#Maeve every time she’s at home and opens a book: I wonder what Spencer is doing right now? He’s so brave 😍😍😍

[only-one-brain-cell]

I’m sorry but Spencer thinking Maeve is the most beautiful woman to him when he hadn’t even met her yet will be the most romantic thing I’ve ever herd in my life. Jesus Christ, not a whole lot could top that and that’s the hill I’ll die on.

[literaila]

for some reason

hi! this is part two of beg, scream, laugh. 

summary: spencer needs the reader. but not enough.  warnings: angsty, sad, self depricating, self loathing, fluffy, friendship, complete chaos  *

Here was the thing about glass. 

It breaks. Shatters. Falls to the ground, tumbling until it can't anymore. It crumbles into tiny little pieces, some that will never be found, others that cause nothing but pain. 

Glass is destined to break. 

And so was she. 

She was sitting in her bathroom, head in her hands, breathing. Slowly. Because she couldn't think. She couldn't think anymore so she just had to breathe. In and out. 

She was trying not to gasp too much, trying not to give herself a heart attack while she was on the floor, was trying not to die with the pain that she could feel in her body, in her poor broken pieces. She was trying to remind herself that this was still alive, that she hadn't died yet, that death couldn't be as painful as this was. 

It just couldn't be. 

It was all too much. She thinks it was just too much. 

She thinks about how she had forgotten. How could she ever have forgotten? What about him? What about 

Spencer. 

He was miles away, probably reading a book, probably thinking just fine. He probably wasn't sitting on his bathroom floor, trying to breathe, trying to think of anything that would help. He probably wasn't soaking from the rain, so cold inside and out. He was probably fine. 

He was probably, 

Oh god. 

She took another deep breath in, trying to keep the tears away, trying to hold herself together with nothing but air. This wasn't real this wasn't real this couldn't be just couldn't be real 

It couldn't. 

She needed something. 

She could never get it. She could never ever get it. 

How could she have forgotten? 

Forgotten why she was there in the first place, why Spencer had ever needed her at all? How could she just forget about Maeve, about the weeks she’d spent trying to see Spencer, trying to make sure he was okay, that he wasn't in pieces. 

How could she have forgotten she was only there to hold him together. 

Just until he was okay when he’d be okay. 

How could she have forgotten that none of it was real? 

That she was just playing pretend? 

Because that's what it was, pretend. Just something the two of them had made up in the months after everything had happened, just something that she had wished could be true, something she’d felt was real. 

It was just pretend. 

She tried not to sob. Tried not to be too loud as to wake her neighbors. 

Tried to disappear so no one would ever hear her again. 

*

Spencer called her several times. 

Dial tone every time. 

He was confused. Wondered why she had left so suddenly. Why she didn't say anything else, why there was a single moment where she just seemed to freeze while he was talking like he had shocked her. 

He wondered everything. 

Rang her again. 

Wondered why she wasn't picking up. 

Wondered what was going on. 

Wondered if he was mad at her. 

*

Garcia found her sitting on the bathroom floor, leaning against her sink, completely passed out. 

She wished she couldn't see the tear stains left on her face. 

It took a moment to check and make sure she was breathing. 

Spencer had called her. Completely out of his mind, wondering where Y/N was, why she wasn't answering her phone if Garcia knew anything if she would know where she could have gone, and why her phone was off. 

All of that in one breath. 

It took her a moment to understand everything. 

But when she finally did and tried calling Y/N herself, she got the same dial tone that Spencer did. 

And then she heard it all. 

Spencer was freaking out, worried that she was hurt, or in pain, or that she was shutting all of them out. He was worried that she was mad at him, that he had ruined his relationship with his best friend and that she was never going to talk to him again. 

And again, Garcia barely understood. 

But she had gotten enough from him, knew enough about the two of them to know what was going on. And then she drove over to Y/N’s apartment. 

And here she was, staring at this girl who was sitting on the bathroom floor. 

She was very grateful Y/N had given her that spare key. 

Her heart was breaking for this girl on the floor. 

She looked exhausted, even when she was clearly sleeping, even when Garcia could physically see her passed out on the floor.

