𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑 [spencer reid]

27. intuition

          "𝐇𝐄𝐘! 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐕𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐀 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐍. 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍'𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 to the phone right now, so leave me a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Later!"

The voicemail that used to raise no thought in Spencer's mind was now a dreaded, monotonous message swimming through his brain. He heard it for the eighth time as he burst through the doors of the B.A.U. bullpen Friday morning. When the answering machine asked for him to leave a message after the beep, Spencer shoved his phone in his pant pocket. He stomped his way through the room, unintentionally ignoring any morning greetings from his colleagues. He was a man on a mission, and it started the second he forced his way into Hotch's office.

"Hey, Reid," Hotch rose his eyes from his paperwork when he heard footsteps. His tone was laced with confusion, for Spencer was rarely entered office without a polite knock.

"There's something wrong, Hotch," Spencer spit out, standing right in front of Hotch's desk.

With his head cocked, Hotch rose from his seat to be at eye level with his agent. "Wrong with?"

"Checka–I mean–Griff," the boy's angst caused him to stumble over his words. "I think something's happened to her."

Hotch's posture stiffened. "What makes you think that?"

"I called her twice last night to say goodnight, but when she didn't pick up, I figured she just went to sleep," Spencer started to explain. "This morning, I called three more times to let her know details about a pizza date we were going to have this afternoon. I noticed she didn't respond to my text from last night, and she should've been well on her way to work when I called.

"But, I really knew something was wrong before I left for the B.A.U. Every Friday is Fun Fact Friday. At eight thirty-seven every Friday morning, Checka sends me a random fact in hopes that it's something I never knew. She hasn't missed a Fun Fact Friday since we started dating, Hotch. Not one."

Hotch crossed his arms with a huff. "Take a seat," he ordered, Spencer complying after some clumsy steps backwards and a plop onto the couch. Hotch walked around to the front of his desk, sitting on its edge. "Reid, I know you're wondering why she's not answering you, but she could just be busy."

Spencer rapidly shook his head in denial. "No. I feel it in my gut. Something is not right. Can we please look into it?"

The unit chief was at a crossroads. The team didn't have a case at the moment, but he didn't see enough evidence for them to drop their things and investigate Francesca Griffin's whereabouts when, in reality, the girl's phone could simply be dead. At the same time, the doctor's intuition was often right. Hotch pursed his lips, not wanting to upset Spencer. "Reid, we can't. We have cases with stronger evidence that need to be investigated and tons of casework to get through."