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gold-onthe-inside · 6 days ago

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a stubbornly persistent illusion ; change

Spencer Reid x Non-BAU Reader

TLDR: Spencer worries he's not doing enough with his life - angsty comfort - 1.9k words

Warnings: lots of talk about expectation, spoilers for basically all of CM tbh with lots of character mentions, mentions of previous spencer trauma (the football field incident), one sexual innuendo, mentions of blood and death

Notes: no y/n, second person, set in season 11, this is ur halloween fic because nothing is scarier than the black hole of time

“Do you think I’m supposed to be different from how I was?” Spencer asks.

And you had suspected a question at some point or other.

Derek had left. He had a son. He had Savannah. He was settling.

And Spencer had run from it as quietly and as secretly as possible, until it hunted him down like an already-shot deer having not seen the blood gushing from its side, looking for someplace warm to lay down – just for a little while, just a minute.

The night is navy and his apartment is full of dusk – greys and blues and clouds that hold no weight. Eyeing him up across the counter, two eclectic mugs of green tea steaming between you, he hasn’t changed since work. You hoped he’d want to be in his comfortable clothes as soon as possible, and you tried to coax him by changing into sweatpants and a loose t-shirt.

But he’s stuck. Still stuck. Someplace not here. Some time not here.

Your brows scrunch.

“From how you’d been?” your head tilts, “What do you mean, Spence?”

He licks between his parted lips and doesn’t quite look at you.

“I-it’s a fundamental law that… that experiences mould you into being a certain type of person, th-that you mature because you learn, because the brain forms new connections and understands patterns and you come to want more, to be more, but…” and he stiffens a little, blinking quickly as he tries to keep up with his own mind – a struggle, sometimes, especially during times like these, “but I’m the same.”

“The same as?”

“As who I was ten years ago…” he murmurs, “back when Giden was around… back when Emily joined… back…” he shrugs, “I’m the same person.”

“You’re not the same, Spence…” your voice is soft against his bleeding heart.

“But I am, I-I live in the same apartment, I’m still trying to take care of my mom, I’m doing the same job. Am I… have I forgotten to change?”

“Well, I suppose that depends on what change means to you.”

Spencer sighs.

“A set of conditions or circumstances substituted for another in order to prevent or alleviate monotony-,”

“I didn’t say the Oxford English Dictionary, Spence, I said to you.” your eyes are a warning, a gentle flash of firmness needed to rein Spencer in before he falls off the rails – a reminder that he must look inward for the answers sometimes, even if he might not like what he finds.

Spencer smiles, amused at your easy guess.

He slouches down on the counter, running a hand through his hair, and his hands cup his warm mug, gazing into the amber like he might find answers there.

“Change has always been scary.” Spencer answers, “I like things to be the way they are.”

“Why?”

He gulps.

“Because it’s predictable. And… when things are predictable, nothing… nothing can hurt you… at least, in ways you didn’t expect.”

Spencer seems so young at heart sometimes.

He is still standing there.

On the green.

The lights are on.

His clothes are gone.

He is confused. He is alone. When this is over, he will walk back home. Then, he will wake up for school tomorrow.

You sigh.

“One day, a man walks into a music shop. He says he’d like to buy a piano.”

Spencer smirks at you, the memories of your first meeting flashing in his mind.

“And he asks which one is the best for beginners.” you continue.

“And the lady behind the counter says, ‘if you want a beginner’s piano, you’ll always be a beginner musician.’” Spencer notes, “Which is fundamentally inaccurate, you can’t put a toddler in Math fifty-five and expect a genius.”

“But if you’re always bent in half, you’ll never be fifty-foot tall.”

Spencer admires your stubbornness – your way of thinking, your poetic brain, your interest in his self-preservation – and it’s because of this that he rounds the island toward you, his shoes clicking against the wood, as he comes to lean on the counter at your side, tea in hand, short nails tapping the ceramic.

He sighs.

“Derek’s gone. Emily’s gone. Gideon. Elle.” his brows scrunch, “They all changed.”

“Or did they just become more of who they are?”

Spencer pauses, thinking, trying to weave fact from fiction.

“Elle… shot somebody…” he swallows, “somebody that she shouldn’t have, and… change should be for the better, right?”

“Maybe. But that’s not promised. There’s no law.”

“And Gideon died, he left and he was murdered.”

“His death wasn’t who he was though, Spence, he… from what I gather, was a lone wolf… lived and thought and felt a certain way, and… people like that, I think, inevitably go their own way at some point in their lives.” your hand brushes his arm, caressing the delicate fabric of his cardigan, his warmth echoing underneath it, “But Emily… pursued an amazing opportunity, and Derek’s going to be a father-,”

“I know, and I know I have to be happy for him – and I said that to his face, that I couldn’t be happier for him, and I know he has to leave – but I can’t help but… feel sad… like I’d rather him stay… and I know that’s cruel, because that means wishing he didn’t have anything to leave for.” Spencer replies.

“I know, honey…” you offer him just warmth then, not needing to be intellectually outed of his own feelings; God knows, he’s doing it to himself enough already.

The night darkens. You cave and turn the kitchen light on, and Spencer winces as the golden beams cast down on you both.

“Do you want something to leave for?” you ask.

Spencer’s jaw tightens, thinking about it. Silence echoes and you slurp your tea to fill it, standing in front of him then, comfortable and content, gazing up at this brilliant man with the kindest eyes you’ve ever seen.

