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gummy-cat-writes · 10 days ago

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"It does look good there," Spencer agreed, pushing off the frame to press a kiss to your temple before heading to the bedroom to change.

any time someone mentions spencer + temple kisses it's instantly the most accurate depiction of him in the world

helloo! i absolutely adore your writing from top to bottom! can i make a request for a reader who is always saying sorry, like apologizing for everything without a second thought about… everything. and spencer tries to help her understand that she doesn’t have to ALWAYS be apologizing (if that makes sense?). tysm! <3

sorry — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: established relationship a/n: reader is very relatable ! i have the same terrible habit </3 hope you like this :)

You leaned against the doorframe of Spencer’s study, the towel draped over your shoulders catching the last few droplets from your freshly washed hair.

The moment his eyes flicked up to meet yours, his expression softened and a smile formed on his face. "Hi," he said, voice warm.

"Hi," you echoed, stepping further into the room. "What are you working on?"

He didn’t answer right away, too busy pushing his chair back to make space for you. The invitation was clear and you obliged, stepping between his knees. But the second you noticed the droplets from your hair darkening the fabric of his sweater, you hesitated, pulling back with an apologetic grimace. "Sorry," you murmured, lifting the towel to pat at your hair self-consciously.

Spencer just shook his head, his hands finding the backs of your thighs before gently tugging you closer. Before you could protest again, he guided you sideways onto his lap, one arm wrapping securely around your waist to keep you there.

"Spencer, I’m getting you all wet," you sighed, tilting away, but he only tightened his hold, pressing his cheek against your shoulder.

"Don’t care," he mumbled. You huffed a quiet laugh, but guilt still prickled at you when another droplet escaped your hair, landing on his sleeve. "Sorry," you whispered again, folding your hands in your lap to keep from accidentally dampening him further. He sighed, lifting his head just enough to press a kiss to the curve of your shoulder.

"So," you said, shifting the subject, "what are you working on?"

"Just the report from last week’s case," he murmured, his fingers absently tracing patterns against your hip. "Almost done."

You nodded, letting your head rest against his for a moment before a yawn escaped him. The sound made you smile. "Tired?"

"Mm. A little." He nuzzled closer.

"You wanna have some lunch?" you asked, threading your fingers gently through his hair.

Spencer nodded against you. "Out?" he suggested, voice hopeful.

You considered it, mentally running through the contents of the fridge. "Mhm, yeah. I think I ate the last of the pasta," you admitted, wincing slightly. "Sorry."

That word again. Spencer pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. He didn’t say anything, just pressed another soft kiss to your upper arm, a wordless enough of that. “Eating out it is,” he declared, giving your waist one last squeeze before reluctantly letting you go.

Soon enough, the two of you were out and about. Your hands swung between you, fingers intertwined as you bickered over where to eat.

"That sushi place has half-off rolls after two," you argued.

"But you always complain their rice is too sticky," Spencer countered.

"Because it is! But it’s cheap!"

In the end, you compromised on a cozy little diner , one with the exact kind of crispy, salty fries you’d been craving. Spencer spent half the meal trying to keep a rogue tomato slice from escaping his burger, and by the time you left, your cheeks still hurt from laughing so much.

The walk back was just as pleasant. You swung your joined hands lightly between you, your shoulder brushing his every few steps. That was when you saw it, a little shop nestled between a pharmacy and a bakery, its window cluttered with tiny trinkets, wind chimes, and keychains. Your steps slowed. There, right at the front of the display, was the figurine, the one you’d been eyeing online for weeks. You bit your lip, glancing at Spencer. He hadn’t even paused at the bookstore today, which meant he was probably eager to get home. But then, as if sensing your hesitation, he followed your eyes.

"Spence," you mumbled, giving his hand a small squeeze. "Can we just… pop in here for a second?"

He didn’t even hesitate. "Of course." He glanced at the store. "Isn’t that the trinket you’ve been wanting?"

Your heart did a little flip. Of course he remembered. "Yes," you admitted, grinning.

Spencer didn’t need further convincing. He tugged you gently toward the shop, the little bell above the door chiming softly as you stepped inside. "Sorry for dragging you in here," you whispered, though you were already scanning the displays for the figurine.