She gently shook her friend's shoulder, knowing that what Y/N needed was actual sleep, not sitting-on-her-bathroom-floor-looking-so-very-small sleep. She shook her shoulder and didn't know what to expect when she could finally wake her up. She didn't know how Y/N would react to Garcia breaking into her house- because that's what this was -and waking her up. She didn't know how she would feel at all. 

But, for some reason, she knew that it wouldn't be happy. 

* 

Garcia texted Spencer an hour later. 60 minutes of 60 seconds had gone by. 

And she was fine. 

Of course, she was fine. 

She had said so herself. 

But, for some reason, Spencer couldn't believe it. 

Maybe he’d wait another hour. 

* 

Glass. In. Thousands. Of. Tiny. Little. Pieces. Creep. Creeping. 

She wasn't quite sure where she was. 

But even then, without the slightest bit of knowledge in her brain, she could still feel it. 

Herself. 

Breaking into pieces that had already been broken before, breaking once again, never enough, over and over and she couldn't see anything, didn't know anything, didn't understand but 

She knew that it wouldn't stop 

She knew that she was sleeping and that if it wouldn't stop, maybe she would disappear soon, maybe she wouldn't feel like this anymore 

Maybe she wouldn't be in love with him and maybe she wouldn't care as much as she seemed to. 

Maybe it would all stop soon enough. She would turn to dust, broken into so many pieces, crushed down to sand, and then, it would stop. 

But she could feel gentle hands guiding her up, could hear her friend talking to her. She could hear Garcia’s voice, and while she wanted nothing but to be left alone, she still, listened. 

Garica was assuring her it would be okay, reassuring her moments after. She was checking to make sure she could still stand, that she was still alive, and not a body laying on the floor of her bathroom. 

She had wondered that herself. 

She couldn't remember when she had fallen asleep, she only knew that it hadn't helped the pain, that it hadn't saved her from being in love with someone who was only playing pretend. 

She just knew that it wasn't enough. 

And she was still a piece of glass, still breaking. 

She wondered what she would do when she saw him again if she would scream, cry, laugh, beg for him to come back, to be real, if this vision of them in her head would pop up and she would curse the universe for ever allowing her to fall in love with him. 

Him. 

Spencer. 

She had known it. For months after he had whispered please, after he had started repairing himself with her body, with her kisses, with her words. She had known she was in love with him, she had felt it so very deep down, the voices in her head begging her to turn away before it could get any deeper. 

She hadn't listened. 

She never listened. 

She wished she had listened. Because maybe then she wouldn't feel like this, maybe if she had stopped sooner he would have never had to reassure her that it was pretend, he would have never had to tell her the truth flat out. Expect her to be okay with it. 

She wasn't mad. 

Just delusional, just feeling so incredibly stupid, just playing pretend in her mind while she still could. 

Before she turned to dust. 

“Do you want to sleep sweetie?” she heard her ask, whisper in her ear. 

And yes, she did. 

But she didn't. 

So she shook her head, let herself be comforted by the soft hands of her friend, let her hold her while they sat on her bed, while Garcia took care of her like she knew what was wrong. 

Suddenly Y/N felt embarrassed, felt so ashamed that Garcia had seen her asleep on her bathroom floor, that she had called her so many times, that she hadn't even woken up when Garcia had walked in. 

And then she was crying again, crying into Penelope’s shoulder and wishing that this pain would stop, that she could finally breathe again soon. 

“Shh, I know love, I know.” 

And it was those comforting words that led her to sleep, for the second time that day. 

* 

Spencer had waited. And he’d waited, and he was tired of waiting. 

He’d been expecting Garica to call him, to provide a better explanation than “she's fine”. 

And so, feeling crazy, he drove over there. Completely unaware of what was about to happen. 

*

When the knock on the door came Garcia felt nothing but dread. 

She wasn't a genius, wasn't a mind reader, but she knew enough to know that it was Spencer at the door. 

And she knew enough to know that these pieces of glass in her hands wouldn't survive another talk with him. 

For some reason. 

*

She woke up to Garcia moving. 

It was strange, the pain in her chest returning to her immediately, as soon as her friend had let go of her completely. It was strange that only a second later her eyes were open, burning with past tears, as she watched blonde hair walk out of her room. 

