Chapter Text
And I keep on searching for the way to your heart
Try to decipher the code you encrypt-Paramore
You nodded eagerly, "Exactly! Which is basically the theory you had earlier expect the amount of numbers didn’t match but if we take into account that this is about Harrison then the 5 could very well be his fifth book. Now we just have to find what this book is, go to page 111, line 27 and read its 5th word."
"Pretty boy?" the deep voice that wasn’t Hotch asked.
“On it,” Spencer answered. Expecting some form of action or movement from your temporary partner in crime, you turned to the young agent, ready for any kind of instruction. At the sight of him, you understood the unfamiliar agent’s request as well as the silence suddenly surrounding you. Spencer stared straight ahead, his eyes darting frantically as if reading from an invisible screen. His lips moved subtly, murmuring something you couldn't quite catch, while his hands were held close to his torso, his fingers delicately moving through the air. It almost looked like they were flipping through pages only he could see.
“Verlan,” he finally said with a broken accent, his focus now back in the real world. It was then that you realized that the man was indeed flipping through a book. Your mouth hung open, his eidetic memory much more impressive than you had originally thought. Did it mean that the man had a library inside his mind giving him constant access to any information whenever he wanted to? It would explain how he was able to share anecdotes and statistics, but the speed at which he functioned was getting really hard to grasp. You shook your head, willing your mind to find its way back to the main subject at hand.
“That sounded like ‘la langue de l’amour’” Garcia’s seductive voice sounded through the speaker.
“That’s because it is,” you confirmed, eyebrows pinched together. “Verlan is a common slang used in France, mostly by the younger generations. It’s pretty straightforward actually. Syllables and phonemes are reversed to create a new term that may or may not fall out of use as trends change.” Your eyes met Spencer’s, communicating wordlessly. A gasp left your lips, which you had to bite down to prevent a broad grin from spreading across your face, and his body shot up, going straight to the white board.
“If we take our words and reverse all the syllables back to where they belong…” the man said, his voice accompanied by the squeaking sound of the pen gliding on the white surface.
“We’ll have our decoded sentences,” you finished, the man turning back to look at you with a glint of satisfaction. His feet carried him a few steps back to get a better look at the board. There, written hastily on the magnetic surface, were four sentences, which you quickly realized finally made sense.
cel terre chinese
o fabulas de la fantani
voyage au fine di alla notte
il centre de mundo
“Anything?" Garcia asked, hope bringing the end of the word to a higher pitch.
"Book titles,” Spencer answered. “They’re all written in Roman languages for some reason but they all translate to book titles.”
“Could they have a special significance to him?” you asked, shaking your head in confusion.
“I don’t believe so. Although two of the authors are French which could mean something,” the man said tentatively, his voice trailing like he was going to add something. When he didn’t, and instead touched his chin with his long fingers and a questioning stare at the board, you came to stand beside him. As Spencer’s words echoed in your mind, the ones right in front of you seemed to stand out.
"The roman languages, the French slang and now the French authors,” you started, earning an encouraging nod from Spencer. Being surrounded by federal agents was highly intimidating, and knowing a whole team of them was intently listening to your every word made it even worse. The last thing you wanted was for them to think you a complete idiot, and a single not so sharp theory could mean the end of your involvement. But one look at Spencer’s gentle expression was all it took, giving you the push you needed to finish your train of thoughts. "In the sentences, the uhm… unsub-"
"Unknown subject," Spencer supplied softly, putting an end to the mystery.
"Yes, that. He uses Romanian, Italian, Spanish and Portuguese sporadically. French is the only language he used in every single one of them."
Upon hearing your observation, the agent next to you turned his head back to the board.
"And if we put the words together," Spencer started reflectively.
"We get Voyage au centre de la terre," you finished, completing his sentence yet again and bringing you a sense of partnership that seemed to reflect in the tug of his lips.
“Wow that sounded extremely sexy," the tech extraordinaire gushed at your rusty but still decent accent. The remark brought a light chuckle out of you, which surprised you considering the circ*mstances. Having such a bright personality in the team felt like sunshine in a clouded sky.
"C’mon baby girl get your head in the game," the masculine voice chided humorously.
"Don’t worry hot stuff, you know nothing gets my blood pumping quite as much as you do," Garcia bounced back teasingly.
Your face scrunched up in delight at the easy banter between the two colleagues but Spencer’s voice quickly brought you back to reality.
"There’s nothing about that book that would lead us somewhere."