Spencer shook his head, his fingers brushing the small of your back. "Nothing to be sorry for." He spotted the trinket before you did. "There."

Five minutes later, you were back outside, swinging a small paper bag triumphantly in one hand, the other still tangled with Spencer’s. "Garcia is going to flip when she sees this," you said, bouncing with excitement.

The moment you got home, you beelined for the bookshelf, carefully unwrapping the little figurine. Spencer leaned against the doorframe with a soft smile as you adjusted its position between your novels and a small potted succulent. "Perfect," you declared, stepping back to admire it.

"It does look good there," Spencer agreed, pushing off the frame to press a kiss to your temple before heading to the bedroom to change.

Minutes later, the two of you settled onto the couch. Spencer sank down with a happy sigh, his arm looping around your shoulders to tug you against his side. You went willingly, melting into him, only to jerk slightly when he let out a yawn so loud it bordered on theatrical.

You giggled, tipping your head back to look at him. "Did the trip wear you out?"

"No," he murmured, his free hand absently tracing patterns up and down your arm. "I woke up too early and spent the morning buried in case files. This is entirely self-inflicted exhaustion."

You studied his face, specifically the faint shadows under his eyes, and guilt prickled at you. "I’m so—"

"Will you stop that?" Spencer interrupted. He pressed two kisses to the crown of your head, softening the words.

You stiffened, pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. "Stop what?" His arm slipped from your shoulders as you sat up straighter, worry knotting your brow.

"Apologizing," he said, his expression earnest. "You haven’t done anything wrong." His hand found yours, threading your fingers together.

"Oh." You ducked your head, suddenly fascinated by the way your thumb skimmed over his knuckles, the ridges and scars you’d memorized by touch.

Spencer squeezed gently, waiting until you looked up again. "You have nothing to apologize for. You understand that, right?"

"Yeah," you said, but your voice was small like you were agreeing out of habit rather than conviction.

His sigh was quiet, but not frustrated. Resigned, maybe. Fond, definitely. He studied your unconvinced expression. His thumb traced slow circles over the back of your hand. "I love you," he said. "Why would I not have fun eating a mountain of fries in some cozy diner with you? Why wouldn’t I enjoy watching your face light up when you finally found your favorite trinket?"

You stared at your entangled hands, feeling slightly flustered.

"I mean it," he said, softer now. "I don’t like it when you apologize for things that make me happy. And being with you? That’s at the top of the list."

Flustered beyond words, you could only nod, your fingers tightening around his.

"So," he said, leaning in, "no more 'sorrys,' okay?"

"Okay, so—" you started automatically, then clamped your mouth shut when his eyebrows shot up. Spencer shook his head, but he smiled nonetheless.

"We’ll work on it," he murmured, sealing the promise with a kiss to your temple.

#fic recs #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

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gummy-cat-writes · 13 days ago

Text

same old story | spencer reid x fem!reader

synopsis: in the wake of Gideon's death, Spencer struggles with his grief and feelings of abandonment, but you help him realise it doesn't always have to be like that

content warnings: discussions of death, unhealthy coping mechanisms, spoilers for s10 ep13 (nelson's sparrow), s10 ep14 (hero worship) and quite a bit of Spencer's backstory

ingredients: established relationship, non!bau!reader, lots of angst but it's a necessary evil, Spencer can be a bitch when he's upset, hurt/comfort, fluff, no use of Y/N (heck yeah), the ending is a little weak I'm sorry

word count: 5k

a/n: I didn't think I'd be posting another fic but I've opened the floodgates I have too many ideas lmao - this one was inspired by Father and Son by Cat Stevens because I'm convinced it describes Spencer and Gideon's relationship dynamic perfectly. Hope you enjoy it because re-watching those episodes for continuity caused me emotional damage </33

The doors of the elevator slid open to reveal the familiar lobby of the BAU. Stepping out, you fidgeted with the strap of your bag, fingers brushing the shiny visitor’s pass clipped to your shirt. Despite coming here for enough lunch breaks with your boyfriend that you’re on nodding terms with most of the agents that walk by, you couldn’t help but feel deeply uncomfortable and out of place. It’s hard to forget when you’re walking through the halls of the literal FBI.