She could hear knocking at the door. 

It sounded important. Pounding. 

She should probably go get it. 

But, by the time she had woken herself up enough to be aware of the knocking, she could hear the door opening, could hear someone walking inside. 

And she didn't want to hear the voice that came with it. 

Because it was far too familiar. It was far too much. 

“Where is she? Is she alright?” 

And it was far too soon to hear it again. 

Y/N could hear Garcia replying to Spencer, she could hear her talking about how she didn't need to see him, how she was tired, exhausted, and that he should go home. 

He should go home. 

But she wasn't thinking. 

Instead, she was wondering how stupid she had to be to enjoy the sound of his voice, how insane she had to be to still enjoy the sound of his voice even after everything that had happened. 

She was about to sob, because even though it hurt so much to hear him hurt so much to know the truth, she still felt less pain when she knew that he was around. The pain when he was there was unbearable, but the pain when he was gone was even worse. 

It was insane. 

She needed to go. 

He needed to go home. 

And Garcia was telling him as much. 

“Spencer, talk to her another day, leave it alone for now. She's fine, she's just sleeping. Please. Go.” 

And it was strange how sharp her voice seemed. How even though the words were flowing out of her mouth like velvet, like they usually did, there was an extra curve to them right now. 

Was he gone? 

She wasn't sure. 

She couldn't tell if the pain had changed yet. 

And for some reason, some strange reason, she got up. 

She got up out of bed, and walked into her entryway, tired of hearing these voices talk about her while she wasn't there. 

She didn't know what she was doing. 

She didn't know what she was thinking. 

She didn't 

“Y/N,” 

To Spencer, seeing her was like a breath of fresh air, like pain medicine after a bad accident, like the only thing in the entire world that would make him feel better. 

To Y/N, seeing Spencer only made her crumble into tiny shards. 

Garcia was standing there, between them, with wide eyes, scared for what would happen, what this would do to her friends. Unsure what to do. 

“You’re okay, I was so worried when you didn't answer your phone and-” 

“What’re you doing here Spencer?” 

Her voice was too soft to be threatening, her words were too quiet to scare Spencer away, and this pain was too unbearable to say anything else. 

“I needed to check on you. I had to see that you were okay.” Spencer was nodding to himself, checking over his words, making sure he was saying the right thing. His eyes were almost scared like he didn't know what he was doing. Similar to Y/N. 

“I’m okay,” she said, the voice in her head screaming lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie lie at her while she took a deep breath in, tried not to overanalyze the situation, tried to believe that he would leave soon enough, that she would be okay soon enough. 

“You’re okay?” Spencer asked, standing in front of her, his hands instinctively reaching out for her, his body moving as a reflex. 

She tried not to flinch at his hand. 

Tried not to be in love with him. 

“Of course,” she said. Again. The third time that day. 

It felt redundant, like a broken record, to both of them. 

Neither of them had noticed Garcia moving into the other room, giving them privacy, waiting so that she could be there if either of them needed her. She just wanted to be there for her friends. She was so worried. 

“Of course,” Spencer whispered, looking down, his hand falling to the floor. He nodded to himself again, nodding ‘of course’ into the world, he turned around, ready to leave. 

He was going to leave and maybe she would breathe again. 

Maybe the pain would be worse. 

But then, again, for some reason he turned back. 

“There's something else. I know there's something else, I can feel it.” And his eyes were insistent, he was looking at her again, and she was wondering if he could see her fall in front of him or if she was just imagining that. “I can tell you have something to say, something that isnt ‘of course’.” he paused, the words forming around his lips. “Will you tell me?” 

And it was another whisper. 

And all she could see was the night at his apartment, the moment in the parking lot, the please, whispered into her ear, in front of her face, into her mind, please, and she saw these memories and she didn't know what was happening but she’d done this before, she’d heard this please, before, he’d done this before. 

And she just barely caught the words coming out of her lips before she said them. 

“I’m in love with you.” 

Another one of these moments, it was another submission, another pleading, another begging, another voice in her head begging her not to say it, Spencer whispering these words into her ear as she sat there, wondering what was happening, and how could this have happened again. 