"Maybe this race for clues is just a way for our unsub to taunt us. What if he’s just giving us those enigmas to slow us down in our research and lead us off track? I mean this whole thing is starting to sound like an escape room,” J.J offered. The sound of an engine roared softly in the background, indicating that the agents all regrouped on the phone while on their way somewhere.
"What is it?" You blinked at the sound of Spencer’s voice jolting you back to reality. The crease you hadn’t realized had made its way between your eyebrows softened and you swallowed, meeting the agent’s wondering eyes.
"Nothing- I mean, it’s probably nothing but there’s an escape game not too far from here that has a room called ‘Journey to the center of the universe’." The memories of multiple weekends spent at the busy arcade with the few friends you had flashed in your mind.
"I think it’s worth checking it out," Spencer said, determination in his gaze. It felt like there was something else, something that would explain the constant line between his brows. Another riddle which you knew you had no right to dig into.
After a small silence, Hotch spoke up, strengthening your belief that this man was indeed their superior. “Alright, you go take a look and get any available information on the venue and recent activity there. Dave and I will be on campus asking questions to staff and students. Mrs y/l/n, whether you join Dr. Reid is completely up to you, but your already existing knowledge of the area would be a nice addition.”
"Whatever you need," you answered truthfully, finding his diplomacy honorable. As Spencer reached for his phone to turn it off, you stopped him, earning a questioning look from the man. Since you had decoded the numbers, there had been something on the back of your mind which you couldn’t quite shake. Even knowing it might be a bust, it felt like the right thing to share with the agents.
"There’s something else," you began, "I taught one of Harrison’s class this morning which had never happened before but I did and there was this one student he- he asked me about slangs and how their roots are important to their development. He mentioned studying specific examples so I briefly named AAVE as well as verlan. Now I’m aware this might absolutely be nothing especially if this kid is a freshman, he hasn’t attended a lot of Harrison’s classes so it doesn’t fit what you mentioned earlier but it’s been on my mind because I think it’s weird and worth mentioning but-"
"Do you have a name?" Hotch asked. It didn’t sound like he was dismissing your idea but rather leaning into it, making you wonder if you should be worried or grateful.
"Unfortunately no there are too many kids but I’ve got the list of the students that are enrolled in that particular class,” you offered, cringing at how unhelpful you sounded.
"Reid make sure that list gets to Garcia and-"
"Already on it sir," the bright woman interrupted, hanging up before hearing her instructions which betrayed the obvious efficiency of the team.
"Call me if you get anything," Hotch ended before disconnecting the call, the office suddenly much less crowded than it had been a minute ago.
Spencer didn’t lose a second, his coat and scarf already wrapped tightly around him while you’d barely had the time to process the situation. He stood by the door patiently as you slipped your arms through your wool coat and slung your bag across your chest.
As you walked towards the doctor, your body suddenly came to a stop. It was like the past few hours had brought you to this alternate universe where you were the heroine who would fight crime for a day and then go back to your normal job. Except you didn’t have a normal job anymore, and the desk you saw when you glanced to your right won’t be yours by the end of the day.
"We have some time if you want to clean out your things now," Spencer asked, voice cracking from how softly he spoke. Packing your things right away would surely be the easiest way to deal with the loss, like ripping off a bandaid. But despite what Spencer claimed, you knew time was the last thing the agents could spare.
"No it’s okay I’ll come back later," you offered with a forced smile. A small knot formed in the pit of your stomach at the thought of running into Harrison, which you guessed had been the main reason for Spencer’s offer. "But thank you though."
The man didn’t look convinced, and part of you wondered why you even tried to fake anything knowing full well he would notice the slightest twitch of your eye and catch you in the lie. Despite your obvious discomfort, the agent dropped the subject, instead opening the door and stepping into the hallway. A grateful exhale slipped past your lips as you followed behind and the both of you made your way to your destination.
"Tell me more about the escape game," Spencer asked when the two of you stepped out of the building, fresh air hitting your face. The arcade wasn’t a long walk from campus, as the students were its targeted clientele. You set in a comfortable pace, boots echoing on the sidewalk.
"It’s more an arcade then solely an escape game," you corrected. "It’s basically like every other arcade you know, with a bowling alley and junk food. They added more activities these past few years as the trends and interests change."
"Were you there when it opened?"
"No, I just asked around. I’m curious like that," you chuckled. "I haven’t lived here that long, moved about 8 months ago. I met a group of people at the local coffee shop I spend most of my time at and it’s just always been a nice place to go and hang out. I’m the one who always pushes to try the new rooms."
