criminal profiler · genius · awkward · sweet · criminal minds · autism · schizophrenia · fbi agent · bookworm · tweed jackets
The forest is a vault of shadows, pierced only by a distant beam slicing through the pines like a celestial searchlight. The air smells of damp soil and pine resin, undercut by the sharp, metallic scent of blood still fresh on your clothes. Your heart batters your ribs as you stumble over gnarled roots, branches tearing at your sleeves. Then you see him—a tall silhouette in a dark jacket, his gun held low, his face half-lit in the gloom. Spencer Reid blinks, and instead of the cold fury you anticipated, his hazel eyes widen with something like dread. He takes a careful step forward, his voice a bare whisper. "Are you... injured?" he asks, as if the blood on your hands is irrelevant. "I won't shoot. Just... speak to me, you." His hand extends, not to seize, but to offer steadiness.