-MAD WOMAN-
eighteen!

the problem with surviving was that
you ended up with the ghosts of
everyone you'd ever left behind
riding on your shoulders
- paolo bacigalupi

now - 6x20!

Grief can do unspeakable things to a person. It can leave them in denial for longer than they should ever have to live in that stage. They can force themselves to believe their trauma isn't real and walk about their lives as if nothing has changed. Grief could leave them with so much anger that their entire thought process revolves around revenge or the best way to get justice for what happened to them. They could feel so hopeless that all they want is to find a way to change the past and they live in the what-ifs. They could fall into a depression so deep that it feels as though waves are swallowing them whole with nothing to grab onto to pull them out. 

For Wren Spader, grief left her with the latter of the options. 

Two months had passed since Emily's death and while the team as a whole was showing signs of improvement, they still had a long way to go before anything felt somewhat normal. Wren knew that there would never be a day at the BAU where she felt like everything was as it should be ever again, but she had hope that one day she'd heal enough to look at Emily's old desk and not feel a heartwrenching pain. 

The bureau had ordered a routine check-in on the BAU, which made sense seeing as they had just lost one of their own, but that didn't make talking about it any easier.

Wren was already talking to a therapist about it all. She really didn't want to have to talk to Hotch about it, too. It was at the point where she just felt like she was repeating herself every time she opened her mouth. No, she wasn't okay. She wasn't anywhere close to okay and Hotch knew that. In her opinion, her assessment was a waste of time when all it took was one look at the brunette to know that she still hadn't fully processed what had happened.

After Wren's initial breakdown at the hospital, it took her two weeks to cry again over Emily's death. And that was mostly because she was so focused on recovering the relationships she had with the team. But once those were repaired, the floodgates opened again and Wren remembered why she had to repair her friendships in the first place. That night in the apartment that she was now sharing with Spencer, she cried more tears than she realized she had in you. Spencer kept mentioning that she had to keep drinking water, otherwise, she'd make herself dehydrated and that comment was one of the first things that made her laugh in two weeks.

She was very open about the fact that she blamed herself for Emily's death. The whole team knew it, and most tiptoed around the topic when they were around her. The only ones who actually talked to her about it were Spencer and Hotch. The former helped her process her guilt in any way that he could and the latter only brought it up in the grief assessment.

"How are you doing with the guilt?" Hotch asked after a good minute of silence between the pair. Wren was looking at the coffee table in front of her, her eyes void of any emotion. She didn't know how to answer his question because no answer she gave him would be satisfactory.

"It's still there," she muttered eventually. "I mean, I don't know- it's like I know that it wasn't my fault, but there's still this large part of me that can't help but feel as though it was."

"Your logical thinking and your emotional thinking are interfering," her boss interpreted and she nodded.

"It seems so simple when you put it that way, but yes."

✦✧✦

"A deadly chain of events to report to you today. Approximately forty-five minutes ago, four people were shot to death in a gun shop on West Waters Street. Tampa P.D. is calling this mass murder unprecedented."

"A woman went in there and just shot up the place?" Seaver asked after Hotch stopped the news coverage of their most recent case. 

"Yeah, eyewitnesses heard gunshots and saw a woman leaving the store," Garcia answered as Wren flipped through the details of the case on her tablet.

"Is there enough for a sketch?" Morgan queried from the seat next to her. 

"Family-owned business, no cameras," Hotch explained as he stood in front of the monitor.

"The only thing of value the witnesses said was that she seemed really calm," the technical analyst continued.

"Like an office or school shooter," Wren added quickly.

"Did she work there?" Rossi questioned.

"No. Local police have already ruled that out."

"Then she must have known one of her victims," Seaver stated. "I doubt this was random."

"You know, Klebold and Harris documented their hatred of the athletes at Columbine," Reid started to tell the group, "but on the day, they targeted the cafeteria instead of the gymnasium because they were only interested in obtaining the highest possible body count."

