Chapter Text
On the video feed, a man took a seat at a metal table and pushed in his chair, legs scraping against the concrete floor. It was hard to tell where he was; the only thing in the camera’s field of vision was him and the stone wall behind him. The noise staticked slightly, unfocusing, taking in the echoes of water dripping from a crack in the ceiling; the distant footsteps that started to grow closer.
When the camera refocused, the man had finished centering himself, staring into the lens—to the viewer—with his hands folded on the tabletop and his hair falling into his eyes. A thick bead of blood seeped from one nostril and stained his upper lip crimson, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“If you’re watching this,” Spencer said, “I’m sorry.”
P A R T O N E
The air conditioner shut off, effectively killing the soft whir that had served as a comfortable white noise throughout the duration of the meeting. Now, the only sounds were the steady thrumming of rain against the window; the ticking of the clock that read 11:12 AM. Rossi glanced at it for the third time in the hour, silently counting down the minutes until he could leave.
Dr. Finn noticed. “The brass needs a statement by tonight, Agent Rossi.”
“Do they?” Rossi murmured absently. He twisted the ring on his finger once, twice, three times, before finally letting his gaze rest on the man in front of him. His eyes were cold. “How bad do they need it?”
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“Why is any of this necessary?” Luke countered, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. He shook his head, swallowing back an indistinguishable emotion. “I just don’t see the point.”
Dr. Finn exhaled slowly, tapping a pen on the edge of his desk. “It’s just protocol. The director—”
“The director can shove his protocol up his ass,” Luke snapped, before dropping his gaze. He looked at the clock; 1:20 PM. The rain had stopped now, but thunder rippled in the distance like a warning, and the murky clouds made it seem as if it were nighttime. “I’m sorry.”
“I wish I didn’t have to do this,” Dr. Finn said gently, placing the pen on the table. “No one does.”
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“Me neither,” Emily sighed, raising her fingers to her mouth. She started to chew her nails, then thought better of it, choosing to clasp her hands instead as she leaned back in her seat with her legs crossed. “But here we are, so what is it you desperately want to hear?”
“Everything,” Dr. Finn replied simply, at 3:44 PM.
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“Everything,” JJ echoed with a wry smile, blinking up at the lights as if they could dry the tears starting to well up in the corners of her eyes. She exhaled, nostrils flaring. “Where do I start?”
The rain started up again, but it was only a light drizzle; likely, it would be gone within the hour. Now, it was 5:28 PM.
“At the beginning,” Dr. Finn said.
The battle to not cry was lost; JJ wiped at her eyes with the heel of her palm and let out a shaky exhale. “I don’t believe this.”
“I know how hard this must be.”
“No, it’s not that,” JJ argued, tearing her gaze from the ceiling to look in Dr. Finn’s eyes. Her mouth was pressed in a firm line. “I just—I refuse to believe this is necessary. Because going through it...through that...moment...” She shook her head. “It’s just a reminder of what we could have done.”
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“We should have listened,” Matt agreed softly, staring down at his hands, which were folded in his lap. He tapped his foot against the ground twice before shaking his head. “We should have listened.”
“Listened to who?” Dr. Finn pressed.
The rain stopped—no, stopped wasn’t the word for it. Rather, it felt like the rain paused, as if the sky was holding its breath and waiting for someone to speak. The clock ticked anxiously—7:12 PM—and Matt shifted in his seat before closing his eyes, gathering his bearings.
“He told us,” he explained, barely inaudible. “He told us everything, and we didn’t—” His voice caught, and he swallowed with a dry throat. “We didn’t believe him. But we should have.”
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Unlike the others, Tara didn’t close herself off. Fingers working to tug a loose thread from the corner of her sweater, she straightened until she was comfortable in the chair, feet firmly on the ground and eyes forward. Her face was soft and plaintive—the weary expression of someone who has been through a lot in a very short time.
And she had been. They all had.
“The time is 9:00 PM,” Dr. Finn announced into a small box that recorded their conversation in the center of the desk. “This is Dr. Aiden Finn of the OPR. Please state your name and rank for the tape, please.”
“SSA Dr. Tara Lewis.”
“Dr. Lewis.” Dr. Finn gave her a tight-lipped smile, but it wasn’t menacing; his eyes shone with sympathy. “I think it goes without saying that your team is in a great state of grief.”
Tara nodded slightly.
“If you may, I’d like for you to explain the events of—what happened,” Dr. Finn went on quietly, relaxing in his seat. “More importantly, I’d like you to begin with your colleague. I understand he...just came back into the field, at the time.”
“Dr. Reid suffered a brain hemorrhage from the Everett Lynch investigation a few months prior,” Tara elaborated, speaking clearly. It looked like more of a struggle now, keeping herself together, but she persisted in her explanation. “He was working from a desk at the BAU and teaching part-time at the Academy before we made the decision to let him back into the field.”
“This injury,” Dr. Finn noted, holding up a hand to pause the story. “In your professional opinion, do you think it had any...lasting effects? On his psyche?”
“There was no indication that the hemorrhage had any chronic damage, no. He passed a psychological evaluation as well as a physical examination.”
“A psychological evaluation that had been constructed by the BAU,” Dr. Finn pointed out. “An evaluation that had not been made for agents of his...intellectual capability.”
Tara’s mouth twitched at the corner. “What do you mean?”
“What I mean,” Dr. Finn said carefully, “is that the test could be passable to him if he chose it to be.”
“So you think he cheated.”
“No. I’m just hypothetically speaking.”
“You’re not,” Tara countered, crossing her arms. Gone was the placid, easy manor; now, she had become defensive, like all the others. “I know how these interrogations work, Dr. Finn. I know the OPR is trying to pin the blame on someone to save their own record, and all you want is for me to agree with you, but I won’t. Dr. Reid’s actions were not the fault of any specific member of the BAU, but of our department’s incompetence as a whole, and even when you think otherwise, it doesn’t matter, because Spencer is already—”
She paused abruptly, closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths to calm herself. Dr. Finn waited, and outside, the thunder grew distant. A small fork of lightning rippled through the clouds with illuminated, reaching fingers, but as soon as it was there, it was gone, and the room was thrown back into darkness.
“I apologize,” Tara said, after a moment. “That was out of turn.”
“No, I completely understand,” Dr. Finn murmured, with a dismissive gesture. “This isn’t an interrogation, Dr. Lewis. It’s an investigation. And however pointless it may seem, it is necessary. My job is to get to the root of the incident and the events leading up to it.”
“‘The incident’ as in the arrest.”
“Yes.” Dr. Finn folded his hands and placed them in his lap. “I’m here to learn not only the details of the case, but the reasons why it ended the way that it did. Specifically, I need to know about Dr. Reid: who he was, how he acted...”
“What he did,” Tara finished for him.
Dr. Finn nodded, eyes solemn. “What he did,” he agreed softly. He placed his folded hands on top of the desk, leaning in. “Now. Tell me everything you can.”
Tara met his gaze. “It started with a phone call.”