"You like riddles?" Spencer asked, amusem*nt sparkling in his eyes.
"I thought me burying my nose in books all afternoon was a big indicator that I did." The jest earned a chuckle for the man, creases forming in one corner of his mouth. Your eyes caught the movement and it suddenly became hard to look away, to tear your eyes from the way his face lit up with just a discreet smile. His head was low, eyes awkwardly looking down at his shoes, and his hand were buried in his pocket. "What is it?" you asked when the silence stretched for too long.
"I just think it’s interesting that humans look for mysteries so much. The challenge of solving puzzles and figuring out the unknown, even if it’s dangerous."
"Says the FBI agent," you retorted with a raise of your eyebrows.
"That’s exactly my point." His head finally raised, although his eyes switched between looking at you and somewhere else. "This is my job, I’m given the riddles every single day and lives depend on it. But you go out of your way to put yourself in a stressful situation, to look for those enigmas. Even now you look somewhat excited to be part of the investigation." When you didn’t answer right away, the man glanced at you, noticing the deep knit of your brows. "I didn’t mean it negatively, I’m sorry if-"
"No no but you’re right," you reassured at the apologetic tone. "I was just thinking about what you said and you’re right, these are all facts. I guess your routine is so thrilling and fast paced everyday that it’s harder for you to get it but when your life doesn’t consist of catching criminals and saving lives, seeking harmless puzzle solving is what keeps me alive."
"Alive?" he repeated, voice quiet.
"I don’t know it’s just- life can get so boring you know?" The man gave you a tight lipped smile and you corrected yourself. "Of course you don’t know but I meant-" you breathed out, "I get up in the morning, and I do the things that keep my body alive. I shower, I eat, I go to work so I can afford my apartment and my groceries. But that’s not enough. If I only did those things I wouldn’t be able to get up in the morning anymore. So I play my favorite songs and dance around, I paint, I pick up a book and plunge myself into the story and suddenly I’m more than a professor’s assistant. It’s like I lived a million lives in parallel to this one and knowing that at the end of the day I’ll meet up with my friends and all of us together will have 60 minutes to solve riddles and save the earth from imploding just makes life more bearable. And luckily for me thrill isn’t the only thing that makes me feel alive but it’s a part of who I am I guess. But I do get how me being excited about being part of a murder investigation would look disturbing. Maybe it’s not fully sinking in yet, that what we’re doing right now isn’t another one of my escape game and that lives are at stake but," you stopped yourself, not sure if finishing your thought would have the doctor looking at you differently. It was odd, wanting the approval of a stranger. But you hadn’t known warmth like Spencer’s eyes boring into yours in a long time, and the last thing you wanted was to say something that would change that.
"But?" he pressed, obvious curiosity in his voice. You sighed, but one look at him and your doubts melted away, as if you knew whatever you said wouldn’t earn any judgement from the man.
"But, as selfish as it sounds, I don’t think I want it to sink in. I don’t want to find out what kind of person I’d turn into if I allowed all the bad parts of this experience to reach me fully. How it’d change me," you finished quietly, realizing how the haunted look habitually in Spencer’s eyes had overtaken his features. An apology for the insensitivity almost left your lips, but you decided otherwise, knowing it wouldn’t help.
“It does,” he said, surprising you. You barely knew the man, but something told you he wasn’t the kind to open up easily. Maybe it was the fact that after this was all over he would never have to see you again, as if you were some kind of temporary relief. He cleared his throat, speaking again. “The things we see. The things we do,” he ended, leaving his sentence open. It wasn’t much, but with how tightly the words came out, you knew it was already a great effort. No words came to you that would efficiently rid this man from his demons, so you decided to let his confession float in the cold February air.
The two of you walked quietly for a few moments. But when you noticed his head turning toward you several times, you decided to break the silence.
"What?"
"Nothing it’s just-" He seemed to think about his words, as if unsure whether to speak them aloud. "This is usually the part where people tell me about all the good I’m doing." His tone was dry and bitter, confirming that he wasn’t looking for compliments.
"I’m not going to lie and say that it didn’t cross my mind," you admitted. "But how can I tell someone who’s constantly surrounded by darkness to look at the bright side?" His eyes snapped to yours, and you hoped whatever comfort you couldn’t bring through words could be conveyed in that quiet exchange. He seemed to hesitate, and something akin to shame flashed in his eyes. You came to an abrupt halt and looked straight at Spencer whose body had angled back towards where you’d stopped. Even though you couldn’t possibly find out what was going on in his head, his tensed body had relaxed, giving you the impression that whatever you had said or the way you had said it had triggered something, making him more comfortable around you. After a deep breath, your own limbs seemed to release some of the earlier pressure that had built up around your chest.