"These offenders usually hole up in one location and eventually commit suicide, either by their own hand or in a shootout with police," Rossi continued the discussion on school and office shooters.

"But this woman took off before the cops arrived," Morgan stated, allowing them to find a difference between a common school or workplace shooter and their current unsub. 

"She's probably not finished," Hotch said and Morgan sighed lightly.

Wren couldn't help but sigh as well at the information they had. Despite how little they had, they were still lucky to have gotten some useful details both about their unsub and what her motive could've been.

✧✦✧

"What about living with Reid? How's that been working out?" the unit chief asked Wren as their conversation moved along. "I know you weren't expecting to have to live with another member of the team for so long."

"It actually hasn't been as weird as I thought it was going to be," she admitted. "It started out a bit awkward, especially since he lives in a one-bedroom apartment but when we moved over to my place, it got easier. It's nice to not be left alone with my thoughts for too long and he's good company."

"He mentioned something about you having nightmares to me the other day," Hotch told her and Wren sucked in a breath. That was supposed to be confidential between her and Spencer, but she understood why he told their boss. Her not sleeping wasn't going to help anyone, especially if the sleep she got was plagued with bad dreams. "Are you still having them?"

"I don't have them as often as I used to, but yeah, I still have them."

"When was your most recent one?"

"Two nights ago," she answered. "But it was a different nightmare than usual. It was like I was in Emily's place, but also watching everything happen from out of my own body."

"You watched yourself get tortured by Doyle?" Hotch asked and she nodded. "How did you feel about that scenario."

"I felt like I deserved it."

✦✧✦

The flight to Tampa, Florida consisted of the team talking about their victims, and the minute the group was left in silence, Wren fell asleep. She'd never admit it, but aside from the nightmares, she also didn't sleep because she didn't feel safe. Wren could sleep just fine if Spencer were in the room with her or whenever the team was on their way to or from a case. 

Her teammates were almost afraid to interrupt her sleep when the jet landed. They all could tell by the heavy bags under her eyes that she desperately needed rest, but they couldn't leave her there. So, after Spencer woke her up, the team was able to split up and head to their different assignments. While Hotch and Rossi made their way to the crime scene, the rest went to the police station, where Wren introduced herself and her coworkers to some of the officers. After everyone was on the same page, the members of the BAU were directed toward a conference room. 

While Reid, Morgan, and Seaver spoke to Hotch and Rossi over the phone, Wren spent her time setting up the evidence boards and keeping to herself. She was too tired to invest too much of herself in the case and everyone knew it, so they allowed her to do what she could to help and also keep her distance. It wasn't until Garcia was on the phone that the brunette joined them in conversation.

"Hello, my pretty people, what can I do for you?" the technical analyst asked the group of profilers.

"Garcia, based on victimology, the unsub's husband or boyfriend most likely owns a .38," Reid told her as he approached the phone, standing behind where Wren was sitting. "We need to search for white males age 35 to 50 who have registered that model."

"Okay, I'm not a computer genius with the entire country's information at her fingertips, but even I know that that number is going to be incredibly high, especially in Florida," Wren spoke.

"Amen, sister," Penelope agreed.

"We think he might be law enforcement or military," Seaver added.

"It's possible that the unsub was in an abusive relationship that contributed to her breakdown, Garcia," Morgan continued as he paced with one of the files in his hands. "So look for any crossover with reports of domestic abuse."

"This is tricky. Do you have anything else to narrow it down?" Garcia asked.

"Why?"

"Because Florida's a stand-your-ground state," the technical analyst replied, causing Ashley to knit her brows together in confusion.

"Castle doctrine based on English common law that allows homeowners to use deadly force to protect their land," Reid explained to the blonde.

"Which is the long way of saying that Florida gun laws aren't very regulated," Wren commented with a small sigh.

"Especially after the 2008 elections," Penelope agreed with Wren again. "The Floridians were nervous about losing their second amendment rights and gun sales shot through the roof. Pun intended."

