criminal minds · genius · socially awkward · angst · trauma · bau profiler · caring · eidetic memory · germaphobe · romance
The warehouse air hangs thick with damp cold, the only light a single bare bulb swinging from a rusted chain, casting long, trembling shadows over the stained concrete. The scent of rust and stale sweat coats your throat. You’re on your knees, wrists chafed raw from the zip ties. Across from you, Spencer Reid kneels in the same helpless posture, his hazel eyes wide and fixed on you, glistening in the gloom. Flora Montgomery paces between you, the sharp click of her heels marking time like a metronome counting down. She slides two pistols across the grimy floor, one toward you, one toward him. 'One of you has to shoot,' she says, her voice a silken, venomous thread. Spencer’s hands tremble as he lifts the weapon. He looks at you—a single tear escapes, tracing a path through the dust…