Beautifully Diseased Minds

John & Jane Doe

"I told you, I'm fine."

After a very lengthy flight, the sleep deprived team and I had landed in Paris. Hotch's stern voice woke all of us up, with the exception of Spencer. If I had to make an educated guess, I would say that Spencer hadn't slept at all. Bags were becoming obvious under his eyes as I watched him write endlessly on a piece of looseleaf paper. I stretched lightly, then made my way over to the brains.

"Hey," I said softly, placing my hand on his shoulder. "We're here."

Unsurprisingly, Spencer jumped at the touch of my hand. 

"Oh, really? Crap." He said. 

Spencer began packing his things hurriedly, shoving papers clumsily into his bag. 

"Do you need any help?" I asked, laughter hiding in my voice in regards to his clumsiness. 

"No," He began. "I should be okay. I've learned to multitask quite well actually. Did you know that only 2% of people can truly multitask? I like to think I'm a part of that 2%, but one can ever be too sure. I wonder how they measure-"

Before Spencer could get as little as a syllable out, I interrupted him.

"Spencer, we're the only ones on the plane." I laughed.

Spencer looked around, a sort of amused shock taking place on his eyes.

"Oh, well I suppose I could shut up then." He smiled at me, then proceeded to walk towards the exit of the plane. 

As soon as we reached the terminal, exhaustion finally hit me. I was doing my best to get used to the feeling of packing things up in a matter of seconds, and putting my life and its needs on hold. A small part of me truly missed the comfort of my life at home, but that was quickly overdone by the excitement and passion that aroused from this job. With that mentality in mind, I stood with my shoulders back and proud, then continued to walk with the rest of the team. 

After a brief intermission for food and a much needed five minute refreshing period, we were all on our way to the Paris Police Department. Or the one nearest to the crimes, that is. 

"So," Hotch began. "Does anyone happen to know French?"

"I know what I read in the dictionary, but I'll probably pronounce it all incredibly wrong." Spencer said shamefully. 

After a defeated look came upon the teams face, I spoke.

"I do. I took French all throughout high school, then continued it as a passion throughout college." I said confidently. 

"Looks like we selected the right candidate." JJ joked. 

Once we had arrived at the station, Hotch divided us into our predesignated groups. I was surrounded by two men who were complete and utter polar opposites of each other: Spencer Reid and Derek Morgan. Spencer was this dorky, socially awkward, chatty cathy who somehow managed to pull off dress clothes 24/7. Derek was an extremely confident, social expert who spoke with a velvet voice, and managed to flirt with every girl in the world without pursuing a single one. But, the two seemed to balance each other out brilliantly. I could see a type of bond between Spencer and Derek that was unbreakable, and unique in every way. Derek had Spencer under some type of wing, but not to the point where Spencer felt smothered and incapable of being an individual. Spencer provided Derek with a sense of responsibility. Spencer challenged Derek to be a better and stronger person, simply through his knowledge and awkward ways. It was the most uniquely beautiful relationship I had ever seen.

"Hey Sweetheart, whatcha' staring at?" Derek asked, laughter trailing behind. 

Little did I know that I had been staring at Derek and Spencer for a little over a minute now, leaving both of them thoroughly confused and spilling over with laughter.

"Shut up, I was just thinking!" I defended, laughter coming out of my lips as well.

"Whatever saves your ass." Derek smirked.

The three of us were now in our designated black SUV, heading towards the last crime scene. This victim was killed in her own home, shortly after arriving from her long day at work. As we entered the house, I tried to enter the mentality of the victim, then the killer. 

"She came home, dropping her car keys in the glass bowl like usual. She took off her jacket, hung it in the closet, then felt a pair of hands behind her neck," Morgan began, pretending to open the wooden closet doors. "Based on the pattern of the bruises, it looks like she was able to turn around and face her killer. He must've knocked her to the ground, tying her up to make him more dominant."

"He isn't a he, Morgan. There's no way a one hundred pound woman could overpower a man capable of this type of strangulation, and turn around to see his face."

"But how did the unsub manage to knock her out, then tie her up?" Morgan asked.

"Because the unsub is plural. I think we're dealing with a male and a female pair."

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-Love, Ashley <3