Catch-22| Spencer Reid

twenty-one

"What do you mean he's active again? Did he hurt Grey?" Reid jolts up in bed, questioning the caller.

When Hotch called him, he expected it was because they were flying out for a new case. This technically still was a case, but not the one Reid expected.

"No, she's not injured," Hotch assures, offering an explanation. "She went to her friend's house to have dinner with her and her husband, but they were D.O.A. He left a note, so we know it was him."

The gears in Reid's head immediately start turning as he tries to make sense of the information.

He had a lot of questions, most of which revolved around a general consensus. How is Grey?

Before he can say anything, though, Hotch is already speaking again. "I really don't have time to explain much more, Reid. Just go to the BAU. That's where Grey and I are headed."

"I... alright. I'll see you there." He quickly hangs up, not wanting to waste time.

He looks up from his phone, just now realizing that he was at Grey's apartment, and that he didn't have his car.

"Christ in Hell," he snaps, getting out of bed and trying to figure out what to do.

His only options were to hail a cab or take the metro.

As much as he hated it, it would be faster and more efficient to take a cab. Metro trains have set times for departure, and Reid doubted the odds would be in his favor right now.

He grabs his duffel bag, opening it and searching for something to wear.

He puts on the first thing that he finds, then quickly pulls on his shoes and ties them.

Grabbing his phone, he rushes out of the apartment, making sure to lock the door behind him.

He decides to use the stairs for some odd reason, nearly falling down the steps halfway through. The people going past him are probably concerned, but he doesn't really care.

Reid nearly jogs across the lobby, swinging open the door and heading outside.

He's instantly confronted with loud traffic. It seems louder than usual, but that may just be due to Reid's sensory overload.

Stepping onto the sidewalk, he immediately starts waving for a taxi. There were dozens going across the street every second, but none seemed to be stopping.

"Hey, taxi! Jesus!" Reid raises his voice, starting to wave more dramatically.

He continues for a few more minutes, and a car eventually pulls over.

Reid quickly gets in the passenger side, a stream of 'thank you's coming from his mouth.

"Quantico, the FBI unit building, please."

The man snickers, nodding and speeding off. "Oh, really? You work there, son?"

"Yes, with the Behavioral Analysis Unit," he explains, leaning back in his seat and forcing himself to relax.

"Hm. What's the rush? Someone dead?"

His accent hints at a New York upbringing. It was odd, as most people from the city normally opt to stay in a less populated area if they move.

Reid sighs, muttering, "I really shouldn't be saying, but yes. We're working a local double homicide." He wasn't sure why he decided to divulge the information.

"Well, damn. Guess I shouldn't use the long way, then, huh?" He laughs the slightest bit, trying to lighten the conversation.

Reid agrees, "I'd much prefer if you wouldn't."