“I’m… uh… I think I’m… frustrated that… I don’t… and haven’t…”

“Well, what about Hotch, honey? What about Penelope? JJ?”

“JJ’s the exception, she’s taken time out for two children, got married, moved house-,”

“But it doesn’t feel like change because she’s still in the BAU, Spence. Because you still see her. She’s still present. And Hotch, he’s changed, his life has completely changed, but he’s still around. And Penny…” your head cocks, “girl changes her life every ten minutes, I know, I follow her on Instagram – she repainted her kitchen twice this last month.”

“She called me worried she’d poisoned herself and I had to remind her to open the windows, because paint contains something called volatile organic compounds-,” one hand raises to shift through the air and explain it to you, as though these molecules hovered in front of him, “such as formaldehyde, toluene, and acetone, as well as solvents like turpentine, which all can contribute to nausea, dizziness, and headaches.”

“And she called you.” you smile, “Because you’ve made an impression. You’re the one people call, Spence. You’re the one people name their children after. The one people… leave letters to.”

Spencer chews his bleeding heart as it clambers into his mouth. He swallows it back down again. One letter too many, he thinks.

“But… I’m not the one naming children or leaving letters because I have to go.” Spencer says.

You lean forward, chin resting on his chest, trapping his mug between you.

“I mean, any day now, honey-,”

“You’re a menace.” he kisses your forehead, a warm hand cradling your cheek and tracing the curve of your skull beneath your fragile skin – so breakable, he fears, so trapped by time.

“I know this is scary, baby…” you rasp, your precious air thawing the ice of his chest, desperate to preserve its dying organs, “but… you have changed… and… things are also exactly the same.”

“I won’t see Derek every day-,”

“But the love is still there.”

“I don’t know how that can matter if he’s not there. Sometimes, it all… just feels like words. I’ve studied so many brilliant philosophers and scientists and artists and intellectuals in my life, but, in times like now, it all just feels like… twenty-six letters in a different order that are supposed to make you feel better.”

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“Then, what does it mean?”

“Everything.” you unbutton his cardigan, “You… string together twenty-six letters in a different order every day… and I have loved you more with every one of them. Love is sometimes not as profound as people think it is; it can be so, so simple.” shuffling the fabric from his shoulders, he puts his mug down so you can slide it from his frame and drape it across the countertop, then take to loosening his tie.

Spencer holds you by your waist.

“You have changed.” you say, “You have me. You have all of this. You have… learnt so much and seen so much and understood more than anybody else has. You stand straighter, speak louder, laugh easier. It’s so easy to point at things that haven’t changed. And yes, your mother is ill, but she loves you. And yes, you still have this job, but you adore it. And this apartment…” you sigh, glancing around, “is home. Some people spend their whole lives looking for a home. Your pyramids are not to be torn down because they are old.”

Spencer swallows hard, fingers trailing up your sides to stream across the valley of your shoulders, down your arms, along the crook of your wrist to clasp them tight, then bring your knuckles to his lips, kissing them, warm puffs of air from his nose brushing along tiny hairs crossing the expanse of your timeless skin. Gazing down at you now, Spencer’s eyes have always been intense – commanding in this gentle way, stubborn like a sea – and they caress you carefully, marking the treacherous territory of your own eyes, down your nose, your kiss-bitten lips, your well-clasped chin that he has held many-a-time before kissing you quiet – mind and mouth.

“Either way, we’re people, not projects.”

“Your ability to see right through me has always left me startled.” He mumbles, lowering your hands, thumbs crossing your knuckles again and again.

“Good, I’m startling.”

“You are.” he sighs.

“Now, come on, come play me something pretty…” you nudge him, “and get out of your smelly work clothes.”

Spencer rolls his eyes at you, sipping his tea, straightening from the counter and forcing you with him. Petting your head, he trails slowly into the living room, where – kept safe, still, in that old box – is his keyboard. He tugs it out and lays it on the coffee table, plugs it in carefully, and settles down, cracking his knuckles, legs spread.

You settle behind him on the back of the couch, fingers streaming his hair.

“I learnt this one for you.” he tells you.

And it’s the same four notes to start.

Then follows by another four with his other hand.

And it’s hopeful. It’s happy. And it changes and stays the same.

“What’s it called?” you ask gently.

“Hoppípolla.” he says, “It’s an Icelandic phrase, meaning ‘hopping into puddles’.”

A smile blossoms on his face for the first time in a little while.

“I remember doing that… in my little boots…” you beam, “I’d do it more often if I didn’t risk spoiling your cashmere.”

“Puddles are better than cashmere.” Spencer says, “And then it goes – and I’m not singing, because I don’t trust you not to laugh at me-,”

“I wouldn’t laugh!”

“I’m not singing, but i-it goes… smiling, spinning in circles, holding hands…”

He clears his raspy throat.

“The world is a blur, except when you're standing.”

masterlist for more angsty philosophy (my fav genre), check out heaven-sent for more fics based on real episodes, you might like hit ,which is based on the season 7 finale, and magic is a fluffy work that takes place at JJ's wedding, and also 101 is heavy angst after haley hotchner's death (lowkey, i love this one)

hoppipola - signor ros anthems for a seventeen year old girl - social scene funeral - phoebe bridgers

#“your pyramids are not to be torn down because they are old”#ARE YOU KIDDING ME?#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid fic

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