You hovered nervously at the glass doors into the main bullpen area, until a deep but familiar voice startled you.

“We’ve been missing you around here, stranger,” Derek Morgan sidled up to you, his classically charming smile only somewhat calming your nerves. “What did pretty boy forget this time?” He asked as he opened the door for you. “It’s only 9:00.”

“Just some paperwork,” you said as he led you over to Spencer’s unoccupied desk. “How have you all been? Lots of cases I assume.”

Derek chuckled, though an uncharacteristically sombre look crossed his face. “Yeah, well, it’s been difficult, what with Gideon and everything.”

You frowned at him, halfway through opening your bag to retrieve the files Spencer had left on your coffee table that morning. “Gideon?”

Jason Gideon. You’d never met him, but Spencer had always spoken highly of the man. A former senior agent in the BAU, and Spencer’s mentor when he first joined the FBI. According to Spencer, Gideon had left years ago, and despite losing contact, he’d never lost his admiration for his former mentor.

Derek frowned too, equally confused. “Did Reid not tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Our last case, it was-” he hesitated. “Gideon was killed.”

You froze as you attempted to process the information, about a million questions running through your mind, but before you could ask a single one, an office door behind you opened. Spencer exited, followed by Agent Hotchner. Spencer’s face lit up with surprise at the sight of you, and he smiled as he descended the stairs to greet you.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, pressing a chaste kiss to your temple.

“I- you left these at my place,” you replied, still reeling from what Derek had said. Fumbling with your bag, you handed him the files. “Figured you needed them more than me.”

Derek glanced between the two of you with an unreadable expression. “Well, unfortunately, I have to get work done,” he said finally. “Make sure pretty boy here doesn’t spend another night in the office, alright?”

You nodded, not missing the pointed look he gave before heading off to his own office. You registered Agent Hotchner eyeing the two of you, before he too returned to his office, leaving you and your boyfriend alone.

Spencer pulled an extra chair over from a neighbouring desk, smiling at you with the usual tooth-aching care he’d always had for you. “You okay? You look a little tired.”

You blinked rapidly, trying to act normal as you sat down. “Oh, yeah – just a bit.”

Spencer patted your leg, sitting down his own chair. “If there’s anything you need, let me know. You have the day off, right? I could take my break early if you’d like.”

You stared at him, trying to find a crack in his exterior, some sort of sign that you must have missed – how had you missed this? You knew you didn’t have FBI levels of perception, but surely you could tell when your boyfriend was grieving.

The sound of your name brought you from your thoughts, Spencer looking at you with concern. As if you were all that mattered. As if his mentor hadn’t just been killed.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently, smiling fondly at you, a warm hand still resting on your leg.

You shook your head, plastering a smile on your face as you stood up. “I should get going,” you explained hastily. “I’ve got cleaning to do.”

Spencer stood up too, the concern in his eyes fading. He insisted upon walking you to the elevators, kissing you sweetly as he bid you farewell, promising he’d drop by yours after work that evening. You kept up the happy smile until the doors closed, only then allowing the shock to show on your face.

How could he be hiding this so well, and more importantly - of all the people in his life, why would he hide it from you?

“Spencer?” you called softly, nervously stepping into his apartment, using the spare key he’d given you ages ago. The flat seemed empty at first, plunged into darkness, though you could hear the soft sound of his record player emanating from his office, the orange glow creeping down the hallway.

Tip-toeing between the piles of books – he’d been re-organising again – you made your way to the office doorway.

Spencer had phoned you the day before, to let you know he was back from a case. He hadn’t asked you to visit, but there was something in his voice that worried you. He’d sounded tired, which was normal, but something else, something bitter.

“Spencer-” you cut yourself off when you saw him.

He was sitting at his desk, which was just as messy as the rest of his apartment, books and files stacked in precarious piles. Spencer was leaning against his hand, dozed off. His other hand was beside a mini chess set, a game half-finished. The sight gave you a heartache, and it was moments like these you wished you too had an eidetic memory so you could visualise this whenever you pleased.

