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reiderwriter · 7 months ago

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Here Isn't Where I Wanna Be

Chapter Four of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: With Spencer gone, you find yourself spiralling into anger again until a new friend - and a silver lining to your entire situation - appears.

Warnings: Unplanned pregnancy, mentions of the smut in the last chapter in detail, no explicit smut.

A/N: And so we get to it - the plot!! If you're enjoying the series, let me know in the replies or in my inbox, and feedback is greatly appreciated~♡

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With Mondays back to normal, you were surprised to find yourself still under the weather the day after Spencer had left you.

Walking into your office, your body anticipated the fight, muscles tensing, heart beating, blood pumping as you opened the door to your office. Logically, you knew he wouldn't be there. He'd practically shouted it at you the Saturday before. But seeing the vacant desk left you angry once again.

Tense for a fight, you couldn't stop pacing back and forth in your office as the hours ticked on. A small part of you had hoped that the activities you'd indulged in during the weekend - and indulged was the word for whatever it was you'd done - had simply been your over active imagination once again.

But even though Spencer has cleaned you up to the best of his ability, had left you in your bed in fresh clothes and tucked under the covers, he couldn't erase the traces of himself on your skin or in your apartment.

The files you'd both thrown around on the tables were still strewn haphazardly around, the tangle of last night's clothes still discarded suggestively in a line to your couch. He'd washed you up, sure enough, and you'd found a towel and wash cloth in your laundry basket the next morning, but he'd not done a thorough job and you found yourself washing all traces of your activities away from your inner thighs still.

So, yes. You paced in your office, and you waged a silent war against the empty desk.

The first week, you were sure they'd come to collect it, to move it elsewhere.

After all, his time with you - with the university - was done.

After two weeks, you started spreading yourself out across both desks, twisting them around into an inverted L space so you could roll your chair between the two of them. You stacked books on the stupid reminder of him, you used it as a dining table on late nights and short lunch breaks, you kicked your feet up on it as you read and acted as though it were yours and had never been anyone else's.

And then you got angry enough that you unblocked Spencer Reid's number.

You were raging and suffering this torment alone, and why should you be? You'd made a mistake with the case files, sure, but you'd been driven to it by his cockiness, his actions. You deserved the chance to make his life hell one last time as well.

You took yourself home that night, wrapped yourself in a blanket and pulled your laptop in front of you, and unblocked his number.

Immediately, you put the phone down and opened your emails.

You'd take responsibility for the messages, sure, but you had not blocked his email. Searching through the files, you looked through your department database for his work email, searched your inbox for his messages, and came up blank.

It took you two hours of traipsing through each email - admittedly, you'd probably signed up to one to many mailing list - just to be sure. You finally turned to your spam folder, and there it was.

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered under your breath as you looked through ten emails. Ten emails from his FBI email account. No wonder they hadn't gotten throug, it was an unauthorised email on a company server.

You only grew angrier as you read through the messages.

“Y/N, I have reason to believe you have a file I need as soon as possible. Please message me back as soon as you get this. Spencer.”

“Y/N. I haven't received word from you in 24 hours. If there's something wrong, please reach out. If you're being stubborn, I hope you see reason. Spencer.”

“Y/N. I have your address. If you don't reply in the next four hours, I will be paying you a visit to collect the file myself. You have blocked my number and resisted adult conversation, and I am tired of playing these games. Spencer.”

Sick of playing games?

From the man that had been playing jenga and scrabble with your bookshelves, that was absolutely rich. You may have worked out that nights frustrations with him easily, but you found yourself angry all over again.

You hadn't even checked your phone yet either, sure that he'd blown that up too until he figured out his number was blocked.

He'd found your address. He'd practically stalked you to get what he wanted, and then he'd just washed his hands of you the night after?

It had been a month, and you were still frustrated.

Your stomach flipped, bike rising in your throat as your anger burned through you.

If he could find you, you sure as hell could find him. You'd assumed he'd found your address through work, and realised it was just as easy to find his as well.

Before you could stop yourself, you were loading yourself into a car at 8 pm. and driving across the city to Spencer Reid's apartment.

The red blurring your vision didn't fade until you sounded against his door and were greeted with an entirely too feminine “I'm coming!”

The woman who opened the door was blonde and cute and sweet, and she had a wonderful smile. You were going to rip Spencer Reid's throat from his chest.

“I-I’m sorry, I was told this is Spencer Reid's apartment,” you said, trying your best to disappear into the night.

“Oh, yes. Can I help you?”

“No. No, I'm sorry, I- I don't need help.”

You must've looked uneasy in that second because before you knew it, the woman was inviting you inside for a hot drink, taking your few seconds of hesitancy to push down your guards completely.

“Spencer doesn't keep much here in terms of food, but I know there has to be some…aha! Coffee!”

