism. Lovely job we have.” Rossi interjects.

“I will say this,” Spencer continues, “True cases are exceedingly rare.”

“Ah, that’s comforting,” JJ nods, “Sort of.”

Penelope’s voice from the laptop on the jet table cuts in. “Renfield’s may be rare, but vampires are anything but. And there’s a huge subculture in Los Angeles of the red-drinking undead.”

“Why is that not a surprise?” Rossi asks.

A series of pictures flash across the laptop’s screen, of young people wearing fake fangs and heavy black goth makeup, covered in — hopefully fake — blood. Veronica leans in to get a better look.

“Garcia, all these people drink blood?” Derek asks.

“Au contraire, they mostly just dress up like Prentiss did in high school and play make-believe. It’s all kinds of delicious.” Garcia responds.

Emily makes an offended face, but smiles.

“It’s not the same thing at all,” Spencer counters, “As a matter of fact, we should refer to this UnSub as a vampirist, not a vampire. And they would be attracted to the subculture merely for its professed worship of blood.”

“Okay, I’m gonna continue spelunking through the various online sites, see if anything jumps up and bites me.” Penelope says, taking a sip from a cup of red liquid. Very funny, Veronica thinks.

“Thanks baby gir—thanks, Penelope. Stay close.” Derek says.

“Yes, sir.” Penelope says, with a coy smile. “Garcia, out.”

Spencer curls his fingers in the air. “You guys, one more thing. Vampirists are coveters. They almost generally always have some sort of relationship with the victim, even if it’s tangential, and they’re likely to become obsessed. They’ve almost certainly crossed paths in some way.”

The team shares an uneasy look, but they settle into silence so they can finish reading up on the case. Veronica keeps an eye on Derek as her mind races. Lila, stalking case, Los Angeles. She’s never heard anything about this case before. She pulls out a book and tries to concentrate on the words in front of her. Veronica’s always been a fast reader; it’s the only way she can hold a candle to Spencer. But now she can’t seem to make the words stick in her brain.

Finally, Derek stands to refill his coffee for the second time, and Veronica follows him into the jet’s galley. She glances over her shoulder to make sure Spencer isn’t looking, then clears her throat.

“You’re very predictable, Banks.” Derek says, not looking up from the coffee pot as he refills his mug.

“Is there something I should know about?” She asks, one hand on her hip, the other on the galley counter.

Derek puts the coffee pot down and raises an eyebrow with a smile. “Are we a little jealous?”

Veronica shrugs as nonchalantly as she can. “You gave me a look back there. I’m just following up.”

“Look,” Derek says quietly, “It’s Reid’s story to tell, so you’re gonna have to get the gory details from him. But basically, about three and a half years ago, we were called out to L.A. to profile a stalker who was targeting actresses. Reid was assigned to protect an actress named Lila Archer. They, well… got close.”

“Close?”

“Look, if you really want to know, you have to ask Spencer.” Derek takes a sip from his coffee and pushes past Veronica. She watches him go, then pulls out her phone and types Lila Archer into her internet search engine. A series of paparazzi and tabloid photos come up of a blonde actress. Veronica’s heart sinks a little. Lila is beautiful, with long blonde hair and striking blue-grey eyes. And she was close with Spencer. Whatever that means.

Veronica returns to her seat beside Spencer, just as the jet starts to descend. She clutches the file in her hands, her mind racing. Of course it’s just her luck, Spencer has a history with a beautiful Hollywood actress. How could she hope to compare? And why does she even care so much?

She must have been holding the file too tightly, because Spencer bumps her leg with his crutch. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” She says, “I’m fine. Let’s catch a vampire.”

Chapter 17: Day 61

Chapter Text

“It’s all your fault, Veronica.”

“Why did you let this happen?”

“How could you be so reckless?”

“You’re the weakest link on the team.”

“You’re the reason the team couldn’t catch him.”

Veronica sits in Chief Strauss’ office as Strauss, Hotch, Rossi and Derek stand in front of her, all looking down at her.

“I’m sorry.” Veronica says quietly.

“Sorry doesn’t make up for your abysmal performance. You’re the worst agent the FBI has ever had.” Strauss says.

“Please, I—”

“Made a mistake? That mistake cost us the lives of our most valuable agents.” Hotch says, his piercing stare making Veronica want to shrink in on herself.

“Why did you do it, Veronica?” A voice says behind her. She turns to see Spencer standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets. There’s a giant purple goose egg bruise on Spencer’s left temple, and he has a gnarly black eye. Blood drips from his nose and his lip.

“What?” Veronica asks.

“Why did you do this to me?”

“I didn’t… I, I didn’t do this.” Veronica protests.

“You let this happen to me.” Spencer’s voice is weak. He stares at her for a moment before he falls over, his body crumpling to the floor.

Veronica sits up in the darkness with a sob. Her heart races, and she puts her hand on her chest to try and stop the pounding. She forces herself to take a shaky breath.

For the last little while, every dream she’s had has ended the same way. Even if it’s a good dream, it ends with Spencer showing up, looking battered and bruised, asking Veronica why she would hurt him.

She’d tried to stay up as long as possible, and she’d made it through three days of food deliveries before brain Spencer had shown up in her room and refused to leave, even when she pinched her arm and held her breath. Finally, she’d fallen asleep with him watching, only for him to show up in her dream anyways. Sleep deprivation-induced hallucinations were not worth the effort to avoid a nightmare.

Veronica stands from the mattress, having to put her hands on the wall until her head stops spinning. Low blood pressure, low blood sugar, low iron, she’s sure there’s any number of things wrong with her. Plus, she’s really getting sick of apples and bread. But despite her dietary preferences, she’s continued to eat. She figures there’s no need to suffer through the slow, painful process of starvation, when she has a guaranteed out with Webster. She’s just building up the courage to actually do it.

Veronica moves a few steps, then drops down to her knees and starts doing her pushups. She makes it to seven. A part of her knows that even if she can get back to her original physical ability, which could take months, Webster is still a stocky, tall man, and she’s been eating nothing but bread and apples for what feels like forever.

But when the FBI agents tell her mom that they’ve found her body, she doesn’t want them to say that she gave up. She wants it to look like she fought until the end. She doesn’t need to give the BAU another reason to disregard her, even posthumously. Her lungs burning, she can't help but laugh at the irony. Even in death, she'll be concerned about what they think of her.

November 30, 2009

“I must say, Agent Banks, you’re one of the only agents who has utilized this grief counselling since the events surrounding Agent Hotchner’s family. Were you close with the deceased?” The psychologist provided by the FBI asks. Dr. Lambert or something.

“No, I wasn’t, actually,” Veronica says, “I’m worried about Hotch, mostly.”

“Are you and Agent Hotchner close?”

“In a professional way, yes. We have mutual trust and respect. We work well together. But,” Veronica takes a deep breath, “I know what he’s going through and it’s… bringing up some feelings I haven’t had in a while.”

“Feelings such as?”

“If this job is… worth it. Worth putting our families in danger. Is this really what I want to do for the next forty years. Normal quarter life crisis things.” Veronica picks at the seam of her trousers.

“You mentioned you know what Agent Hotchner is going through. Have you experienced the loss of a spouse?”

“No, not a spouse,” Veronica says, taking another deep breath as her heart starts pounding, “My father was killed in a car accident when I was twenty. After his death, the police uncovered that he had been dealing with some shady people and he had killed himself to get out of it. Thought he was protecting me and my mom, I guess. All he did was saddle my mom with his debt.”

“And how did you deal with that?”

Veronica shrugs. “Therapy. I joined the FBI. Thought I could stop those kinds of guys myself.”

“‘Those kinds of guys’? Do you mean your father or the men he was dealing with?”

“Um, both. The man I’d known my whole life was a liar, and a coward. The guys he worked for, well, obviously socioeconomic factors play a huge role in the choice to commit crime, but they have innocent blood on their hands.”

“Like your father’s?” The psychologist makes a note in his book.

“No. He made his choice. He was sick, which wasn’t his fault, but all of the choices he made were.”

“He was sick?”

“Addiction. First it was alcohol, then gambling. That’s how he got in with that crowd.” Veronica pauses for a moment, then continues. “I know addiction is a disease. There’s no straight line to sobriety. But my father… I grew up hearing my mom beg him to stop drinking behind closed doors. Then, when I was old enough to know what was going on, I started begging him too. He had people who cared about him, who wanted him to get better. We would have spared no expense. But he couldn’t take the first step of wanting to get better.”

“It sounds like you think about this in a very pragmatic way,” The psychologist says, clasping his hands together, “But you also harbor some anger towards your father.”

“Of course. He left us behind.”

“How’s your relationship with your mother?”

“Fine. I visit her on holidays, she tells me what I need to be doing better.” Veronica crosses her legs.

The psychologist nods. “And the death of Agent Hotchner’s ex-wife is bringing these feelings back?”

Veronica stares up at the ceiling tiles in the office. “The one thing my father taught me is that everything in life happens for a reason. Everything is a lesson. What if the lesson from Haley being killed is…,” She takes a deep breath, “No matter how hard you try, no matter how much work you put in, no matter how good you are… sometimes who you are is just not good enough? What if, sometimes, bad things just have to happen, and there's nothing you can do to stop them?”

Chapter 18: Day 64

Chapter Text

Despite how late it must be getting in the summer, Veronica has been shivering the entire time she’s been in the dark. Like she was dipped in ice water. Her sweatshirt has been doing almost nothing for her. Physical activity helps; she’s up to 15 pushups in a row now. She also does jumping jacks again. But her body still feels weak.

Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. No Spencer. Screen door. Darkness. Nothing.

She’s been reciting her recollection of the night she was abducted to keep sane. Being visited by apparitions of her coworkers and then having conversations with them had made her feel crazy. But now, she hasn’t spoken a word out loud in… she doesn’t know how long.

Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. No Spencer. Screen door. Darkness. Nothing.

She’s coming to terms with her impending demise, though she doesn’t know if she can call it ‘impending’ if she’s the one with the power to invoke it. She’d had enough forethought – or, as her mother would say, been pessimistic enough – to have a will drawn up when she joined the BAU. All of her money and possessions were going to charity. Indiana, her dog, is going to her mother.

Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. No Spencer. Screen door. Darkness. Nothing.

Sometimes, when she’s just sitting down, her heart starts beating in her chest so hard that she can feel it. Her ribs sometimes ache in the spot that she was shot. Maybe she should have had an X-ray after all.

Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. No Spencer. Screen door. Darkness. Nothing.

Not that it will matter when she’s dead, but she’s going to miss things she never thought she would. Rain, snow, sunshine, wind, autumn leaves, storms, thunder, music, ice cream. Things she’d have taken for granted before being abducted.

Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. No Spencer. Screen door. Darkness. Nothing.

She mourns the girl who joined the BAU a year and… however long it’s been. She thought she’d be able to handle the bad guys. She thought she’d be saving the world for decades to come. And hey, a year in the BAU wasn’t so bad. Some agents couldn’t handle the first week. She’d been thrilled at the thought of being friends with some of the most brilliant people in the world; at maybe even loving one.

Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. No Spencer. Screen door. Darkness. Nothing.

She’d lived an entire life in the year that she’d worked at the BAU. She had visited more states in one year than she’d ever been to before, and she’d even been to Canada. Sure, most of it was for work, dealing with the worst of humanity. But, there had been good moments in between.

Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. No Spencer. Screen door. Darkness. Nothing.

Veronica’s senses have been destroyed. Her life is over. She has nothing left. She opens her mouth to cry, but no sound comes out.

Ironic, isn’t it? Derek says from behind her. You can’t even get the murderer to kill you.

Veronica pulls her legs into her chest, pressing her forehead to her knees.

Goodbye, Veronica. You were one hell of a little sister. Derek says. When she raises her head, he’s gone.

Veronica presses the heels of her palms into her eyes, trying to clear her brain. Willing the rest of the hallucinations to stay away.

Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. No Spencer. Screen door. Darkness. Nothing.

Kid, we’ve exhausted the sequence of events as much as you have. It’s no use. Rossi says gently. It’s okay to give up.

Tears well in Veronica’s eyes and her sinuses feel heavy. She sniffs.

Goodbye. Rossi says.

Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. No Spencer. Screen door. Darkness. Nothing.

It’s not your fault, Veronica. You couldn’t have stopped it. Spencer chimes in.

Veronica sobs. She can’t even look at him. She doesn’t want to see the battered, beaten Spencer from her nightmares.

Please look at me, Veronica. I thought we were friends. His voice sounds soft and hurt.

Veronica shakes her head in the dark and squeezes her eyes shut.

Goodbye.

She looks up, but he’s already gone. A tear rolls down her cheek, and she lies down, curling into the familiarity of the fetal position.

Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. No Spencer. Screen door. Darkness. Nothing.

December 3, 2009

Veronica stands in the morgue of the small North Dakota town’s medical office, looking down at the body in front of her. One of two bodies. Two women—sisters—eviscerated and torn apart with disturbing, troubling force. The closest body is nearly bisected, attached to itself only by the spinal cord.

“These tufts of hair were found at the scene, but they’re not like anything we’ve seen around here,” The town doctor-slash-medical examiner says, holding up a jar with several clumps of coarse, grey hairs.

On Veronica’s left, Derek reaches out his hand and takes the jar from the doctor. “We’ll send it over to our lab. They’ll figure out what this is.”

The doctor nods, then looks down at the bodies on his tables. He clears his throat. “This amount of damage… I’ve never seen anything like this either.”

“It’s almost like an animal.” Derek agrees.

Veronica rakes her eyes over the torn skin and exposed flesh. She’s completely desensitized to gore now, a side effect of the job. She’s also been reading Spencer’s very detailed medical textbooks. It’s just a living diagram, on the table in front of her.

“Is anyone else getting a Murders in the Rue Morgue vibe right now?” She asks the room.

The two men look at her strangely. Derek raises an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“Edgar Allan Poe?”

Derek shakes his head. “Save it for Reid. Is there anything else, doctor?”

The small town doctor removes his glasses from his nose and hooks them on the collar of his shirt. He looks down at the corpses on his table and swallows hard. Veronica guesses this is the worst thing he’s ever seen or will ever have to see in this tiny town. “Just find the guy who’s doing this. Please.”

Veronica and Derek leave with a copy of the two most recent autopsy reports. As they walk back down the street to the sheriff’s station, Veronica leafs through the papers.

“The first victim wasn’t actually killed, right?” Veronica asks Derek.

He shakes his head. “No, she was found wandering the streets covered in dirt. Said she’d been buried alive.”

“Buried alive.” Veronica repeats, to herself. A foggy picture is starting to form, but she can’t quite make it out yet.

They return to the sheriff’s office and join up with the rest of the team. An inkling of an idea itches at the back of Veronica’s mind as Derek fills everyone else in on the two latest victims.

“How can we be sure these crimes are even related? These two latest ones were torn apart by something.” Emily says. “It’s a completely different M.O.”

“It doesn’t add up yet,” Rossi agrees, “But what are the odds there’s more than one weirdo in this town? What’s the population, 100 people?”

“189 as of 2007.” Spencer chimes in. He’s been staring at the victimology board since Veronica and Derek arrived. She was a little hurt when he didn’t even turn around to say hello.

“Great. So then what are we looking at here?” The sheriff asks.

The room is silent, all of the BAU’s finest completely stumped. The idea in Veronica’s brain is just outside her grasp; she knows it’s there, but she doesn’t know what it is. She needs one more piece of the puzzle to get the picture.

Rossi sighs, then looks at his watch. “It’s 6:00. If there’s nothing else we can think of, let’s get some rest.”

Veronica looks around at the rest of the group. They all look defeated. None of them likes having to admit that sometimes the only thing they can do is wait for the next victim to show up. Hotch being on leave only adds insult to injury, like they can’t do anything without him. Veronica packs up her stuff, not especially enthused about the tiny, run-down motel they’d passed on their way into town. She stops at the door to the conference room, and turns to see that Spencer’s the last one left, still staring at the victimology board.

“Spencer.” She calls.

He doesn’t react at all. Veronica considers flicking the lights off and on, but decides against it. Instead, she crosses the room again and puts her hand on his arm. He jumps.

“Sorry, you were… zoned out.” She says.

“Oh, sorry. There’s something about this case…” Spencer says, looking back at the board.

Veronica tugs on his sleeve before he can get engrossed in the board again. “Come on, we’re leaving.”

Spencer packs up his bag and winds his purple scarf around his neck, then grabs his cane. Veronica watches him patiently. He glances at the board one last time before he follows her out of the conference room. As they walk out of the sheriff’s office, Veronica finds herself wanting to say something to start up a conversation, but she doesn’t know what.

She finds a topic of conversation when they get outside to see that both of the SUVs have been taken. “sh*t. They forgot about us.”

“I don’t know. This seems to be Derek’s M.O.; stranding us alone together.” Spencer says.

“So you’ve noticed.” Heat rises in Veronica’s face, and she’s glad that it’s already dark outside. “I guess we’d better start walking. I hear there’s a homicidal maniac out here.”

“Actually, this behaviour doesn’t seem maniacal at all. It’s quite methodical and premeditated.” Spencer says.

Veronica stays silent as they start walking down the street. This tiny town is like all the other tiny towns they’ve been to: one main street with a sheriff’s office, a church, a town hall, and at least two bars. Their motel is about a half a mile off the main road.

The walk is brisk and cold. Veronica’s glad she packed her winter coat and boots. She stuffs her hands into her pockets. Her pistol is holstered at her waist.

For once, Spencer isn’t talking. As frustratingly inconvenient as it is for Derek to be hell-bent on abandoning her and Dr. Reid together at every opportunity, she appreciates the extra time with Spencer. This is usually the time when he ‘clocks out’ of the case and starts talking about whatever his latest hyperfixation is. This time, he’s silent. The only sound coming from the empty street is the crunch of their boots in the snow and the sound Spencer’s cane makes when he walks.

“So, what have you been reading lately?” Veronica tries. It’s a lame attempt at small talk, but for some reason, she’s nervous. Like she’s bothering him.

“Hm?” Spencer asks, looking up at her. “Sorry, I was thinking about the case.”

“You don’t have to, we’re off the clock now.” She responds gently.

“I know, it’s just so… weird .” Spencer mutters.

Veronica purses her lips, then clears her throat. “I had a thought in the morgue. It’s probably stupid, so I didn’t want to bring it up in front of everybody…”

“You can tell me.” Spencer says in a gentle voice that tells her he won’t think her idea is stupid.

Veronica hesitates, then speaks. “Okay, well one victim was found bisected, but the autopsy report indicated several cuts made over a long period of time. The other victim was found mutilated by some animal. And someone claims to have been buried alive.”

Spencer looks at her expectantly, waiting for new information.

“How familiar are you with Edgar Allan Poe?” Veronica asks.

Spencer stops in his tracks, his face blank. Veronica takes two steps ahead of him before she realizes he’s behind her. She stops and turns to face him

“Spenc—”

“Veronica, that’s it!” Spencer nearly shouts, his voice echoing through the snow-covered night. He clamps his hands on her shoulders, shaking her slightly. “God, you’re incredible, I could—”

Veronica feels her face heat up when Spencer cuts himself off and drops his hands. He clears his throat. “I, uh… Sorry for grabbing you, I just… that has to be it.”

“You really think so?” Veronica’s blush is not going away, though it is keeping the chill out.

“Come on, we can finish this tonight. I’ll set up my room.” Spencer says, breaking into a speed walk. Veronica follows him to the motel, bypassing her room and everyone else’s. She’s not sure about the FBI protocol for male and female agents being in a hotel room together. If it’s anything like her high school class trips, they’re breaking at least a few rules by doing this.

Spencer’s room is just like hers; a standard motel room. One double bed with a nightstand on each side, a bathroom, a closet and not much else. His go-bag has been placed at the foot of his bed. They had checked in that morning and left for the sheriff’s office almost immediately. No time to unpack.

Spencer reaches into his satchel and pulls out a legal pad and a pen. Veronica stands in the corner, taking her coat off and hanging it in the closet. Spencer sketches out quick, scaled-down versions of their evidence and victim boards, tears the pages out of the legal pad, and arranges them on the bed. Then he stands back and examines the result. Veronica moves closer and does the same.

Under each victim’s name, Spencer has written a caption. The Murders in the Rue Morgue, The Pit and the Pendulum, The Premature Burial . Three Poe stories.

“You’re right. You did it.” Spencer says, looking up at Veronica. “How did I not see it?”

Veronica smiles bashfully. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. This is amazing. You’re brilliant.” He gushes, scribbling down notes on another sheet of paper. Veronica’s blush hasn’t gone away yet. She feels a little awkward just standing there. Dr. Spencer Reid thinks she’s brilliant ?

“Really?” She asks, her hands going to the hem of her sweater nervously. “Derek sort of brushed me off when I brought it up at the morgue.”

Spencer nods, not looking up from his notes. “He does that to me, too.”

“It’s kind of rude. I would never cut you off.” Veronica says.

Spencer looks up at her then, wearing an expression that she can’t place. “I know.”

After a beat, he clears his throat awkwardly and looks back down at his notes. Veronica thinks she might die of heatstroke if she doesn’t stop blushing soon.

“So… we’re looking for someone who likes Edgar Allan Poe?” She asks, feeling like her spark of genius has gone out.

Spencer nods, resting his finger on his chin. “Someone like that would probably stand out. Maybe they’re part of a gothic or emo subculture. Maybe they’re very artistic.”

“Someone who thinks they’re smarter than everyone else in this town?” She asks. “Maybe they have an interest in poetry? I’ll see if I can go to the library tomorrow and talk to someone about the regulars.”

“That’s a great start.” Spencer says. They smile at each other, and Veronica is back to feeling awkward again.

“Well, I guess we did it. I’ll see you tomorrow when you deliver the profile?” She says.

Spencer looks up from his notepad. Why do his eyes look bigger? Veronica shifts on her feet. She’s suddenly acutely aware of the fact that they’re in a hotel room. Alone.

“Why do you keep trying to get away from me?” Spencer asks.

“What?”

“You’re avoiding me.” Spencer says. “We always sit together on the jet, but you sat with Emily this morning. Why?”

“We don’t always —”

“Since you joined the team, we’ve had 37 cases that required us to take the jet. That’s 74 flights in total. We’ve sat together for 68 of them.” Spencer counters. "The last time we sat together was on the way to Los Angeles in November."

Veronica looks at him, eyebrows raised. Of course he had been counting. She still holds the hem of her sweater in her hands, fiddling subconsciously. She didn’t even realize she wasn’t sitting with him that morning; she had just chosen the first seat she saw. And the thing with Lila Archer… she still hasn’t found the courage to ask him about it.