“What?” Spencer said, his eyes still firmly on her as she looked away, bringing her fingers to her lips, wondering how she could have let that slip out. 

“What?” Spencer said again, not knowing what to do, not knowing what she had just said. He didn't understand. 

And she didn't say anything. 

And she was just standing there, thinking, and he was moving towards her. 

“Y/N?” 

“I’m in love with you,” she said again, feeling nothing but pain as he got closer, as she moved closer and farther away at the same time. 

“I’m in love with you. 

I’m in love with you. 

I’m in love with you. 

I’m in love with you. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, moving away from him, moving so far away, trying to keep herself from getting crushed again, because she couldn't do this again, she couldn't be broken one more time, she wasn't going to turn to dust again. 

She wasn't. 

“I need-” 

“Y/N,” 

“I can't-” 

“You’re in love with me?” 

“This isn't-” 

“For how long? You’re in love with me? How- why?” 

“You need to-” 

Two people talking over each other, one made of wood, strong and splintering, the other made of glass, fragile and broken. 

“You’re my best friend-” 

“I don't know-” 

“I’m, I’m not” 

“I’m sorry” 

“I’m not in love with you.” 

Two people talking over each other stopped. 

She was staring at him, her eyes filled with tears because even though she had already been told the truth, even though she had heard it before, it was

Too much. 

She was breaking again, even though she promised herself that she wouldn't. 

She had promised herself that she wasn't doing this again. That she wasn't in love with him. 

She was gasping, on the floor, holding her chest, trying to keep herself together again, trying not to feel like this when he was there, trying not to scream out into the world.

She didn't notice herself begging him to leave. 

Didn't notice herself gasping. 

Didn't notice when Garica finally got him out, got Spencer to leave promising him they would talk another time. 

She noticed her friend's arms around her. Holding her, helping her keep herself together. 

And she was glass. 

Breaking. 

Again. 

* 

For some reason, this pain wouldn't go away. 

It hadn't in the week after, or the next one. 

This pain was a lot different though, subtle. Allowed Y/N room to breathe. 

She was sitting outside on a bench, watching people pass by. 

She’d been given a couple weeks leave, a couple of weeks of putting herself back together again, getting away from everything else. 

It was nice. 

She’d watched a lot of tv, attempted to learn how to knit, then baked cookies, pondered thoughts of getting a dog that would cuddle with her. Maybe a cat. 

She’d done a lot in two weeks. 

Things she wouldn't have imagined herself doing before. 

But this wasn't before. 

She’d filled herself with glue. With the help of Penelope of course, Penelope who was walking over to her now, holding a cup of coffee in her hands, smiling at her with her wide eyes and irresistible warmth. 

“I paid six dollars for that so don't drop it,” she teased, handing her the cup. 

She’d been the only thing keeping her together. 

The first couple of days she’d stayed with her, making sure that she got enough sleep, and fed her against her will. 

It was surprisingly nice. You know, once you looked past the broken heart and the scene right in front of her door. 

And then, she’d started meeting her for lunch, checking on her every day. Being the friend she needed. 

This was nice. 

It was nice to get out of the house. 

“How are you doing plum?” Garcia said, making the words as light as possible, trying not to inflict any more scars into this piece of glass. 

And for the first time, Y/N smiled involuntarily. 

“What do you think about dogs?”... 

 * 

The nice thing about glass. 

It can always be glued back together. 

* 

my masterlist here. 

[hotchley]

pallbearer

Not completely sure what this is, but it was sparked by the posts about Kevin being a pallbearer at Haley’s funeral. Saw it in my drafts and decided to finish it because yeah, why not?

It’s Eid somewhere (India and Australia for sure) so take this as a little gift from me to all of you because you’re lovely but I suck at writing fluff, so it’s pretty much just angst and a bit of Reid being a good friend to Hotch because I live in the nice world where they have a good relationship :)

As always, absolutely no proofreading, and it low-key sucks, but nothing else is working so...

Trigger Warnings: references to death, funerals, grief, just general sad things 

read on ao3!

After they get back from the case that took them from the funeral, Reid, who is still using a cane, leaves without telling anyone.