Stepping quietly as to not startle him, you moved around to his side of the desk, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Spencer, honey?” you whispered.

He stirred, blinking up at you, confusion ebbing away into something sweeter. He gave you a dreary smile. “Hey, angel,” he said drowsily, rubbing his eyes. “Did I miss your call? I must have fallen asleep-”

“No, no, I just wanted to see you,” you said, unable to keep the concern from your voice. “Are you okay? You left so suddenly I was worried-”

Spencer leaned back in his chair, stretching. “I am now that you’re here,” he said warmly, standing up and kissing the side of your head. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”

The initial shock slowly wore off as the day went by, leaving you with a sense of confusion and, deep down, hurt. You two hadn’t been dating that long, but surely after two years he could tell you about the hard stuff. You drifted around your apartment, doing your various tasks with a frown as you reflected on Spencer’s behaviour of late.

He’d never been particularly open about his life, seeming rather closed off when you’d initially met, but slowly he’d let you in. Or at least, you thought he had. The brief comments about his childhood and adolescence seemed sufficient when he’d told you, but now you realised how vague he had been. While you were under the impression he’d let you beyond his walls, you’d only broken the outer shell.

Hours passed by, your daily errands providing you with a necessary distraction from your discovery. 10 pm came around, and with no contact from Spencer since you’d left Quantico, you assumed he must have changed his mind about coming over. Resigning yourself to a night alone, you got ready for bed, but when you headed into the kitchen for a glass of water, you heard the sound of your apartment door unlocking.

Spencer appeared in the doorway, smiling tiredly at you as he put his key in pocket. “Sorry, I lost track of time,” he said softly, keeping his voice low as if there was some other sleeping person in the apartment. You crossed over to him with a smile, and he kissed the side of your head, pulling you into a well-needed embrace. “Missed you too,” he mumbled against your hair.

“I ate without you,” you said with a guilty smile. “Did you have dinner?”

Spencer shook his head. “I’m not hungry,” he replied, his hands resting at your waist, fingers tracing your spine. “But coffee would be nice.”

“That’s a funny way to pronounce tea,” you said with a pointed look, detaching yourself from him to cross over to the kettle. “It’s nearly 10:30.”

You could almost hear him rolling his eyes. The kettle whirred to life, and you turned to face him, leaning against the counter.

There was a beat of silence as you stared at each other from across the kitchen, only interrupted by the rumbling of the kettle. You stared at him, yet again attempting to analyse his body language, to see what you had missed.

“How’s work been?” you asked finally.

Spencer shrugged, effortlessly brushing off your question. “Horrible, but that’s part of the job description.”

You chuckled, though you didn’t give up. “I’m serious,” you said gently. “Is there anything you want to talk about? I’m here for you, you know?”

When you looked up at him, you wished you could believe him.

Spencer smiled at you, and this time it was tense. He slowly walked over to you, leaning slightly down to kiss your forehead, an achingly sweet gesture.

“I know you are, angel,” he murmured. “I’m fine.”

Spencer dipped his head, kissing you lightly. You reciprocated – you needed it almost as much as he did. Slowly, the kiss deepened, Spencer cupping your face, his thumbs tilting your head back for better access.

It felt as though your body was made of syrup, moving in slow motion as you let him overtake every logical cell in your brain. His hands slid down your sides, and on cue you looped your arms around his shoulders.

It was only when you felt his hand drift under the hem of your shirt, grazing your bare stomach, that you were jolted back to reality. You pulled back, only to find him chasing your lips.

“Spencer-”

He pecked your lips again, letting out a slightly irritated noise. You dodged another kiss, and he changed targets, focusing on your jawline.

“I-” you swallowed, trying to find the right words. “I don’t mean to pry- It’s just that Derek told me-”

Spencer seemed entirely disinterested in the conservation, and you huffed, pressing your palms and pushing him back, perhaps a little harder than intended.

“Spencer, please,” you said, unable to dance around it any longer. “Why didn’t you tell me about Gideon?”

He sighed, avoiding your accusatory gaze. “What is there to tell?”

“Spencer-”

“I’m fine!” he insisted, moving closer once more. “Can’t we just go to bed?” He leaned down to kiss you again, and you pull back, frowning.