“I’m sorry,” She says, “I didn’t realize—”

“I know.” Spencer says.

Veronica takes a breath. “You know I don’t choose where Hotch sends me when we’re on a case. As much as I like doing the desk profiling…”

Spencer looks down at the cane he left leaning against the bed. “I know the field is more exciting. Even I’m getting bored of geographical profiles.”

“You’re almost back to normal.” Veronica says, also eyeing the cane.

Spencer sits on the end of his bed. The papers he’d sprawled out on the comforter shift as his weight sinks into the mattress. His long legs stretch out in front of him, his left moving slower than his right.

“I won’t be able to go back into the field right away. I might have to do another physical exam. I have to be able to run again.” Spencer says.

Veronica arches an eyebrow, not entirely convinced that he could run before . She’d seen him running — no, it was closer to galloping — after an UnSub, somewhere between the Anthrax attacks and Canada. Six months feels so long ago. “You’re going to be alright. Didn’t the doctor say that if the bullet had hit an inch to the left, you would have bled out in seconds?”

Spencer nods, but his face is still solemn. Veronica’s heart sinks. She hadn’t realized how much he’d been struggling with his leg. Guilt rises in her throat. She sits beside him on the bed. “I’m sorry, Spencer. Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs, his hands on his knees. She sighs. This is not how she was expecting the evening to go. “Are you worried about coming back to the field?”

“I want to. I want to protect—” Spencer closes his mouth without finishing his sentence. He opens it again, putting his hands down by his sides. “The victims. I have to protect the victims. But I need to be physically able.”

Veronica raises her eyebrows again. “Wouldn’t you rather let someone like Derek protect the victims?”

“Not all the victims.” Spencer says.

“Maybe some of the victims don’t need protection.” Veronica says, putting her hands by her sides. Her fingertips brush against Spencer’s. She flinches back, moving her fingers away. Spencer moves his closer, maintaining contact.

“Everyone needs protection.” Spencer says softly, looking down at their hands.

“Including you, Spence.” Veronica replies.

She glances up to find him already looking at her. Something about the dim lighting in the hotel room makes his eyes look larger than usual. Like a puppy, pleading. Veronica’s heart thuds against her ribs. Her fingers burn where they make contact with Spencer’s.

There’s a lock of hair in her face, but she doesn’t dare move. She doesn’t want this moment to be over just yet. Spencer reaches up to brush the lock away from her eyes. His hands are gentle, cautious. He barely touches her skin. Goosebumps prick up on the back of her neck.

Someone in the hall slams a door. Veronica jumps back, startled. She stands quickly and clears her throat. “We should sleep—I mean, I should sleep. Get some sleep. You too. You have to deliver the profile tomorrow.”

Spencer nods, also standing. “You should deliver it. You made the connection. You found the missing piece.”

Veronica smiles. “Thank you, Spencer. I’ll, um…” She steadies herself, “Good night.”

Then she leaves his room as quickly as possible. She hurries into her own motel room, three doors away, closing the door behind her and leaning back against it with a sigh. Only then does she stop to think about what just happened. What just almost happened. She steps forward, into the room. That was a mistake. They couldn’t… they can’t. There are Bureau policies. HR conversations. She turns back to the door. She should apologize to him. Her hand touches the doorknob. She pauses.

Nothing. Nothing happened. Nothing that deserves an apology. Or a confession. It was late. They were tired and emotional. That’s all.

Of course the one person with a perfect memory is the one other person who was there. There’s no chance Spencer will forget. Veronica hopes he at least has the sense to pretend.

Chapter 19: Day 68

Chapter Text

When Veronica opens her eyes, she’s on the jet. She looks around, startled. She tries to jump to her feet, but she can’t. There’s… a blanket covering her? And she's wearing different clothes.

“Hey, sleepy head.” Emily says, calling attention to Veronica.

“Good nap?” Rossi asks, co*cking an eyebrow.

Veronica gapes at them. “How did I… wasn’t… how did I get here?”

The team exchanges a strange look. “On the jet? The same way we did, from the Phoenix airport?” Emily answers.

“Phoenix?” Veronica asks.

“Our last case?” Emily sits beside Veronica and puts the back of her hand to her forehead. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Charles Webster?”

“We got him. He’s in the custody of the Phoenix PD.” Derek says. “His arraignment’s on Monday, and he’ll probably go to trial within the month.”

Veronica sits up, scanning the faces on the jet. Her head feels foggy, like she’s hungover, and she could swear her vision is spinning slightly. Emily, Derek, Hotch, Rossi, JJ… someone’s missing. “Where’s Spencer?”

They share another strange look. Nobody speaks for several moments, and Veronica feels her heart thudding in her ears. Finally, Emily puts her hand on Veronica’s shoulder and sighs. “Don’t you remember?”

“Remember…”

“When you went to arrest Webster…” Emily says, softly, “Spencer was shot. You did everything you could, but… the paramedics couldn’t get there fast enough.”

Veronica’s mind races. This isn’t right. “No…”

“Veronica, it wasn’t your fault.” Derek says, his voice just as soft. She can’t stand it. It doesn’t make any sense. If she lives, Spencer dies? It’s not fair.

"We have to go back," She says. She forces herself to stand, grabbing onto the seats in front of her to keep her footing. "I have to go back."

The jet lurches to the side, and she stumbles. Derek catches her and Emily puts a hand on her shoulder again. The rest of the team stares at her blankly. Veronica's stomach sinks. Spencer can't be gone; he can't have traded his life for hers. Veronica would go back to that basem*nt for a hundred years if it meant Spencer would still be alive. The realization kicks her heartbeat into overdrive.

“Take me back! Take me back!” She starts to scream, pushing away from Derek and Emily. “Take me back, please!”

“Agent Banks, please—”

She screams until her throat gives out as she scrambles down the length of the jet and hurries over to the door to the jet’s co*ckpit. She pounds on the thin wood, feeling it bend behind her fists. “Take me back!”

The door opens, revealing an empty co*ckpit. No pilots in either seat. Veronica turns back to the cabin. The rest of the team has disappeared, too.

She covers her ears, screws her eyes shut, and starts to scream again.

The next time she opens her eyes, she’s back in the basem*nt, a scream still piercing the darkness. The weight of Emily’s hand on her shoulder is still there, like a phantom touch. She curls into a ball, trying not to hyperventilate. She doesn’t know what’s real anymore. She’s losing her mind.

December 9, 2009

Veronica stands to the side of the funeral home’s reception hall, sipping from a glass of red wine. She watches the team as they interact with the guests at the funeral, probably relatives of Hotch and Haley.

She traces her finger around the rim of her wine glass. She feels silly for coming, but it was to support Hotch. She still doesn’t know him that well, and she never met Haley, but part of her knows that she would feel guilty for not going. The team had to stick together, through thick and thin. So, she’d put on a black dress, gone to the funeral, and was now waiting for an appropriate time to slip out and go home.

Veronica watches Derek say goodbye to someone, then catch her eye. He meanders over, holding a still-full glass of… scotch, maybe? He leans against the wall next to her.

“Finally. I got this drink half an hour ago and I haven’t gotten a taste.” He takes a sip and swallows, sucking his teeth at the burn.

Veronica smiles and looks down at her wine glass, swirling the remaining liquid inside. She brings her thumb to her mouth, hitching a manicured nail in between her top and bottom front teeth. A thinking habit she picked up from her mother.

Derek sighs. “Okay, what is it? I know we’re at a funeral, and it was very nice of you to come, but you’re sulking.”

Veronica shrugs, taking a deep breath. “Just thinking about the whole thing. I never really considered the fact that this job could put my family in danger.”

Derek raises his eyebrows. “Does your family live close?”

“It’s just my mom. She lives in Boston. But my dad put her through so much...”

“So, she’s nowhere close to you. She’s safe.” Derek says, graciously ignoring the dad remark.

Veronica sighs. “I know, it’s irrational. The funeral just made me think about it.”

Derek puts his hand on Veronica’s shoulder. She holds her arm out and he hugs her, patting her back reassuringly. She smiles as she pulls away.

“Thank you for being a good friend.” Veronica says.

Derek nods. “You’re alright, kid.”

Veronica laughs quietly, looking out at the rest of the room to hide her emotion. She takes another sip of wine, her eyes automatically drifting to Spencer in his suit.

“Oh, I see.” Derek says knowingly, “You’re not just worried about your Mom.”

Veronica blushes, her face burning. “Come on, Derek, can’t you leave it for one night?”

“Nope. I’ve only known you for six months, but I can read you like a book. What’s up with pretty boy?”

“Well, he’s dressed like a professor I had at university, for one. Cane and all.” Veronica says. She shudders at the memory and tries to push it away.

Derek laughs, “Okay, Veronica. ‘See me after class’ is what gets you, huh?”

“Seriously, shut up.” Veronica mumbles into her wine glass.

Derek places his hand back on her shoulder. She looks at him, and is surprised to see his face suddenly serious. He looks into her eyes.

“Ronnie, listen to me. Every member of this team has been exactly where you are now. Questioning if the job is worth it. Worrying about the nightmares.” He says quietly. “But you can’t let that stuff get in the way. Of the job, of doing what makes you happy.”

“So, what?” Veronica asks. “Isn’t it… selfish? To pursue a relationship with anyone , knowing that it could be ripped away at any second?”

Derek shrugs. “We still deserve to be happy, don’t we? Hasn’t this job taught you to take chances?”

Veronica nods. “I prefer to think of it as ‘ I could die any minute, so f*ck it ’.”

“There you go, that’s the spirit.” Derek says.

Hotch and Rossi head out to the balcony of the funeral home. Veronica nudges Derek’s arm and nods in their direction. He hovers a hand over the small of her back and leads her towards the rest of the group, now sitting at a circular table, also watching the pair outside. Veronica walks up behind Spencer, and he tilts his head up to look at her when he feels her presence. She smiles down at him and he returns the expression, making butterflies blossom in her stomach. She looks away quickly, before her face gets too red.

If she’s being honest, she was thinking about her and Spencer . She doesn’t know exactly when it started, but she noticed it in North Dakota, during their Edgar Allen Poe case. After their close call in the hotel room, she’d stayed awake for hours, replaying the moment in her mind. She came to the realization that if the slamming door hadn’t interrupted them, she would have wanted that moment to continue. And the next day, when Spencer had urged her to deliver the profile by herself in front of everyone, she had felt his gaze on her the entire time. She hadn’t noticed it before, but she’s noticed it almost every day since. The little moments between the two of them, the lingering stares, the excuses to make physical contact. And it wasn’t just coming from her; Spencer was doing it too.

She’d been resigned to let her silly little crush on Spencer be just that: a silly little crush. The movie nights, the inside jokes, the little conversations. She could handle those things without getting her feelings hurt. But after the moment in the hotel room, she felt herself falling headfirst. She wanted to kiss Spencer. And she had no idea what that meant for her.

“No rest for the wicked.” Emily says, bringing Veronica back down to earth. “Looks like we have a new case.”

Veronica sighs and starts running through her mental case prep checklist. No time to sit and think about Spencer, as usual. If only she wasn’t so damn scared. She could handle serial killers, maniacal rapists and men twice her size, but a six-foot-one genius with gorgeous brown eyes who looks like a stiff breeze could knock him out? That’s where she draws the line. There is no way to both be honest and protect their friendship. If only she didn’t have so much to lose.

Chapter 20: Day 71

Chapter Text

When Veronica wakes up, the image of Spencer laying dead in a casket is burned into the insides of her eyelids. Another nightmare. She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to get rid of the impression of his grey, gaunt face, stitched and stapled together; his stringy, curly hair splayed out around him on a satin pillow.

Veronica hopes that when they find her body, they have the sense to give her a closed-casket funeral. Or to just cremate her.

If they find her body.

The cold has settled into her bones, and it refuses to leave, even when she tries to move her body to generate heat. She can’t do much—standing for more than a few seconds at a time makes her dizzy—so she’s resorted to crawling, resting every few feet to catch her breath. It must take her close to an hour to get to and from the bathroom.

She doesn’t even want to know what she looks like. At first, she tried to comb through her hair with her fingers every so often. That stopped after her first hallucination. Other girls were probably spending their summer on the beach, getting nice and tan. She was spending it rotting in a dark room.

Veronica sits against the wall with her knees pulled up, her thumb nail hitched in between her top and bottom front teeth. It’s something her mother always did when she was thinking. Now, Veronica does it and tries not to think about how dirty her hands are. It was something Spencer had mentioned the first time he saw her doing it—he hadn’t given her an exact number, but Veronica guessed the trillions of bacteria could enter her body that way. At the moment, she doesn’t care.

She wonders what will kill her first: Webster or an infection?

Her eyelids grow heavy and her head droops forward. Before she lets herself pass out, she lays down on the mattress, cradling her arms to her chest and tucking her knees in. If she were anywhere else, she would feel guilty about sleeping so much. But here, she has nothing better to do. As if sleeping is any relief. Sleep means nightmares, and staying awake means waiting to see if the hallucinations come back. It’s a never ending cycle of horrors.

December 23, 2009

Veronica holds her breath as the clock on the wall strikes 5:54 . It’s six minutes until the end of the day, and unless someone decided to commit a statistically-unlikely series of murders in that time, it also meant six minutes until the BAU’s mercifully-given week off. Although Hotch had been stressing for the last month that it wasn’t a week off —if they got a case, they’d be called in—most of the team had planned as such.

Derek clears his throat and Veronica turns to look at him. He raises his eyebrows and waves a brochure through the air for some resort in Jamaica. Veronica smiles and shakes her head. He had invited her to join him and Emily on their tropical getaway. Veronica had heard the stories about Agent Greenaway and decided not to take her chances.

JJ and Penelope had both decided to abandon all hope of pretending to look busy and had joined the rest of the team in the bullpen. JJ was showing the other girls pictures from when she and Will took Henry to meet Santa. Veronica swears she hears Rossi open a bottle of scotch from his office.

And Spencer sits at his desk, doing the crossword in the newspaper. Veronica can’t look at him for too long while he’s making his concentration face; his slightly furrowed brow, his finger trailing the page, his clenched jaw. Instead, she risks sneaking periodic glances at him from time to time. That way, she reduces her chances of breaking into a full-out blush.

The entire team looks up as Hotch exits his office, buttoning up his coat as he does. “Goodnight, everyone. Happy holidays.”

The team responds with their own well-wishes as Hotch descends the stairs and comes to a stop in front of them. “And if I call you this week, please answer your phones.”

Their responses are much less enthusiastic this time, and Hotch actually cracks a small smile before saying goodbye once again and hurrying out the door. The team watches him go.

“Can you imagine? Haley’s only been gone for a month, and now it’s their first Christmas without her.” Penelope says, clutching a hand to her chest.

“Poor Jack.” JJ says.

“Poor Hotch .” Veronica adds.

They contemplate this for a few sad moments before realizing they’re all also released from work. Their desks are cleaned and bags are packed up faster than they’ve ever been before.

Penelope waves to the group as she leaves, “Bye everyone! Don’t have too much fun in Jamaica without me!” There’s a hint of jealousy in her voice. She had gone on for days about how she and Kevin were supposed to join Derek and Emily, but Kevin had broken out in hives and a heat rash at just the thought of the beach, so they were staying stateside.

JJ is the next to leave. “You’re all welcome at Will’s and mine if you have no plans, but please give me advanced notice.”

Then, it’s Derek and Emily. “We’ll be thinking of you with every pina colada we drink!”

And then there were two. As Veronica finishes packing up her purse, she looks at Spencer. He gives her a tight-lipepd smile. “Any plans for the holidays?”

She shakes her head. “No. Just catching up on sleep and eating lots of good food. You?”

“I thought your mom lived in Boston. You’re not going to visit her?” Spencer asks, instead of answering her question.

Veronica pauses. “No, I… No, she usually takes a cruise over the holidays. I think this year she’s in the Caribbean.”

“Nice,” Spencer says. “I usually visit my mom in Las Vegas, but I’m not sure about this year.”

“Why? Is she okay?” Veronica asks. The amount of knowledge she has about Spencer’s mom, or even his family, is very limited. He’s never told her, and the rest of the team doesn’t talk about it.

“Um…” Spencer pauses for a moment, pursing his lips before continuing, “She’s in a care home. She has schizophrenia, actually. And a couple days ago, the doctors called to tell me she hasn’t been doing so well. She’s been having a lot of episodes recently.”

Veronica’s heart thuds. She suspects that Spencer hasn’t told a lot of people about his mom, and she feels a warmth spread through her body at the thought that he trusts her enough to tell her. “I’m sorry, Spencer. That must be hard.”

Spencer nods. “It is.”

“For what it’s worth, it might help her if you visit. She might just need to see a familiar face.” Veronica says.

Spencer nods again. “You’re probably right. And anyways, if I stayed in D.C. the whole time, I’d probably end up doing the same thing as you.”

“Right.” Veronica smiles. Her brain screams at him to ask to spend time with her over the holiday. Why don’t you have the guts to ask me? And why don’t I have the guts to ask you?

They smile at each other for a moment, and Veronica almost forgets that the office isn’t empty. Then, she sees Rossi’s food open in her peripheral vision, and the moment is gone. Spencer shoulders his satchel. “Well, Merry Christmas Veronica.”

“Merry Christmas, Spencer.” She replies. They exchange one last smile, before Spencer turns and walks out of the bullpen. Veronica watches him go, wishing she had left with him. An extra two minutes with Spencer in the elevator and walking through the parking garage seems like all the time in the world, knowing that she won’t see him for the next seven days.

From behind her, Rossi clears his throat. “Well, you’ll be delighted to know I’m also staying in town for the holidays.”

“Really? You’re not retiring to one of your many private villas around the world?” Veronica asks playfully.

“It’s one private villa in Italy, and no , I’ve decided to keep it small this year.” Rossi replies.

Veronica laughs as he falls into step with her and they walk towards the elevator. They’re the last two out of the BAU bullpen. As the elevator floor indicator climbs, they wait patiently.

“I didn’t want to advertise this to everyone because I don’t want my house to turn into a zoo, but my home is always open. If you get tired of spending Christmas alone, you’re welcome for dinner.” Rossi says, his demeanor now sincere.

Veronica smiles at him, touched by the offer. “Thank you, David. I may just take you up on that.”

The elevator arrives, and they step in and turn. As the doors slide closed, Veronica takes one last look at the doors to the BAU. With any luck, she won’t have to look at those doors until next year.

Chapter 21: Day 74

Chapter Text

Veronica is drowning. She was walking across a frozen lake, trying to get… somewhere. Next thing she knew, she was falling. The shocking cold knocks the breath out of her lungs. It’s so dark.

Where was she going? Why was she walking across a frozen lake? The questions that fly through her mind at a million miles an hour grant her a few extra seconds to fight. She kicks. She pulls. She struggles. But the pale blue light that must be the surface gets further and further away.

Even if she could reach the surface, hypothermia would claim her quickly. Her legs stop kicking. Her arms trail above her as she feels herself sink lower, lower, lower, until the pale blue light is gone and the only thing she can see is inky blackness.

Veronica wakes up with a start. She hasn’t been having any more nice dreams about Spencer. Only nightmares. A hundred different versions of her being free and safe from Webster, only to realize that Spencer died in her place. She rubs her hand into her eyes again. She’s had a headache for the last… since she can remember. Her eyes are heavy all the time, as if there’s a weight in her skull. She wonders if she’ll still be able to see by the time Webster lets her out of the basem*nt.

Veronica’s throat burns. She’s so dehydrated, she’d almost consider drinking the tap water again. The E. coli doesn’t seem so bad. Maybe she’ll actually die this time.

The little window slides open. Veronica doesn’t look at it; she hears the metal of the tray scrape away and then back into the room. When the little window slides closed, a small amount of light remains in the room. Veronica rolls over, curiously, to see something on the tray.

It’s a small cupcake with a sparkler stuck into it. Veronica sits up, reaching for the tray. The light from the sparkler hurts her eyes, but she looks at it anyways. What is this? What does it mean?

Veronica plucks the sparkler out of the cupcake. The sparks lick at her fingers, but she holds the sparkler up to look around the room. Four walls made out of brick. The doorway to the bathroom. All painted the same dark grey. The dirty mattress. Nothing else.

The sparkler goes out, and Veronica starts to cry. Is today some kind of important day? Is it the anniversary of something? Has she really been in the room for an entire year?

She lies back down onto the mattress, crossing her arms and clutching at the shoulders of her sweatshirt. Some sort of human instinct that wants to be swaddled for comfort, probably. Veronica sobs, kicking her legs in a silent rage. She’s so frustrated. With Webster, the BAU, the Phoenix PD, even herself. For joining the FBI, for getting caught, for not letting herself die.

She cries in silence until her eyes and head throb. Until she reluctantly falls asleep, only to be met with another dream.

February 18, 2010

Standing back from the evidence board and stretching, Veronica lets out a sigh. It’s about four in the afternoon, and she’s ready for a nap. Or dinner. She turns to her purse, sitting on the conference room table, and pulls out a tube of hand lotion. Baltimore is cold and dry in February, and her brain did not like the feeling of her dry hands on paper as she was looking through files. She applies a dollop of rose-scented lotion and rubs it into her hands, just as Hotch, Derek, Rossi, and Spencer enter the conference room.

“We have a suspect.” Hotch says, forgoing a greeting, “Richard Wallace; amateur community theatre director and aspiring novelist.”

Veronica raises an eyebrow at Rossi, who shrugs. “He didn’t seem to want any writing tips from me.”

“Banks, you and Reid take the interrogation,” Hotch says, looking at the evidence boards. “This guy has a flair for the dramatic. You two have the chemistry; stage an argument or a fight or something interesting. Get his emotions invested, and maybe he’ll let something slip.”

Veronica and Spencer share a look, then they both nod. “Yes, sir.”

Derek chuckles and Veronica shoots him a different, more hostile look. She and Spencer turn to the door of the conference room in the Baltimore PD precinct. Simultaneously, he hands her a file and opens the door for her. She obliges, her face heating up against her will. To hide it, she reads the file on Wallace as they walk.

“So, do you want to be lovers?” Spencer asks.

Veronica whips her head up to look at him, shocked. “What?”

Spencer’s eyes widen in realization. “No! Not… I meant for the interrogation. Do you want to be quarrelling lovers for the interrogation?”

Veronica suppresses a laugh at the Shakespearean phrasing of quarrelling lovers , and clears her throat as they come to a stop outside the interrogation room. “Let’s just stick with partners . I’ll point out something in the case to get angry about. You just play along, okay?”

Spencer nods, brushing his long hair behind his ears. “Okay, but the best chance we have is if we can find a conflict rooted in real life.”