Derek panics because he’s meant to be taking Reid back to his apartment- there’s a lift that functions and it means Reid isn’t being stupid- then Garcia tracks his phone and realises he’s going to see Hotch. They can’t interrupt that, so they don’t.

Why is Reid going there? All alone?

To apologise.

He goes there himself, takes the lift up because he knows his limits and rings the doorbell. Hotch doesn’t answer and he panics, so he rings it again.

When Hotch does open the door, it’s clear he wasn’t expecting any sort of company- least of all his colleagues/family. He still lets Reid in, and he asks him if he’d like anything to eat or drink. Reid declines, because Hotch shouldn’t have to be running around after him. Not now.

They’re sat in silence for a few minutes- they both try and justify it by saying Jack is asleep- but then Reid speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Hotch seems exhausted by all the apologies- after all, people are only giving them because there’s nothing else they can say- but Reid doesn’t say things lightly. It always means something. And he knows how Reid’s intelligence is always used against him. The team asked him to recite the phone call because they wanted the information, but Spencer would always associate it with a way in which he failed.

So although he hates the way everyone is apologising to him, he won’t tell Spencer to not. Spencer needs to say the words so he feels like the forgiveness Hotch has already given him- the forgiveness he received the moment Hotch saw him come into the office where Jack had been hiding- is deserved. And Hotch needs to hear the words from somebody that is saying them despite knowing everything about the situation.

It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts enough to speak, and even then, the words do not feel adequate.

“You did everything you could Spencer,” is his soft response.

“Not about Haley’s death. Of course I’m sorry, but what I meant was- I’m sorry I couldn’t carry the coffin. You know I would’ve if I could’ve.”

Hotch meets his eyes, and sees his own tears reflected in Spencer’s face. There’s a certain innocence to Spencer’s expression. One that Hotch thought his own failures would have permanently taken away. He should have known better. Spencer is nothing if not resilient. But then he thinks of the situations that forced him to become like that, and he wants to scream into the void because of how unfair the world can be.

He doesn’t though. That would only make the situation worse.

Instead, he sighs. “I know Spencer. I know. But I- even if you could, I wouldn’t have wanted you to.”

Spencer frowns. “Why not? Will, Derek and Anderson were all pallbearers, and I probably knew Haley about as well as them. It would’ve made sense for me to carry Haley’s coffin. You know that. I can see it in your face.”

It would have made sense. It would’ve made much more sense than Kevin Lynch. But Hotch’s words are the honest truth. It wouldn’t have mattered- not to him anyways- whether or not Spencer was able to carry that weight. He wouldn’t have asked. Would have rejected the offer if it was given. Found anyone else to be the final person.

“I know that.”

“So why would you not have asked?”

His reason- the true reason- is one that steers the majority of his decisions regarding Spencer. It is one that clouds his judgment and forces him to confront how human he is, and how the team were the only people (aside from Haley- who had always been perfect) to teach him that love didn’t need to hurt.

That people came back when they were angry.

The words that would explain his actions have been on the tip of his tongue since Gideon left. They almost slipped out after Chester Hardwick. And then Owen Savage. He wanted to say them when Reid almost died at the hands of Benjamin Cyrus, but he had pulled away at the last moment, too afraid of the consequences. He got stupidly close after the anthrax case. 

Something had always held him back. But Haley’s death reminded him of how fleeting life was. Haley died protecting her son, knowing Aaron would make the right decision and raise him to be a good man, but she should never have doubted the love Aaron had for her, and that was his fault. He wasn’t going to repeat that mistake.

“Because parents want to protect their children from all the evil in the world, no matter how unreasonable that may seem,” he blurts out.

Spencer’s brow furrows, and the resemblance to Jack terrifies him so much he almost laughs. He repeats the words to himself, clearly searching for some other meaning behind them. But in that way, Hotch and Reid are similar. They will only rarely say things they don’t mean.

“Oh,” is all Spencer is able to say.

“I’m sorry. It’s not fair of me to tell you that I look at you and see-”

“Can I hug you?” Spencer asks, cutting him off.

