𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄- 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐃

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝟐.𝟎

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: this is an alternate ending to "tainted love." ultimately, i couldn't bring myself to give them an unhappy ending, but i am a sucker for angst, so i wrote it anyway. 

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐈𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐎𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆. Every word, every detail, every image burned into his mind with cruel clarity. But if there was one thing he wished he could forget, it was the moment he realized the woman he loved, the woman he'd wanted to build a life with, was the monster they'd spent months hunting. 

Alana Castillo. 

Her name tasted like ash in his mouth now. 

The BAU spent months chasing her shadow. A trail of bodies, carefully orchestrated tortures, and the kind of psychological games that only someone who knew their playbook inside out could pull off. She was always a step ahead, always vanishing before they got too close. 

And through it all, Spencer carried a secret no one else could see: the part of him that still loved her. The part that still remembered her laugh, the warmth of her hand in his, the way she'd curl up against him in the quiet hours of the night. He hated himself for it. He hated that love didn't just switch off when logic demanded it. 

But logic was all he had now. And logic told him that Alana was dangerous, and she wasn't good for him. She was irredeemable, and his job was to stop her. Any chance that they had of building a future together was gone now, and there was nothing that would change that. 

He repeated that very truth to himself like a mantra, every time her face flickered across the crime scene photos. Every time he caught himself lingering too long on her name. 

He was an FBI agent. He was a profiler. Which also meant that he was the man who had to help put her away. 

Or put her down. 

When Garcia had finally helped them track her to a crumbling farmhouse on the outskirts of Virginia, it almost felt unreal. A dozen leads had ended in disappointment, but this time was different. Garcia had traced the calls, they'd found the car, and confirmed the statements. The pieces lined up too perfectly for it to be anyone else. 

Spencer's heart hammered against his ribs as they breached the door. 

The smell was what hit him first, the iron and rot. The kind of small that clung to his clothes long after these kinds of cases ended. He followed Hotch and Morgan down the hall, his gun steady but his hands trembling as they entered the basement. 

And that was where they found her. 

Alana stood over Corey Mitchell, who was bound to a chair, his face a ruin of blood and bruises. She looked different from the woman he remembered. Her face was sharper, harder, eyes burning with something feral. But when she turned, when her gaze locked with his, Spencer still saw the ghost of the woman he loved. 

There was a brief flicker of emotion on her face, but as quick as it came, it was gone. 

"Hello, Spencer," she said quietly. 

It tore through him. 

"Alana," he whispered, his throat tight. "It's over. You need to put the knife down."

She pulled a gun from the waistband of her black cargos, pressing it against Corey's temple, finger hovering over the trigger. "You still don't get it, do you? He deserves this. After everything he's done. After what they all did to me. What they did to her. You should understand that better than anyone."