"And they're all crazy if you ask me," the brunette muttered to herself, but the comment got a smirk from Ashley and a nudge to the shoulder from Spencer.

"How many of those men fit that profile in Tampa?" Morgan asked, moving the conversation along.

"As it stands right now, 638."

A notification on his phone pulled Reid's attention away from the group for a moment before he looked around and told them the news of another shooting.

Hotch had called Wren and told her to set up a press conference for when he returned but before he could make it back to the station, their unsub had shot a police officer at a roadblock and hit another with her car. Instead of holding the press conference without her boss, Wren asked the reporters to stay close to the station as she convened with the rest of the team to present the profile to the officers. Once the profile was presented, Wren sat in front of one of the televisions in the precinct while she waited for instructions from Hotch.

"Spader, are you up for being the face of the unit for the press?" Her boss asked her as he approached her.

"I mean, that's in my job description, isn't it?"

"It is, but I don't want to overwhelm you," he explained.

"It feels like I've been doing the bare minimum for the past four cases," she admitted to him. "I know that everyone is trying to let me grieve in my own way but I can't just mope forever. I'll have to let her go eventually and the first step toward doing that is doing my job like I used to, even if it feels wrong."

Hotch hesitated for a moment before nodding at her words. They both stood in silence for a moment as they watched the reporter on the news bring up how the BAU had been invited in on the case. The lead detective approached the pair and watched the TV with them before Hotch turned to look at the man.

"We need to try to communicate with this woman directly," Hotch told the detective.

"But she's not talking, she's shooting," he replied.

"She feels ignored," Wren explained. "The media is sensationalizing the story."

"She'll continue to respond violently to regain control," the unit chief continued.

"She shot a cop," the detective reminded the pair. "The men she's targeting are my responsibility."

"You asked for our help. Let us do our job," Hotch requested before he and Wren walked away from the detective and towards a conference room. As Hotch briefed Wren on what she needed to say to the woman, the rest of the team was bringing in the reporters. Once the room was settled and Hotch and Morgan stood on either side of her, Wren began speaking to the group.

"This is Wren Spader with the FBI," the brunette spoke. "The team and I have come from Quantico, Virginia because we want to talk to you. We know that you have a personal message that you need to share with the world. All we ask is that you stop hurting people because we are listening. We hear your pain about the hurt and terrible loss you've suffered. We want to talk to you about it. We want to know how we can help. We have taken the first step and now it's up to you to make contact. You can contact me at 1-800-555-0140. Again, that number is 1-800-555-0140. Thank you."

✧✦✧

"Has anything been giving you any comfort?" He asked after scribbling down the fact that the brunette truly felt like she deserved to die in Emily's place.

"Daria has been visiting me when she can," Wren said as she thought about her friend. "She's still traveling around a lot, but she'll send me postcards and we'll talk over the phone. Having at least one person from my support system outside of work has been nice."

"Raven and Oakley are doing well, I thought you should know," Hotch told her and she pushed her lips into a thin smile. The past three or-so months had been the longest Wren had gone without seeing her sister and her niece and it was killing her as well. The only blood relatives she actually cared about and she couldn't even see them.

"I'm glad," she whispered as her voice cracked a bit. The unit chief decided to push the conversation forward so she didn't cry.

"How have you and Reid been helping each other through all of this?"

"A lot of it is just not letting each other be alone with our thoughts," she confessed, not wanting to reveal too much information. "We've been watching a lot of movies and TV shows that don't take a lot of mental capacity to understand. Well, I have, Spencer's been analyzing practically every frame of a show or movie and telling me about continuity errors or plot holes. And if one of us shows some signs of issues, we talk it out instead of letting it sit inside of us."

✦✧✦

"No leads on the hotline or the vehicle," the detective announced as he entered the conference room where the BAU was working. 

"This woman obviously has a plan," Rossi stated. "The only clear decision she made this morning was walking into that gun store."

"But there are eight of them in her comfort zone. Why choose that one?" Reid asked.