Hotch nods, unsure how else to respond. Spencer doesn’t use the cane as he moves onto the other sofa, opting to use the cushions as his support instead. When he’s close enough to reach out and touch Aaron’s hands, he takes them. Hotch cannot look at them, even though Morgan had washed and bandaged them almost immediately, so he stares at the ceiling instead.

Spencer’s touch is gentle and almost not there, but it feels like the safety of a childhood home that he had only ever read about in the books that served as his one escape in that little town that had no mercy for any boy that dared to speak out against their father.

“You’re a good father. To all of your children,” Spencer says.

“I know I’ve failed you. All of you. More times than I could possibly count, even though I remember every single one of them. But I always told myself that the one thing you would never do is carry a coffin that contains the body of someone you loved because of this job. Or because of my failures. It’s the only promise I’ve been able to keep.”

Spencer realises that Hotch is right. Although both him and Morgan had been on the time when Adrian Bale attacked, Hotch had organised the funerals without any input from the two of them, with all the pallbearers being family instead. No agents had died after JJ had joined, but the option of carrying Haley’s coffin hadn’t even existed for Emily.

It saddens Spencer to know that the only way Hotch is able to show how much he loves the team is by shielding them from certain horrors, and to protect them from the aspects of their jobs that cause them to wonder how much longer their hands will go cold when they see crime scenes. It makes him want to rage at the world for taking this man- this good and loving and kind man- and destroying him.

But his anger will terrify Aaron. Everyone’s anger terrifies him, because he always feels responsible. Always feels like it’s his influence, or his actions, or his failures. So he doesn’t say a word, knowing Hotch will appreciate the silence. He also knows that Hotch will understand and accept the silence for what it is: all of the words and emotions he would never be able to put into words, but so desperately needs him to believe.

It’s a haunting image. There is one one man so young he may still be a boy, and he is trying to hold the fragile and broken pieces of a man he had always believed was invincible and able to come back from anything together.

It is also a beautiful image. It proves that every child will eventually learn that their parent is not invincible, and that they get hurt and fail and mess up in the same way every single person does, but that the knowledge will not destroy them. If anything, it will comfort them because they will learn that no human is perfect, but they can still be good.

It will also be a moment ingrained in both their memories forever. Even if Spencer’s wasn’t eidetic, he would remember it. Because Aaron would not be able to keep this promise. The team would carry Emily Prentiss’ empty coffin only nine months later. And Spencer would carry Maeve Donovan’s, despite Aaron’s pleas to let somebody else handle the pain for him. When Spencer turns to him, and says he has to do it because he’s not a child that can be protected from any evil in the world- not when it emerges from the same cracks that should only contain love, they will both flinch.

Because he is right.

Because Aaron failed.

Again.

It’s funny, in a twisted sort of way, that his failures will always be associated with the bitter tang of death.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Hold On

Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~2220

Warnings: Some Maeve-related angst, but unlike the CM writers, I believe in allowing Spencer Reid to be happy. 

A/N: Quoted lyric, title, and thematic inspiration from “Hold On” by Tom Waits, which you can listen to over here. Encouragement and/or blame (depends on your POV) from @stunudo​ and @katwillrise​. Speedy beta from @fangirlxwritesx67​. 

  For a long time, Spencer didn’t understand other peoples’ need to touch. He avoided it whenever possible. 

It was partly about germs, of course, but partly just that he didn’t like the sensation. He’s never liked the intimacy of it, the closeness, and even as a child, unexpected hugs made him go stiff and uncomfortable, like he was holding his breath until the foreign stimulus was gone. 

There were a few people he made an exception for, people he trusted, people whose arms made him feel protected or comforted instead of threatened, but it was only a handful: his mom, Morgan, JJ, occasionally Penelope or Emily. 

He’d see couples walking down the street hand in hand, or with their arms wrapped around each other, and he wondered what the appeal was. He imagined sleeping next to someone, waking up with their body wrapped around his, their skin sweaty and their breath damp, and he imagined it would feel more like a stranglehold than an embrace. 

Then there was Maeve. 

He wanted to meet her in person, of course, but it wasn’t her physical body that he fell in love with. It was almost a relief, being able to have a relationship without worrying about the sensory minefield of having another human in his space.  

