— 𝓘N 𝓦HICH a haunted figure from spencer reid's past visits him in the pits of despair.
VOICEMAIL || 01.43 A.M || FROM: SPENCE :)
. . .
[male voice]: aisling. i know i'm not supposed to call you. [clears throat] you never pick up, anyway, so what's the harm? but it's... it's an emergency. yeah. something bad's happened, ash. it's gotten bad. i need you. we, sorry. the team. just... call me back? please. i need you.
↻extended summary . . .
AISLING FINN WAS A HUMAN LIE DETECTOR. She prided herself on knowing other people better in seconds than she knew herself after twenty-five years. She'd see hundreds of webs springing off a person, bobbing and pulling taut as the people on the other ends went about their daily lives: a distrust in their eyes from a protective older sibling, an incline to the end of their sentences from their primary school teacher, an aversion to eye contact inherited from absentee Dad. She was criticised for wasting time on "excessive intel" in Counter-Terrorism, placing her squarely on the radar of the Behavioural Analysis Unit.
AISLING FINN WAS KINDNESS PERSONIFIED. The BAU weren't quite sure how to handle such a force, in a field Spencer Reid theorised was inching closer and closer in nature to the subjects they studied by the day. There was a silent power to each smile and selfless singular act; a jewel so rare you daren't even question it, for the pleasure in believing it to be true would outweigh the risk of deception. No one could've guessed the self-serving nature to the selflessness; how she bathed herself in light to draw attention away from the darkness trailing behind her; from the horrors she (tried) to leave behind her in Ireland.
AISLING FINN WAS DEAD. After what she endured under the watch of the BAU, never again would she look long enough to read someone. Never again would she extend unwarranted warmth. Never again would she trust Spencer Reid. Almost a year after fleeing the BAU, just as scabs appeared to be forming on her wounds, she received a voicemail from the last person she'd ever want to speak to. Some parts must have escaped those woods unscathed, however, as strings on a heart she thought had long stopped beating began tugging. Before she knew what she was doing, the key was turning in the ignition and muscle memory was guiding her straight to his door.
↻featuring . . .
˗ˏˋ ✧ ❝ AISLING FINN ❞ ˎˊ˗ ࿐ ( the apparition ) &&.
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