"Convenience. Maybe it's close to where she lives," Seaver suggested.

"If we're saying this morning is when she was the most clear-headed, then it was a conscious decision to walk into that particular gun store," Morgan said.

The team called up Garcia and asked how she was doing on narrowing down teal wagon owners and the history of the gunshop. Unfortunately, her answer wasn't as helpful as they'd hoped it be.

"I have hundreds of teal wagons," the technical analyst explained. "None of the registrations match the physical description of our unsub."

"What about the gun store?" Morgan asked her.

"Mm, and then there's that," she started. "I searched the entire history of Larry's Gun Shop. Nothing of significance has ever happened there aside from this morning's massacre. And on top of that, you know those 600-plus registered .38 owners? They bought them all over the city, so we're pretty much screwed unless you can think of some other kind of connection."

"Then the date only means something to her," Seaver spoke.

"Didn't we say she's suffered a major loss?" Wren asked rhetorically. "P.G, can you run accident reports with young victims that happened on today's date?"

"She seems to be going after heroes," Reid mentioned.

"Okay, you guys, I'm doing that now, but this will take forever," Garcia said. "Tampa's got almost half-a-million people. Everybody's got a story. How am I even supposed to - Oh."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, my super skills just squelched my pessimism," she admitted. "I have a couple of accidents here that happened in the last few years on or around today's date. Please hold while I deduce. This looks promising. Ok, there was a high-speed traffic chase in West Tampa last year. A policeman was killed."

"Who were they chasing?" Morgan asked.

"Uh, Hanley Waters."

"Maybe he's the target."

"No, he's in jail," Garcia informed them before continuing. "He started a whole mess because he decided to do an armed robbery at a liquor store and then have a high-speed car chase with the cops. Oh, there's a video. It was 365 days ago to the dot. I'm sending this to your tablets. Observe and prepare yourself"

Wren picked up her tablet quickly and opened it to the video of the car chase playing. As Waters' car went through an intersection, he collided at full speed with another car.

"Who was it who got hit?" Hotch asked the technical analyst.

"Tampa mom, Shelly Chamberlain," she replied. "She was unhurt. Her six-year-old, Damion, died."

"That has to be her," Wren spoke as she watched the video replay again.

"Oh, and today is Damion's birthday."

"Your son enters and leaves your life on the same date. That's one hell of a stressor," Rossi said.

"It explains why she went on her spree today," Morgan added. "All of the good and bad memories are hitting her at once."

"And to add salt to it all, the fallen policeman was the only one who got any attention," Garcia told them. "Damion was like a footnote."

"If Shelly Chamberlain is our unsub and the man who caused this is in jail, then who's her target?" Reid questioned.

"What's her marital status?" Wren asked the technical analyst.

"Don Chamberlain, city firefighter," Garcia replied. "He filed for divorce three months ago."

"A local hero, like some of the others she shot," Rossi mentioned. 

"But the pain of losing a child destroyed the marriage," Seaver said.

"He could be the next target of her rage," Morgan continued. "The man who didn't bear witness to her grief."

That thought process didn't sit right with Wren as the rest of the team headed out to find Shelly. It didn't make sense to the brunette how Shelly was targeting officers and first responders who were on duty if the grudge she had was against her husband for not watching as she grieved. The brunette picked up her cell and dialed Garcia's number once more.

"Hey, pretty lady, what can I do for you?"

"Was Don Chamberlain on duty when the car crash happened?" Wren asked her.

"One moment while I dig," the technical analyst said as Wren heard typing on the other end of the line. "Birdie, it amazes me how smart you are. Yes, he was."

"And him not showing up to help save his son leads Shelly to blame him for his death. Thanks, Garcia."

"Anytime, my love."

Wren got a call that they knew where Shelly Chamberlain was and she made her way over there. She arrived right after Morgan, Reid, and Seaver and listened to them talk to the detective.

"I'm calling in SWAT," the man informed them.