“Stop, okay,” you said. “We should talk about this.”

“What is there to talk about?” he replied, growing frustrated.

“A lot! Sweetheart, I’m here for you, why don’t you trust me?”

“I’m fine, okay, just-” Spencer repeated, stepping back. “I’m dealing with it.”

You didn’t let him go far, catching his wrist in your hand. “Spencer, please. I know I’m not a profiler, but I can tell that you’re hurting, and I’m worried for you. Would you please just talk to me?”

In a move you never expected, Spencer pulled his arm from your grip, scowling at you. “Yeah, it’s very obvious you’re not a profiler given that you clearly don’t have the emotional intelligence to register when someone doesn’t want to talk,” he snapped. “Gideon is dead, I am sad, but since you aren’t capable of identifying that it’s none of your business, I doubt you’d be able to empathise, which is why I’d like you to back off and let it go.”

His harsh words shocked you. There’d been arguments in the past, but nothing this bad. He’d never insulted you before. You almost wished he’d yelled at you instead.

“Spencer,” you said, your voice pitifully small. “I’m your girlfriend.”

“And?” The cold edge to his voice was something entirely foreign to you, the callousness making you bristle.

“We’re in a relationship- people in relationships care about each other,” you pointed out. “I was just showing concern for you, you don’t need to bite my head off!”

“You’re being nosy,” Spencer said. “Just drop it, okay?”

“Fine,” you snapped, now equally heated as he was. “If you think I was being nosy, that’s your opinion but I was just trying to help. If you don’t want to share things with me, if you don’t think the whole point of a relationship is to try and help each other with their struggles then maybe we shouldn’t be together at all!”

The last part seemed to catch him off guard. Spencer stared at you, hands twitching at his sides. Behind you, the kettle beeped softly.

You held his gaze, ignoring the angry tears in your eyes. “I think you should go.” you said finally.

Spencer nodded. He hovered for a moment, before turning on his heel, leaving you in the kitchen alone. You waited until the front door closed before you headed into the hallway.

It was only when you saw his key – the spare you had exchanged with him months ago – sitting on the sideboard, then you finally began to cry.

“Remind me what exactly we’re watching?” you asked, frowning as Spencer crouched in front of your TV. He’d brought over an old VHS player, excited to show you this very specific Russian sci-fi film on his night off, a rare commodity he was graciously sharing with you. You were curled up on the couch, already comfortable under a throw blanket, watching your boyfriend with amusement.

“Solaris, it’s a Russian psychological science fiction film from 1972,” he rambled eagerly as he connected the player to the TV. “It’s fascinating, very thought provoking. I think you’ll really enjoy it.”

You hummed softly, heart warmed by his enthusiasm. “Spencer, you are aware I don’t know any Russian, right?”

Spencer stood up, his brow furrowed in concentration as he fiddled with the remote. “Lucky for you, I do,” he said. “I can translate.”

The idea of him whispering translations in your ear throughout the film made your face warm, and you let out a nervous laugh. “Surely there’s an English version,” you suggested. “Or at least subtitles.”

Spencer scoffed. “It’s barely a full dub,” he said with an air of disdain. “It’s not nearly as immersive, and the audio is changed. And I found that the subtitles spoil the plot points. This way, you’ll get the original experience that Tarkovsky intended.” The movie began to play, and he grinned, sitting down beside you.

Shifting so your head was on his chest, you settled in, accepting your fate.

“I prefer listening to you talk anyway,” you said. “You have a nice voice.”

Spencer chuckled. “I doubt you’ll feel the same in three hours-”

The familiar tune of his ringtone interrupted him, and he groaned, cursing under his breath. You sat up, watching as he reached over to grab his phone from the end table, a pitying smile on your face. Spencer answered the call, and you decided you better leave him to it. Confidential FBI things.

Standing up, you headed off to the kitchen to make some popcorn. Over the sound of the popping, you heard him turn the TV off.

Looking up from the microwave, you groaned when you saw Spencer pass the kitchen to the hall.

“Seriously?” you said, feeling bad for him. “Another case? Didn’t you say your last one was barely finalised?” Frowning when he didn’t respond, you followed him to the front door. “Spencer?”

