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You head into the double glass doors right through the bullpen, and straight into the break room. You've had a pretty rough morning, already vomiting twice before leaving the house. Somehow you managed to also spill your thermos of coffee when you got out of your car this morning.
It's probably just food poisoning from the Thai you and Spence ate last night, you told yourself. You reminded yourself that you'd ask him how he felt once you found him. He had left the apartment earlier than you this morning. There was some filing at the office he wanted to get done.
"Good morn..." Spencer trails off as he takes one look at you. "Honey, you look awful, what's wrong?"
"Gee thanks, Spence." You say grabbing a mug from the cabinet, pouring yourself a cup of coffee.
"You're beautiful, but you just look sick."
"I've already thrown up twice this morning, I feel like absolute shit. Maybe food poisoning from the Thai last night?"
Spencer looks at you just when he finishes pouring half a container of sugar into his coffee cup. "I doubt it, we ate the same thing and I feel fine. Maybe it's the flu? Tell Hotch you need the day off."
"No, I'll be fine. I've taken a zofran, and I packed sprite and crackers." Spencer leans over and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
"Okay, but just tell me if you anything okay?" The two of you are interrupted when JJ opens the break room door, waving a case file, "room with the round table, now." She says before disappearing, gathering the other members of the team.
You look up at Spencer with an odd look, as to say are you fucking kidding me? He nods, "I know, come on." He grabs a hold of your hand and leads you to the round room.
JJ begins to play a video of a man crashing into Canadian border patrol at the Detroit-Canada border, the man is claiming he needs to speak with the FBI and he has killed 10 people of the streets of Detroit. Not fucking Detroit. Not today.
That city is all too familiar to you. It's your home town, kind of. You grew up right on the outskirts, and worked your first federal job as an agent in the Detroit Field Office. You haven't been back since you left your field office to join the Behavioral Analysis Unit. There's bones there that are better being left alone.
"Any word on the dump sites?" Emily questions, pulling you from your thoughts.
"He said he'll only talk to the FBI." JJ says tapping her hand on the wooden table. "So we've got nothing but his word."
"Do we have confirmation these people are even missing?" Spencer asks.
"Two were reported missing a few months ago but they all appeared to be transients. We're having a hard time getting information on them."
"Garcia," Hotch starts.
"On it like a blood hound, sir." Garcia says setting her fluffy topped pen on a yellow notepad, getting up from the table.