Veronica nods back, then the comment registers. Real life… he suggested they act as lovers? It might not be such a bad idea. She pushes that thought down, down, down, then takes a deep breath, trying to suppress the redness that she’s sure has fully covered her face and neck by now. Then, she opens the door to the interrogation room, and they enter.

“Mr. Richard Wallace.” She says to the man chained to the table. “The next William Shakespeare.”

Mr. Wallace looks up. He’s the picture of an artist: black turtleneck, thin scarf, thin moustache, obnoxiously round glasses. His thin fingers weave together on top of the table. If he had a free hand, Veronica guesses he’d be smoking a cigarette.

“Actually, Shakespeare wrote dramatic plays. Mr. Wallace here is writing a novel.” Spencer says. He sits beside her.

“That’s right.” Wallace says.

Veronica hmms . “Right. Except the contents of your novel, Mr. Wallace, bear a striking resemblance to a recent string of murders that have been committed in Baltimore. Do you have any explanation for that?”

Mr. Wallace shrugs. “Murders happen every day. Not every idea can be an original.”

“But the details ,” Veronica touches her fingers together, flipping through the draft of the novel they’d seized when they arrested Mr. Wallace, “They’re so accurate. How did you do it?”

“I just type at my computer until something remarkable comes out.”

“Not the writing , Mr. Wallace. The murders.” Veronica co*cks an eyebrow.

Spencer shifts in his seat, and Veronica finds the line in the manuscript she’d been looking for. She taps her finger on the page, looking up at Mr. Wallace.

“Haven’t you ever seen the disclaimers in books, ‘ Any resemblance to real events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental’ ?” Wallace asks. “That’s what it is, pure coincidence.”

Veronica feels Spencer take the manuscript, hopefully having gotten her message. She clears her throat and crosses her arms. “Unfortunately, Mr. Wallace, that statement is not legally infallible.”

Mr. Wallace leans back in his chair, as much as he can. “Please, dozens of authors have written about things that have just so happened to come true, not simply murders. Jules Verne predicted that man would step foot on the moon. Morgan Robertson predicted the sinking of the Titanic .”

“But your writing is so much more personal than those iconic moments in history.” Veronica counters. “And not just the murders… the romance, too. I mean, the protagonist, what’s his name…” She reaches for the manuscript again, ready to launch her plan, “Jeffrey Holland. He’s so sensitive, so caring. Not like my partner here.” She mutters, glancing at Spencer for just a second too long. It’s supposed to sound like a throwaway. Wallace catches it.

“Your… partner?” He asks.

Veronica sighs quietly. “Nevermind.”

“No, wait.” Spencer says, crossing his leg and leaning back in his chair, committing to his character. “What do you mean?”

Veronica looks at Wallace, then at Spencer. “We shouldn’t do this in front of Mr. Wallace.”

“No, please, don’t mind me,” Wallace says.

Veronica feigns another sigh, raising her eyebrows with an unimpressed expression. “It’s just that you never buy me flowers.” She turns to Wallace, “Why are men only romantic when they’re fictional?”

Wallace’s eyes are hungry, flitting between her and Spencer eagerly. Spencer clears his throat. “Well, I’m sorry, but maybe if you wanted to go out once in a while, I’d have an occasion to buy you flowers.”

Veronica’s heart skips a beat. She takes a breath. “I shouldn’t need an occasion to receive flowers from my boyfriend.”

Spencer’s eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, at the word boyfriend . Veronica’s mind is scrambled, trying to find a way to escalate, to throw Wallace off. Spencer scoffs, “Can we do this later?”

Veronica glances at Wallace, who is now leaning forward in his chair, like he’s watching the fourth quarter of the Super Bowl. Or the fifth act of Hamlet. She needs something really juicy to keep him distracted.

“I mean, it was Valentine’s Day four days ago, and you didn’t even get me a card.” She says.

“We were working.” Spencer replies. This is actually true, they had been working on the 14th, finishing up a case in Rhode Island. Not that Veronica had been expecting a Valentine’s card from Spencer Reid, but he had barely even said hello to her that day.

“And you can’t take two minutes out of your day to write me something?” She asks.

“What, did you want a sonnet? Here you go, ‘ Doubt thou, the stars are fire, Doubt, that the sun doth move, Doubt truth to be a liar, But never doubt I love.’ ” Spencer recites.

Veronica raises her eyebrows. It’s a genuine reaction; she hadn’t expected Spencer to pull out the Shakespeare. But of course he knows the perfect quote for the moment, he’s Spencer. Veronica swears she hears Wallace swoon. And, hand to god, she swears she can hear Derek and Rossi’s eyes roll through the two-way mirror.

But she needs to up the ante. “Alright, how many women in the FBI have you used that one on?”

“None!” Spencer’s voice almost cracks.

“Then who is Lila Archer?” Veronica asks, and immediately regrets it. The entire police station seems to hold its breath.

Spencer’s jaw drops, and he stutters for a moment. Then, he stands from his chair and pushes it into the table forcefully. “We’ll discuss this later.”

Veronica watches him leave the interrogation room, regret flooding through her body. She shouldn’t have said that, especially not in front of a suspect. She turns back to Wallace, tapping her pen on the table.

“Sorry about that, Mr. Wallace.” She clears her throat and looks down at the file.

“No, that’s…” Wallace sits back in his chair with a poignant sigh, “Do you mind if I use that dialogue in my novel?”

Veronica resists the urge to roll her eyes, and smiles. “Be my guest. Speaking of your novel, when you wrote these murder scenes, did you plan them out ahead of time, or did you write based on what happened in the moment?”

“I always write based on the moment,” Wallace says, distracted. He tilts his head back, “Who is Lila Archer? You know, you two must be soulmates. Your chemistry, and the tension , my word!”

Veronica’s face burns at his remark, but she cuts in, “Sorry, Mr. Wallace, you write based on the moment? So you wrote your scenes after you committed the murders?”

“Yes, yes,” Wallace waves his hand in the air as much as his handcuff allows, “A woman scorned… maybe I can fit it in the second act. My dialogue is rarely as authentic as the real thing.”

Veronica snaps her file closed. “Well, Mr. Wallace, I think you’ll have plenty of time to work on your novel in prison. Thank you for your confession.”

She stands from the table and pushes her chair in. Wallace looks up at her blankly, “My confession? Wait a minute!”

Veronica exits the interrogation room, leaving Wallace to protest as the Baltimore police swarm in. She looks around the precinct’s bullpen; Spencer is nowhere to be seen. She can’t look for too long, though, because the door beside her opens and the rest of the BAU team surrounds her.

“Well done, Banks,” Hotch says, “That was very impressive.”

“Very fine improvisation, not at all painful to watch.” Rossi agrees.

Veronica thanks them and accepts their pats on the back and congratulations. They move away, preparing to pack up and wrap up the case, looking forward to the promise of an early night. Only Derek hangs back.

“You had that one loaded in the chamber, huh?” He asks.

Veronica cringes. “I shouldn’t have used it. I need to apologize, have you seen him?”

Derek shakes his head, then pats her on the back. “He’ll be okay.”

Veronica scans the bullpen again. No sign of him. She peeks through the window of the conference room. Nothing. She turns to the door to the men’s bathroom and sighs, then knocks. “Spencer?”

She hears a tap shut off. After a moment of silence, she opens the door. Spencer jumps back from the sink.

“Hey! I could have been… busy.” He protests.

“I could hear you using the sink.” Veronica responds. She crosses her arms and leans against the wall. “Spencer, I’m sorry I brought up Lila Archer. It was spur of the moment, and I shouldn’t have done it.”

Spencer looks down at the floor, his hands in his pockets. “How did you hear about her?”

“The vampire case back in November.” Veronica says. “JJ asked about her on the jet.”

“And Derek told you everything, I imagine.”

Veronica shakes her head. “Only the basics. He said it’s your story to tell. And it’s none of my business, anyway.”

Spencer clears his throat and brushes a piece of hair away from his face. “If you really want to know… she’s an actress I was assigned to protect almost four years ago. We kissed, once, and I saved her from her stalker, and I never saw her again.”

“You kissed her?” Veronica says, blinking. Remember when you said it was none of your business?

Spencer nods. “It was my first kiss. It was… wet.” She raises her eyebrows. Spencer’s eyes widen again. “Because we were in a pool!”

“I… okay, I don’t need to know.” Veronica says, raising her hands defensively. “I was just… curious.”

“Right.” Spencer says, nodding.

“Anyways, I’m sorry.” Veronica puts her hands in her pockets.

Spencer purses his lips and looks down. “If it means anything, I… I haven’t even really thought about Lila since that case. It really didn’t mean anything. I-I have better things to think about.”

Veronica’s face heats up again, but she clears her throat and nods, wondering what that’s supposed to mean. She juts her thumb towards the bathroom door. “We should be going.”

“Yes…” Spencer says, crossing the bathroom. He comes to a stop in front of her, “We should.”

He’s so close, she can smell his cologne. It’s warm and comforting and it hasn’t changed once since she’s known him. The smells of mahogany and musk, mingling with the cheap coffee supplied by the police station. She tries to think of a response, but finds herself completely intoxicated by the sudden scent.

Spencer steps closer to her, so close that she has to tilt her head back to look up at him. She never noticed how tall six feet was before. Veronica hears her blood rushing in her ears.

Spencer smiles. “I like your perfume. Roses?”

“Yes,” She nods, “It’s my hand lotion.”

Another moment passes. Veronica’s heart must be nearing 100 beats per minute now.

“Veronica…” Spencer mutters in a low voice.

“Spencer…” She responds, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh! Uh…” Someone says from the bathroom door, “Excuse me, this is the men’s bathroom.”

Veronica turns to see a uniformed officer standing at the door, looking uncomfortable. Without looking back, she walks past the officer and huffs out a weak sorry .

Her heart pounds with every step she takes towards the conference room. If that officer had come in ten seconds later… no, that would have been extremely unprofessional. She needs to get a grip. She was probably misreading the entire situation. Spencer was probably just trying to get to the paper towel dispenser.

The team is standing around chatting in the conference room. Veronica walks briskly to her stuff and starts packing up.

“Where were you?” Rossi asks.

“Bathroom.” She replies.

Seconds later, Spencer enters the conference room. Veronica avoids his eye. She hadn’t realized that he wasn’t right behind her.

“And where were you?” Rossi asks him.

“In the bathroom.” Spencer says.

Veronica senses Rossi’s eyebrow raise in her general direction, and she groans inwardly. Their staggered entrance and the fact that she’s definitely blushing probably only adds more suspicion. Derek opens his mouth to say something, but mercifully, Veronica’s phone rings.

“Penelope? We got the confession. We’re about to head back.” Veronica says.

“Oh, good, you’re still in Baltimore. I need you to—am I on speaker?”

“Yes?”

“Take me off.” Veronica looks up at the team, who look back at her quizzically. “Do it!”

“Okay, it’s just me now.” Veronica says, bringing her phone to her ear.

“Okay, I need you to go find a copy of today’s Baltimore Sun .” Penelope says.

“Why, what’s wrong?” Veronica asks, looking around the conference room.

“No, no, nothing’s wrong,” Penelope’s voice jumps in pitch before she clears her throat, “Just go find a copy.”

Veronica walks out into the bullpen of the precinct with her eyebrows furrowed and her purse slung over her shoulder. “I don’t really care about the Orioles or the Ravens, Garcia.”

“Your stubbornness isn’t going to work on me, Red. Just find a newspaper.”

Veronica spies a newspaper on a desk and picks it up. “Okay, I have it.”

“Now take a look at your horoscope.” Penelope says.

Veronica rolls her eyes, but flips through the pages until she finds the Horoscopes section. “What am I, again?”

“A Cancer.” Penelope says, patiently.

Veronica sighs and scans the page, stopping at Cancer: Communication remains the essence of the day and the more you avoid dealing with others, the more they are going to chase you.

“What is this supposed to mean?” Veronica asks.

“Derek told me about your interrogation—”

“Already?”

“—and this is perfect! You have to tell Reid how you feel! Communicate and deal with him!” Penelope squeals.

“How I feel ?” Veronica asks. The team walks past her and Hotch gestures for her to join them. She nods and lowers her voice. “What are you talking about?”

“Please, you can’t play dumb with me, either. Omnipotent, all-seeing, all-knowing, remember?”

Veronica sighs, giving in. She really can’t play dumb with Penelope, especially when it comes to relationships. The tech analyst has some kind of sixth sense when it comes to her and Spencer. “I don’t even know how I feel.”

“Well, you better figure it out fast. It’s driving me crazy.”

“How did you even know my horoscope in a Baltimore newspaper, anyways?”

“Oh, I look them up for all of you in every city you go to. Want to know Reid’s?”

“ No .” Veronica says.

“He’s a Libra!” Penelope nearly sings, before hanging up. Against her will, Veronica’s eyes go to the Libra section of the horoscopes.

Think about what it is you want and take action. You may be enticed by someone you work with. It’s time for you to deal with it once and for all.

Veronica mentally curses Penelope Garcia and her technophilic, meddling ways.

Chapter 22: Day 79

Chapter Text

Veronica sits back against the wall of the bathroom, panting. She wipes at her mouth. That’s the fourth time she’s been sick after eating. Maybe her body is finally shutting down.

It started with the cupcake. Veronica had felt nauseous for hours before throwing up what little was left in her stomach. If she had to guess the cause, it was probably the shock of such a high amount of sugar. Since then, she hasn’t been able to keep anything down for more than a few hours. She’s getting some nutrition, but not enough to avoid starvation.

Veronica’s heart is still pounding. She hears the little window open, and something inside her snaps.

“Charles! Please, please let me out…” She sobs, crawling towards the door. “Please, I’m sick… please…”

In this moment, she can’t even remember why. She just wants to be out, one way or another.

Her throat hurts and her voice sounds foreign; it’s weak and scratchy. Instead, she sobs. She reaches out towards the little door and watches it slide closed. Then her sobs turn into full-blown wails.

March 3, 2010

Veronica sits at the round table in the conference room as Penelope types on her laptop, Spencer leaning over the tech analyst’s shoulder.

“Since 2000, over 200 children’s bodies have not been found.” Penelope says, a hint of sadness in her voice.

“Nationwide, but what about Virginia?” Spencer asks.

“Of the missing and presumed dead, there are 12…” Penelope sighs, typing more, “Charlie’s been on that list for eight years, Aimee just joined it.”

Spencer leaves Penelope’s side and walks over to the rolling bulletin board they’ve set up with a map of Virginia. “So Aimee was taken from Ashburn, Charlie from Leesburg, eight years ago, both within a half-mile of a highway.” He places pins on the map. “What about the others?”

Penelope taps on her keyboard with lightning speed. “Karla Hartaway was abducted in 1999, age eight, from Garrison. Stephen Shepherd abducted 2003, also eight, from Arlington.”

At the mention of her county, Veronica sits up. Penelope continues listing the other missing children abducted in Virginia. Veronica’s foot taps on the floor and her thumb goes to her mouth, the nail fitting in between her top and bottom jaw as she listens and thinks.

Twelve pins on the map; twelve children abducted from northern Virginia over ten years.

“Why are they still here?” Veronica wonders aloud. Penelope and Spencer look at her with curious faces. She grimaces at her unintentional vocalization, but points at the map. “Why are they still in Northern Virginia? You’d think if an UnSub had successfully abducted so many children, they’d move around to keep the heat off of them, at least within the state.”

“They must have a secondary location that has the capacity to hold several people without drawing attention.” Spencer says, knitting his fingers together, “A cellar, or a barn, or something similar.”

“Unless they’re not holding all twelve children.” Veronica says grimly.

“You don’t mean that in a ‘they return them to their parents unharmed and nobody’s updated the records’ way, do you?” Penelope asks, her eyes wide.

Veronica shakes her head. “These UnSubs have to keep a low profile to avoid being recognized when they play their ruse. How would they support twelve children? I think they’re likely killing them when they no longer serve their purpose.”

“Ooh-kay,” Penelope says, snapping her laptop shut. “I need a break. If you need me, I will be in my office, looking at all my squishy baby animals.” She pushes back from the table, stands, and walks towards the door. At the last second, she turns back, a finger pointing at Veronica. “You will not need me for at least twenty minutes.”

Veronica smiles apologetically as she watches Penelope leave, then turns back to the board, her thumbnail going back to her teeth. Her eyes search the map over and over, looking for something, anything that they’re missing. Spencer walks over and sits against the table beside her, his hands in his pockets.

“Do you always think with your thumb like that?” He asks.

Veronica looks up at him and quickly drops her hand. “Sorry. Um, sometimes. My mom does it a lot.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” Spencer says. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but Veronica puts her hand out toward him.

“If you’re about to tell me how many germs can enter my mouth when I do it, please don’t. I don’t want to know.”

Spencer purses his lips and nods, looking back at the board. Veronica tries to refocus, too, but after a few moments of silence, she sighs. “It’s a lot of germs, isn’t it?”

Spencer tightens his lips into the awkward smile that Veronica has come to know and love, and nods. She sighs in mock exasperation, but can’t keep the grin off her face.

“You can do it again, I’m not going to stop you.” Spencer says, also grinning now.

“Well, you called attention to it.” Veronica says.

Spencer shrugs. “I’ve just never seen you do it before. I think it’s… endearing.”

Endearing . It’s probably the closest thing to a compliment she’s gotten from Spencer since he called her brilliant for solving the Edgar Allan Poe copycat case. She already knows she’s going to be thinking about it constantly for the next several days, and probably at 3 a.m. when she can’t sleep for the foreseeable future.

At least the awkwardness between them in Baltimore is forgotten. Or at least, it hasn’t been brought up again, not even by Derek. Now that’s something she’s been thinking about at 3 a.m. when she can’t sleep. Turning their conversation over in her head, wondering which parts of the interrogation were rooted in truth and which were fabricated.

Not that she can do anything about it, anyways. At this point, she’s fully accepted that she has feelings for Spencer that go beyond best friends . But even if she was sure that Spencer felt the same way she did, there’s the HR of it all. And Section Chief Strauss has been lurking around more and more as of late, which is reason enough to avoid crossing any boundaries.

A knock on the doorframe jolts Veronica out of her daydreaming. Luckily, she had zoned out while facing the bulletin board, so it at least looked like she was working. She turns in her chair to see Derek. “Hotch and Emily are back, and so are JJ and Ms. Hillridge.”

Veronica and Spencer stand and begin tidying the table. She hands him a file to take with him, and she swears that when their fingers accidentally brush against each other, he lingers for half a second longer than usual. When she looks up at him, he just smiles, then packs up his stuff and exits the conference room, leaving Veronica with butterflies in her stomach and a buzzing in her fingertips.

Chapter 23: Day 83

Chapter Text

She should have been keeping track. She should have scratched a tally into the walls, or the floor. She should have kept a record of how long she lasted. So that when they found her body, which would lead them to this room, they would know how long she fought. If she has to sacrifice herself to allow the BAU to finally catch Webster, so be it.

It would be so easy. To give up, to allow Webster to slip his hands around her neck and squeeze, to close her eyes and drift away.

But some part of her, some tiny, annoyingly persistent part, won’t let her give up. It won’t allow her to die. Funny that it couldn’t have kicked in when she was first abducted.

And how could she even give the BAU a clue to connect to Webster and this room? She could scrape off some dust from the floor for them to analyze. But it’ll wash away when Webster dumps her body in the lake. The lake. The lake. The lake. The lake the lake the lake the lake the lake

What was she trying to do, again? Right. She was trying to figure out how to connect her body to this room. But it can’t be anything that will wash away in the lake water.

The water. The tap water. Whatever’s in the tap water, there’s enough of it to make her sick. And if it’s enough to make her sick, it’s enough to show up in an autopsy? Right? Is that how it works? She can’t remember right now, but it seems like her only option. If she drinks one glass every day, maybe the bacteria will build up without killing her.

But the bathroom is so far away, and standing up takes more energy than she has to give.

Veronica’s been begging for her life for days now, and still Webster has said nothing. When the little window opens this time, she grabs the broom handle before it can take her old tray.

“Come on, Charles, let me go. Please.” She says in a shaky voice.

She feels Charles give one big pull on the broom and he rips it out of her hands. Like she’s a child; like she has absolutely no strength. Because she doesn’t. She balls her hands into fists and bangs them against the door. The little window slams shut, and she hits the door harder, over and over, even kicking it.

She sobs again, leaning against the door and sinking to her knees. She pleads, begs, wails. She has no strength left to maintain her composure.

Part of her wants her visions to come back. She needs to say goodbye to someone.

Veronica yells until her throat is sore and raw. Why couldn’t the BAU find her? Why did they leave her to rot? Why didn’t anyone care about her?

She wishes she could go back in time and warn her past self. Don’t get too close to Derek. Or Emily. Especially not Spencer. In fact, don’t even join the BAU. Go teach somewhere; enjoy tenure and vacation time and a safe, normal life, far away from Arizona and this freak’s basem*nt.

Forget about quiet, nerdy men with fluffy brown hair and sweater vests. Forget about supposed best friends who lie to you and abandon you; literally there one moment and gone the next.

Veronica pounds the floor with her fist until she feels tiny cuts opening. The outside of her hands are definitely bruised. She knows Webster is long gone, but she continues to cry and wail and sob. She needs to get her emotions out. She needs a release.

March 10, 2010

“Whoever’s killing these women isn’t slowing down,” Hotch says as Veronica rounds the corner into the conference room they’ve commandeered in the police precinct of Edgewood, New Mexico. “And he’s about to dump another body on your doorstep.”

The Sheriff and Hotch appear to have a momentary staring contest. Hotch—unsurprisingly—comes out the victor. The Sheriff clears his throat and looks down at the table. “Alright. You guys do what you gotta do. We’re here when you need us.”

He and the other local officer clear out of the room quickly, like they can’t wait to be out of Hotch’s line of sight. Veronica catches JJ’s eye, and they share an amused look. Veronica hands JJ a paper cup of police station coffee. The other woman changes her expression to something in the realm of concern. She sips from the cup and her face shows outright disgust. Then she takes another sip.

“Let’s get set up.” Hotch says. It’s not a request, it’s an order. Veronica starts with the timeline; building it on the rolling cork board the same way she’s seen Spencer do it at least thirty times by now. It’s strange; she only knew Spencer for maybe three weeks before he was shot. For most of her time with the BAU, he was confined to his crutches and his desk research, and she was out in the field. Now, they’ve swapped places.

But not for long. Veronica is only pinning up the photo of the fourth woman when Rossi and Spencer return from their examination of the body dump sites.

“Well?” Hotch asks them, his arms crossed in their usual position.