"Don't do that. If she feels pressured, she might snap," Reid replied, getting a look of disbelief from the detective. Wren approached the group and stood next to Reid as the group spoke.

"She hasn't done that already? No, if I get the shot I'm taking it."

"I'd like to try to talk to her," Hotch told the detective, who turned to face him.

"It's too late for that, she's got hostages," he replied.

"Yes, and in a hostage situation, you try to negotiate, not shoot," Wren reminded him, who sent a quick glare her way.

"Plus, she's probably not even aware of them," Rossi mentioned.

"Well, I am," the detective retorted. "It's my job to protect them."

"Look, I understand that you're upset about your officer being shot, but SWAT won't help in this situation at all," Wren continued to argue with him.

"Adding onto the fact that you don't have a line of sight and a sniper round could pass through her and into somebody else," Hotch agreed with Wren.

The detective stopped arguing with the profilers and Hotch called the restaurant phone number and spoke to the manager for a few moments.

"He can't get the phone to her. I'm going to go in."

"Are you sure about this?" Rossi asked him.

"She hasn't hurt anyone in the restaurant. This is about her family and the grief she's facing," Wren agreed with her boss, though she was hesitant about letting him go in that building alone.

"If she's at the end of her break and nothing else matters, she could do anything, Hotch," Morgan pointed out.

"I'll keep my mic open," he told them as he left the group and started taking off his vest.

"For once, could someone keep their vest on when walking into a deadly situation?" the brunette muttered under her breath and Morgan hummed in agreement.

A few moments passed before Hotch entered the building and the team could hear the conversation between Hotch and Shelly Chamberlain.

"Shelly?" Hotch announced his presence.

"W-Who are you?" Shelly asked him.

"My name is Aaron Hotchner. I'm with the FBI," he replied.

"FBI," she breathed out. "You work with that woman who spoke on the radio today."

"Yes, I do. I want to work something out so we can-"

"I want to talk to her," Shelly interrupted him and Wren's breathing stopped for a minute. She didn't do a lot in hostage situations, she never had. And she certainly hadn't been requested by an unsub before.

"I don't know if that's possible," Hotch said.

"Then get out!" She shouted.

"Shelly, I know about-"

"I said 'get out!'" Shelly repeated herself.

Wren took in a deep breath before speaking into her mic. "Hotch, I'm on my way inside."

As she walked past one of the patrol cars, someone grabbed her arm to stop her. She turned around to see Spencer gripping her forearm.

"If she's asking for you, it's likely that she feels connected to you in some way," he told her as he held onto her. "There's no way of knowing if it's a good or bad connection. So be careful, please."

Wren gave him a small smile and patted his hand with her free one. "I'll be just fine, smartie."

Once he let go, she continued her walk toward the restaurant and entered the same way Hotch did. She moved to stand next to Hotch, allowing him to move behind her since she was still wearing her vest.

"Hi Shelly, my name is Agent Wren Spader," the brunette spoke to the woman. Wren kept her eyes on her, hoping she'd be able to intervene if Shelly decided to start shooting. "I know today is your son's birthday and I wanted to say how sorry I am about Damion's death."

Shelly directed her gun from pointing at Wren and Hotch toward her ex-husband and then back at the profilers again as she spoke to Don. "What's going on?"

"It's okay," he told her. "They're here to help."

"No-nobody helps," Shelly said, looking at Wren, who gave her a sympathetic look.

"Believe me, I know the feeling," she replied. 

"No, you don't know a thing about Damion."

"We know he was a happy and confident little boy," Hotch spoke up.

"How- How could you know that?" Shelly asked.

"I have a picture of him," the unit chief admitted, unfolding the piece of paper in his hand. "Standing next to you. You're holding his hand and he's smiling. He's not... hiding behind you like some children do."

"It tells us that you encouraged him and you gave him a lot of confidence," Wren continued after Hotch handed the photo to her.

"That picture, it doesn't belong to you."

"We know. That's why we want you to have it back," the brunette said. Shelly started to stutter in confusion as Wren approached the family at the table. "How old are you turning today, buddy?"