He turned to look at you, and you were struck by the eerily numb expression on his face. He looped his scarf around his neck.

“Goodness, you look like you’ve seen a ghost-”

“Don’t wait up for me,” Spencer said, his voice oddly distant as he left without another word.

You stood there, utterly confused at his sudden departure, until the smell of burning popcorn had you brushing it aside in favour of not burning down your apartment.

No missed calls. No messages.

For what felt like the millionth time that hour, Spencer checked his phone again, knee bouncing, sitting in an SUV outside Indianapolis’ city hall building. It had been nearly a week since the fight, and if it weren’t for bombings in Indiana, he would have called you sooner.

Or so he told himself. He knew he was in the wrong, he’d lashed out, but even now, sitting with his thumb hovering over one of his few starred contacts, simply named Angel, he hesitated. Perhaps it was the look of hurt in your eyes, the way your voice had cracked when you’d told him to leave. When you’d suggested that there was a chance you two weren’t meant to be together. Whatever the reason, he didn’t want to call if there was even a chance you wouldn’t pick up.

“Spence?” JJ’s voice brought him from his reverie. “The conference’s starting.”

He glanced up, shoving his phone into his pocket. Despite initially starting out as a media liaison, JJ was impressively good at reading him, and she narrowed her eyes in his direction.

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine.” Spencer replied, much too fast.

JJ raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. She hesitated, turning her head to continue to observe the crowd. The mayor was giving a speech, the entire presentation a ploy to draw out the unsub. “Derek told me about last week- You didn’t tell her about Gideon?”

Spencer didn’t say anything. He didn’t have an explanation.

“Is that why you’ve been so stressed out?” JJ probed. “Did you argue?”

More silence.

JJ tried again. “Our job isn’t easy, Spence,” she said cautiously. “It’s a lot to deal with. It’s easier if you lean on someone. I know I feel better when I talk to Will-”

“I don’t recall asking for your opinion,” Spencer snapped finally. “I said I’m fine.”

“Spence-” She was cut off by Hotch’s voice in their mics, shooting him a disapproving look as she held up her receiver. “Yeah, Hotch?”

“Anything?”

“All clear here,” JJ replied, turning back to Spencer. “I’m serious, you can’t bottle it all up and expect there not to be casualties when the dam breaks.”

He eyed the roads near the city hall building, setting his jaw. “I’m not bottling things up.”

“You’re shutting people out, it’s what you do when you’re hurting,” JJ pointed out, and the worst part was she wasn’t wrong. “We know why you do this, but have you considered what it looks like to her?”

“Bogey on East Franklin.” Kate’s voice came through the mics, pointing out a black van heading down the road towards the conference.

“We need to shut this down,” Hotch said. “Reid and JJ, get the Archers to safety.”

JJ shot Spencer a look as they exited the SUV. “Just think about it.” she suggested.

Spencer’s apartment was a lot greener than you expected. You’d only ever seen it briefly before, usually the backdrop during video calls after cases, but this was the first time you’d ever actually been inside. The walls were a deep forest colour, and while you typically associated your boyfriend with a muted purple, it suited him.

You hadn’t intended on it, but after a poorly-timed storm ruined your chances of a nice evening picnic in the park, Spencer suggested you retire to his place instead. Part of you felt nervous, given how new the relationship was. What was an appropriate time to skip the neutral grounds of dates outside the home?

“I’ve hung your coat next to the heater, so it should dry off pretty quickly,” Spencer said as he returned from his bedroom. “I’m sorry, angel, I know you were really excited for the picnic.”

You smiled at him, the pet name still new enough to give you butterflies. “It’s okay, Spencer, really,” You glanced around the main living area of his apartment. “You have a nice place.”

Spencer laughed nervously, embarrassed. “I’m glad you like it. I know it’s a bit unorganised but-”

“I like it,” you insisted. “It’s very you,” You wandered over to one of the many bookshelves, peering at the titles. “How many books do you have?”

Spencer’s face brightened, walking over to you. “I don’t have an exact number since I haven’t counted in a while but I’d estimate it to be at least 900.”