“We might have more questions now than when we landed.” Rossi says, pulling out a chair and sitting at the conference table.

“He’s obviously visible from the highway when he dumps the victims, but then he takes the time to stage their bodies,” Spencer adds, “We think he’s making them look like they’re sleeping. But we’re not sure why.”

Veronica listens as she works, pinning the photos and files they have so far up on the board. She resists the urge to look at Spencer every time she turns around. His red sweater vest makes him look especially striking today. She makes a mental note to tell him later. Lately, she’s noticed an interesting pattern; every time she compliments a certain article of his clothing, he appears to wear it more often.

“Veronica, you’re going to need more space on that board for the geographic profile.” JJ says.

Veronica takes a step back from the board. JJ’s right, she should have started the timeline higher on the board. She gives the other woman an appreciative smile, then starts unpinning, moving, and repinning the photos. She has to stretch onto her toes to reach the top of the board.

“Here, let me help.” Spencer says, walking over to the board and coming to a stop right beside Veronica.

She feels heat rise to her face, just from his mere proximity to her. The limits to her patheticness—of lack thereof—never fail to amaze her. Is patheticness even a word? Spencer would probably know.

Veronica watches Spencer move a photo for her with a faint smile before she says, “I can reach it myself, you know. I am five foot eight.”

Spencer gives her a look. “Maybe in those heels.”

She scoffs and looks down at her shoes. The heel is an inch and a half. “I’m tall .”

“The average female aged 20 and older is 161.3 inches tall, or five feet, three-and-a-half inches. So for an adult female in the United States, yes, you’re tall.” Spencer says, a smile ghosting his own lips.

She just smiles, unable to argue with the facts. Together, they make light work of the evidence board, and they have the timeline and the geography set up in no time. She hears Hotch take a phone call and leave the conference room. As she’s pinning the last piece up, Spencer asks “JJ, where’d you get that coffee?”

“I saw a kitchen down the hall,” Rossi cuts in, “Come on, kid, we’re gonna be waiting around for a while.”

Rossi and Spencer both leave. It’s just JJ and Veronica now. Veronica sits across from her with her own coffee and takes a sip. It’s lukewarm now, which does nothing for the taste.

“So…” JJ leans in towards the table, and Veronica mirrors her. She anticipates gossip, something to get her conscious mind off the case so that her brain can work on it in the background. Like a computer. JJ smiles. “I know Derek and Emily have been teasing you pretty relentlessly, so I’m going to genuinely ask this as a friend.”

Uh oh.

“What’s going on with you and Spencer?”

Not the gossip she’d been anticipating. Veronica feels the heat rising to her face again, and doesn’t even try to hide the shock on her face. “What?”

JJ smiles. “Come on, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”

“Noticed what ?”

The blonde woman rolls her eyes playfully. “Okay, I knew Spence was oblivious, but you too ? Really?”

Veronica looks down at her coffee cup and tries to choose her words carefully. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Fine,” JJ says, changing her body language and probably her tactic, “ Hypothetically , if there was someone on this team that you wanted to… you know, date, would you go for it?”

“Hypothetically?” Veronica asks, then sighs. “I don’t know. Even if I knew for sure that this hypothetical person also wanted to, there are so many reasons not to.”

“Such as?”

“The HR bureaucracy, the increased mortality rate, the dynamics.” Veronica taps her finger on the table as she lists each item.

“The dynamics?” JJ raises an eyebrow.

Veronica shrugs one shoulder. “What if one of us were promoted? What if it didn’t work out? Would you guys pick sides?”

JJ sips her own coffee and nods thoughtfully. Veronica watches her, wondering if she ever had this conversation with someone when she was first dating Will. “So you’ve thought through all the cons. What about the pros?”

“The pros…” Veronica trails off, thinking, “I don’t know, the fact that I really want to?”

“Okay!” JJ grins, “So why doesn’t that outweigh all the cons?”

“Because you don’t get a lot of chances to be selfish in this job.” Veronica says, tracing her finger around the lid of her cup. “And I don’t know if that’s the right thing to use one of them on.”

JJ sighs, but nods. “Well, you can always just sit and pine and not do anything about it.”

“That does appear to be the safest option.” Veronica agrees.

“You’re still young.” JJ says.

“Six feet isn’t even that tall, anyways.” Veronica wrinkles her nose playfully.

“Actually, it’s statistically above average. The average male height in the United States is five foot nine.” Spencer says as he re enters the room, carrying his own cup of coffee. “Who’s six feet tall?”

“You?” JJ asks, innocently.

“And about 14.5% of the male population of the U.S.” He answers. As he puts his cup down on the table, he winces, his right hand hovering over his knee.

“Are you okay?” Veronica asks.

Spencer nods, but his face is still contorted like he’s in pain. “Yeah. Rossi made me get into the ditch.”

“Rossi!” Veronica exclaims as the older man enters the conference room, also holding his own coffee cup.

“He’s got young knees, he has more time to recover,” Rossi says calmly, “Plus, I seem to remember that you made him climb a hill back in October.”

Veronica tilts her chin down,”I did not make him do that, he followed me.” She looks back at Spencer, who’s still standing and looking uncomfortable. Her protective instincts kick in. “Spence, will you please sit?”

He obliges after she pulls out the chair next to her. Veronica pointedly ignores JJ’s amused look. She’s always been like this, not just around Spencer. Veronica could party with the best of them in college, but the minute she bumped into someone who looked just a little too drunk, she’d stay with them until they drank some water and ate something. Unfortunately, that advice seems irrelevant here.

She smiles at Spencer and he returns the expression. It’s not one of his tight-lipped, awkward smiles, it’s a genuine grin, teeth and all. Veronica feels a wave of glee radiate from her stomach through her entire body. How is she supposed to focus on the case like this?

Chapter 24: Day 87

Chapter Text

Veronica’s heart has been beating heavily for the past few hours. She wonders if this means she’s close to dying.

Usually, when she thought about dying, she wanted it to be quick. A shot to the head is pretty much her ideal. Being a federal agent who carries a gun, she figures that’s the most likely scenario. The bulletproof vests don’t cover everything. Her biggest fear is a slow death, like starvation or that guy who was trapped in a canyon for a week. Of course, she can’t really talk about this without being put through another psych evaluation.

She hopes strangulation is quick. In the movies, it only lasts a few seconds. Maybe the last thing she sees will be the moon in the sky, one last time.

The last case they had worked before coming out to Phoenix was in Texas, with a dirty cop who was targeting Mexican immigrants. Veronica had been tasked with the desk research on that case, so she had missed all of the decapitative excitement. Her respect for Spencer had multiplied exponentially on that case; she was itching to get out into the field all week, but she had to stay behind with him and do the hard part of the job. Not that she was complaining about working with Spencer.

After that case, she’d had her first nightmare. Up until then, for the 11 months she’d been with the BAU, she had somehow avoided most of the negative psychological effects of the job. Maybe it was her avid reading habit that distracted her, or maybe it was all of the fun she had with the team that balanced it out. But the night before they closed the case, after seeing the photos of the decapitated victims and their heads on stakes, she had woken with a start in her hotel room.

The details of the nightmare were forgotten almost as soon as she woke up, but one image was stuck in her head. All the members of the BAU - rather, their heads - stuck on stakes outside of Veronica’s apartment in D.C., staring into her windows. And the feeling of someone behind her, their arm around her neck, the weight of their body pressed into her back. Her skin still tingles from where this mystery person was touching her in the nightmare. She doesn’t know why this bothers her so much, but her heart is pounding. She turns on the bedside lamp.

The Terlingua motel is far from fancy. The yellow glow from the lamp washes everything in a soft, warm light. She had made sure to lock and bolt the door as soon as she closed it behind her earlier that night. There was no way anyone was in her room, but the nerves in her skin still feel the pressure from her nightmare.

Veronica reaches for her cellphone on the nightstand. It’s 12:08 . Still early; she’d been asleep for maybe an hour. She doesn’t know how late the rest of the team stays up, but there is one person she really wants to talk to, and she knows he’s not asleep yet. She’s been avoiding this since February, afraid of what might happen if they’re left alone and unsupervised. She gives in.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asks when he picks up the phone.

Veronica exhales through her nose, “Yes, I’m… okay. Were you sleeping?” She knows the answer, but she asks just to be sure.

“No, just reading.” Spencer says.

“Good, cause you owe me a midnight phone call.”

She hears Spencer chuckle into the phone. “Yeah, I guess I do. So… what happened?”

Veronica sighs. “It’s stupid, but I had a nightmare.”

“That’s not stupid.”

“It’s… it was my first nightmare. Since joining the team.”

Spencer is silent, then says, “We shouldn’t do this over the phone.”

Ouch. Veronica is stunned at his bluntness. “Well, I would have called my therapist, but you don’t charge me by the hour.”

There’s a knock at the door that makes Veronica jump. She doesn’t have her contacts in, but she looks down at her cell phone and sees that her call has ended. Suspiciously, she stands. She approaches the door slowly and peeks through the peephole, sighing in relief when she sees who it is.

She unlocks and swings the door open to reveal a blurry Spencer, in pajama pants and a sweatshirt, his hands in the air.

“Don’t shoot.” He says.

Veronica lets him in and closes the door behind him. She’s glad that she keeps the AC in her hotel rooms on high; she’s also wearing pajama pants and a sweatshirt.

Spencer perches on the small dining table while Veronica sits on the foot of her bed.

“So…” Veronica looks down at her hands, suddenly feeling very self conscious.

“On average, about 1 in 20 people has a nightmare every week.” Spencer says, weaving his fingers together.

“I’ve been working here for 11 months. I haven’t had a nightmare since I was… since five years ago. I thought I could handle it.” Veronica says.

Spencer crosses over to the bed and sits down next to Veronica, their shoulders and knees barely touching. “I thought I could handle it, too. I didn’t have any nightmares for almost three years after I joined. Then, they started. And the man who was here before Rossi told me that when he has nightmares, he thinks about the people he’s saved instead.”

Veronica watches Spencer as he gazes down at his hands resting in his lap, his hair hanging in front of his ears. The bags around his eyes tell Veronica that he probably hasn’t slept well since they came out to Texas.

“Was that Jason Gideon?” Veronica asks quietly.

Spencer nods, then takes a deep breath and looks up at her. “You have to remember the good parts of the job.”

Veronica stays silent, staring at the wallpaper on the wall across the room. It’s peeling at the top, near the ceiling.

“Could you stay for a little bit?” Veronica asks, still staring at the wallpaper.

“Of course.” Spencer replies.

Veronica stands and walks to the side of the bed she had been sleeping in. She pulls the covers up to the pillow and lays on top of them, stretching her feet out and crossing them at the ankles. Spencer copies her on the other side of the bed, tilting the pillow so he can sit up with her.

“What was your nightmare about?” Spencer asks.

Veronica swallows. “Um… I was in my apartment in D.C., and it was the middle of the night. I heard a noise outside and looked out my window. On my balcony were… all of you… your heads, on stakes. Like the case.”

Spencer is silent for a moment. “The most common theory about dreams is that they serve as a way for our brains to process information while we sleep. It sounds like your brain thinks we’re in danger from this UnSub. It also shows that you care about us, and that we joined your life at an important time.”

Veronica exhales slowly. “Well, logically, I know that you’re not in danger here. None of us fit the UnSub’s victimology.”

“See? You have nothing to worry about. Remembering that could help you avoid the nightmare again.”

Veronica smiles softly. Sometimes she needs Spencer’s logic to remind her how the world works. He’s definitely proven helpful when she starts overthinking or overreacting.

“What happened five years ago?” Spencer asks.

Veronica looks at him, partly surprised at his directness and partly upset that she let that slip to him. She hasn’t told anyone anything about her family since she joined the BAU. She didn’t think it was important. But she and Spencer don’t have secrets, at least not ones that can’t be avoided by omission. Veronica looks back at her hands.

“M… my father killed himself. He was an alcoholic and a gambling addict, and he racked up some pretty serious debts with some less than trustworthy criminals. He drove his car off a bridge.” She says.

“I’m sorry.” Spencer says.

Veronica shrugs. “I’m over it. It was a long time ago.”

“That would have been just after Gideon rejoined the BAU. Not that long ago.” Spencer says.

Veronica looks at him, his face softly lit in the yellow light. He traces a long finger along the floral pattern of the bed’s comforter. There’s a hair tie on his wrist, but she’s never seen him use it. His finger gets close to the edge of Veronica’s pajama pants. Her leg prickles with electricity where his fingers come within millimetres of the outer seam of her pants, their skin separated by only a thin layer of flannel.

Spencer looks at Veronica, and her face instantly burns with heat.

“Thank you for coming over.” Veronica mutters. Hesitantly, she reaches out to trace her fingers over Spencer’s knuckles. He freezes for a moment, then relaxes. Veronica smiles, fighting the blush on her face. They don't do casual touch, partly to maintain the FBI's standards of professionalism and partly because of the varying intensity of Spencer's germophobia on any given day, but this doesn't feel alien at all. It feels natural.

“Of course I came over,” Spencer says, “I’ll always be here, Veronica.”

Veronica rolls over to her side, facing Spencer. He places his hand on top of hers and switches to trailing his fingers over her knuckles. Veronica closes her eyes, then feels Spencer move his hand up to her hair, drawing circles over her scalp. Her body feels heavy and warm, her nightmare forgotten in the warm presence of her best friend.

-o-

When Veronica wakes up, she’s under the covers and someone is calling her. With bleary eyes, she answers the phone without looking.

“Hello?”

“Banks, there’s been a problem with the Sheriff. I need you and Reid at the police station immediately.” Hotch says.

“Yes, sir, we’ll be there right away.” Veronica says, sitting up and putting her contacts in. Hotch hangs up the call, so Veronica stands from the bed and starts to get ready, pulling on her jeans and a dress shirt, running a brush through her hair, and scraping the brush of an almost-empty mascara against her eyelashes. She’s ready in ten minutes, and as she makes her way to the door of her hotel room, she almost trips over a pillow on the floor, which brings memories of the night before flooding back.

Spencer had been in her room. He had been on her bed, at least when she had fallen asleep. Judging by the pillow and blanket on the floor, he had moved down there at some point during the night, though Veronica had slept so well that she hadn’t noticed. Part of her is relieved that Spencer had given her space after she’d fallen asleep, though she knows he’d never do anything tasteless. A smaller part of her is sad that he didn’t feel comfortable sleeping next to her. An even smaller part is slightly annoyed that Spencer left before she woke up.

Despite this flurry of competing emotions, Veronica can feel the spring in her step as she gets ready. She's almost giddy at the fact that Spencer had been in her room. Town sheriffs and problems concerning them are momentarily forgotten. Grabbing her bag, Veronica walks out of the hotel to the SUV, seeing Spencer leaning against the passenger door. He's effortlessly handsome, and it makes butterflies erupt in her stomach and heat creep up her neck. She smiles at him and he returns the expression, getting into the car as she slides into the driver’s seat.

“Morning.” She says, “You left in a hurry.”

She swears that Spencer blushes. “I assumed that you would have wanted to avoid any awkward situations if someone had knocked on the door.”

“Good call, Doctor.” Veronica says, pulling the SUV out onto the road. “Did Hotch tell you anything about the problem with the Sheriff?”

Spencer shakes his head. “No, but I’m sure they’ll fill us in at the station.”

Veronica brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes, then groans. She forgot her hair tie. A hot desert and long, thick hair do not mix well. As if reading her mind, Spencer takes the hair tie off his wrist and holds it out to her. Raising an eyebrow, she takes it and puts it on her own wrist.

“Aren’t you gonna need this?” She asks, sneaking a glance at Spencer as she drives. He knits his fingers together.

“I tried to put my hair up once, and Derek told me I looked like a pirate.” Spencer says.

Veronica laughs involuntarily. “Sorry, but I can definitely see that. So why do you keep the hair tie?”

Spencer pauses for a moment, before saying, “I noticed that when you’re working on desk research, you can’t focus if your hair is down. So far, you’ve forgotten a hair tie exactly four times, and you were insufferable to work with. So, now I always have one.”

Veronica is both flattered and offended. “ I was insufferable?”

“You couldn’t remember the locations the remains were found at. You had to keep walking back and forth between the tables and the boards. I was going crazy.”

Veronica exhales sharply. Fair enough. But mostly, her heart is racing at the thought that Spencer Reid paid enough attention to her to carry a hair tie for her at all times. And that she drives him crazy.

“Well, thank you.”

She and Spencer exchange a smile, and as she pulls up to the police station, she files their conversation away in her brain to obsess over later.

Veronica’s eyes snap open. She hadn’t remembered falling asleep. One minute, she was thinking about her first nightmares, the next, she was reliving their last case in Terlingua. Her hallucinations are becoming more and more visceral.

The little window slides open, the tray of food being taken and replaced by Webster’s broom handle. Veronica rubs her eyes; the light hurts. The door snaps shut before she can even begin her routine begging. How much longer until Webster grants her the one thing she wants?

Chapter 25: Day 90

Chapter Text

Veronica’s been lying on the floor in front of the little window for days. She hasn’t eaten, she’s barely been drinking the water. She doesn’t even open her eyes when the little window opens. She just cries out to Webster when he visits, pleading for him to let her go.

The door slides open again. Veronica groans and reaches out for the light, squeezing her eyes closed.

“Please, Charles, please let me go… I promise, I promise I won’t say anything… please…”

With a metallic creak, the entire door swings open, revealing a bright yellow light. Veronica turns away from it, shielding her eyes from the sudden overwhelmingly blinding light. She curls into a ball, but someone grabs her arm, wrenching her up to her feet. The sensation feels alien, and Veronica’s head swims for more than a few moments. The hand on her arm tugs her forwards, and her legs stumble along. Her head is pounding and she still can’t open her eyes.

She feels someone - probably Webster - wrench her arms down and in front of her, then wrap duct tape around her wrists, tying them together. Then she feels the duct tape cover her eyes and wrap around her head. Veronica is grabbed and thrown over Webster’s shoulder. She feels them go up a flight of stairs, then hears a door creak open, and suddenly, her ears are assaulted.

Every sound she hears is magnified fifty times, splitting her ears and antagonizing her already throbbing head. She tries to cover her ears, but Webster has a firm grip on her and her hands are still tied.

She feels herself being twisted and lowered, and feels a seat appear underneath her. Something snakes across her body and she hears a click. A seatbelt? Something is slid onto her face, resting on her nose, and the world goes slightly darker. Sunglasses?

Something clicks beside Veronica’s ear, making her jump. “You try to signal for help, I’ll shoot you between the eyes.”

Veronica nods frantically. A car door slams shut to her right, then one opens and closes to her left. The engine of the car turns on, and the vibrations of the vehicle make Veronica’s stomach turn. She’d never noticed them before, but now they’re so loud and violent that she feels nauseous.

A faint alarm bell goes off in her head. Webster had never used a gun before… had he? Did he even have a license? She can’t remember the specifics of their research on him.

They start moving, and Veronica moves her hands to her stomach with a groan. After a moment, she feels cool air start blasting at her face. Webster turned on the AC.

As they drive, she cries. She tries to do it quietly, and most of the tears get stuck in the duct tape. She’s going to have a rash from this. Webster says nothing to her. Slowly, the deafening, grating noises of the world fade to a bearable volume. Her eyes have not adjusted. She wonders if they ever will. Her sense of time has been warped for as long as she can remember, but it feels like they drive for hours. The sunglasses must be to hide the blindfold from other drivers.

Veronica wonders if they’re driving through… what city was she taken from, again?

Finally, she feels the car slow down and come to a stop. Wherever they are, it’s quiet. Relatively. It doesn’t sound like a city; there are no other cars, no honks, no sirens. Just chirping and a faint rustling. Outside?

Something hard hits her knees briefly. She flinches again. Something plastic clicks and latches. Something else whirs softly to her right. “I gotta piss.” Webster says gruffly.

She hears Webster step out of the car and walk around to open the passenger door. After hearing him take a few steps away, Veronica’s hands reach out to her right. Where she expects to meet the glass of the window, it’s open. Webster opened the window for her?

Next, as if being moved by some higher power, her hands reach forward until they find a plastic latch. She doesn’t know why, but she opens the glove box and pats around inside, feeling the hard metal of Webster’s gun. Her personal rule for keeping a gun at home is that she stores it, empty, in a locked safe at the top of her closet. It’s muscle memory now; she feels around until she finds the magazine release, and pulls, sliding the magazine out into her other hand. She puts the gun back in the glove box and closes it, but she still has the magazine in her hand. After a moment of hesitation, she flings it, blindly, out the window to her right, where she imagines it landing in a tall, grassy field.

Not a moment later, Webster returns to the car with a grunt. Veronica tries to steady her breathing. Why did she do that? Why would she disarm his gun? She jams her hands between her legs, both to stop them from shaking and to hide them in case there’s gunpowder residue on them.

The car turns over before rumbling to life again, and they continue driving. At this point, she has no idea where they are or where they’re going, or how long they’ve been driving. She can just barely make out some light around the edges of her blindfold, but she doesn’t know what time of day it is.

After another long drive, they pull to a stop again. Again, Webster opens the glove box and probably retrieves his gun. Veronica’s breath hitches in anticipation. Wouldn’t the gun be noticeably lighter without the magazine? But Webster doesn’t say anything as she hears him exit the car and walk around to her side. Her door opens and a hand lands on her bicep, squeezing tightly. He undoes Veronica’s seatbelt, then tugs her out of the car. She falls to her knees, landing in gravel, but she doesn’t make a sound. She relishes in the sensation of the pain; any stimulus is welcome after so long in the dark. The rocks cut into her knees through her jeans.

Her arm is tugged upwards by Webster, and he cuts through the duct tape on her wrists and her eyes. She blinks, and for a moment she thinks she’s permanently blind. But there’s a blurry blob of light in the corner of her vision. Her eyes don’t adjust. Webster jerks her forward. Veronica’s still in her socks, and she stumbles over her feet as they walk.

They walk for a long time. It’s quiet, the only sound being the chirping of crickets and something like running water. Veronica still can’t see anything, but it’s probably too dark anyways.

Webster lets go of her arm, and she takes a few steps away from him. He won’t attack her from behind; he needs to see the light die from her eyes. Veronica takes a deep breath, happy that her last few moments won’t be in a sweaty, dark basem*nt. A cool breeze picks up, pushing her hair away from her face.

Veronica hopes the strangulation is quick. She tilts her head back to look up at the sky. She thinks she sees the moon. The same moon as the one in Washington.

She turns around to face the blurry shape of Webster, bringing her head back down to look him in the eye. He’s ugly, scruffy and portly. He rushes her.