When he daydreamed about meeting her (and he daydreamed a lot) he mostly tried to imagine her face. He knew what it sounded like when she was smiling or laughing, but he wanted to see; he wanted to watch the way she lit up when they had those long joyful arguments about poetry. He wanted to learn her mannerisms, her expressions, wanted to learn her until he could read her like a book. 

He rarely thought about touching her, but then Maeve died, and suddenly he couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

He’d never been able to hold her hand. He wondered what her fingers had looked like, how they’d fit with his own, whether her palms were rough with callouses or soft and smooth, whether she bit her nails. 

He’d never been able to kiss her, and he wondered how her lips would feel. Would their first kiss have been shy and sweet, or deep and passionate? Who would initiate it? Would they be in the middle of a conversation when he decided he couldn’t wait, or would she take the lead? 

He’d never slept next to her, never felt her breathing slow in the dark, never held her. He’d never run his fingers through her hair, or wiped away her tears, or danced with her. 

He missed her. 

He could remember her laugh, her voice, the barely-there crackle of her breath over the line when she paused to think. He held tight to those memories. He never wanted to let them go. 

It shouldn’t have been possible, but he missed her body, too. His skin felt strange and bare for the longest time, every inch of him feeling the lack of her. Every nerve and cell felt the ghost of her imagined touch. He dreamed about it all the time, dreamed that she was there, arms wrapped around him, body pressed close to his. 

He dreamed about trying to hold on: feeling her slip away, the way his throat went tight with panic… gunshots. Those dreams always ended in a gunshot, and when he woke up, he was terrified and crying out for her, reaching out in the dark, feeling only emptiness where she should’ve been. 

He just wants to apologize, and to say goodbye. He wishes he’d had a chance to hold her, just once. 

It never really stops hurting. Spencer knows he'll be hearing that gunshot in his dreams for the rest of his life, and he knows he’ll never get a chance to say goodbye. He knows he’ll never get a chance to touch her. Spencer meets someone new, one Sunday morning, in his favorite coffee shop. She’s curled up in an armchair, reading a book, and he’s so distracted by the way she’s smiling as her eyes whiz across the page that he trips over his feet and spills his fresh mug of coffee on her. He stammers an apology, painfully embarrassed. He grabs a handful of napkins and offers them to her, but all he can do is stand there uselessly as she dabs at the stain. 

She’s humming something. It takes a second for Spencer to place it. 

“Tom Waits,” he blurts out, and she looks up at him, grinning. 

“Go ahead and call the cops…” she sings quietly. 

“You don’t meet nice girls in coffee shops,” he finishes. “Tom Waits doesn’t know what he’s talking about, apparently.” 

She laughs. “Depends on your definition of nice, I guess.” 

“Can I take you out to dinner sometime?” he asks, almost choking on the words. She says yes, for some reason.  

At the end of their first date, he walks her to her door and panics. He doesn’t know how to bridge the gap between their bodies, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and he’s utterly captivated by her. It’s been so long since he wanted to reach out and touch someone. 

So he steps back and raises a hand in a wave. She smiles like she understands, but he kicks himself as soon as the door closes behind her. 

That night, he dreams about the goodbye. He dreams about walking her to her building, watching her step inside, but this time when the door closes behind her, he hears a gunshot. He wakes up gasping, terrified that he’ll never get to kiss her goodnight. 

He calls her, first thing in the morning, and asks for a second chance. 

On their second date, he takes her to lunch. He watches her hands as she fidgets, and his fingers itch with the desire to reach out. He watches her lick a drop of water from her lip, and he gets lost, imagining what it would be like to kiss her. 

After lunch, they go to his favorite used bookstore. It's a labyrinth of a place, with low ceilings and three floors and five old spiral staircases. It feels like you could find anything around the next corner, like the air is thick with magic under the smell of aging paper and ink, and there's something about it that makes Spencer feel like a child again. He leads her up the hidden back staircase, ducking to make it under the lintel, and when she looks around the mazelike loft, her face lights up with childlike joy that mirrors his own. He grabs her hand, then. 

