Crimes Against The Heart (Spencer Reid X OC)

Echoes of Darkness

Marceline remained silent for the entirety of the trip. She took turns biting the inside of her cheek and her thumbnails; a nasty habit she thought she had rid herself of it by now. Stealing a few glances at Spencer, she had hoped he would say something before her mind exploded.

Spencer can feel her fret beside him, along with the steady rumble of the cobblestones under the carriage. He looks at his hands, pressing them together between his bony knees, wishing he could bring himself to look at her instead.

"Sorry, Marcie." His voice blends with the ambient noise. "I didn't expect it to get so... bad."

"You couldn't have known." The carriage's windows fogged, she wipes it. The scenery would have been beautiful, the way the water froze and glistened on branches and blades of grass. She can almost hear the morning birds and their songs. But instead, she took in the reality of it.

Dead trees.

Dead grass.

Birds tormenting her.

Frozen over.

"I just want the fucker dead, so we can get to our normal lives.

He rests his hand close to hers, not quite touching. He looks out of his own window when he says, "You can stop if you want to. It doesn't have to be your responsibility."

She exhaled, "And leave you to do it on your own? I'd rather kill him myself than bear the thought..." Marceline looked at him, reaching out to touch the nape of his neck. "We started this together and we finish together."

The tension in his own back, which he hadn't realized was even there, melts from the skin in contact with her hand. With a heaved sigh, he rests his head on the top of Marceline's, lacing his fingers with her free hand, at home, finally.

"Don't say you'll kill yourself, though."

She snorted, "I wouldn't dare, besides I have to stay alive now." Marceline sighed, relaxing her shoulders. "I might have to protect you a lot more now. Once Ryn catches wind of this, you're almost as good as dead, Love. he can be ...creative," she smirked but it was clear she wasn't joking.

"Oh, um," Spencer says, frowning lightly. "I don't think it would be a very good idea to get violent with a Scotland Yard detective."

The carriage pulls up to the bar, the horses' hooves clicking to a stop. Spencer peers out the small window.

"I am... not sure I should be going in there if that were the case."

Her lips curled into a smile, "Of course, Detective." Marceline unhooks the latch and steps out. Ryn must have sensed her, he was waiting at the door staring directly at Spencer and then at his sister. His face was puzzled, she had been wearing his clothes and all tattered up.

"Until next time then?" She said, then shut the door.

Ryn stepped forward, still looking at his sister's appearance. "What the fu-" Marceline ran into Ryn's arms, and hugged him tightly.

Although Ryn's stare could wilt a tree, his eyes dark and brows knit, Spencer can't help but smile-- he's just happy to see Marceline happy. He gathers himself and covers his mouth from view.

"Scotland Yard, please," he tells the driver. There are some things he has to do.

Meanwhile, the bar hadn't been the same without Marceline. The band didn't play, and the loyal customers decided to go cold turkey until she returned with her presence. But walking in, breathed life into the already dump of a place.

"MARCELINE!" they cried, and just like that the drunk became drunk and the music began to play. She tried to keep a happy face, dancing as requested by her patrons and going straight back to work.

But when she had a moment to herself, Marceline snuck into the back room. Collapsing on the bed, she began to unbutton her shirt and her pants and untie her hair.

Her body ached, and the fresh bruises began to form. Marceline stood up and walked to the mirror and she cried silently.

~

Once at the station, Spencer began formalizing Miss Westenra's case at once. Stalking, break-ins, physical assault-- he stops at the physical description of the culprit.

A man with salt-and-pepper hair, a goatee, red eyes. Elegantly dressed. Fifty to sixty years of age approximately. Long canines, can become dust and slip under the door.

Spencer leans back on his chair; he can't just go and write that.

That's when he catches the tail end of a conversation, two men arguing but three sets of footsteps coming out of an office.

" --truth being that it's a rather open-and-shut case, Mycroft, and you didn't have to get us all the way here for it."

Spencer tenses, pointedly keeps his head down into his papers.

"Right, back to the dens with you, isn't it?" calls Mycroft's voice. But Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are already out of the doors.

He hears Mycroft sigh and approaches his desk. A big hand lays itself on Spencer's papers.

"Reid, you wouldn't have some time to consult? I know you're not in my department, but..."

Spencer collects himself and offers the man a tight smile.

"Sorry, on a case already."

Mycroft returns one just as pained.

"Right. As you were, then."

Spencer takes some more time than strictly necessary while filling out his papers. He doesn't care to know what time it is when he finally goes home.

~

Marceline had expected Spencer to come by, and when he hadn't, the thoughts rushed back into her head.

When that creature talked to her, touched her, something dark awoken within her. Marceline had never felt so broken, that thing took the last strand of what made Marceline Marceline. She thought of her parents and their faces when she last saw them. The screams of her people, the unanswered prayers.

It worried her brother when her sobs were heard from outside the door. Ryn tried reasoning with her, pleading she would open the door for him but she refused. He knew it was best to lock up early and head to where he believed the source was:

That fucking detective.