His fingers lock around her neck, and she starts to gasp out choked sounds. But she doesn’t say anything. She can’t bring herself to.

“Beg.” Webster growls. “Beg, you bitch!”

Veronica closes her eyes and waits for it to be over. Her head feels fuzzy. Before she can pass out, Webster throws her to the side, bashing the right side of her body into a tree, head included. She coughs and automatically grabs at her throat, leaning over to suck in air. Blood pours into her right eye. He split her head open. Webster grabs her by the neck again, and she lets out a strangled cry. “Beg for your life!”

He wrestles her to the ground so that she’s on her back, Webster bent over her. Her vision starts to go black and fuzzy. Goodbye, Spencer .

What?

Out of nowhere, her instincts take over. Maybe it’s her FBI training, maybe it’s her I could die any minute, so f*ck it mindset, but she starts to claw at Webster’s hands around her neck. Her knee jerks up, making contact in between Webster’s legs, twice. He groans and falls off of her, and she scrambles to stand. As she jerks away from him, his hand grabs at the neckline of her sweatshirt and she hears it tear. She falls to the ground and feels Webster climb on top of her again. He slaps her across the face, her cheek stinging.

Webster stands and pulls out his gun. Veronica twists her body as he pulls the trigger, and she feels the bullet graze her ribs. She cries out, feeling the searing pain radiate from her ribs up through the left side of her body. The gun clicks. Empty. Webster growls and raises the gun above his head, then slams it down, butt-first. Before he can pistol whip her, Veronica kicks her legs to the side, sweeping Webster’s out from under him. She watches him fall, watches his head bounce off the forest floor. Webster is still.

Veronica lays there, panting. She presses a hand to her ribs and looks at it. It comes away covered in blood. She forgot about the bullet in the chamber. She needs to get out of the forest. Gritting her teeth, she sits up. Unfortunately the action takes a lot of effort. Her lungs are burning and her heart is still pounding. The world is still a collection of blurry shapes and blobs. She reaches out for Webster, patting at the ground before she finds him. She sticks her hand into Webster’s jacket pocket and finds the keys to his truck. She takes them and slowly stands up. He’s still out cold, but he’s breathing.

Veronica turns and gets to her feet. She starts to walk as fast as she can, which isn’t much faster than a hobble. Her stamina is nothing, and her legs barely worked to begin with. Plus, there are all sorts of obstacles on the ground. They must be in some kind of forest. Using the trees along the trail to keep her balance, she manages to make it back through the woods. She reaches the truck and climbs in the driver’s seat. The truck’s engine turns over a couple times, then kicks in.

Does she know how to drive a car? She hesitates, her hands on the steering wheel. She can’t even see anything, how is she supposed to drive? But she can’t just wait around until her vision returns. If her vision returns. Webster could be coming after her already.

As luck would have it, she sees another light approach. Another pair of headlights; another car. Veronica gets out and stumbles over, knocking on the window. It rolls down. A young man and woman gape up at her.

“Help… please.” Her voice comes out raspy and weak, barely louder than a whisper.

“What the hell?” The woman asks.

“Kidnapped me,” Veronica says, tears welling in her eyes. “Hospital, please.”

The man nods and unlocks the car. Veronica pulls open the door to the backseat and gets in, laying down in the seat and screwing her eyes shut. The woman scoffs, “Lucas!”

“What? She’s bleeding, Lynds.” The man says.

She hears the man, Lucas, take a picture on his cell phone. Then, she feels the car move.

They drive for a long time, again. Her vision slowly starts to recover. She checks over her shoulder through the rear window again and again, but there are no cars behind them. Nobody’s tailing them.

Veronica’s heart thumps in her ears. She’s okay. She’s out. She can feel her blood coursing through her veins, or maybe that’s just the adrenaline. Breathing sends sharp waves of pain through her abdomen that radiate from where she was shot. Tears well in her eyes, and she starts to sob, furiously wiping her eyes with her sleeve. Anxiety rises in her chest; she has no ID and she probably looks hysterical. They’d never believe she’s a federal agent.

Finally, they enter a city, judging from all the lights. They’re blinding, and they bring her pounding headache back in full force. They drive up and down the streets. From what little she can make out, nothing looks familiar. Finally, they stop in front of a large building. She can just make out a series of large, red letters. She has to read each one individually before the word makes sense. Emergency .

“Here, you go in first and we’ll park.” Lucas says.

She climbs out of the car and stumbles into the Emergency entrance. The fluorescent lights hurt her eyes, and she wishes she had kept the sunglasses from Webster. She clears her throat as she walks up to the shape of a desk and a receptionist.

“Hello, can I… help you?” The receptionist asks, her voice skeptical.

Veronica takes a deep breath. “My n-name…Veronica B-Banks. I’m… federal agent… kidnapped…. I need… ph-phone.” Her voice is still weak, and speaking hurts.

“Do you have any ID, ma’am?”

“No, I… kidnapped.” Her voice is still weak and scratchy, and some of the words don’t come out, though she can feel her vocal chords vibrating.

“Ma’am, please stay calm. We’ll contact the police.” The receptionist says, making a gesture to another employee. They nod and leave. “What happened to you?”

“We found her at Lake Granby. She said she was kidnapped.” Someone says behind her. She turns and sees the face of a man. He shows his ID to the receptionist. “I’m Lucas Pederson. I drove her here. With my girlfriend.”

A woman beside him purses her lips and holds out her ID as well.

“You’ll have to stay and talk to the police as well, sir.” The receptionist says.

“M-my… head.” Veronica says, touching her fingertips to where she was thrown into the tree. There’s probably blood all over the right side of her head, neck and shoulder. She can see it on her sweatshirt out of the corner of her eye. And it’s all over her left side. Her hands are stained red.

Something touches the back of Veronica’s legs, and she flinches. Someone places their hand on her shoulder, and flinches at that as well. The nurse who appeared behind her raises his hands and gestures to the wheelchair he’s brought out. Veronica’s chest heaves, her eyes threatening to cry again. She sits in the wheelchair, slowly.

The nurse wheels her further into the ER. As she sits, her head continues to throb under the fluorescent lights, and she takes her sunglasses off so that she can press her hands into her eyes. Her nausea is also back.

They stop at an ER bed, and the nurse helps Veronica climb into it. The nurse says something about her needing a scan to see if she’s sustained any brain damage, and his eyes linger on her neck and side before he leaves. A physician arrives almost immediately with a metal cart. She closes the curtain around the bed, then gently helps Veronica remove her sweatshirt, her eyes also lingering on the other wounds. Veronica touches her neck and collarbone lightly; she’d forgotten about the choking, too. Ironic. She’d waited so long for Webster to kill her, and then she hadn’t even let him.

The physician disinfects and stitches up the wound from the bullet, marvelling at Veronica’s luck the entire time. Veronica flinches at every touch. She tries to keep her breathing even. The bullet had just nicked her, taking only a small amount of skin with it. Her ribs will be bruised and sore for a while, but they’re not broken. Veronica barely registers the interaction. The physician stands and nods at the nurse who’s finishing up the stitches on Veronica’s forehead. The sharp sting of disinfectant and the needle entering her skin do little to calm Veronica down, until the nurse pulls away, seemingly finished.

Veronica’s eyes are still blurry, but something across the room catches her attention. She points at the bulletin board and, reading her mind, the nurse goes over to it and retrieves the flyer she wants. The nurse hands it to Veronica.

It’s blurry, and it takes a minute to register, but her face stares back at her. Her missing persons poster.

“Is that you?” The nurse asks. Veronica nods, pointing to the FBI phone number listed on the flyer. The nurse looks at the poster, then at Veronica, her eyes widening. “Okay, I will. Just… stay here.”

Veronica watches her rush down the hall, still holding onto the missing persons poster. Her head is still throbbing, and she really wants to sleep.

Where did they say she was again? Veronica’s mind races as she tries to think, but the fluorescent lights are still burning her eyes. She can tell her adrenaline is starting to wear off because everything, everything hurts. The nurse hadn’t started any painkillers before she left.

Strangled, slammed face-first into a tree, thrown to the ground, shot in the ribs. Any one of those injuries could have seriously injured her or even killed her, but she’s alive. She lived and was well enough to drive for multiple hours to a hospital.

“Ma’am? Uh… Miss Banks?” A nurse says. Veronica looks up at her. The nurse is holding a bag and a clean hospital gown. She looks at Veronica gently, her eyes softening. Veronica sits up, slowly.

“You need to get into this gown so we can do the MRI. Do you have any metal on you?”

Veronica shakes her head. Her piercings are long gone, and she’s never had anything else done. She looks over at her blood-soaked sweatshirt at the foot of the bed.

The nurse nods in understanding. “You can put everything in this plastic bag here. We’ll keep it safe for you until you’re ready to be discharged.”

Veronica nods. The nurse steps away and pulls the curtain closed so that Veronica can change. For the first time in a long time, she removes her clothing, practically peeling it off her body. Standing in her underwear, she inspects her body under the fluorescent lights of the ER.

She’s almost skeletal, her hip bones and ribs protruding sharply. She’s also so pale that her skin is almost translucent. The blood has been mostly wiped away from her left side, and a line of purple stitches are holding her skin closed. There’s a purple bruise on the right side of her ribs where she made contact with the tree; the same spot where she was shot almost a year ago. She doesn’t even want to know what her face looks like; probably gaunt and hollow, with sunken eyes rimmed by dark circles, nasty gashes on her right temple and cheek, and a halo of wildly matted red hair to frame it all.

She pulls the hospital gown back on and opens the curtain. As the nurse takes her elbow, her head throbs painfully, and she winces, gingerly touching the stitches in her forehead.

“Your head?”

Veronica nods.

The nurse makes a note in Veronica’s chart, before bringing the wheelchair over and helping Veronica sit. The next few hours are a blur, with Veronica being wheeled down to the MRI room and left to lay in the machine, then brought back to a bed on a new floor and visited by the doctor. He orders a co*cktail of IV drugs and electrolytes to help get her nourished again, as well as a sleeping drug to calm her down and painkillers to top it all off.

Before the nurse can push the sleeping drug, the police show up. Veronica struggles through answering their questions and, after hearing that they’ve contacted the FBI, she starts to cry again. The police shuffle out of the room awkwardly, while the nurse stays behind to gently clean her head wound.

“It’s a miracle you showed up, Veronica.” The nurse says as she opens another antiseptic wipe. “Not just because of all your injuries. We heard about your case up here, but since it happened in Arizona we didn’t think too much about it. I don’t even know how you found that poster here.”

Veronica smiles softly, another tear streaking down her face. Her vision has improved. Instead of shapeless blobs, she can make out faces and details. They’re still blurry, but it’s a good sign.

Veronica shakes her head. The nurse stands, then hands Veronica a paper cup with two round white tablets.

Veronica swallows them with a gulp of water, her swollen throat protesting, then hands the cup back to the nurse. She smiles as the nurse leaves, then closes her eyes in the dimness of her hospital room. The heart rate machine beeps steadily, and the noise outside of her room dulls as the nurse closes the door. Her ribs still hurt when she breathes, but the pain has dulled to a throb.

Veronica guesses the doctor had prescribed the sleeping pills after hearing her story. The noises make her mind race; too much stimulus. She’s been on edge since she left that basem*nt. Her eyes may have begun to readjust to the outside world, but her mind and her body still haven’t gotten used to constant motion and sound. Even the feeling of the clean hospital gown instead of her stale sweatshirt and jeans makes her skin tingle.

Driving. Spencer. Porch. Searching. Kitchen. No Spencer. Screen door. Darkness. Nothing.

It’s become a mantra. A practice that kept her grounded in the basem*nt and now lets her mind focus on something else, something intangible. For the first time since she left the basem*nt that day, Veronica’s muscles slowly relax, and she drifts off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Chapter 26: Day 91

Chapter Text

Veronica wakes up in a brightly lit room, and she sits up violently, trying to get away from whatever it is that’s causing so much light and noise. When she does, the machine starts beeping faster and louder, and something twinges in her arm. Her ribs hurt, sending waves of pain through her chest.

“Hey, hey, hey, you’re okay, Veronica.” A woman’s voice says. Veronica feels a hand on her shoulder and she jerks away.

Her eyes finally focus, and she remembers the events of the previous day. She’s in the hospital. She’s safe. She’s not in Webster’s basem*nt anymore.

The nurse from the night before is looking at her with her kind eyes as she fixes the IV she’d apparently pulled out of her arm. “Veronica, you’re in the hospital. Do you remember that?”

Veronica nods, taking a deep, shaky breath. She lays back in her bed, trying to calm herself down. The heart monitor betrays her. The nurse looks up at the clock on the wall, then writes something in Veronica’s chart.

“You slept for almost twelve hours. That’s good. Do you feel like eating something?”

Veronica just nods. The nurse leaves, giving Veronica a small smile as she does.

Veronica takes another deep breath. She smooths her hands over her hospital gown. The clock on the wall says it’s almost 11:30. The police from last night had told her it was July 29th. She’d been gone for 3 months, to the day. 90 days, to be exact. 90 days to completely wreck her, physically and emotionally.

The nurse returns, knocking softly as she does. She has a tray in her hand and a smile on her face.

“Veronica, I brought some applesauce, jell-o, and toast. And there’s someone who’s been waiting to see you, if you’re up for it.”

Veronica’s heart leaps. The BAU is here already? Then she sees the food and her stomach churns. She takes the cup of jell-o, then looks up at the nurse apologetically.

“Could I… Is there… oatmeal?” She asks. The nurse seems to understand what she means, and takes the tray back. Veronica takes a deep breath, “And… I want… see them. Send… them.”

The nurse smiles at her again and leaves. Veronica’s hands shake, so she jams them in between her thighs, which also helps with them being so cold.

In minutes, a flash of neon orange appears in the doorway. Penelope. Veronica starts crying before she even says anything.

“Oh, no, no, no sweetie, don’t cry, cause if you cry, then I’m gonna cry, and it’s gonna be a whole mess.” Penelope says, stomping her platformed feet over to Veronica’s bedside. She drags a chair over and sits, taking Veronica’s hand in her perfectly manicured own. Her brown eyes roam over Veronica’s face, taking in every scrape, stitch and line.

“Penelope… I love you… much.” Veronica says, wiping her eyes. “Can’t believe… you’re here.”

“Of course I’m here,” Penelope gushes, “I flew in this morning and came here straight from the airport. Everyone else went to the Boulder police station to wait for you to wake up. Should I call them?”

Veronica laughs, her ribs protesting at the movement, then wipes her eyes again. “Yes. But you.. help… clean me up… before they arrive.”

Penelope’s face lights up as she stands. “I knew there was a reason my gut told me to pack extra supplies this morning. I love you.”

Veronica laughs again as she watches Penelope leave the room while putting her cell phone to her ear. She watches the other red-headed woman gesturing wildly with her arms as she talks. The nurse returns with a bowl of oatmeal, then leaves with a smile.

Penelope returns, digging in her tote bag. She pulls out a small makeup bag and plops it onto the table in front of Veronica.

“They’re on their way. Emily’s bringing your go bag so you have clean… everything. Now for the fun part.” Penelope wiggles her eyebrows, taking out a hairbrush and moving up to behind Veronica’s head.

“My… go bag? Still… have it?” Veronica asks as Penelope starts to gently tug at her hair, detangling it. Apparently, three months of sporadic finger-brushing is not enough to keep one’s hair silky smooth. Penelope takes care to avoid the stitches that are on Veronica’s forehead.

“Yeah, they kept it on the jet. Anytime we had a case in Arizona, they worked overtime trying to find you.” Penelope responds as she brushes.

“Arizona?” Veronica asks. Her brain has been racing for the last twelve hours, processing as fast as it can. But it’s still fuzzy. Something feels wrong.

“Yeah, just outside of Phoenix.” Penelope says. “But now we’re in Boulder.”

Veronica furrows her brow, “Boulder… Colorado?”

Penelope appears in her line of vision again, her face concerned. “Yes, sweetie, we’re in Colorado now.”

Veronica throws her head back against her pillow and screws her eyes shut. Colorado and Arizona… how many miles apart is that? She starts to cry again. Her brain won’t work. She can’t remember. She thinks she used to know.

“Hey, don’t get upset. You’re okay now. Now that we know he’s here, we can keep looking. We’ll find him. We always do.” Penelope says.

Veronica nods and Penelope moves back to where she was standing to brush her hair. She doesn’t really know what to say. The last three months haven’t exactly been eventful. And being around other people is still foreign. It’s almost an uncanny valley feeling. At least she has oatmeal to eat.

“Do you think they’re running the lights and sirens so they can get here faster?” Penelope asks.

“Legally, I… don’t think they… can.” Veronica says. She listens as Penelope tells her about what she missed in the last three months. Their Illustrated Man case, their case in Alaska, the Prince of Darkness. She forces herself to hold in her tears and exaggerate her laughter. She missed so much.

After detangling her hair as much as possible and dabbing at her face with a baby wipe, Veronica feels marginally better. She knows her neck is definitely bruised pretty nastily where Webster had choked her, and the gash on her head is very tender. Occupational hazards, she supposes.

“Excuse me,” Someone says from the door. Veronica’s heart leaps, thinking it’s the rest of the BAU, but it’s just another doctor. “I’m the attending psychiatrist. Is now a good time for a mental health evaluation?”

A lump forms in Veronica’s throat. She squeezes Penelope’s hand as the blonde woman leaves. The doctor pulls up a chair and sits near the end of the bed. He has a bald spot on top of his head, and rectangular glasses that perch on the end of his nose. He can’t be more than 30 years old, but he looks at least 40.

“Okay, Miss Banks, I understand that due to your injuries, you’re having some difficulties talking. Would it be easier if you responded non-verbally when possible? Nodding for ‘yes’, shaking your head for ‘no’?” The doctor asks, flipping open a notepad.

Veronica nods. The doctor smiles. “Very good. First, I understand from your statement to the police that you were kidnapped and held in isolation for three months. Is that correct?”

Veronica nods.

“And this isolation consisted of a dark room with almost no visual or auditory stimuli?”

She nods.

“Some of the effects of prolonged sensory deprivation and isolation are anxiety, stress, depression, anger, panic attacks, hypersensitivity to sounds and smells, problems with attention and memory, and hallucinations. Have you experienced any of these?”

She nods, the words swimming in her brain.

“Which of these symptoms have you experienced?” He asks.

Veronica opens her hands and spreads them apart.

“All of them?” The doctor asks. She nods, and he makes a long note on his notepad. Then he looks up at her, “Have you experienced any of these since you escaped your captivity?”

She nods.

“Frequently?”

She nods again.

The doctor makes a few more notes. “Thank you very much, Miss Banks. I’m going to prescribe you an antidepressant and an anti-anxiety medication to start. When you return home, I’ll fax this information to your regular doctor and you can decide on a course of treatment with them from there. Does that sound okay?” He asks.

Veronica nods. The doctor thanks her and leaves, putting his chair back where he found it. She watches him go, then leans her head back against the pillow and closes her eyes. She’s already tired from being around so many people.

“Veronica?” The nurse pops her head into the room. “You have about… six more visitors.”

Veronica smiles and tells her to send them in. Penelope clears her stuff out of the way, giving Veronica a warm, encouraging smile. Veronica’s hands start shaking and her stomach flutters again.

Within moments, a crowd of people has gathered at the doorway. Veronica locks eyes with Emily, and the latter rushes forwards, throwing her arms around Veronica. The rest follow suit, all eager to see and feel Veronica for themselves, verifying that it’s really her in the bed. Veronica returns the favour, reaching out for each of them. Despite her injuries and screaming ribs, Rossi, JJ and Derek each hug her warmly, and even Hotch indulges her with a hand on her shoulder. She starts to cry again, and they all aww , even though she spies a few glistening eyes among the visitors.

For the first time in months, the voices of her team fill the room. She's never seen them in such good spirits, laughing and joking and somehow managing to restrain themselves from asking too many interrogative questions. But she can sense each of them privately trying to analyze her, to assess her, to profile her. She chalks it up to them being concerned about her. The thought makes her happy to the point of giddiness. She feels like she could run for miles.

Until something doesn't feel right. She counts the faces carefully, then counts them again. There’s just one person missing.

“Spencer?” She asks in a quiet voice. They all look at each other, and for a minute she’s afraid that he hasn’t come. That he’s still in D.C., that he didn’t bother to come see her. Then, the group parts, and she sees him. Spencer. Standing in the doorway in a purple cardigan. And he’s cut his hair.

“Spencer.” She says again, and this time, he walks into the room. Each step is agonizingly slow, and Veronica swears it takes hours for him to cross the hospital room and come to stop at the foot of her bed.

“Hi.” He says.

“How about we give her some room?” Emily says, looking at everyone else. They take her hint and file out, leaving Veronica and Spencer alone.

“Sp—”

“I’m sorry I let you get taken. It’s all my fault. I was knocked out when I went to clear the living room and by the time I came to, you were gone.” Spencer says, looking down at his hands as he wrings them nervously.

“Spencer… don’t have to…” Veronica shakes her head.

“I thought you might be mad at me.” He replies quietly.

Veronica holds her arms out silently. Spencer hesitates, and her stomach drops. But then he moves around to the side of the bed and takes her hand. It’s not the contact she wanted, but it’s more than she’s had in months. She can feel that he’s being gentle; holding her like a glass vase or a baby bird.

Every ounce of anger or animosity or apathy in Veronica’s body disappears as soon as she touches Spencer. What had she been thinking? Of course he wouldn’t abandon her. He’d been knocked out too. Webster had gotten the jump on both of them.

“Spencer… not… your fault.” Veronica says, her throat burning.

He pulls away, and Veronica has to fight to keep the disappointment from her face. He pulls the chair back over to the side of the bed and sits, folding his hands on his lap carefully.

“Reid.” Hotch says, entering the room. Veronica looks down at her lap, as if her face would betray her true feelings.

“We have some new information. You stay here. Banks,” He looks at Veronica with the hint of a smile on his face, “It’s good to see you.”

“You… too, sir.” Veronica smiles back. He exits the room but leaves the door open a crack.

Veronica hears Spencer scoot the chair closer to the bed. She turns back to him, the butterflies in her stomach threatening to break out.

“I know you already told the police, but can you tell me what happened?” Spencer asks softly.

Veronica starts reciting without thinking. “Driving... Porch. Searching. Kitchen… Screen door… Darkness. Nothing.”

Spencer’s brow furrows with concern. “What does that mean?”

“That’s… what happened..” Veronica scowls. “We… were driving, and you.. there. We went… the porch and… that’s when… he… needle. He was hiding… the bushes-”

Spencer leans forward, and she looks up at him. She’d started to ramble, like he always did.

