Call Out My Name [spencer reid x reader] ✔︎

21. hold on

Photographs lined the walls behind the body, put on display like some twisted sense of artwork. Blood had seeped into the carpet, staining it crimson red. There was a message on the wall, written in big, block letters— the word, 'Mine,' dripping down the pale, yellow pigment of the wall in thick, douse droplets of black paint, bleeding onto the plasticity of the eerie photographs.

The sound of a door slamming shut behind you could've been heard for miles, breaking the drift of silence wafting through the BAU. No one was there besides the team and Anderson, the sun barely peeking in from the windows— it was, after all, only five in the morning. No one was supposed to be there yet.

"Reid!"

That was the next thing that you heard. Hotch's voice calling out to Spencer as he stormed into the conference room. His eyes landed on you, cold, his body stiff with rage. "(Y/N)." Even his voice was bleak. He didn't sit. He just stood there, looking at you. "Go."

"Reid." Hotch came into the room finally, the chilled look in his eyes softer than usual. "You don't need to be here for this."

"Yeah, well, I want to be."

"Kid," Morgan said, looking at him, "you really don't-"

"-Can we just let (Y/N) do her fucking job? Please? Is that so hard to do?" Spencer glared at Morgan as he balled his hands into fists. You couldn't blame him for his reaction— anyone would probably act like that after hearing what you knew Hotch had just told him. Hotch hadn't let anyone in the room when he told him. He felt it was something that needed to be shared in private and you all agreed.

Spencer looked over at you and you looked back at him, sympathy in your eyes. "Present the case, (Y/N)," he ordered you.

Your eyes flicked to Hotch and he nodded at you. He didn't sit either. He just stood beside Spencer, his arms held at his sides, ready to console Spencer if needed. "William Reid," you spoke, your voice quiet as you hit a button on the remote in your hand, bringing the crime scene photos up on the screen. Spencer didn't react. He was cool. Composed— as the pictures flashed across the screen behind you.

"He was found dead in his apartment early yesterday morning stabbed, um... stabbed seven times," you said. "The coroner determined that it was the second stab that killed him. It hit his heart, so... he didn't suffer for long."

"And the pictures?" Spencer quickly asked, motioning to the screen behind you. It wasn't good for him to be in there as you were presenting the case. You knew that— the entire team knew that.

The room was silent, though, as you cleared your throat, looking around at the team. You couldn't stand to look at Spencer anymore, the latent pain in his voice and in his eyes too much. "There were, uh... photos. Photos of, um..."

"Go on, say it," Spencer said to you, his voice thick. You looked at him, pleading with him with your eyes to leave. But he stayed put. He didn't move. He just stared at you, expressionless.