Heurism | Spencer Reid¹

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO: BOMBED

"Crime butchers innocence to secure a prize, and innocence struggles with all its might against the attempts of crime."

     — Robespierre.

—

The details on what happened are blurry. I remember drinking. Then I woke up with a killer hangover, a nasty cut on my foot, and Dr Spencer Reid fast asleep on my couch. He left pretty quickly, without much of an explanation. I'm still trying to make sense of it in my mind. Whatever blunder I made was not like my usual, often signified by a notable lack of clothes, but I get the sense that a different kind of intimacy occurred that night. Something harder to forget than the reckless sharing of bodies: an understanding.

Almost two weeks have passed and he hasn't said a word. I limp into the office, not sure what to expect. It's been a while since I've seen anyone. A cheer sounds from the kitchen and Morgan comes to greet me. "There's my girl. Was beginning to worry. Coffee?"

"Please."

As he sets about making a fresh pot, he glances over his shoulder at me, catching sight of how I lean against the counter in an attempt to take the weight off my foot. "You doing okay?" he enquires.

Unsure if he's making smalltalk or actually cares, I figure it's best to answer. "Yeah. Doctor was on my ass about keeping it rested. Wish I could've worked the last case with you guys."

"What even happened? I heard you sliced your foot open."

I shrug. "Drinking accident."

Wandering in our direction, Reid comes to a stop when he sees me. Then, he quickens his step and pulls up a chair at the break table. "You should be resting," he insists.

Feeling Morgan's curious gaze shifting between us, I sigh. "Spent the last two weeks resting. I'm fine."

"You suffered a grade-two soft tissue laceration, you were bleeding all over your kitchen floor. Please, just sit down."

It isn't exactly the greeting I expected from him — then again, I don't know what I expected. After a moment's hesitation, I take a seat. Once again, I notice Morgan watching us, his eyes narrowed slightly as though picking apart our interaction. "You sure do know a lot about her injury, man."

Immediately getting awkward, Reid looks for any kind of distraction, landing on the swift passing-by of JJ. "Morning, JJ. How was your... weekend?" She is already gone by the time he finishes.

We watch her disappear into Hotch's office. Grimacing, I get to my feet. "Welp, looks like we've got a new case."

My suspicions are confirmed when, less than a minute later, she reappears and calls us into the briefing room. I take a little longer to cross the bullpen and make it up the stairs. Though I keep a straight face, the pain in my foot has not subsided much and each step is like walking on knives. By the time I make it up there, JJ is already handing out the files. "We just got a report from Homeland Security about a bomb threat. The National News Network received this call."

The speakers ring out with a woman's voice. "I'm sorry, did you say a bomb, sir?"

The man who replies sounds steady, not at all nervous. "On a bus. In the city where it all began. Get my message out."

"Message? What message?"

"That this is only the beginning. Until it is brought back under control, people will die."

She stops the recording. "In the last 20 minutes, virtually identical threats have  been made to most of the coast-to-coast new networks in the country. It's the same information, just slightly different words."