“We know, Veronica. We found the syringe when we searched the cabin. It had traces of Zolpidem. Ambien.”

Veronica’s brow furrows again. Her brain is still fuzzy. Ambien. A sedative. It must have been a lot to knock her out so quickly and so completely.

“How… how long… to drive from… Phoenix to Boulder?” She asks.

Spencer thinks for a moment, his eyes flitting to the ceiling. He looks back at her. “An average of thirteen hours and eight minutes, depending on if you go through Utah or New Mexico.”

Veronica closes her eyes and groans. “He… dosed me multiple... I didn’t wake… until I was… basem*nt.”

Spencer rests his hands on top of the bed sheets, inches away from her leg. Veronica resists the urge to reach out to him again. “Can you tell me what happened in the basem*nt? Did he… hurt you?”

Veronica shakes her head, which makes it start throbbing again. “No… no, he didn’t… touch me. You know… not his M.O.”

Spencer exhales slowly, as if relieved. “I know, but you were gone for so long that I—we were worried something had gone wrong.”

Veronica looks down at her hands in her lap. Her skin is ghoulishly white under the fluorescent lights.

“He didn’t… touch. He… didn’t hurt me. He… he fed me. He gave… medicine when I… was sick.” Veronica says quietly.

Spencer tenses at that. She can feel it on the bed, and she briefly wonders why that, of all things, would warrant a reaction.

“It was… dark. No… light, no… no sounds. There was… mattress and a bathroom, but… the sink—the water was… dirty. It made me sick… and I cried. Webs—he gave… medicine and told… not to drink. Then, I…” Veronica takes a deep breath, uncertain if she should finish her sentence. It probably won’t help her psych eval if Spencer can’t vouch for her.

“What, Veronica?” Spencer asks softly.

Veronica’s throat tightens and her lips start to quiver. Her voice is starting to give out again. She hears the rate of the heart monitor pick up. “I… took medicine, but I… don’t know what… or how much. I…what if… MRSA?”

Spencer exhales again. Veronica can tell that he’s not buying her weak excuse, but he doesn’t press further. Instead, he smoothes his hand over the bed sheets. “They screen every patient who comes into the hospital for MRSA. Do you want me to ask the nurse?”

Veronica nods, and Spencer stands and leaves the room. Veronica wipes her eyes again, for what feels like the hundredth time that day. She sighs, feeling her vocal cords tremble and her breath rattle in her chest. She isn’t really worried about MRSA; she just needed to change the subject. She was about to admit her suicidal ideations to Spencer. If their roles were reversed, it would have broken her heart to hear the words coming from him. He’s her best friend; probably the only person she could tell. But she can’t. What if they don’t let her back on the team? What if they lock her up in a dark room again?

Her vision starts to go cloudy; her eyelids feel heavy. Maybe she’s getting another round of lorazepam. Weakly, she tries to reach out for Spencer. But didn’t he just leave? Was he back yet? She decides to close her eyes to give them a rest. It’s much easier to close them. Just a little rest is the last thought she remembers before she lets the darkness envelop her.

Chapter 27: Day 92

Chapter Text

“Why did you get to escape?”

“Why did he let you go?”

“Why didn’t we get away?”

“You should have stayed down there.”

“You thought we would want you back?”

Veronica’s eyes open, but she can’t see anything. She’s back in total darkness, but this time, she can’t move anywhere. She feels walls surrounding her, barely wide enough for her body to fit between. She can’t run or even turn around. Her heart is racing.

The head of a gray, partially decomposed woman with dull red hair appears.

“Why didn’t I deserve to live?”

The head rushes towards Veronica, but as soon as their noses touch, the head vanishes, only to be replaced by another head. She’s gray and bloated, and her hair is soaking wet and matted.

“Why did he let you go?”

Again, she rushes towards Veronica, and disappears. Veronica screams, tries to turn her head, but she feels a hand on her shoulder and she violently jerks away.

“Veronica, Veronica, hey, it’s okay, shh…”

Veronica tries to open her eyes again, and is met this time with another face right in front of her, a halo of light coming from behind their head. She screams again, but feels her shoulders being held down by a heavy weight. Her throat is sore and raw.

“Veronica, look at me. It’s me. It’s Rossi. You’re okay.”

Veronica screws her eyes shut and holds them for a moment, then opens them again. Rossi is in front of her, his face etched with concern. There are two nurses, one holding down each of her shoulders. Veronica closes her eyes again.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers.

The nurses release her. They eye Rossi warily, but he smiles at them politely and they leave.

Veronica watches as he sits back down in the chair at her bedside. There’s a paper coffee cup on the bedside table, and Veronica guesses it’s probably been refilled a couple times already. Rossi folds his hands in his lap, the lines in his face seeming deeper than usual .

“Are you… real?” Veronica asks quietly. The edges of her vision are a little blurry, and her brain seems to be working at a quarter of its usual speed. She really has to concentrate on what she wants to say.

Rossi’s eyebrows shoot upwards. He sits up a little bit straighter, somehow even more concerned than when she had woken up from her screaming fit.

“Of course I am.” He says. He extends his hand and gingerly touches Veronica’s wrist. She flinches, and he pulls his arm back guiltily.

Veronica tries to blink the tears out of her eyes, turning her head to the left so that Rossi can’t see her face. She tries to slow down her breathing and her heart rate. The monitor betrays her again. Her legs feel restless—she wants to stand. She wants to walk. She wants to know everything that happened in the BAU while she was gone. She also wants to close her eyes and sleep forever. Rossi clears his throat, and she looks back over at him.

“How… long have,” Veronica asks, straining to make noise, “Been there?”

“About an hour. We were up late last night working the case.” Rossi says.

Veronica eyes the coffee cup on the table again. “How… going?”

Rossi chuckles, folding his hands together again. “If you mean the search for your abductor, it’s going surprisingly well. You were extremely lucky to have run into that couple at the lake. They took a picture of the truck that was there, and it opened up a ton of new doors.”

Veronica nods, wishing she could take credit for that idea. But she had been so hopped up on adrenaline and pain that she hadn’t been thinking straight. Not even enough to remember to collect evidence.

Rossi checks his watch. “It’s about nine in the morning. Do you want something to eat?”

Veronica nods her head, and Rossi stands up to go find a nurse. She watches as he leaves the room. He hasn’t started interrogating her yet, which she’s grateful for. She suspects that she’ll have to give another statement for the FBI report sometime soon.

A pang of disappointment gnaws at Veronica. For some reason, she had thought Spencer would be here again.

Penelope had left behind a small compact mirror on the bedside table. Veronica reaches over to grab it, straining in order to not pull out any wires. She opens the compact and examines her face for the first time in months. Just as she suspected; malnourished, pale, beaten and bruised. The bruises on the right side of her face have started to yellow around the edges, while the ones around her neck are still purple. She sighs. Weren’t the physical reminders of her captivity enough? Webster had to leave a visual behind as well.

Rossi returns with two new coffee cups, slipping one into the empty one on the table and holding out the other one to Veronica. She takes it, her hand shaking under the weight of the liquid. It’s a wonder her muscles didn’t atrophy. Despite all her pushups, the starvation had done more damage to her strength than she realized. Using two hands, she brings the lip of the cup to her mouth and takes a sip. It’s black and bitter. Not her usual, but she sips it.

Rossi sits back down, sipping his own fresh coffee and watching her. One leg is crossed over the other.

“I have to let you know that we’re going to have to ask you to make a statement at some point. I know you gave one to the Boulder PD, but we’ll need one for our file, too.” Rossi says.

Veronica nods again.

Rossi hesitates before he speaks again. “We’re really glad you’re okay, kid. It was a tough three months.”

She looks down at her hands, smoothing the blanket across her lap. “I’m not back… work, yet… am I?”

Rossi chuckles, again. “I admire your enthusiasm, but no. You’ll likely be put on medical leave for at least a month, then you’ll be on desk duty until you can pass your psych and physical tests to get back into the field.”

Veronica nods. The tests weren’t so bad the first time, when she was in the Academy, but she hadn’t been working with a severely undernourished body and a traumatized brain. It seems daunting, more so than when she was a starry-eyed 23 year old with big dreams of catching bad guys.

As if reading her mind, Rossi says, “You know, I don’t think I ever learned what you were doing before you joined the BAU.”

Veronica shrugs. “After… Academy, I was… Special Agent in D.C. for about… year. Then… position opened up… I applied.”

Rossi nods. “What made you want to join the BAU?”

Veronica's brain grasps for memories; it feels so long ago. Has it really only been a year since she joined? Well, a year and three months now. It feels like lifetimes have passed since then.

“I was doing… profiling at Hoover. Just… small stuff, too small for Quantico. I enjoyed… psychology of it. Then I…” She swallows her embarrassment, “I read… your book.”

That earns her another chuckle as Rossi’s eyes light up. “You did? Which one?”

“ Compulsion …” Veronica trails off. She can’t remember the rest of the title.

“... Understanding Criminal Behaviour .” Rossi finishes, with a click of his tongue. “One of my favourites.”

Veronica smiles. “Me, too.”

Rossi opens his mouth to respond just as the nurse walks in with a new tray of food. Oatmeal, two cups of jell-o and a glass of orange juice.

“Let’s see how you do with this food, then we’ll see about getting you up and walking.” The nurse says. She does a quick scan of the monitors and, deciding everything is up to standard, leaves the room. Rossi reaches for a cup of jell-o, but Veronica swats his hand.

“Hey!” He says, “You need both of those?”

Veronica puts on her best pout, widening her eyes like a puppy dog. “I… almost… died.”

Rossi rolls his eyes with a smile, his moustache quirking up at the corner of his mouth. “That’s not going to work forever.”

Veronica grins and turns to her oatmeal as Rossi sips his coffee. By the time she’s done the first cup of jell-o, she feels very full. More full than she’s felt in months. Begrudgingly, she hands the second cup to Rossi. About an hour after Veronica finishes her food, the nurse comes back. She checks all of Veronica’s wounds and bruises, palpating them lightly and watching Veronica for an indication of pain. Then, she starts unhooking all of the sensors and needles, save for the I.V.

Veronica swings her legs over the edge of the bed, then takes the socks that the nurse had brought for her and pulls them onto her feet. She scoots forwards so that her feet are touching the cold tile floor. The nurse holds her arms out and Veronica braces herself against them as she pushes her feet into the floor to stand up.

“I… ran,” Veronica says, already breathing heavily, “two days… ago. I-I… was… running.”

The nurse smiles at her. “Don’t get discouraged. I’m sure adrenaline was helping you a lot. Now, you have to get your muscles back.”

Veronica takes a few shaky steps with the help of the nurse, who’s holding onto her I.V. pole. Each step feels slower than the last. Veronica’s legs scream in pain, the muscles close to atrophy from disuse. Veronica is grateful she had at least been crawling to and from the bathroom regularly when she was in that room. The fact that she had been able to get through the forest two days ago seemed like nothing short of a miracle..

After a few laps of the room, Veronica starts to feel dizzy, so the nurse helps her return to bed. Not a minute later, the doctor appears and takes a look at her chart.

“All your numbers look good. Your blood sugar and blood pressure are in a good place. Honestly,” The doctor pauses for a moment before continuing, “I heard about your story. With everything that happened to you, I’m astonished at how well you’re doing. I mean, your kidneys alone should have been severely damaged from dehydration-”

The nurse gives the doctor a look, and he clears his throat. “Sorry. What I meant is that you’re recovering extremely well, but you are in danger of developing refeeding syndrome.” The doctor says. “Due to your prolonged malnourishment, your body has adjusted to very low levels of nutrition. If you begin eating too much right away, your body might start to produce too much glycogen, fat and protein in your cells, which may cause low concentrations of potassium, magnesium and phosphate. This can be fatal.”

Veronica blinks up at the doctor, feeling a gnawing sense of déjà vu. For a split second, she can swear she sees Spencer standing in the doctor’s place. She’s careful not to look at the room, feeling like if she does, she might be disappointed when she realizes they’re not back in the BAU conference room at Quantico.

“Please take care to not eat too much, right away. Eat slowly, and listen to your body when it tells you it’s full. We’re going to keep you for observation for one more night, but we can discharge you tomorrow morning.” The doctor concludes.

Veronica thanks him and he leaves with the nurse. As they leave, she leans back against the pillow with a sigh. Her I.V. is still in her arm. That walk took a lot out of her, and it’s only noon. She closes her eyes, and she thinks she hears Rossi talking to her. She tries to respond, but that takes a lot of effort. Instead, she feels the weight of her body sink into the mattress of the hospital bed, and suddenly, she’s asleep.

-o-

Veronica steps out onto the balcony of her hotel room as she takes a deep breath, smelling the cigarette smoke and warm garbage of Manhattan. The FBI had sprung for a hotel with a view this time, and Veronica loves the big city.

It had been a long day, but they’d finally caught their guy. Of course, he couldn’t make it easy, and that meant a car chase and a shootout in front of some Long Island mansion. Veronica had slammed herself into the pavement when she was ducking behind the SUV, and her shoulder still feels funny.

She takes a swig from the personal-sized bottle of champagne she’d bought forty minutes earlier. Standing on the balcony in her sweatpants and sweatshirt, feeling a light breeze on her face, staring out at the big apple; this is her heaven.

A knock on her hotel room door breaks her trance. She considers ignoring it. After all, that’s what cell phones are for. Instead, she crosses the hotel room anyways, grabbing her pistol as a precaution. She looks through the peephole and unlocks the door.

“Don’t shoot.” Spencer says, his hands raised in mock surrender. A very funny joke that he’s been playing every time Veronica opens a door to him.

“You’re out late.” She replies, letting him into her room. He shrugs, and she notes that he’s still in his work clothes. She wonders if he just sleeps in his suits.

“Were you out on your balcony?” Spencer asks. Veronica nods and he gestures for her to go out, following behind her.

They lean against the railing, watching the traffic and the lights of the city from fourteen stories up. Veronica holds out the bottle of champagne, and Spencer shakes his head, but eyes her as she takes a drink.

“Do you always drink after a case?” He asks.

“No, in fact I almost never drink,” Veronica says, “Especially not alone. But I felt like celebrating tonight.”

“Why?”

Veronica shrugs. She doesn’t really feel like explaining all of her history with her dad and how today is the anniversary of his death. Not that she’s celebrating his death. Instead, she does some quick mental math.

“It’s my ten month anniversary with the BAU.”

Spencer is silent. Veronica exhales, enjoying the quiet night with her best friend. The march night is unseasonably warm, but she’s not complaining.

She feels hands on the back of her neck, and her shoulders shoot up to her ears reflexively.

“Spencer,” She asks, turning around to face him, “What are you—”

Spencer tightens his hands around her neck and pushes her backwards so she’s bent over the railing of the balcony, staring up at him. She hears the sound of glass breaking far below her. Veronica tries to scream, clawing at Spencer’s hands.

“St… stop.” She chokes, bringing her knee up to try and kick him, but her limbs won’t comply. Her vision starts to go black and fuzzy around the edges, the vignette closing in on Spencer’s face. It’s emotionless, until a brief flash of rage crosses his features. Then, Veronica’s world goes black.

-o-

Veronica wakes with a start. She’s still in the hospital bed. Her throat is sore, but she doesn’t remember screaming. Rossi is gone. Her jolt awake sends a twinge through her ribs.

“Knock, knock.” Penelope says at the door, startling Veronica. Before Veronica has a chance to react, she comes in with a paper shopping bag. In a flurry of fuschia, she walks over to the bed and reveals the contents of the bag, placing them on Veronica’s lap with a flourish. It’s the clothes she was wearing in the basem*nt, now freshly cleaned. Veronica hadn’t gotten a good look at them before Penelope had taken them, but she’s sure they were caked in layers of sweat and grime and dirt.

“I went to the highest-rated laundromat in Boulder, and I did three cycles.” Penelope explains as Veronica unfolds her Cleveland State University sweatshirt. It still has a faint blood stain down the right shoulder and on the left side, and there’s a giant hole ripped through the back, separating the neckline from the rest of the sweater. And a hole is torn where the bullet grazed her. Tears well in Veronica’s eyes.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?” Penelope asks when she sees Veronica’s expression.

Veronica looks up pathetically, clutching the sweatshirt. “It’s… ruined.”

“Oh, honey, we can get you a new one.” Penelope reaches out, putting her hand on Veronica’s shoulder and rubbing some warmth into her arm. “It’s fine, you can wear it as pajamas.”

Veronica shakes her head, feeling like a child throwing a tantrum. “It’s from… my first case.”

She resists the urge to throw the sweatshirt across the room. In all honesty, she probably will keep it to wear as pajamas, but the stain of her own blood and the tears in the fabric only remind her of Webster.

Her t-shirt, jeans, socks and underwear fared slightly better, but she’s grateful that Emily had dropped off her go-bag. When the nurse comes around with dinner, she gives Veronica the all-clear to change out of her hospital gown and into her own clothes.

After eating her soup and her jell-o, Veronica stands from the bed. With the assistance of Penelope, she walks to the bathroom to change. Using the convenient handicap railing, she slowly removes her hospital gown and pulls on clean underwear, her pajama pants and a clean t-shirt. She looks at herself in the mirror. Penelope had braided her hair back from her face. It’s less tangled, but the red that used to be a deep, rich auburn is now dull and lifeless. All of her bruises and stitches are still on display. At least she’s not caked in blood anymore. She won’t be able to go anywhere in public for a while.

Veronica opens the bathroom door to see Penelope standing just outside, waiting for her. She extends her arms and they walk back to her bed together.

“Don’t they… you… the station?” Veronica asks, breathing deeply through the burn in her lungs.

Penelope sits in the chair by the bed and slouches down with a deep sigh. “I’m giving myself a dinner break. The energy in that police station is weird .”

“Weird?”

“They put everyone in the field to cover ground while I worked my magic,” Penelope says, flexing her fingers in and out of a claw shape with a wince, “But they also stuck the Good Doctor with me.”

“Spencer?”

“Yes, and I don’t know what they put in the coffee at the station, because he’s been acting weird. He hasn’t said a word all day, but he won’t sit still. It drives me crazy.”

Veronica nods, trying to mask the worry on her face. That doesn’t sound like Spencer at all. Penelope sits up out of her slouch and leans in toward the bed, conspiratorially.

“Good luck getting a break from him. I don’t even want to think about how many fun facts and tangents he’s had to save up without you around. I was worried he’d explode on the jet over here!” Penelope grins.

Veronica smiles back. Now that sounds like Spencer. She hopes he’ll be back to his usual self soon. Penelope checks the clock on the wall and jumps up from the chair.

“It’s seven. I’m gonna get kicked out!” She gathers up her things in a hurry. “Are you gonna be okay tonight?”

“Go… don’t get… in trouble… because of me.” Veronica says with a smile.

Penelope stomps over and plants a kiss on Veronica’s forehead. “You’re worth the trouble, Red. We’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. Nine a.m. sharp!”

She watches her leave the room and turn down the hall, saying goodbye to the nurse as they pass each other. The nurse steps into Veronica’s room, greeting her with a smile. She checks her chart one last time.

“Do you want some more lorazepam to help you sleep tonight?”

Veronica thinks for a moment, then nods. She didn’t have any nightmares when she took the lorazepam on her first night in the hospital. She’d like to avoid reliving her brush with death in her dreams as much as possible.

The nurse smiles again. “I’m off for tonight, but I’ll put the order in and they’ll bring it up to you soon. I’ll be back in the morning to help discharge you.”

Veronica says goodnight to her and watches her leave, too. The lights in her room are dimmed. Suddenly remembering her go bag, Veronica reaches for the chair, on top of which Penelope had left her duffle. She unzips an outer pocket and rummages, finding the plastic sandwich bag she needs. Her contact case and glasses are still there.

When she takes her contacts out, her eyes burn, but then feel relief, like a weight she hadn’t noticed was suddenly removed. It was something she had never thought about during her captivity, but it was probably a miracle that her contacts hadn’t dried out in her eyes, or given her pink eye, or something worse.

Finally, a nurse arrives with her sleeping pills. Veronica takes them dutifully, then lays back and closes her eyes, waiting for the medicine to kick in and cloud her mind with dark, uneventful sleep.

Her sleep is mostly dreamless, probably due to the drugs. There is one moment, though, where she hears the faint whisper of a dream break through the cloudiness that fogs her brain. A familiar but unplaceable voice, from miles away, saying “I love you.”

Chapter 28: Day 93 I

Chapter Text

Veronica wakes up in her hospital bed, and for a few brief moments, her world is peaceful and quiet again. She doesn’t open her eyes right away, relishing in the utter lack of sensation.

Then, the beeps and lights of the hospital room come back, along with all the aches of her injuries. Veronica opens her eyes and stretches as much as her IV will allow. The clock says 8:32. She sits up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and putting her feet down. With a deep breath, she pushes herself up to standing. She holds onto her IV pole and starts to walk with slow steps. Her left hand trails along the wall just in case. Walking is marginally easier today. Small victories.

When she exits the bathroom, Derek and Emily are standing in her room.

“Just you two?” Veronica asks as she hobbles across the room. She wanted to say more, but her throat is still sore and her voice is still weak. Derek extends his hand and helps her to the bed.

“No pretty boy this morning, just us.” Derek says. “We’ll get you packed up and bring you to the hotel.”

“Are we going… to D.C.?” Veronica asks.

Emily and Derek share a look, then start to pack up Veronica’s bag. “We’re still working with the Boulder police to find the man who took you. Penelope found a lead from the truck. The guy who drove you here took a picture of it.”

“We’re going to stay in town until we find him. We’re really close, Veronica. His truck is getting us closer than we’ve ever been. You did that.” Derek says, putting his hand on Veronica’s shoulder. She nods wordlessly. How could she have done more in 72 hours than the entire FBI could do in three months?

Oh yeah, three months. When the policemen told her the date, she almost burst into tears in front of them. Three months of her life, gone. Three months wasted in a basem*nt. Something to process in therapy later.

“Good morning, Veronica.” Her nurse says as she steps into the room, “Are you ready to go home?”

“I am. Thank you… everything.” Veronica says. The nurse does one final scan of all of Veronica’s vitals and readings, then fills out her chart. Lastly, she unhooks Veronica’s IV.

“Alright, I want you to keep an eye on your head and take an Advil if it starts to hurt. And promise me you’re going to eat lots of good food.” The nurse smiles.

Veronica smiles back and extends her hand, which the nurse shakes. “Thank you.”

The discharge process is relatively painless, thanks in large part to Penelope having apparently given Emily a copy of all of Veronica’s insurance information. Derek and Emily help Veronica walk out of the hospital, each of them taking one arm and displaying saintlike patience for her as she deals with her burning lungs and weak legs. Finally, they climb into the SUV and start to drive.

