Chapter Text
Chapter One — The Past Never Stays Buried
The rhythmic hum of the BAU jet was a strangely comforting sound. For most people, turbulence and engine noise meant discomfort, maybe even anxiety, but for Dr. Spencer Reid, it was just another day. Another case solved, another city left behind, another round of goodbyes to grieving families who would never really be the same.
He leaned back in his seat, a rare, soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he glanced down at his phone. A single message from her.
Josephine 💛: “You’re on your way home, right? I’m making dinner. Don’t argue. Just be here before the pasta overcooks.”
Reid’s heart warmed, his thumb hovering over the keyboard before typing back.
“Wouldn’t dream of missing it. ETA: 3 hours. Save me a seat.”
Morgan caught the flicker of expression on his face — that small, vulnerable look that Spencer didn’t even realize he had when he thought of her.
“Pretty Boy’s got that look again,” Morgan teased, nudging JJ with his elbow.
JJ grinned, leaning across the aisle. “Josephine, right?”
Reid didn’t even bother denying it. “Yes. She’s… well, she’s incredible.”
Garcia’s voice came through the jet’s speakerphone. “Oh my god, boy genius is smitten! Tell us more about this mysterious goddess before we all lose our minds!”
Reid blushed. “There’s really not much to tell. She’s a researcher, has her PhD in folklore and ancient civilizations. We met at a guest lecture she gave at Georgetown about cross-cultural myth origins. We’ve been together for about a year.”
JJ smiled softly. “That’s perfect for you, Spence.”
Hotch looked up from his paperwork, a hint of a smirk tugging at his stoic face. “A doctor dating a doctor. Sounds like a stable pairing for once.”
But Emily Prentiss — always the observer — tilted her head, noting the way Reid’s words had a reverence to them, as though Josephine wasn’t just someone he loved, but someone he needed.
“Folklore and myth, huh?” Emily said. “She must have some fascinating stories.”
Reid nodded absentmindedly, eyes distant. “You could say that.”
When the team finally landed back in Quantico, Reid was the first one out. He wasn’t usually one to rush off, but tonight, there was an urgency in his step. The kind that comes when home isn’t just a place — it’s a person.
Josephine Rivers' apartment sat in a quiet corner of D.C., lined with bookshelves, warm light, and the faint scent of cinnamon and old paper. When Reid walked in, she was already in the kitchen, wearing one of his oversized cardigans and humming to herself as she stirred a pot.
“Hey, genius,” she said without turning around. “How was the case?”
Reid slid his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. “You don’t want to know.”
“I always want to know,” she teased gently, then glanced over at him. Her tone softened when she saw the exhaustion in his eyes. “But… maybe later.”
Dinner was peaceful. They laughed, traded stories, shared theories about myth versus reality. Reid spoke about behavioral patterns in serial offenders; Josephine countered with legends of shapeshifters and vengeful spirits. He always smiled at her fascination — humoring her, never suspecting how much truth her words held.
Afterward, as he drifted off on the couch with her head resting on his chest, Josephine stared at the dark window. Her reflection looked back at her — calm, happy, loved — but beneath the surface, a storm brewed.
Because earlier that day, her phone had buzzed with a message she hadn’t wanted to see.
Rhys Ashford: “We need you, kiddo. It’s bad. Call us.”
Her blood had run cold. She hadn’t seen her brothers in years. Not since she left the hunting world, changed her name, and buried that life deep enough to pretend it was gone.
She thought she could finally live normal.
She thought wrong.
The next morning at Quantico, the BAU team gathered around the conference table. Garcia entered dramatically, her tablet in hand. “Okay, everyone, before we dive into paperwork hell, you know I did my usual background check on Pretty Boy’s mystery lady — purely for security reasons, obviously.”
Reid’s head snapped up. “Garcia—”
“Relax! It’s standard,” she said quickly, though her bright expression faltered. “Except… I found something weird.”
Morgan leaned forward. “Weird how?”
“She doesn’t seem to exist before 2013. No social media, no records, no high school, no undergrad history that checks out. Her PhD’s legit, but everything before that? It’s like someone scrubbed it clean.”
JJ frowned. “That’s… odd.”
Reid’s stomach twisted. “Maybe she just values her privacy.”
Garcia hesitated, then added quietly, “Reid… I also found an old alias. Birth name: Josephine Ashford.”
The room went silent.
“Ashford?” Hotch repeated. “As in… related to those Ashfords? The brothers who were tied to over a dozen unsolved homicide scenes across the Midwest?”
Reid froze, his pulse pounding. He remembered the name. Everyone in the Bureau did. Jude and Rhys Ashford — drifters, suspected vigilantes, ghosts in the FBI’s unsolved case files.
Emily exhaled slowly. “Reid… you might want to talk to her.”
He didn’t answer.
Because deep down, he already knew that Josephine — the woman he loved, the one who’d made him believe in peace — had just become the biggest mystery of his life.
That night, Josephine stood outside their apartment, hands trembling slightly as she stared at her phone. Another message from Rhys.
“It’s a demon case, Josephine. Jude says we can’t do it without you. Tell your boyfriend whatever you have to. Just come home.”
Her heart raced. She looked up as headlights pulled into the driveway — Spencer’s car.
She knew what was coming. The truth she’d hidden for years was about to surface.
Because the past always finds its way back.
And this time, she couldn’t run.