Reid My Mind

6. Up All Night

softly - clairo

"We're going to be up all night," I asserted, as the kind police force of Los Lunas, New Mexico handed me the fifth and final box of case files to examine.

"Should we head back to the hotel? We can get some food," Reid said. It was just us left in that station, along with a few of the local officers. Going through these suspects was going to take another 2 hours at least. It was a shame Garcia could sort through them in an instant as she could with digitized records. Curse the city Los Lunas and surrounding areas for being behind the times.

"Sounds good to me," I responded, "I'm starving."

"You're always starving," Reid smirked.

"Very true. I'll order the food, you grab the boxes. Chinese?"

"Sure."

By 1:00 a.m. we had narrowed it down to 33 files of unsolved cases that could be connected with the present-day serial killings. Photos, witness statements, and police reports were strewn across the floor of Reid's hotel room. Our empty takeout containers were in the otherwise empty trash.

"Ew, why are they so dusty?" I complained, wiping the dust of a manila folder against the hotel carpet.

"They're from 1975." I threw a fortune cookie at him.

"This is not how I imagined spending my twenties," I told him.

"How did you imagine spending your twenties?" he asked.

"I don't know. Traveling. Going on some great adventure and falling in love." I waggled my eyebrows comically at him.

"You can still do all that."

"Have you?"

"Yeah. I think so," he said quietly and cracked open his fortune cookie. There was a pause. I watched him and my eyes lingered on his lips a little too long.

"What's your fortune?" 

"The answer you're looking for is right in front of you," he read. I laughed, probably a little too loudly given that it was nearing 2:00 a.m. and the hotel walls were not very thick.

"We already know that," Reid said pointedly while I laughed. Every time I tried to stop I saw his bemused expression and started giggling again.

"Ok, ok," I said finally, "Let's think. We've narrowed it down to white males, late 20s, blue-collar jobs, shot in the head execution-style. What was in the tox screen for our recent victims?"

"Traces amounts of xylazine. It's a muscle relaxant and an anesthetic. But none of these files mention xylazine."

"But these files are from the 70s when xylazine was hardly a thing. Xylazine is used for sedating cattle and large mammals. Back in those days, the equivalent was ketamine," I mused. Reid flipped through the files and pulled out six.

"The toxicology report for these victims found high levels of ketamine." He sounded proud of me.

"I know we established that the unsub likely has medical training, but I think he might be a veterinarian. He used to use ketamine to subdue his victims, but as the government cracked down on drug use he had to switch to xylazine." 

"Makes sense to me," Reid confirmed. I stood up for the first time in two hours and raised my arms in victory. Reid laughed. Thank god, that took forever. Then I plopped down on Reid's bed and laid back like a starfish on the inviting mattress. 

"Will you read the file summary so we can check that it all checks out?"

"Sure, the first one is Mark Vaught. Twenty three, a construction worker." That's the last thing I remembered.

"Maya, hey," Reid's voice and his warm hand on my arm pulled me out of a dream, "I think we need to go." Slightly dazed, I opened my eyes and extended my limbs out of my fetal position.

"Did Hotch call?"

"Now, but we're supposed to be there in twenty-five minutes. That gives you ten minutes to get ready." I was slowly realizing that I must've fallen asleep fully clothed, except for my shoes, which I had discarded much earlier in the night. I sat up. All the mess of last night had been cleaned up and the files were neatly tucked back into their boxes.

"Where did you sleep?" 

"Sofa," he said nonchalantly.

"You should have woken me up! I didn't mean to steal your bed," I said and stood up. He shrugged and fussed with the zipper of his jacket.

"You needed to sleep," he said. I grinned. 

"Spencer, you're too nice for your own good." At this, he looked up and examined my face curiously.

"What?" I asked.

"You called me Spencer."

"That's your name," I pointed out.

"You've never called me Spencer. Just Reid."

"Well, I guess I thought now that I've spent the night in your bed we're on a first-name basis." Immediately, his cheeks started to blush.

"I m-mea—" he started, but I waved my hand dismissively and grinned. 

"I'm just kidding, Spencer. I'll see you at the station."

~~~~~

"Good news," Hotch reported the next morning at the station, "Reid and Davis were able to figure out the unsub's victims in the '70s. Garcia ran them through the system and figured out what they all have in common. They were all on the same high school football team."

"Three cheers for Sherlock and Watson," Morgan said, raising his coffee cup to us. I rolled my eyes at him. He just winked back un typically Morgan fashion. 

"Wait, weren't there like two hundred files? How did you narrow that down?" Prentiss asked with her eyebrows raised.

"Two servings of Chinese food and four hours of staring at case files," I told her.

"Maya also figured out that the unsub is likely a veterinarian using xylazine to subdue his victims," Reid said.

"Excellent work," Hotch said. I bit my cheek to keep from smiling with pride.

"I'll get Garcia to crosscheck people on or associated with the football time with those with veterinarian training," Morgan said. In an instant, he was flirting with Penelope, who found our unsub and sent his address.