“No, thank you, really I'm alright, I should leave-”

In another two minutes, she'd talked you into sitting down and had put a mug in your hands. In a miracle turn of events, you'd actually relaxed enough to take in your surroundings.

It was like you'd stepped back into your work office. Spencer's apartment, or at least the main living space, was filled with books. There were stacks everywhere, the shelves alphabetised - obviously - and looking neatly chaotic.

You wanted to examine everything, every picture, every trinket on the shelf, every weakness he had that you could exploit. You wanted to know him.

“S-So,” you started, turning back to the woman who'd sat herself down in a chair opposite you, staring at you excitedly. “How long have you and Spencer been dating?”

The woman spluttered her coffee before sending up a howl of laughter that had your cheeks heating.

Okay. Misunderstanding. You were less pissed at Spencer, but only a fraction.

“Oh, god, the idea of me and the good doctor is incredibly ridiculous. No, it feels incestuous, actually. Really, like shivers down my spine type stuff.”

“So you're his sister?” You asked, even though you knew the answer. Spencer was an only child. You had spent three months with him, you knew at least that much about him.

“I'm Penelope, I work with Spencer. He's on a case right now, and I came to find him a book.”

“A book?” You asked again, taking another sip of your drink. Mistake aside, you felt comfortable sitting with her. The couch was comfy, the entire apartment was damn cosy, and it smelt….

Your spine straightened when you realised it smelt like he did, when you realised that thought was somehow a comfort to you. Your stomach had settled for the first time in a week, and the nausea leaving your body after four weeks of anger had made you sick.

“Yeah, we've been working back to back cases, so he didn't have time to come back and pick up materials, so here I am as his little fairy godfriend to send him a care package.”

You laughed gently and pulled your feet underneath you on the couch, curling up again.

“He doesn't deserve you.”

“What makes you say that?” Her face was open. Her tone was light but you felt that you'd just walked into a trap. Even though Penelope had described her role on the team to you (not a profiler, not a big risk), you couldn't help but feel as though you were walking into a trap.

“Well, he's… he's… You know the man better than I do, right? He's infuriating.”

She raised an eyebrow and gave you a smile but didn't say a word.

“He's domineering. He thinks his way is the best way, he- he- he rearranged my bookshelves!”

And my guts, you thought to yourself, holding your tongue just quick enough to not let that slip out. You still weren't sure where you stood on the sex. It was good. It was great. It was more than great, and yet you'd hated him until the very second he put his lips on yours, and you hated him again when you'd woken the next morning. Surely that meant that you'd still hated him while fucking him, that you'd just been temporarily blinded by lust?

“Your bookshelves?”

“At the university. Sorry, I- I didn't introduce myself, did I?” You told her your name, how you'd met Spencer and regaled her with tales of your office antics.

“Penelope you, you should've seen the look on his face. It was priceless! Like a deer in headlights, his eyes were so wide, it was adorable,” you said, recounting the run-in with the student.

“And then, infuriating man, he said he'd spent all day looking at me, but like, with the books-”

You realised after five minutes of talking that Penelope had gone completely quiet, just grinning. Uncharacteristically quiet. You'd known her less than an hour, and you knew it was uncharacteristic for her to be so quiet.

“So you hate him?” She asked, noticing your abrupt stop.

“I- yes. Yes, I did. I do."

“It doesn't sound like you-”

“We- we parted on really bad terms. I think. I took one of your files accidentally, and he was very angry, we both said some things-” And did some other things, you thought.

“Things that I'm sure we both regret.”

“Oh my god-” the other woman said, suddenly going wide-eyed and jumping up from the couch.

“You're the- you're the reason he was late! He's never been late, never, apart from - well anyway he's never late but he was late and… oh Miss Y/N, you're not telling me everything!”

“What? N-No, I don't know what you're-”

“Luke owes me $20. This is wonderful. Look at me, I'm not even a fancy shmancy profiler or anything!”

“Penelope please-”

She heard the plea in your tone and sat down again, zipping her lips up and throwing away a non-existent key.

“While we were…arguing, he accused me of having blocked his email, ignoring him on purpose. I found out today that he emailed from his FBI account and not his university email-”

“So it was sent to your spam folder? Yeah, it happens all the time.”

You shot her a tired look, and she repeated her action. Lips zipped, key thrown.

“I came here to….” To what? Fight with him again? See him again? To one up him? To kiss him again, feel his hands on you, feel his fingers inside of you, his tongue on your clit as you rode his face again, his hands around your throat as you came on his dick, as he blew his load inside you, filling you with his cum-

“Shit.”

“Shit? What's… what is shit, Y/N? Please enlighten me, because everything seems very not shit to me right now, other than the fact that I'm due a video call from our boy wonder soon and I haven't located this book yet.

You counted in your head and then recounted again as all the blood drained from your body. You didn't even want to acknowledge the fact that you'd come here just to see him again using whatever old excuse you could find to get back into his arms (or more accurately, his bed).