Then, Emily’s phone rings.

She looks at Derek, who’s driving, then answers the phone. “Prentiss. Yes, we just left. Okay. Okay. Where? Okay. Are you sure?” Then, after a sigh, “Let me ask.”

She puts the phone to her chest and turns around in her seat to look at Veronica. “It’s Hotch. They think they found the house. He wants to know if you’d be able to provide a positive identification. You don’t have to.”

Veronica looks down at her hands in her lap, then back up through the windshield of the SUV, not meeting Emily’s eye. “I’ll do it.”

“Veronica, it might not be a good idea.” Derek says, glancing at her in the rearview mirror.

“If it’ll help… catch him… it’s a good idea. Tell Hotch… be there.” Veronica responds. At their silence, she continues, “Look, you can… give me… psych eval right here. I… can handle it.”

Emily turns back around and brings her phone back up to her ear. “We’re coming. Send us the address.” She snaps her phone off.

“You really wanna turn up to the scene in your pajamas?” Derek asks,

Veronica swallows painfully. “You… could have… warned me.”

“Well, at least Reid willl appreciate it.” Derek shoots back. Veronica kicks the back of his seat and he shouts. “Hey, I thought your legs were supposed to be atrophied.”

She laughs, the sharp wave of pain radiating through her entire body seeming very much worth it.

After almost an hour’s drive, interrupted by one much-needed stop at a fast food drive-through for breakfast and a cheap cup of coffee, they pull up to an old, yellow bungalow in Idaho Springs, Colorado. A white picket fence rims the property. The otherwise peaceful little street is abuzz with police and their cars, CSI, FBI and nosy neighbours.

Veronica steps out of the SUV and takes in the scene. Unfortunately, because she was blindfolded, she’s unable to recognize anything about the house. Privately, she shudders at the thought of entering that basem*nt again, but she steels herself and takes a step forward. She senses Derek trailing behind her, one hand hovering just behind her back in case her legs decide to give out. Emily shows the cop at the perimeter her FBI badge, and he lifts the crime scene tape for them. The cops they pass give her strange looks, probably due to the bruises and stitches on her face and surrounding her neck. Or maybe her pajama pants. She keeps her head down and a hand on her ribs. Veronica steps onto the lawn, just as Hotch steps out of the front door onto the porch of the house, still in his bulletproof vest. He’s checking his cell phone, but he looks up and puts it away as Veronica approaches. He holds a hand out, which she gratefully accepts as she climbs the three steps onto the porch.

“Thank you for coming. How are you feeling?” He asks, his solemn stare searching Veronica’s face. She feels as though he’s examining her soul, but she nods.

“Much better. I want to… catch him.” Veronica answers with determination. At that, Hotch’s gaze somehow hardens even more.

“About that…” He directs her into the house. It’s very bare; no pictures on the walls, no decor of any kind. The wallpaper is yellowed and peeling. Veronica turns left into the sitting room and stops in her tracks.

The sitting room is just as bare as the rest of the house. A stack of old books against the wall, an old box tv, a single recliner covered in peeling leather. Sitting in that recliner is a corpse. Webster. An exit wound on his left temple.

Hotch is standing right behind Veronica. He starts talking. “He was here when we arrived. Preliminary coroner’s report puts his time of death at no more than 48 hours ago. The gun we found in his hand has been taken into evidence, but Garcia ran the serial. It’s yours.”

“My… my gun.” Veronica says, searching for words. Her body feels numb, and she grabs onto the frame of the entryway for balance. Hotch puts his hand on her shoulder.

“I didn’t mean for you to come here if-”

“I’m… fine. I’m… I’m fine.” Veronica says. “That’s… Webster?”

Instead of answering, Hotch looks at the crime scene techs in the room and gives them a look, nodding his head towards the door. They leave, and Hotch waits until he and Veronica are alone before he speaks again.

“Veronica,” He says. Her first name sounds foreign coming from him. “This man is not Charles Webster.”

Veronica blinks. “What?”

“We haven’t yet been able to identify this man, but we can say definitively that it’s not Charles Webster.”

Veronica grips the doorframe tighter. “Wh—where…”

“Webster was killed in a car accident in Phoenix on May 9th. That’s just about a week after you were abducted.” Hotch says.

Veronica looks back at the body in the recliner. “A… accomplice?”

Hotch nods. “That’s our current theory. Once we get an I.D., we’ll know more.”

Veronica nods back, swallowing a lump in her throat. This whole time, she’d thought it was Webster. She’d called him Webster to his face. Well, through a door. No wonder nothing about him had fit Webster’s M.O.

“There’s more. In the basem*nt.” Hotch says quietly. Before he can say anything else, Veronica turns towards the kitchen. Her feet move without thinking. The door to the basem*nt is in the kitchen. Somehow, her brain knows the exact path they took when she was being carried out of this house. A police officer steps out of her way to let her down the stairs.

The stairs are painstaking, but she eventually reaches the bottom. Under one yellow lightbulb, a metal table stands in the center of the room. Metal utility shelves line the walls; crammed with tools, boxes, and other standard basem*nt clutter. Veronica walks up to the table slowly. There are only three objects laid out on it.

“They were like this when we arrived.” Hotch says from behind her.

Her FBI badge, her gun holster, and her wallet. They’re covered in a layer of dust. They had been just outside the door the whole time?

With a chill, Veronica turns to the wall behind her. The door is propped open, a work light set up inside.

Veronica feels like she’s wading through water as she walks into the room. There aren’t any other police around, though Veronica senses that Hotch isn’t too far away. The room is pretty much exactly what she thought it would be; concrete floor, gray brick walls, a dirty mattress in the corner. The air is stale and musty. Her stomach churns when she sees the stains on the mattress; something yellow and something else that is definitely blood. Veronica isn’t sure if she’d rather it was hers or not. She can’t remember when she would have been bleeding. The metal tray and cup in the corner. The bathroom is the same story. Bare and gray. Her brain can barely form a thought, like she’s in a trance. Her body feels heavy.

There’s a little window at the bottom of the door to the room.

“This is definitely… where I...” Veronica says out loud, trailing off.

Hotch nods solemnly from the doorway, his arms crossed again. “They’re testing the bio matter from the mattress.”

Veronica hugs her arms around herself, staring at the floor. Even with the door open, the room is dead silent. There’s a crack in the wall, revealing a piece of black foam. Veronica would bet any amount of money that the room is surrounded by it. Noise dampening.

She turns to Hotch, but she keeps her eyes on the floor. “Is there… anything else… can do?”

“No. Thank you, Agent Banks. Your identification is very helpful,” Hotch says. She walks past him and up the stairs, suddenly feeling an erratic burst of energy; probably the leftovers of her fight or flight instinct. She beelines it past the sitting room, where the coroner is starting to bag the body, and bursts out of the house. The officer sees her coming and lifts the crime scene tape for her again, and Veronica makes it two houses down the block before she sits on the curb, her head in her hands. Her everything hurts, again. She had to relearn to walk two days ago and now she’s doing stairs.

After a few moments, she feels a presence sit beside her. She half considers telling them to leave her alone, but when she looks up to see Rossi staring back at her, she bites her tongue.

“Strange first adventure on leave. I would have gone with Europe. Italy, maybe.” He says.

Veronica pinches the bridge of her nose, willing the tears not to spill out of her eyes. Her head is still spinning from all the walking.

“I also would have dressed up a little bit.”

She rolls her eyes. “Can’t… process trauma… in peace?”

Rossi chuckles. “You’re a stronger person than I am. I don’t think I’d come within a hundred miles of this place if I were in your shoes.”

Veronica looks down at the shoes in question, thanking the past version of herself that had thought to pack an extra pair of sneakers in her go-bag. Her favourite boots are long gone, or maybe in evidence.

“I wasn’t… expecting him to be….” Veronica rasps, reaching a hand down to play with the lace of her shoe. “I thought it would… be some big chase… make the arrest and he could… rot in jail.”

Rossi nods. “If it makes you feel any better, it seems to me that he shot himself because you got away. He probably figured his time was up.”

Veronica stares across the street. “Lived like a coward… died like a coward.”

Rossi puts his hand on her shoulder. “He can’t hurt anyone else anymore. And you’re okay. You’re safe.”

Veronica looks up at him, then at all the people standing at the house down the street. Her heart starts beating harder and faster. It had been okay in the hospital - her adrenaline had still been pumping when she arrived and all throughout the tests and giving her statement. Then, there had only been a maximum of two people in her room; her nurse and her doctor. When the team had arrived, she had been so nervous and excited to see them that she didn’t even notice how overwhelming it was. And Spencer… she could handle Spencer one-on-one. But now, being surrounded by police and analysts and flashing lights, even in the middle of the day, is a bit too much for her. Part of her wants to retreat to a dark, silent, solitary room. And another part of her feels crippling guilt for even thinking about it.

She takes a deep, shaky breath. “How did you… find this place?”

Rossi pulls out his black notebook and flips through it. “Let me make sure I get this right. Garcia ran the plates on the truck you showed up in, and it was registered to Webster’s house in Arizona.”

“Where… abducted me.”

“Right. But the insurance was not under Webster’s name. It was under a Kenneth Raymond, and the last maintenance had been done at a shop here in Colorado. Now that we knew he’d crossed state lines, she did a search of Colorado and found a Kenneth Raymond whose last known address was this house, where he lived with his aunt.”

Veronica sneaks a glance over her shoulder at the house. From the outside, it seems nice enough, if a little old. Definitely the sort of house a little old lady would live in.

Rossi continues. “There was a death certificate for the aunt from two years ago, but the bills on this house are all still in her name and have been paid on time every month for the last five years. We showed up,” Rossi flips his notebook shut, “And there he was. Dead as a doornail.”

Veronica nods. “Wow.”

“These guys were good, Veronica. They used as many tricks as they could to cover their tracks. Probably because you’re a federal agent, and they knew you’d have the entire FBI coming after you.” Rossi says.

Veronica stays silent. Had she really had the entire FBI coming after her? It had taken them so long.

“When we got word that Webster had died in a car crash, we almost gave up. Most of us figured you were either already dead or you would be soon, and information on your whereabouts had died with Webster. But the kid—Reid, he kept at it. He convinced us to keep looking, even if we thought we were only going to find your remains.”

“He did?” Veronica asks.

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” Rossi says, lowering his voice, “But Chief Strauss wanted us to give up after a month. Said we had other cases with more pressing urgency to focus on. So, officially, we gave up. But all of us, me, Hotch, Garcia, Reid, we all kept at it. Off the books. If we had known he was in another state… we would have found you a lot sooner.”

Veronica doesn’t know how to respond. She nods robotically. “He never… crossed state lines before.”

Rossi shakes his head. “Nothing in the profile or his life indicated that he’d ever even been outside of Arizona. It was a total 180 for us. And the only traceable connection he had to Raymond were their overlapping stints in juvie in ‘77.”

Veronica presses the heels of her palms into her eyes. She isn’t sure if she’s okay with the fact that the two men confused the BAU so much or upset that they didn’t even consider checking in other states. To be fair, she hadn’t thought she was in another state, either. But they’re the FBI. The best of the best. How could someone like Webster or Raymond have evaded them so easily?

“I don’t… what do I do?” Veronica asks, her eyes still covered.

She hears Rossi shift. “Anything you want. In your own time. You beat him, Veronica. He doesn’t control you anymore.”

Veronica opens her eyes, letting them adjust to the bright, sunny day again. “Do you think… gonna give me my gun back?”

Rossi chuckles and puts his hand on her shoulder again. “We’ll get you a new one.”

He holds out his hand and Veronica takes it. She’s pretty sure that she’s helping him stand more than he’s helping her, but they make it up off the curb either way. He opens his arms and she gratefully steps into him, feeling herself being enveloped in a warm, fatherly hug. She doesn’t even mind the rigid bulletproof vest pressing into her ribs.

When she pulls back, he gestures for her to walk with him. As they approach the house again, she sees the team standing in a circle. All eyes are on her as she and Rossi join them.

Hotch holds out a plastic bag that contains her badge, holster and wallet. Then he hands her her cellphone. “They found your phone at the house in Arizona. There was no battery. And Garcia ran all of your cards. Nothing missing, no activity.”

Veronica takes the bag. Presumably everything had been documented, fingerprinted and filed already. “Thank you.”

They look up as the coroner wheels a gurney out of the house. The black body bag on top of it sends a chill down Veronica’s spine. She can’t tear her eyes away as it’s pushed past them and loaded into the truck.

“Preliminary report said it looked like the bones in his right hand had been broken and hadn’t set properly. Within the last two months.” Emily says casually, though she eyes Veronica with a hint of mischief in her expression.

Veronica holds back a smile and shrugs good naturedly. “That sounds… familiar.”

“We also found another gun in his house, but it was empty. Nothing in the chamber and no magazine.”

“That… definitely sounds… familiar.” Veronica rocks on her feet. “The bullet… from the chamber is somewhere… the woods at Lake Granby. And the magazine… you really want it, you can… comb through the grass off… Route 40.”

Derek claps a hand on her shoulder with a poorly-hidden smile of his own. For a moment, it feels like any other case with the team. Most of the police have cleared off of the lawn, save for a few still standing at the perimeter. CSI has also left. Veronica assumes the rest of the house is similar to the living room; there won’t be much for them to sift through when looking for evidence.

Veronica turns to Hotch, her mouth open to ask a question. Before she can form the words, he meets her eyes and starts talking.

“They found the IDs of the six other victims.” He says.

Veronica nods and looks down at her feet. “The woman… from the night I…”

Hotch shakes his head. “All of the Phoenix units went to the Arizona house when Reid called us. You were long gone. The patrols at the nearby lakes had left and she washed up that morning.”

Veronica glances at Spencer. He’s been quiet; he hasn’t even said hello to her. Veronica lowers her eyes and nods again.

“We’re done here. We’ll finish up at the Boulder PD. Veronica, you can go to the hotel. Penelope offered for you to share her room.” Hotch says.

Emily places a hand on Veronica’s back. “I’ll drive you. I’ll catch up with you guys at the station.”

Veronica lets Emily gently guide her to the SUV. She climbs into the passenger seat, wishing that she could lay down in the back and nap for the hour long drive back to Boulder instead. Emily climbs into the driver’s seat, and after a minute, they start to pull away down the street. Veronica looks out the window as they go, to get one final look at the place she had called hell for the last three months. Spencer watches the SUV as it leaves. Veronica resists the urge to wave.

They drive out of Idaho Springs. The journey along the I-70 is nothing if not scenic. The SUV is silent, so Veronica turns her head to gaze out the window and lets her eyes follow the rolling hills of the Colorado wilderness. She realizes that between Webster’s basem*nt and the hospital, she hasn’t seen any nature in over three months. The glimpses she gets of the horizon in the distance give her a sense of existential dread that wasn’t there before she was abducted. She feels too exposed, even in the SUV.

Finally, Emily pulls up in front of the hotel, and Penelope is already waiting outside the doors to the lobby. Somewhat bitterly, Veronica wonders if she’s going to be handed off between team members until they get her back to her own apartment in D.C., but she steps out of the SUV and musters up a smile when Penelope crushes her in a hug. As Penelope pulls back, she takes Veronica’s bag from Emily.

“Thanks.” Veronica holds out her hand to take her bag, but Penelope slings it over her own shoulder.

“Nonsense, I’ll bring it up for you!” She says.

Penelope leads Veronica by the hand into the hotel and up to her room. There are two double beds, but only one has a plastic shopping bag on it. Veronica looks at Penelope, who nods. She opens the bag to see various toiletries and small comfort items - a pair of fuzzy socks, a drugstore face mask, and several bags of her favourite candies. In lieu of words, Veronica gives Penelope another hug, this time smiling genuinely. She doesn’t think it’s possible to out-hug Penelope Garcia, until the shorter woman clears her throat. Veronica pulls back sheepishly and smiles at her one more time.

“Thank you... I… I should take a shower.”

Penelope smiles and nods. “We’re gonna go help them finish up at the police station. You do what you need to do and rest, and we have a late check out at 4 this afternoon, so you can nap until then and then nap on the jet and then you’ll be able to go home—”

“Thank you, Penelope.’ Veronica says, putting her hand on the shorter woman’s arm.

Penelope nods and hurries out. Veronica crosses the room, locking the door and closing the bolt, breathing a sigh of relief as she does. She’s alone again.

She grabs the plastic bag from Penelope and digs in her duffle bag. Her toothbrush and other travel-sized toiletries are still in her bag, which she’s grateful for, though she still hasn’t decided whether it’s thoughtful or creepy that they kept her bag with them all that time.

The bathroom is simple, but the fact that it has a functional shower is more than enough for Veronica. She undresses, then turns the water on and the tap all the way to the hot side and lets the room steam up for a few minutes. While she can still see her reflection in the mirror, she studies it. The bruises on her face are starting to yellow now, and her stitches still cut a line through her forehead. She hopes they won’t scar too badly.

The bruises around her neck are also just starting to yellow around the edges. Her voice has been better, but her throat is really sore now, especially when she pokes at it. The steam will help. Her eyes still have deep shadows around them, but there’s more colour in her face than when she last looked. Everything below her head seems like an entirely different person. Her muscles are almost completely gone, and her ribs and hips jut out awkwardly. The bruising and stitches over her left ribs stick out against her sickly white skin. It will take months to rebuild her strength and put on a healthy amount of weight again. For now, she looks like a skeleton.

After a moment, she switches the light off in the bathroom. When she finally steps under the scalding water, she turns the heat down just a bit and lets the shower drench her completely.

Webster is dead. He’s not coming back for her. He gave up instead of facing his punishment.

Veronica was the key. Her being abducted was what helped the BAU find him. But any other woman in her place could have done the same. Why had she gotten away? Why had she been the one to escape?

As she reaches for her small bottle of shampoo, she allows her mind to go back to the night she escaped. Webster had had her in his hands - literally. She had been seconds away from passing out when she’d kicked him in the crotch, twice. Sure, for a man that pain is incapacitating, but it seemed too easy. Surely the other victims had tried that.

Washing her hair feels euphoric after three months. Veronica can practically feel the dirt and grime melting off of her scalp. And her conditioner makes her hair feel as soft as silk, at least comparatively. She knows that without Penelope brushing it out on the first day in the hospital it would be much worse. She makes a mental note to buy Penelope the largest gift basket she can find in D.C.

After scrubbing her skin raw and standing under the hot water long enough to start feeling light headed, Veronica steps out of the shower and wraps a hotel towel around herself. Forgoing the pajama pants and tshirt she wore to Webster’s house for obvious reasons, she pulls on her clean sweatpants and a new tshirt, plus her new fuzzy socks, and steps out of the bathroom.

The hotel’s curtains are miraculously thick enough to blackout the room. Veronica turns the air conditioner to High, double checks the locks on the door, and falls into the untouched bed furthest from the door. The last thing she sees before she falls unconscious is the digital clock on the bedside table. 12:48.
-&-

Veronica runs through the forest, using her flashlight to avoid tripping. It’s late, probably after midnight, but she’s on high alert. Save for the sound of her own breathing and the wind in the trees, the forest is silent.

She’d developed a habit of walking silently in high school, when she had to sneak past her father in order to avoid his drunken rage. She knew exactly which floorboards in their old house would squeak, and where. Her father would never lay a hand on her, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t throw a beer bottle or smash a plate if he perceived her presence as an insult.

Veronica checks the tiny compass in her wristwatch. Their guy had taken off running northeast into the woods, but he knows the area better than any of the BAU. Veronica’s been running for about five minutes, and she doesn’t know where she is now.

Two loud bangs to the east startle her.

“Shots fired to the east.” She says into her headset, then she starts running. Another shot goes off right in front of her, and she reflexively ducks. Her hands hit the ground, her gun skidding about three feet away. She looks up, through the branches of a bush, and her breath hitches.

There’s a body on the ground, and another one standing over it, pointing a gun. The one standing up doesn’t appear to be wearing an FBI or police vest. Veronica grabs her gun and stands, slowly approaching the people.

“Dennis Locke, FBI.” She says, and the person standing up looks at her. It’s the UnSub, alright. “Drop the gun.”

Instead, he fires. Veronica takes the first shot in the ribs, but the second one misses. She fires back, catching him in the neck. He falls, and she runs over, taking the gun from his hand. Flashlights appear through the trees, and Veronica shouts for them. She handcuffs Dennis for good measure, though he’s already gasping for breath and making a death rattle. Then, she turns to the body on the ground. They’re face down, but they’re definitely wearing a vest. And they’re breathing, but it’s shallow.

Veronica speaks into her headset again. “I have an officer down here, I need a medic.”

She positions the officer in the recovery position, then turns them over onto their back. His long hair flops over his face, and she moves it to see Spencer.

Veronica scrambles back. No. Spencer isn’t on this case, he’s in D.C. on medical leave. He was shot in the leg. But that’s definitely him, with blood soaking through his shoulder. Veronica places her hands over the wound and presses her body weight down. “Help, over here! Help me, I need a medic!”

Spencer’s eyes are glazed over, and he’s looking up at the sky with a thousand-yard stare.

“Stay with me, Spencer, come on.” Veronica says. “Look at me. I… I love you.”

It’s as if she’s looking at a heart monitor, right there in the forest. She can feel his pulse through her hands. It’s thready and irregular. All of a sudden, it’s gone. She presses into his shoulder harder, searching for an artery. Nothing. Someone wearing blue latex gloves places their hands on her arms, gently trying to pull her away. She moves her fingers to his neck. Still no pulse. Spencer’s eyes are dark. Veronica starts to scream.

Chapter 29: Day 93 II

Chapter Text

Veronica wakes up in a bed, still screaming. Penelope bursts into the room.

“What? What? What happened?” She asks, rushing over to the bed and grabbing Veronica’s arms. She hadn’t even realized that she’d been thrashing until she’s restrained. “I was coming up the hall when I heard you. What is it?”

Veronica’s breathing heavily, and she gulps down air like it’s water. She looks around the room; still Penelope’s hotel room. There’s a stuffed kitten plushie on the other bed. A purple cheetah print suitcase is open on the bench across the room. The clock says 3:52 .

“I’m… sorry,” Veronica says, finally able to speak, “A… a nightmare.”

Penelope pulls her into yet another hug; she must be reaching her weekly quota by now. Veronica lays her head on the other woman’s shoulder and squeezes her eyes shut to keep the tears from spilling. Spencer wasn’t there in Montana when she got shot. He was across the country in D.C., on medical leave. Spencer hadn’t died.

