Chapter Text
The case was horrific.
There was never a relaxed case; there was never a case that didn’t come home with each of the members at night, haunting their dreams, faces flashing behind their eyelids before they fell asleep. Each case brought its own exhaustion and doubt, making them wonder if, in the end, they were really changing anything.
This case brought gore—a lot of gore.
The third crime scene was horrific. When they stepped into the house, the tangy smell of copper and the wretched scent of death immediately filled their nostrils. Blood was splattered everywhere, and limbs swung from an elaborate bar system spinning slowly from the ceiling, all connected by twine.
“It’s a mobile,” JJ whispered, her face pale. The team tried to ignore as she swallowed back a gag, but they all seemed to share the same sentiment. “I…I have one hanging above Henry’s crib.”
“A what?” Gideon asked, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t look disgusted, simply intrigued.
“Mobiles are the common term for ‘kinetic art.’ We don’t actually know when they first created, but the term wasn’t normalized until 1931 by Marcel Duchamp,” Reid supplied quickly, but he wasn’t finished. So many facts, so little time. “Mobiles are defined by the kinetic properties of motion, but especially when they are free-moving. It’s all about balance. Calder was the largest proprietor of mobiles and made them popular in baby nurseries, citing cognitive development. But that doesn’t make sense—something with the intent of stimulating a young mind should involve noise, light, color, and objects that challenge depth perception. Mobiles hardly fit the bill, because they are just motion. It doesn’t even challenge a baby because they’re already accustomed to motion; it serves as little more than a pretty distraction.”
Morgan was about to chime in, but Reid left little room to interrupt. His fingers were twitching slightly as he explained, and his face was lit up with a sort of misplaced excitement.
“Reid,” Hotch pressed slightly. The topic was beginning to stray, and there wasn’t much time for distraction.
“The real question is why make a mobile out of extremities?” Reid continued. “That takes an extreme amount of skill. The UNSUB might be more sophisticated than we’re giving him credit for. It would be nearly impossible for the weights of the limbs to balance out, let alone maintain one with perpetual motion. Blood has to be the key. Some of the limbs were probably drained slightly, just a few ounces of blood, to keep it even. The cutting on the limbs is rough though, so we’re probably looking at someone with a physics or math background, not medical. The only art using blood is attributed to a few rare artists, most by Herman Mitsch. In fact, Marc Quinn had been recorded for using his own blood for frozen sculpture by—”
“Reid, that’s enough,” Hotch said briskly, effectively cutting Reid off. The younger man gave a minuscule nod, focusing back to the crime scene, biting back words that were threatening to spill forth.
“Wait, are you saying this display was made for a child?” Morgan asked, filling the silence.
Reid looked up as if taken off guard. His mouth opened, but closed it rapidly, as if he couldn’t remember where he had left off, or if he even had permission to talk again.
“I think it’s worth checking,” Hotch supplied. His tone had slipped into delegation mode. “Greenaway, have forensics search for prints on the…art. I doubt we’ll find any, but maybe the UNSUB slipped up with the assembly. Morgan, search the house for any sign of a baby—materials, photos, anything. J.J., start handling the press. I don’t know how they got here so fast, but this is not a scene I want them to see.
“Reid, come with me,” he continued. “We’ll call Garcia and have her run some background the property and limbs. Outside though, the house has poor service.”
Gideon watched the two men walk out. The house didn’t have poor service; he already knew that Hotch would reprimand Reid for his outburst. Personally, he had never had an issue with Reid’s frenzied tangents. But it seemed to bother the rest of the team. He shrugged, turning back to the crime scene. Hotch would handle it.
Reid was walking outside, pulling out his neglected phone from his pocket before he noticed Hotch close behind.
“Reid, hold on a minute.”
Reid turned around, cringing in preparation for his boss to explain that his topic of conversation had been misguided and inappropriate. He had been waiting for that moment all year. He always noticed Hotch’s face when he went on a tangent—slightly angry, or perhaps disappointed. Disgusted. Or maybe embarrassed. He knew his days on the team were numbered. He had been brought on by Gideon, but he knew he needed to impress Hotch equally.
“Sir, I’m sorry, I—”
“Reid, listen a moment,” Hotch said, interrupting. “I didn’t mean to cut you off so harshly. It was rude and dismissive.”
Reid gaped. Definitely not what he was expecting.
“Sometimes, it’s hard for us to discern what is useful context that is pertinent to a case, and what isn’t,” Hotch continued. “And if I’m not mistaken, sometimes it’s difficult for you as well. All that information up there, it doesn’t surprise me that you think everything is connected. Am I correct?”
Reid remained quiet for a moment. He was picking at one of his fingers. “Do you remember the Davenport case?”
Hotch nodded sharply, not sure if this was the conversation he was ready (or even remotely equipped) to have. The Davenport case had been an early on; Reid had proven himself to the team, as per usual. But the defining moment was when the UNSUB hinted that Reid may have autism, and Gideon’s purposeful overlooking of the moment. He had expected a reaction from Reid or an explanation from Gideon. Neither came.
“Spencer, you don’t need to…” Hotch began, his voice briefly stepping out its professional tone.
“It’s true.”
Hotch looked up, but the other agent’s eyes were pointed at the ground. He wanted to respond but could tell that Reid wasn’t finished. He was chewing on the side of his mouth, choosing his next words carefully.
“I should have been diagnosed much sooner. But my mom was afraid of doctors—they were all just government agents in disguise to her. She didn't want them peering into my head; she was paranoid 'They' would take me away. It wasn’t until college that a counselor…well, I was still young, but my mom couldn’t be on campus with me all the time to protect me from doctors. I was going to find out sooner or later. My mom still doesn't even know. She thinks I'm just gifted. I didn’t need accommodations, so it didn’t change anything. It never mattered until I had to work on a team. I don’t ramble to show that I’m the smartest in the room. I don’t realize I’m doing it. It’s like trying to switch trains when no one announced a change but now it’s too late to jump off and it’s infuriating and I—”
“Spencer, it’s alright. You don’t owe me an explanation,” Hotch said, his voice taking on a surprisingly soft tone, praying the man would take a break from his speech to simply breathe. “I don’t want you to think that your knowledge is a burden to this team. It’s incredibly valued; it’s just hard for us to keep up. I don’t want you to hold back when something might be useful. But I need to know how to help.”
“Cut me off,” Reid said, his voice certain. “What you did back there was…good. It wasn’t rude. It’s a good way of grounding.”
“Are you sure?” Hotch asked. “I want you to be comfortable so that you can perform your best work. I need to know that you won’t take it as a reprimand or disinterest.”
“No. I would sincerely appreciate it.”
“Okay,” Hotch conceded. “You can change your mind at any time. And if you want to finish your thought after a case, I'll listen. I know cutting you off doesn't make the thought go away; it just represses it. But I would be happy to listen to your background knowledge when we aren't on a strict timeline."
“Thank you,” Reid said, a smile gracing his features. “I really appreciate it.”
“Of course,” Hotch said, barely hesitating before grasping Reid’s shoulder as the corner of his mouth twitched upwards. “Now call Garcia. I don’t want to be the one telling her we have a baby mobile made of body parts.”
Aaron began walking away before he heard Reid’s petulant cry.
“Wait, I don’t want to do that either!”