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PHOEBE carefully stepped onto the jet, her neck craning to look at the shiny furnishings that lined the interior of the aircraft. Quickly moving out of the doorway, she sat down in a plush chair, observing the team as they took their seats. Spencer sat next to her, and she smiled warmly at him. Nerves graced her stomach as she scanned the jet, noting its small and compact size. She could feel Spencer's eyes on her, and she flashed him another smile, though this one was flitty and was gone before it could be completely cast over her lips.
"Don't like flying?" He inquired quietly, and she felt a swell of gratitude that he didn't speak loud enough for inquisitive ears. She blushed slightly, her embarrassment evident on her angular face.
"It's not that I don't like flyin'," She responded, her tone equally low. "It's that I have a habit of rememberin' facts about things that involve death. And my habit has led to me rememberin' the statistic about how private aircrafts are 200 times more likely to result in fatal crashes than public or larger aircrafts." Spencer smiled slightly, and she wondered what was whirling through his brain as he digested the completely unnecessary and highly embarrassing information that Phoebe had just divulged. That was how she perceived it, anyway.
To her great surprise, Spencer didn't take her words as embarrassing or unnecessary. "While that is true, it's important to remember that only 19.89% of private aviation crashes are fatal. So while the likelihood of us crashing and burning somewhere in the States is 200 times more likely than average, the likelihood of us dying while we crash and burn is relatively slim in comparison to the statistic you mentioned." He smiled in such a dorky, adorable way that Phoebe couldn't help but laugh.
Spencer grinned at her laughter. "You and I may be more alike than you think, Phoebe." He comedically tapped a finger to the side of his head. "Eidetic memory. Never forget a thing." Phoebe liked that he called her by her first name. He liked that she didn't make fun of him for knowing an aviation statistic off the top of his head.
"Eidetic memory, huh? Handy," She cocked her head to the side, observing the young man. He smiled with his lips pressed together.
"Both a blessing and a curse, believe me." He chuckled lightly, an attempt in diminishing an awkward silence that would arise between the two. Phoebe only smiled at the young man, before opening the manilla folder that rested on her lap. Nerves were replaced with nausea as Phoebe scanned the images provided in the case file. Her head swam with a mixture of sorrow and anger as she beheld the women splayed across the page, their dignity lost in death as their bodies were analysed from every possible angle.
"Again." Derek Morgan's voice bounced off the enclosed walls of the jet. "That's the third time he's looked back at the camera."
"He's looking back at his partner," Gideon offered, his brow furrowed. Hotch leaned against the banister running along the interior of the jet, watching as the team dissected the contents of the videotape. "These two are clearly deranged and acting out their worst sadistic fantasies."