“900?” You couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s practically a library,”

“Actually, the average amount of books in a regular library would be between 70,000 to 100,000,” he corrected, a cheerful smile growing as he began to ramble. “The largest library in the world is here in DC, the Library of Congress,” He gestured with his hands as he spoke. “It holds around 175 million items in its collection, including roughly 25 million books. It’s truly a fascinating place, I’ll take you there some time.”

You smiled fondly at him, simply in awe at how passionate he was. Moving up onto your toes, you kissed him on the cheek, which made him falter a bit.

Spencer cleared his throat. “Would you like some tea?”

You nodded, watching him retreat to the kitchen while you continued to inspect his apartment. You came across a smaller bookcase that wasn’t filled to the brim with books, decorated with various other items, such a small potted plant, and the occasional framed photo.

In one of them, you recognised a slightly younger Spencer, with an older woman you assumed was his mother. Another frame supported a group photo, Spencer in the middle between a man and two women, all of them sporting sunglasses. One photo was of a woman dressed in a mixture of colours and patterns, smiling cheerfully.

“Are these your coworkers?” you asked. You knew he worked for the FBI, but you’d never met his team.

“What?”

“The photos,” you said, standing up straight as he walked over. “You look so cute.”

Spencer grimaced slightly, his nose scrunching. “I was hoping you’d ignore them,” he mumbled, cheeks red. “That’s my mother, and those are my colleagues,” He pointed to each one. “That’s Derek, Elle and JJ,” he said. “And that’s Penelope.”

“Who are they?” you asked, pointing at one of the last photos. It was a very young Spencer, standing between two older men. One of them was dressed in a well-fitted suit, with a heavy frown, and the other was dressed more casually, looking at the camera with a pleasant expression.

Spencer hesitated. “That’s Hotch and Gideon.”

“Oh, I remember that name,” you said, smiling. “Didn’t you say he helped you when you first started out?”

Spencer nodded, his smile slightly dimmer. “Yeah, Gideon was like a mentor to me.”

“What happened?”

“Oh, he left the BAU years ago,” he replied flippantly. “Retired.”

You nodded, gazing at the photos. “Was he a good mentor? He seems so wise, next to you,” You chuckled. “You look so young.”

“He was great,” He said. “I think you would have liked him.”

“Well, you’ll have to introduce me someday,” you said.

Spencer opened his mouth to speak, but the beeping of the kettle distracted you, and you moved off to the kitchen to finish the tea.

Spencer stared at the chess board in front of him, contemplating his next move. The team had apprehended the unsub, and were now on the jet home. His phone sat on the table beside the board, the screen still showing no notifications.

“You ever gonna finish this game?” Rossi’s hushed voice interrupted his thoughts, the older man walking over to where he was sitting away from the others.

Spencer sighed. “It’s a tough one.” he muttered.

“Playing yourself can be difficult,” Rossi pointed out wisely. “Playing a ghost even more so.”

Spencer shifted in his seat, his eyes stinging.

“He’s gone, Spencer,” Rossi said gently. “Keeping the game going won’t change that.”

“I know,” he replied, picking up his phone, turning on the screen again. Nothing. Just a photo of you, smiling. “I just thought that maybe I could keep a part of him alive if his last game never ended.”

He could see Gideon’s chess board vividly, set up on the table in his cabin. He’d been playing the game when he was killed.

“Neither side will ever win playing like this.” Rossi said. He gestured to Spencer’s phone. “And hiding how much you’re hurting doesn’t help anyone.”

Spencer looked up at him. “How did you-” His eyes drifted to where JJ was sitting, her head resting against the wall of the plane, fast asleep. “Oh.”

“I know I’m possibly the last guy you’d ask for advice,” Rossi said. “But I do know that nothing good comes from hiding parts of yourself that you think are too ugly for others to know.”

Spencer looked back at his lock-screen. “I don’t want to burden her,” he muttered. “This world- this job- she’s too good for it.”

“Now you sound like Gideon,” Rossi chuckled, taking the seat across from him. “Tried to shield Jill for as long as he possibly could. It drove her away.”

Spencer nodded, gazing at the chess board. “He hated goodbyes.” he murmured.