“Sweetie, I’d love to hug you forever right now, but we need to be out of this room in eight minutes. Come on, you can nap on the jet.” Penelope says, taking Veronica’s hands and helping her stand.

Veronica stretches, then starts to pack. She doesn’t have very much, so she’s ready in about five minutes. Penelope rushes them down to the lobby, where Emily and JJ are waiting with their own packed bags. They climb into their ‘ladies SUV’, and drive the short distance to the Boulder airport.

When they stop on the tarmac, the men are waiting outside their own SUV. Everyone jumps at Veronica with an offer to carry her bag for her, but she manages to fend them off, convincing them that she needs to carry her own bag for rehabilitation. She makes it onto the jet and lowers herself to sit in one of the single seats.

“You sure you don’t want to lay down and rest, Ronnie?” Derek asks, gesturing to the bench seat. Veronica shakes her head.

“No, I should… stay up. Try to get… sleep schedule back… normal.” Veronica says. Derek pats her shoulder and sits across from her. She smiles at him, then looks up when she sees something out of the corner of her eye.

Spencer is already turning around to sit somewhere else on the jet. Veronica looks back at Derek, who raises his eyebrows. She shrugs and rolls her eyes. Spencer’s attitude is not her problem, and she’s definitely not about to get into it with him in front of their friends - and their boss. Plus, she’s worried that if he gets a good look at her face, he’ll be able to read her like a book. Her poker face is out of practice, and she's already a visible wreck.

“So, the gun. How did you know he was going to bring it with him?” Derek asks. “I know it was a different person, but guns were never part of Webster’s M.O. before.”

Veronica shrugs. “Better safe… than sorry.”

Derek smirks again and puts his earbuds in. Veronica looks down at her hands. Why had she disabled the gun? If she had really wanted to get her death over with, there aren’t many ways that are faster than being shot. It certainly would have been much faster than the strangulation.

Truthfully, somewhere on Route 40, her will to live had slowly crept back into her. Veronica doesn’t really know why; maybe it was her vision slowly returning, or maybe it was the reminder that she and Spencer were once again under the same sky. She hadn’t even noticed it until Raymond’s hands were around her neck and her vision was darkening. And then her brain’s impulsive goodbye to Spencer. That’s when her fighting instinct had kicked in. Pun intended.

Veronica pulls out her cell phone, which Penelope had generously purchased a new battery for, and turns it on. Besides the frankly disgusting amount of notifications that have accumulated over the last three months, everything is exactly as she’d left it. The roar of the jet is more than enough noise for her, so she decides to forgo her music library and instead lean her head against the wall of the jet to watch the clouds pass by in silence.

-o-

Veronica’s hands shake as she steps off the jet and onto the tarmac at Quantico. The Virginia air nearly brings her to tears. She’s not in the desert anymore. She’s not in a basem*nt. She can go back to her own apartment. She can sleep in her own bed.

Or so she thinks. Penelope sweeps her into her car, barely giving Veronica enough time to say goodbye to the rest of the team. She catches Spencer’s eye before she’s gone. His face doesn’t change.

Penelope drives her back to the District, humming and tapping along to the radio. She stays on the I-95, heading towards Washington. Veronica watches the exit for Arlington pass by.

“That was… exit.”

“I know! You’re staying with me tonight, Red. We’re going to have a girls’ night.” Penelope smiles.

Veronica stops herself before she can make a face. She chooses her words carefully. “I’m not really… up to a girls’ night, Garcia…”

“Okay, okay, you caught me,” Penelope puts a hand in the air in mock surrender. The car swerves a little bit. “When I said girls’ night , I meant less gossipy nail painting and more I’m going to make sure you don’t freak out in your sleep .”

Veronica stays silent. Right. She supposes she seems very fragile to the rest of the team. She feels fragile. And she hadn’t considered what might happen if she went back to her own apartment alone. Part of her feels resentful that the team apparently doesn’t trust her to be alone. But another part of her really doesn’t want to be alone.

“Although, we could still do the gossipy part.” Penelope hums. “Oh my god, there’s so much I still haven’t told you about the last three months. Did you notice that the Good Doctor cut his hair? Hotch said he looks like he’s in a boyband, and honestly, I can see it…”

Veronica listens to Penelope as they drive into D.C.. The other redheaded woman chatters in her usual excited tempo, but Veronica can tell her hands are gripping the steering wheel just a bit too tight. She’s holding herself back just slightly; she’s worried about something. Veronica wonders what it could possibly be.

Penelope’s apartment is warm and colourful. Veronica isn’t sure if she’s ever been inside it before. She doesn’t have much time to think about it, however, because the second she crosses the threshold into Penelope’s living room, she’s greeted by an excited Bernese Mountain Dog. He circles her legs, but doesn’t jump. She trained him well.

Tears well in Veronica’s eyes. “Hi, Indy!”

She sinks to her knees so she can greet her dog properly. She never thought she’d miss all the fur. Indiana nuzzles her and sits in her lap, sniffing and licking her curiously. Veronica knows that she probably looks silly, but she doesn’t care, and she knows that Penelope doesn’t either.

Indiana doesn’t leave her side as she goes into Penelope’s bathroom and has another mercifully hot shower. It breaks her heart to close the door on him, but they’re only separated by 1 ⅜ inches of wood. Veronica wonders briefly where she learned that. Probably from Spencer.

As she lets the hot water wash over her, she allows herself to realize the gravity of her situation. Three days ago, she was ready to die. Three days ago, she couldn’t envision a future that wasn’t a cold, empty void. She had begged to die. Now, she was having a warm shower—her second warm shower of the day—in the apartment of someone she thought she’d never see again. And she was alive.

It takes her a moment to realize that she’s crying, but the saltiness on her face snaps Veronica out of her emotional self-reflection. She washes her hair again, not convinced that she got all the grime out the first time. When she closes her eyes, she has a glimpse of Spencer, staring at her sadly in front of Webster’s house.

Veronica pushes the thought out of her head. Whatever Spencer was going through, whatever had him in such a bad mood that he didn’t even want to talk to her, she couldn’t worry about that right now. She worries that she did something to upset him, but the logical part of her brain reminds her that she’s been in the hospital for the last three days. What could she have possibly done?

Veronica towels off and dresses in yet another pair of clean pajamas. She hadn’t realized how long she was in the shower, but it must have been quite a while. Penelope had time to order pizza and put a tray of cookies in the oven. Veronica apologizes as she joins Penelope on the couch.

“Nonsense! You take as long as you need to feel clean again,” Penelope says with a sympathetic shudder. “Plus, I always pre-make cookie dough and keep it in my freezer for emergencies.”

Indiana curls up beside Veronica, laying his head in her lap. Penelope lights a candle; some concoction called Island Margarita . She throws a big, pink plush blanket on Veronica’s lap, then stands and returns to puttering around the apartment. Veronica watches her move around, humming to herself as she checks on the cookies, pours two glasses of water, adjusts the throw pillow on the arm chair, and checks on the cookies again. When the doorbell rings, Veronica swears that she sees Penelope sigh in relief as she goes to answer the door.

When Penelope returns with a vegetarian pizza, she sits on the couch beside Veronica, perching on the edge like a bird. Veronica reaches forward, but before she can move more than half a foot, Penelope has chosen a piece, put it on a plate, and thrust it into Veronica’s hands.

“Okay, do you have everything? Do you need anything else?” Penelope asks, wringing her hands in a certain way that tickles at the back of Veronica’s brain.

“No… I’m okay.” Veronica says warily.

Penelope hums through a smile and begins eating her own piece of pizza. Veronica hesitates, then starts eating as well, watching Penelope out of the corner of her eye. The tech analyst is a worrier by nature. Veronica clears her throat. “Are you okay?”

“Hm? Me? Of course! What about you?” Penelope asks, her eyes widening. “Are you too cold? Too hot? Are you in pain? I might have some leftover codeine from when I had my wisdom teeth taken out—”

“Penelope!” Veronica interrupts. It was louder than she intended, because Penelope jumps. Veronica tightens her lips. “Sorry. I don’t… need codeine. I’m okay, really. You don’t have to… so worried.”

Penelope sighs. “I know, sweetie. I’m just so glad you’re back, but I don’t know how you’re really doing.”

Veronica wonders what Penelope must have been like for the past three months, if this is how she’s acting when she knows that Veronica’s okay. She nods along, not entirely sure that Veronica even knows how Veronica’s really doing.

“How are you and…” Veronica searches for the name, certain that she knew it at one point. She can picture the face; the curly brown hair, the glasses, the slightly stubbly beard. It’s right on the edge of her brain, just out of reach.

“Kevin?” Penelope asks, a hint of concern in her voice even as her eyes light up. “We’re good! We’ve been taking ballroom dance classes. He’s actually a fantastic tango-er…”

As the conversation steers towards boys (Kevin) and relationships (Penelope and Kevin), the pizza slowly disappears, and the sun slowly sets. Veronica watches the tension in Penelope’s body dissipate as the tech analyst delivers a thorough rundown of the personal lives of each member of the team. Herself, Kevin, Hotch, Derek, Emily, JJ, and Rossi.

“Oh, and Spencer—” Penelope stops herself. As in, she literally claps a hand over her own mouth with wide eyes. Veronica raises an eyebrow.

“I shouldn’t say. It’s… it’s not fun.” Penelope says.

Veronica smiles, a little bit scared. “Well now you… have to tell.”

“No, no, no, it’s—okay, well…” Penelope sighs, but her eyes have a twinkle in them, “Out of all of us, Spencer took it the hardest.”

“Really?” Veronica asks. She’s not surprised he was upset; they were close friends, after all. She’s surprised it was bad enough that people noticed. Spencer was usually decently good at masking his emotions, at least at work.

“He was a wreck while you were gone. I mean, we all were, but he…” Penelope sighs, but smiles sadly, “At one point, I think he was sleeping in Derek’s office. And that’s when he was sleeping. I’m pretty sure he drank through the FBI’s yearly coffee budget in three months.”

Veronica looks down at her hands. Maybe it’s selfish, but knowing that the team had been hurt by her disappearance makes her feel marginally better, in a weird way. It also makes her feel guilty. All her nightmares and imaginary fights with Rossi, Derek and Spencer had been just that: imaginary. Why had she steered so hard into the idea that they all secretly hated her?

She can hear her psychiatrist’s voice in her head. It’s a defense mechanism. Or it’s her depression. Or her trust issues. Something like that.

“Do you think… mad at me?” Veronica asks.

Penelope sits up and leans in, grabbing Veronica’s hand. “Sweetie, no! Nobody’s mad at you, how could they be?”

Veronica shrugs. “Spencer was… bad mood today.”

Penelope squeezes her hand. “He was just worried about you. He… worries.”

Veronica suspects that Penelope wants to say more. She stays silent, trying the old interrogator’s trick to keep her talking, but the other redhead simply squeezes her hand one more time and stands from the couch. Penelope clears the pizza box and the dishes from the living room and walks into the kitchen, leaving Veronica alone on the couch with Indy.

Her cell phone is on the side table. She briefly considers calling Spencer. But she should let him rest, especially because he didn’t seem to be sleeping much in Boulder. There's plenty of time ahead to call and talk.

Penelope has been gone for a while. Did she say she was coming back? Veronica’s mouth feels dry. She can’t think straight.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Penelope asks from behind her, making her flinch.

Veronica looks up as Penelope sits back down on the couch. “What?”

“You were just staring off into space.”

“Oh, sorry. I was…” Veronica pauses, unsure if she should tell Penelope the truth. That she thought Penelope had left her? That she was still terrified that everyone was upset with her for being gone? She decides against it. “I’m just trying… take it all in.”

Penelope smiles again. Veronica might never get tired of seeing it. Through teary eyes, Penelope pulls her into another hug. It’s a proper one this time, and Penelope rubs her hand up and down Veronica’s back a few times before she pulls away. With a sniff, she says. “You should get some sleep.”

Veronica nods. She couldn’t agree more. When she stands from the couch, Indiana stands with her. Veronica walks to the bathroom again. As she does, she pulls a small yellow bottle from her bag. The pills inside rattle as she places the bottle on the bathroom counter. Zoloft; an SSRI for depression and anxiety.

After brushing her teeth, Veronica takes one of the pills. It’s going to take some getting used to. But if the doctor thinks it will help her, she’s all for it. She takes one last look in the mirror. She knows it’s vain, but she mourns her old appearance. Her soft hair, her bright skin. The eyes that used to have a certain light behind them. The only thing the bruises and the abrasions are masking now is an emaciated, listless face. She’s 30 pounds underweight, and severely weaker than when she was taken.

Veronica shuts the light off and exits the bathroom to find that Penelope’s set up the pull-out couch for her. The candle has been blown out, and only one floor lamp illuminates the living room. Penelope must have gone to bed already, but Indiana sits patiently on the floor in front of the couch.

The apartment is quiet. Veronica sits on the makeshift bed and turns off the lamp, and the room goes dark. Her heart starts pounding again. She hasn’t been in a room this dark since she was taken out of the basem*nt. After a moment of terror, her eyes begin to adjust, and she realizes the room is not completely pitch-black. Light from the street outside peeks through the blinds, and even the tiny lights on the tv help her. She pats the bed, and Indy jumps up and settles by her legs. Veronica lays down in the bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin. She closes her eyes with a sigh. It’s been a long day. Before she can even think about it, she’s fallen into a deep sleep.

Chapter 30: Day 94

Chapter Text

When Veronica wakes up, there’s a light beaming into her eyes and a weight on her legs. It’s not like the hospital; there’s no beeping or machine humming. The light is warm and soft, and so is whatever’s by her feet. With a groan, she props herself up on her elbows. Indy is curled up at the foot of the bed, his back pressing against Veronica’s leg. Penelope’s purple living room is even more shockingly colourful in the light of day.

“Good morning!” Penelope calls from the kitchen. Veronica jumps. She hadn’t even heard Penelope walking around.

“Morning.” Veronica says, sitting up and running a hand over her face. Her eyes feel puffy.

“How did you sleep?” Penelope asks.

“Good. It was… a good sleep.” The pull-out couch is surprisingly comfortable, and the lack of hospital equipment and pitch blackness definitely helped her sleep better.

“Good!” Penelope smiles, “I’m making pancakes!”

Veronica stretches, careful not to disturb Indiana. She stands from the makeshift bed and tries her legs. They’re sore, but she can walk. Her mouth is dry, so she walks into the kitchen. As if reading her mind, Penelope holds out a glass of water.

“Thank you.” She takes it and sips, then pauses. “Penelope, have I… told you… much I love you?”

“Not nearly as often as you should.” Penelope beams. She shuts off the stove and holds up a plate. “Breakfast!”

They eat the pancakes happily. Penelope even has vegan bacon, which is terrible, but Veronica still eats two pieces. It’s the first home-cooked meal she’s had in three months, and it’s the first time she can eat until she actually feels full.

“Careful, don’t eat too fast. You might develop refeeding syndrome.” Penelope says as Veronica takes another pancake.

Veronica pauses with her fork in mid-air. Penelope Garcia is smart, but she’s no doctor. And she wasn’t in the room when Veronica’s doctor warned her about the refeeding syndrome.

“What?” Veronica asks.

“Refeeding syndrome?” Penelope blinks, “It’s when you eat too much after you were starving and your body can shut down.”

“Yeah, but…” Veronica’s brain struggles to catch up, but she gets there. “You’ve been talking… Spencer?”

Penelope’s eyes widen and she puts her fork down. “I…just a few texts.”

Veronica drops her own fork and sighs. A sudden, unexpected irritation bubbles up in her chest. Spencer was avoiding her in Boulder, and now he’s giving Penelope babysitting instructions?

“I’m… I’m sorry, sweetie.” Penelope says carefully, “He just wants to make sure you’re okay. We all do.”

Veronica stands from the table and runs a hand through her hair. “I’m full… I’m going to change. Thank you… for breakfast.”

She grabs a change of clothing from her bag and heads into Penelope’s bathroom, locking the door behind her. She leans back against the door and tries to steady her breathing. To be honest, she’s not entirely sure why she’s upset. Because Spencer is talking to Penelope instead of her? Because he hasn’t spoken to her since her first day in the hospital?

All that time in the basem*nt, she had expected more than this . A tearful grand reunion with music and applause? Not exactly, but he was her best friend. She had thought he’d be a little more enthusiastic about her still being alive.

Oh god . She grips the edge of the bathroom counter as her vision starts spinning. She was right. That whole time in the basem*nt, she was right about Spencer. He didn’t actually think of her as a friend. He was just being polite. The three months apart had given him the opportunity to realize it, and now he was treating her like a coworker.

Veronica screws her eyes shut as they well with tears. Her stomach churns, and she rushes to the toilet. So much for breakfast.

When she emerges from the bathroom, teeth brushed and dressed in her street clothes, she finds Penelope sitting on the now regular couch. Penelope looks up at her as she approaches.

“I’m sorry,” Veronica starts, “I shouldn’t have… rude to you. I don’t… deserve you.”

Penelope sighs. “Well, you’re right about that. I love you.”

“I love you… too.” Veronica smiles.

“And whatever’s going on between you and Dr. Reid, please figure it out soon. I’m not a messenger pigeon.” Penelope stands from the couch. Veronica doesn’t argue. Instead, she watches Penelope start packing up. “I hate to kick you out right away, but Hotch just called. There’s a new case.”

“It’s alright.” Veronica says, “You can… take me home.”

Penelope drops her and Indiana off in front of her building. After a hug goodbye and Veronica’s insistence that Penelope get to work, she and Indy watch Penelope’s Cadillac peel off down the street. With a deep breath, she turns to face her apartment building. The four flights of stairs up to her unit are torturous, and she has to pause on the landing of each floor to catch her breath and stop her head from spinning out of control. With shaking hands, she unlocks her front door.

She drops her bag in her bedroom and walks out to her living room. She takes in the cozy room, the thrifted rug, the overflowing bookshelves, the numerous plants that are either wildly overgrown or near death. It’s gray and cold, despite the August heat. But it’s home. Indy pads over to the couch and curls up in his favourite spot.

It all feels so… surreal. In some ways, that dark basem*nt feels like a blip in the timeline. It had certainly felt like an eternity while it was happening, but now that it’s over… the BAU team had made a huge effort to make her feel comfortable and like she hadn’t missed anything. But she had. Three months of her life, not to mention the cases. Apparently they had even gone to Alaska. That was three months of her life that she was never going to get back. Three months that she spent wishing she was dead. Three months hallucinating that her closest friends in the world hated her.

And then, after she got out, it felt like months happened in three days. Relearning how to walk, reuniting with the BAU and Spencer, revisiting Raymond’s house, closing the case, coming home. She feels all turned around.

An invisible force compels her to take out her cell phone and call her mom. She dials the number and waits. Her mom answers after the first ring.

“Veronica? Oh my god.”

“Hi, mom.” Veronica smiles.

“Oh my god. When did—how… Are you okay?”

Veronica’s throat closes up, and she has to stare at the ceiling to keep herself from crying. “I’m… I’m okay. I got back to Virginia last night. I was… in the hospital in Colorado… a couple days. I think… I think I got there on the 29th.”

Her mom sighs on the other end of the line. “I’m coming down. I’ll book a flight today.”

Veronica’s heart thuds. She wants to go up to Boston, but her car is still parked at Quantico. And she’s not even sure if she remembers how to drive. And the thought of getting on the train, a steel tube with hundreds of other people sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, hurtling down a track at up to a hundred miles an hour, makes her want to throw up.

She chokes down the bile that rises in her throat. “Mom, I actually… want to come up there. I… could you come get me? Tomorrow? Is that… okay?”

“Of course, sweetie. I’ll leave tonight."

“Thanks, mom.” She sniffles. “I have to go... I’ll see… soon.”

“I love you, V.”

“I love you, too.” Veronica says, then ends the call.

It takes just under 7 hours to drive from Boston to D.C., if Veronica remembers correctly. She isn’t sure if she’d be willing to drive fourteen hours round-trip for anybody she knows. Her mom must really love her.

After the excitement of the last week, she looks forward to the idea of curling up in her apartment. She hasn’t had more than two conscious minutes alone since she escaped from the basem*nt. A wave of guilt washes over her as she thinks it. But what can she do? Everyone she wants to talk to is currently on a jet, flying off to who-knows-where.

Her third hot shower in 48 hours finally convinces her that she’s cleaned the grime and dirt from the basem*nt off of her skin, but she’s not sure if she’ll ever get it out of her brain. She tries to push the thought out of her mind as she wraps her own soft, clean towel around her body, taking care to avoid her cuts and bruises. Then, she goes to her kitchen, gets a snack, fills a large glass with water and chugs it. Finally, she wraps herself up in a warm blanket on her couch and turns on the tv.

She has to turn the volume way down in order to avoid being overstimulated, but with Indy’s head lying in her lap as he snores softly and a bowl of half-stale cereal in her hands, there’s nowhere else on Earth she’d rather be. For the first time in three months, she feels like she can finally take a full, deep breath.

Hours later, after more soap opera re-runs than she can count, her stomach growls. The only food left in her apartment is cereal, dry pasta, and freezer-burnt ground beef. None of it sounds appetizing. Briefly, she considers ordering take-out, but the thought of talking to a stranger on the phone makes her stomach churn again. Similar results come from the thought of going to the grocery store.

Veronica’s lungs feel heavy, and her heart starts thumping yet again. She’s going to starve in her own apartment because she’s too much of a coward to go get food. She may be free of the basem*nt, but she’s not free of her captor’s torment.

Indy raises his head and starts to whine. He must be hungry, too. Veronica steadies her breathing, in through her nose and out through her mouth. She can feed Indiana. She can at least do that.

Veronica stands from the couch and walks to her kitchen. She opens the cabinet where she keeps the dog food, opens the bag, and pours some into Indy’s bowl. It’s an action she’s done a thousand times, and doing it now almost makes her feel normal. Except for when she struggles to lift the bag.

After putting the dog food away, she checks her cabinets again, and decides to settle for pasta. Plain noodles and butter isn’t exactly a gourmet meal, but it’s all her stomach can handle. It’s late in the afternoon. The BAU must be in a new city by now. Veronica checks her cell phone. No messages from anyone on the team, but then again, it’s a Monday afternoon.

The rest of the day continues in the same way it started. She allows herself one day to sit and do nothing and watch mindless television. She’s alive, and she’s free, and she’s 1,686.7 miles away from that basem*nt in Boulder, Colorado. She must have overheard Spencer talking on the jet.

By eight o’clock in the evening, she still has no messages from the team. She suspects that Hotch instructed them to leave her alone and let her rest. Having nothing better to do, she takes one of her Zolofts, climbs into bed, and drifts into another dreamless sleep.