Blunder ‡ Spencer Reid

sherlock, sheer luck

+ scarves and chocolate hair +

Spencer Reid ran a hand through his hair again, pushing back brown locks that fell in front of his face. He heaved an empty sigh, looking down at his half-empty mug. The coffee swished inside the cup, curling in dark swirls that somehow resembled the skies outside.

Hotch drove fast, and Reid could faintly see the shining lights and bright signs as they passed the streets swiftly. He sat at the backseat, and from his angle he saw Emily playing with a small magnifier, twisting and turning it in between her fingers. The windows of the SUV were tinted black, and from the glass he could see himself.

He viewed his reflection carefully, and for a moment fear coursed through him. His eyes seemed more detached than usual and under them were cloves of dark purple, signs of unending stress and no sleep. Another frown worked its way on his face, his lips curved in a small grimace. It scared Spencer how distant he looked, but he had no time to worry about that.

Not then, at least. He sagged visibly, and in an instant it was gone again. He turned slightly to face his reflection directly and he smiled, masking the heaviness behind the fake grin. He shook his head, as if to remove the doubts he carried. He put up another façade; he only had to pray that it was good enough.

The rest of the team stayed back at the department with great reluctance. Reid couldn't blame them for wanting to go to the dumpsite; they were cooped up inside the P.D. with coffee and reports for hours on end, rereading and reviewing the same files.

The SUV was silent, and between the three of them no words were exchanged. Spencer's thoughts were usually a jumbled mess during soundless rides, and his mind strayed back and forth ideas. More often than not, he would be muttering theories and introspections under his breath.

The ride to the dumpsite was different for him. As noiseless as the ride was, he couldn't bring his mind to think of formulas and pieces and stories. He didn't see the sentences and aphorisms. His focus narrowed down and centered on jet-black and pale green.

He was a scientist, a genius, an analyst, and it was in his nature to be passionate for mysteries and puzzles. Gods have pity on him, (even if he didn't take any) Piper Colton just had to be both. He saw her as a tangled mess of strings and formulas and he had an unnerving compulsion to know her, simplify her.

Who was she, really? There's definitely something more than a "free-lance detective" to Piper.

Spencer delved in thoughts of her until the sharp halt of the SUV snapped him back into reality. He rubbed his eyes, clearing them of tiredness. They arrived to a sea of people surrounding the bright yellow tapes. They peered over and walked around, acting like someone important to the investigation. The officers hopelessly tried to hold them back, but to no avail.

Reid mentally cringed at them, and his eyes were clouded with slight revulsion. He disliked having people and other civilians trying to involve themselves in investigations; it just made their jobs harder and more stressful. He guarded himself with another wall, and he paid no mind to the people who crowded around them.

Prentiss ducked under the tapes, holding it up for them to pass. He muttered a small thank you under his breath, and he saw a familiar figure kneeling beside the corpse. He expected her to be there before them. Unconsciously, a miniscule smile graced his face. He liked her immensely; she was a scientist, an artist, and something that he couldn't put his finger on. He found her oddly interesting.

He was still on his place for a moment.

"Who is she?" He heard Hotch mutter, who was looking at Piper skeptically.