¹ | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐦 ➣ spencer reid |

prologue

"It is always better to avenge dear ones than to indulge in mourning. For every one of us, living in this world means waiting for our end. Let whoever can win glory before death."

            Unknown

                          ╔══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╗

The desert ached for a kiss of the sky's showers. The air dried every fiber of her skin, and cracked the lines along the creases of her lips. The sun was timid a spotlight, beaming life into the camp. The beige structures spread out, equipment and barrels stacked in tower like formations between. She was reading her trusted copy of Wuthering Heights inside one of the many identical tents.

This was one of the only forms of entertainment she could bring on this special assignment, as packing lightly is a delicacy in her line of work. Her sides leaned against a table, with unrecognizable, likely expensive, communications equipment laid atop. Over her months of staying there, she found it most quiet in that tent during the hour. Her eyes darted back and forth, breathing in the familiar words she read many times before. Before she could turn the page, she heard someone enter the tent with her.

"I didn't pin you for romance, Beowulf." She heard a low voice speak. She immediately knew it was someone she was becoming all too familiar with. She looked up at him and lowered the book to her torso, the open pages canvassing her torso like armor. She met his furrowed brow and glaring eyes. Aaron Hotchner.

"Would you prefer me read something more biographical to the situation we are in?" She closed the book and brought it under her arm. "I find that highly depressing."

"I know this assignment isn't ideal, and it'll be over soon. I just hope you know that we appreciate your help." He crossed his arms, with his feet readjusting to shift his weight. Her expertise focused on human development, with a hard focus on the forensic psychology.

Her job back at the Hostage Response Team used these assets to negotiate, since she could understand how the suspects got to their points of no return. Her years in the military before the FBI prepared her for anything. So when she was ordered on special assignment in Pakistan on short notice, she had to use all of her skills at any moment. Her body was beginning to run on auto pilot.

"Aaron this is my job. Now the lack of reading material absolutely sucks, but I'm hoping to be back home in no time." She felt her lip tug upwards at him. It's true, she did love her job. But she had issues when things became slow or comfortable. She noticed his posture change to suit a more serious conversation than the one they were having.

"I know my taste in literature or work ethic isn't why you decided to come talk to me, what is it?" She questioned while chewing the inside of her cheek. Her back straightened as she mimicked the stance of her peer in front of her.

"I wanted to talk to you about that. My team needs me back in Quantico, and I spoke with the director about the operation here," He reached his hand up and scratched his fresh stubble. It had grown over the months they had spent in the desert and he didn't think to shave it, as everyone's minds were focused on the task at hand. He wasn't used to it and often repeatedly rubbed and scratched at it when deep in thought.

"And?"

"The operation here is dying down and they've made the decision to extract all of us and leave the operation open. We're going home tomorrow." There was the faintest smile brushing his face. If she hadn't been around him most of the hours of the day, she wouldn't have noticed it. His eyebrows stayed lowered in their usual downturned position.

An unfamiliar toothy grin spread across her face and he wasn't used to the notion. She had pin point focus, and tried not to let herself get distracted with the mundane. He felt his face soften at the sight of her unfiltered joy. He too had his stomach turn at the homesickness the group were all familiar with.

"I need to go pack my things then," she pushed her self off of the table and walked past his towering frame. As soon as she exited the tent, the sun spread across her freshly tanned skin and pierced her eyes. She brought her hands up to her head and grabbed all of her hair. Twisting it until it laid atop her hair in a messy knot. She turned and began making her way to the tent where her cot resided. At the edge of the camp where the group slept and kept their things, stood a beige tent with netting draped over the sides. Beside it parked a large vehicle, appropriate for the terrain.

She ducked her head and she walked through the hole-cut door and made her way to her things. The cot was standard for military personnel. The metal rods crossed to create a cradle, with a gray cotton fabric lining to sleep on. She had a pillow and a wool blanket thrown on top, both she would not miss.

At the base of her cot, laid a green trunk fastened with a gold lock where she kept everything she brought with her. She walked around to it and reached into the pocket of her beige cargo pants to pull out a set of keys. She fumbled her fingers through them and found the smallest one that opened the trunk. She twisted it in the lock and propped the lid open against the edge of the cot. The copy of Wuthering Heights pressed against her arm pit was tossed into the abyss of the trunk. Along with her water bottle that sat beside her cot, a pocket knife, and her badge which read SSA Lydia Beowulf, FBI. She looked down the folded leather and rubbed her thumb across the picture of her that had been taken many years ago.

She showed up to her picture wearing her largest pair of prescription glasses anyone has ever seen and had the widest, goofiest grin plastered on her face. Back then she didn't even hear the man taking the picture say 'smile!', all she heard was the pride ringing in her ears.

                                
                   ╚══ ≪ °❈° ≫ ══╝

Authors Note

Hi guys. I started writing this because I figured it'd be good practice for when I write my actual book, and to get out of this writing slump I'm in. I'm so sorry this prologue is totally ass but I hope it'll get better. I'm by no means a writer, but I want to have fun and be creative.

By the way, I created Lydia Beowulf because I thought the name sounded cool.

Stick around for the next (hopefully longer) chapter!