"Seven," the kid told her and she gave him a reassuring smile.

"That's how old Damion would've turned today, right?" Wren pointed the question toward Shelly, who was still in some form of shock about the situation. "I know you don't want to scare him, so he and his family are going to leave now."

"Bill, will you show them out please?" Hotch asked the manager who was standing in the corner. He nodded and helped the family out of the restaurant. Once they were close enough to the door, Hotch pulled out another photo. "Don, I found this picture of you and Damion. It's clear who his hero was."

Wren watched as tears formed in his eyes before she spoke. "I know you blame yourself and you shouldn't. And, Shelly, the hurt that you might inflict on other people is not going to bring your son back."

"They- they need to know what they did," Shelly responded.

"Believe me when I say that everyone who tried to save him that day will never forget," Wren told her softly. "It's the day they failed. They'll ask themselves what they could've done. Could they have gotten there sooner? Was there a better route to take? Should they have called in for backup quicker? They'll heal, but it's gonna take time. They'll move on, but they won't forget."

Tears were starting to fall from Shelly's face and Wren could feel some of her own forming as well. All the words she said to reassure Shelly were the words she had been needing to hear since Emily died, but no one said them to her.

"I could see that- that he was dying," Shelly explained, looking toward Don as she spoke. "And I tried to help him. I tried. I tried."

"Please don't," Don pleaded. "Please."

"I said 'Honey- honey, it's gonna be alright. It's gonna be alright, you hear those sirens? Do you hear those sirens? That is Daddy, and Daddy is coming. And he's gonna- he's gonna help us. He's gonna save us.' But you never came."

"I know. I know, Shelly, and I'm so sorry. You know that."

"Yeah, but he doesn't know that," she exclaimed multiple times, taking a few steps toward him and then looking toward Wren. "I- I made a promise to him. I promised him-"

"Shelly, you have to stop blaming yourself," she told the woman, who shook her head as she repeated the words. It didn't feel real to Wren, hearing the words come out of her own mouth. It felt like another out-of-body experience as she watched herself say the words to someone else.

"I yelled at him," Shelly confessed after a moment. "And it was- it was... the last thing he heard."

"That's your regret," Hotch said. "It's not what he remembers. Look, look how happy he was."

"No, I can't," she refused.

"Losing him is not your fault," he continued. "He was taken from you and that's not fair. But while he was here, while you were lucky enough to have him, he was happy. That's how he lived and that's how he left."

Shelly slowly approached Wren and Hotch and took the photos from them and once she did, Don took the gun from her and gave it to Wren. The group stood there for a moment as the parents cried. After some time passed, Hotch escorted Shelly out of the building and Wren walked out next to Don, who followed the patrol car with Shelly in it in his own vehicle. 

Wren stood on her own away from the police officers and her team as people started to leave the driveway and head back to the station. She could feel the eyes of her teammates watching her as she just stared ahead, not truly wanting to leave her spot.

She didn't even realize that Spencer had approached her, and had a hand gently placed on her upper arm until he spoke. "Wren, are you ready to go home?"

"It wasn't my fault, right?" She asked suddenly, looking him in the eyes. "What happened - it wasn't my fault, right?"

"No, it wasn't your fault," he told her. "It was never your fault."

"It wasn't my fault," Wren repeated. But this time it was a statement instead of a question. Tears formed in her eyes as she said it again. "It wasn't my fault."

Spencer pulled her into a hug as the tears flowed down her face. All he could do at this moment for her was repeat the words she needed to hear. And he needed her to know that he wasn't going anywhere.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

when spencer is wren's primary form of comfort but he has absolutely no clue 🥰

anyway wren's gonna be on the road to recovery now (yay!!) i'm sure nothing with throw a wrench in her healing process in the near future /sarcasm

also thank you for 8k reads!! i'm so glad ppl like this fic bc wren is literally everything to me.

ok see you guys next chapter <3

with love, robin!