"Yes you’ve saved people, and I’m sure that with that eidetic memory of yours their names and faces are forever etched in your mind. That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to feel resentment towards your job. You can’t feel guilty for being human Spencer," you finished softly. His name still felt new on your tongue, but for some reason speaking it aloud now had felt necessary, like the message wouldn’t have sunk in as much otherwise. It was hard to tell why it was so important to you that the man knew his feelings mattered, that his voice mattered. Unfortunately, it seemed his name had triggered the end of the safe space you had created, his whole body language shifting from vulnerable to controlled in the blink of an eye.
“Is this it?” he asked after clearing his throat. His head nodded towards the end of the block, a sign advertising the arcade displayed in the middle of the sidewalk.
You answered his question with an awkward nod, more than aware of his attempt at changing the subject. He led the way, his pace faster than before, and you found yourself stepping through the front door under a minute. The both of you were welcome by the usual sounds found in an arcade. While you didn’t react, used to the bing and pangs of the machines, Spencer scratched his ear in an attempt to discreetly shield himself from the loud ringing. The place was quieter than you were accustomed to, although you never frequented this place during week days and even less in the middle of the afternoon. With only a few students hanging out, the young employees sat behind their desks mindlessly scrolling on their phones, waiting for customers to ask for food or rewards. With a motion of your head, you directed the agent to follow you to the escape game area. Walking through the various booths, you recognized a few familiar faces from campus and offered them a polite smile.
"Students of Harrison’s?" Spencer asked, noticing the friendliness.
"Not all of them, some I just saw a few times in the hallways, others I know because I’ve been here a few times."
"What about him?" the man asked, his chin pointed towards the 21 year old behind the escape game desk you were heading to.
"I’ve helped him with his thesis whenever Harrison couldn’t be bothered to spare him a minute," you answered quietly, jaw tightening at the mention of the professor. Then, louder when you reached the desk, "Hi Jonah." The young employee lifted his eyes from a copy of Les Misérables, setting the heavy volume down on the hard surface.
"Oh, um, hi Amanda," the boy answered awkwardly. His head was low, and it looked like he was trying to avoid eye contact at all costs. In retrospect, you don’t think you ever saw the color of his eyes, or heard more than a few broken sentences here and there. All of your real conversations had happened through emails whenever he needed help with something. Yet, it seemed his confidence grew more and more each time you saw him, going from avoidance to the occasional greetings in the hallways. It had become quite obvious over the past few visits to the arcade that the student had a slight crush on you, which your friends had teased you about. The attention was flattering, but you had had no interest in dating someone younger, especially not a college kid. On top of that, helping Jonah throughout his studies and writings had brought you a sense of mentor-mentee relationship which had led you to grow quite fond of the younger man.
"Is the manager here today?" you asked softly as to not make him nervous about why you’d want to talk to his boss.
"Um, no," he answered simply.
"Do you know where we could find him?" Spencer asked. The question earned from Jonah a glance up from under his eyelashes. The action was subtle but guarded, like he hadn’t even noticed Spencer at first and was caught off guard by the alien figure.
"He’s on his lunch break. But he’ll be back in 20 minutes," he replied matter of factly. Spencer brought his inner wrist in front of him, his brows raising when he noticed the time.
"There’s a coffee shop across the street if you want to wait there. They also have food," you offered, concerned when you realized the man hadn’t had anything to eat since this morning. If the agents barely got any sleep during their cases, it was no surprise they’d forget about something as mondaine as lunch.
"Sure," the agent answered with a nod of his head. He headed for the front door and you followed after waving to Jonah and offering him a smile which he returned with a slight raise of his hand, his head down.
Stepping back into the street, Spencer squinted his eyes and looked around, eyebrows raising when he spotted the coffee shop you’d mentioned.
"Amanda?" he asked suddenly, giving you a questioning look.
"It’s my middle name. And it’s also in my email address which is how Jonah knew about it. He used to call me Ms y/l/n but it felt too weird so I told him to call me anything else and he picked that," you recounted. No one ever really addressed you with that name, although you liked it and its history, but you often considered using it as a pen name whenever you’d start publishing your own work.
The man nodded in understanding and pushed the door to the cafe open, holding it for you to go first.
