Up in Flames | Spencer Reid x Reader |

Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Overgrown Chimps

You had a particular approach to any questions or discussions revolving around men. It was definitely an intriguing concept. And hell, you loved seeing your colleagues ramble. They always mention how that the sex of homo sapiens were valueless. You were always smirking. You knew their grumbling was due to their declining sex drives.

Seeing your mocking grin, they'd always asked the same thing. "If you find this so fascinating, then what'd you think about them?"

And you'd always answer with the same response that it had become your catch phrase. "I hate men." You'd always chuckle after you say it, and Casha would always call you out as a liar.

You certainly weren't lying. You generally had a dislike for the male population. From your experience, you've noticed they are domineering and patronizing. And they tend to think from areas that are other than their brain.

So again- why were you always laughing at your own comments?

Because you define hypocrisy.

And as you laid shoulder to shoulder with the chocolate man, you cursed at yourself for that same reason. You hated men, yet, every night you brought a new one home.

You thought back to the night before in an attempt to remember. You believed you should, at least, have the courtesy to greet the man with a name when he woke up.

Hilgara Morrison.

The haunting name crossed your mind, leaving you to shudder. Of all the things your mind could think about, why is it that you decided to recall the dead girl's name? And why, of all places, did you have to remember her in the bedroom?

When you snapped out of your daze, you noted, again, that there was still a man that was tangled with your body. To your misfortunate, the tawny stranger was awake and was startled by your unyielding stare. "Mornin'..." He muttered in an unsettled manner.

"Good morning," you flushed scarlet as you scrambled out of your bed. "Sorry about that. Didn't mean to alarm you."

"No, no," he chuckled, a clear soberness striking his speech pattern. "It's a good thing I woke up. I'd be late for work. I keep forgetting today's only Thursday."

You tossed the covers off, and stretched, "What'd you say you worked as again?"

Almost immediately, you noticed the slight cringe perching on his left cheek. "I'm a mold and die finisher,"

He lied the night before. You remember the stranger bragging to you about his killer DJ skills in the morning radio. Well, at least, he fessed up.

You nodded your head leisurely, your signature taunting smirk rolling over your lips. You thought it was rude to comment on it after you'd already done the deed. But it was out of your personality not to mock. "Well, at least, you're not scratching records, right?"

Never in your life had you seen a tan person turned red so quick.

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Casha managed to a glimpse of you as you strutted through the doorway. You gave yourself credit for managing to look clean for a job that defines the phrase 'get down and dirty'. The woman drew her chair from the table to cut into your path, "Well look who's late."

You chuckled, quirking a grin, "Boo hoo, I'm terribly ashamed." You stalked around her seat to your station, buckling the sleeves of your uniform. "How far are you into distilling the lungs?"

"Mraz collaborated with the detectives' beliefs of fluorine traces. He decided to take the sample from me." She slumped, "Are you any further in the case?"

"The symptoms and the obvious guilty confession of the son says there had to be some type of poison present. Whether it was inhaled or consumed is dependent on the type of tests we do. I went ahead and added hydrogen sulfide to the sample-"

"Wait," Casha furrowed her brows, "you're attempting to find arsenic?"

"It would be a valid position to start, correct? Arsenic traces are hard to identify if added to food or beverages. It would have been an easy kill." You finally took your seat. You arranged the equipment and dispersed across the table in an organized fashion. "I know, it's a long shot, but it's worth a try."