Rossi smiled fondly. “Gideon also hated unfinished business,” he said. “So, let’s finish it.” He reached out, moving a piece on the board.

“Do you know how to play chess?”

Spencer couldn’t stop the small smile appearing on his face. “What are you doing?”

Rossi shrugged. “Moving my rook.”

The older man gave him an exasperated look. “Who do you think Gideon played before he met you?”

Spencer chuckled. He looked at the board with a sense of proper enjoyment, setting his phone back on the table.

“Hey, kid? Rossi said, before he could move a piece.

Spencer looked up.

“She’s good for you. Don’t forget that.”

Your apartment had never been cleaner. In the three days since Spencer had left, you’d gone through every room, furiously organising every item, wiping down every surface – you even retrieved your duster from the closet.

It was as if you needed to purge your surroundings of the memory of him. It took you by surprise just how integrated Spencer’s presence had been in your life, something you could only really see now that he was gone. The mugs in the kitchen cupboard. The cardigan draped over your desk chair. The razor in your bathroom cabinet. The photos decorating your shelves. The spare key, still sitting on the sideboard. You didn’t have the heart to move any of them.

It wasn’t just the physical reminders, you swore you could still smell his cologne, hear his footsteps. He might as well have lived there with how empty the apartment seemed in his absence. And after all of that, you still didn’t feel better.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed since you’d fallen asleep, lying on the couch as you paged through the late night news channels. There had been some bombings in Indianapolis, and given the brief interview clip of JJ and Kate talking about the incidents, you assumed that’s where the team were.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you turned the TV off, sitting up and stretching. It was then you became aware of a consistent knocking at the door. Fortunately, you weren’t sleepy enough to forget to check the peephole before opening the door to some stranger at god-knows-when in the morning.

Spencer was standing outside your apartment, fidgeting with strap of his messenger bag, still knocking on the door.

You cracked the door open, just enough to talk face-to-face.

Relief flooded his face at the sight of you, but he waited for you to speak.

“What are you doing here?” you mumbled finally.

“I just got back,” he replied. “I needed to see you- to explain.”

“Why didn’t you call?” You hated how small your voice sounded.

Spencer looked down at the ground. “I didn’t think you would answer,” he said softly. “I wouldn’t blame you – I was horrible.”

“Spencer-”

He looked up at you, eyes bright with a sense of determination. “I’m not a good boyfriend,” he said firmly. “I’ve never been good at it. I work far too much, and I tend to pull away when things get serious. I want you to be able to tell me everything you’re worrying about, but I can’t unload my own worries onto you because I have this idea that they’re mine to figure out. I do this with everyone. I built up walls at a young age to protect myself, and with every bad thing that happened to me, they only got thicker,” Spencer took a breath, continuing with his speech. “I felt completely alone, unable to relate to anyone my age, and I know- I know none of this is an excuse, but every person I’ve loved, my father, my mother, Elle, Maeve, Gideon, they all-” He stopped himself for a moment, voice breaking. “They all left me, in a way, and deep down I’ve always felt like it was my fault every time.”

“Spencer,” you spoke softly now, heart breaking at the sight of him holding back tears. You had no idea what to say, so you simply pulled him into an embrace. He instantly hugged you back, arms holding you tightly, face buried in the crook of your neck.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he mumbled into the fabric of your shirt. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t tell you things, I just didn’t want to burden you-”

“You could never be a burden,” you said immediately, pulling back to look at him directly. “I want to hear about all of it, please. Every shitty little thing that has happened to you.”

Spencer was really crying now, yet he managed a small smile. Reaching up, you cupped his face in your hands, wiping away the tears.

“You’ve helped me through hard times, Spencer, in ways I can’t even begin to describe. Just you being there was enough, and I want to be that for you, if you’d let me.”

You smiled at him through your own tears. “It’s okay, I love you too,” you breathed, pulling his face down to yours for a slightly salty kiss.

He started nodding, even before you were finished speaking, pressing a hasty kiss to your forehead.

“I love you so, so much, angel,” Spencer said shakily, resting his head against yours. “I’m so sorry, for what I said to you.”

thank you so much for reading xoxo

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