You counted, and you counted again until your brain fogged, and you couldn't even hear Penelope asking you if you were alright anymore.

“Penelope, I- I think… Penelope, can you keep a secret?”

“Yes, I can absolutely keep a secret. I'm a great secret keeper. Everyone says if you want a secret keeping, Penelope is your girl-”

“Okay, that's- that's enough. I need to- shit, I need to go and get…”

For the thousandth time since Spencer left, you stood up and started pacing.

“Okay, now you're worrying me, friend I just made. Please don't freak out on me.”

“I'm sorry, I'm going to freak out, I think I'm pregnant. Very much freaking out.”

All of a sudden, Penelope was up and pacing beside you.

“Pregnant! With a baby? You think you're pregnant with a baby?”

“I don't see how I could be pregnant with anything else?”

“You're sure?”

“No! I need a test or a sign from God or something.”

The woman took a deep breath herself and then grabbed your shoulders, hauling you to her side.

“Okay, breathe. You sit here, I’ll go pick up a test. Don't go anywhere and don't spiral. Rearrange the bookshelves of you must but don't. Leave. Okay?”

You nodded, and she rushed out of the door in a whirlwind.

For at least ten minutes, you stayed completely still. It had been roughly seven weeks since your last period and 26 days since you and Spencer had sex. He hadn't pulled out. He hadn't worn a condom. He hadn't asked if you were on birth control. As much as you wanted to be angry, though, you hadn't told him to pull out. You hadn't stopped him and asked him to put on a condom, and if you were telling the truth, you enjoyed it all the more when he'd finished inside you. You'd forgotten that you'd gone off your birth control when you'd started your job, knowing that tenure came with health insurance and wanting to get the implant cheaper or included in your premium.

What a brilliant plan.

Still, you weren't expecting this, and you were in a haze.

Seven weeks. You'd missed a period, and you hadn't even noticed.

You stopped spiralling when you paced into the bookshelves and started actually looking at the things laid about on his shelves.

There were chess pieces, small rooks placed here and there, as if dropped and forgotten. Paper stuck out of the books at all different angles, and you noticed his looping scrawl on a few of them, his notes brief and indecipherable, but still bringing a faint smile to your lips.

Then there were the pictures. There were a lot with an older woman you instantly recognised as his mother, and your heart softened as how they looked very protective of one another. Others showed him with his team, with Penelope, and a stern looking middle-aged man, two women, a happy looking, well-built man. There were weddings, faces that popped up here and there. There was a very young, very vulnerable looking Spencer playing chess with an older man.

The room was filled with family, and you couldn't stop the tears from welling up in your eyes as you took in how much Spencer could love.

He cared, and he cared deeply, and there were all these people in his life that enjoyed being around him. And he hated you.

Your heart sank, and you were about to leave when Penelope appeared again, test in hand and gently pushed you into the bathroom.

You took the test and waited. Penelope waited beside you, clutching your (clean) hands in hers as she talked you through her day, distracting you in the only way she could.

But your brain resisted everything, focused only on how you were about to grow a family with a man you knew didn't enjoy your company.

“What am I going to do, Penelope?” You whispered, suddenly afraid of what your future looked like.

“I can't - I can't raise a baby with a man that doesn't love me the way-”

You ran a hand through your hair, biting your tongue quickly.

“You don't have to answer me, but is it… is there a chance it could be Spencer's?”

You nodded before you could even think of lying, too wrapped up in your mental to-do list building up and up and up.

“It could be negative? This could just be panic and stress and-”

You heard the alarm you'd set for the test go off and jumped up, sprinting into the bathroom.

Two lines. What did two lines mean? Two lines meant baby.

Baby. You were having a baby.

“Y/N, what does it say?” Penelope asked from behind you.

“It's… I'm…shit.”

She came up behind you and looked herself, cursing the same way you did as she watched you for your reaction.

There was a baby. You were going to have a baby.

Okay. You could have a baby. You could bring a baby into this world. You just had to figure out how, and write a to-do list, and avoid telling your boss until you got tenure, and tell your parents, and tell Spencer.

Spencer.

You had to Spencer. You collapsed to the ground, mumbling to yourself as Penelope fanned you with her hands, squeaking at your unresponsiveness.

“Spencer…” you mumbled. “I have to tell Spencer.”

You blinked the fog out of your eyes and stood quickly, absent mindedly making a note to check if sudden movements were good for the baby or not.

“Penelope, I need some help,” you said, moving to the living room and pulling our your phone. She trailed behind you, sending you a worrying look, and you thanked the heavens that you'd managed to run into the most forgiving angel of a woman on quite possible the best/worst day of your life. The jury waa still undecided.

You snapped a picture of the shelves, and then, throwing your phone down, you started tearing each stack apart.

Once you'd made a large enough gap in the stacks, you turned back to Penelope.

“We're going to tell Spencer. Like this.”

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