It's the first time they've touched. Her palm feels tiny in his. "Which way?" he asks, and she looks around, bright eyed, weighing the options. She pulls him through a narrow aisle, past the autobiographies, her eyes alight and her lips curled in a smile, her fingers still laced with his. They're in the travel section when he stops short, tugging on her hand to reel her in. He kisses her before he can think too hard. It’s breathless, clumsy, eager, both of them smiling, and it's perfect. She’s solid and warm against him. He slides one hand up to her neck, running his fingers through her hair, and then cups her jaw. The pad of his thumb rests right against her heartbeat where it kicks steadily under the thin skin. He kisses her again. 

The tangible physical evidence of life under his hands feels like a minor miracle. He knows how fragile it is; he knows how easily this could be ripped away from him, how easy it would’ve been for things to go differently, for her heart to stop before he ever got to feel her pulse. 

He holds her hand as he walks her back to her building that afternoon. His hand is slightly sweaty, but she doesn’t seem to mind. He holds on tight, fascinated by the way their fingers slot together and the way he can feel the tiny knobby bones of her knuckles when he brushes his thumb over them. He kisses her outside her apartment and he smiles all the way home. 

The first time he undresses her, he takes his time. He touches every new inch of skin, reverent, presses his lips to every scar and freckle, until she’s flushed, flustered by the attention. 

“What?” she asks, as he stares. 

“You’re incredible,” he mumbles, because she is. Spencer is fascinated by the soft give of her stomach, the rise and fall of her chest, the shifting muscles of her thighs and the lines of tendons in her neck when she arches her back. There’s so much happening under her skin: red blood cells ferrying oxygen as she gasps in a breath, nerve endings firing off wherever he touches her, infinitesimal electric pulses rushing off to her brain to translate the pressure of his fingers into pleasure. 

It’s not just heat and friction. It’s life. She’s warm and breathing and so very alive under his palms, and every sensation is a celebration. 

Spencer falls hard and fast. She fits in his messy little world, slots neatly into spaces that he never realized were empty, filling his life with her warm laugh. It’s easier than he expected, letting her in. 

They have their first fight in Spencer’s kitchen on a Saturday afternoon. Spencer’s not sure what it’s about, afterward. It’s a blur. 

He gets passive-aggressive instead of dealing with things, and she says something sharp in return. Anger rises hot and corrosive in his throat, strangling everything else. He can’t swallow it down so he spits it out instead, snarling something hurtful, and he knows it’s petty, he knows it’s childlike to lash out, but it’s what he does. It’s what he always does. 

Spencer never really learned how to have an argument that doesn’t end with someone storming out the door. 

“You should go,” he snaps. Her eyes are big and hurt, and Spencer turns his back. 

“Spencer.” 

“I said, you should go.” 

There’s a long pause. He hears her grab her purse from the table and head for the door without another word. 

Spencer goes cold all over, because she’s about to walk out before he can say goodbye, and suddenly he’s terrified. He’s terrified, and it feels like he’s choking. The dull thud of the deadbolt sliding open sounds like a gunshot. 

She’s already halfway out the door when he says, “Wait.”  

He moves quickly, slamming the door shut and wrapping his arms around her, clinging tight. She slides her hands up his back and fists them in his shirt, pulling him closer. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed and feels the tears spill over. 

Anger is a waste of time. Why does he do that? 

“It’s okay,” she whispers, before he can even apologize. 

“Please don’t go,” he says, in a small strained voice. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I — sorry.” 

She takes a big shuddery breath and he realizes she’s crying too. He presses his lips to her temple and wipes her tears away with the pad of his thumb, and he has to bite back the words, because he knows it’s not the right moment, but all he can think is, I love you. 

A couple days later, they’re in his kitchen again, making dinner, and the light is golden where it comes through the window. She’s smiling. He takes the vegetable peeler out of her hand, sets it down on the counter, and tugs her away. 

“Dance with me?” he asks. She doesn’t question it. She slips her hand into his and sways slowly with him in the quiet kitchen, and he tells her: “I love you.”

He still dreams about Maeve sometimes. 

He’s stumbling through a strange unfamiliar house, opening doors and finding one empty echoing room after another, and he can’t find her. He’s so fucking scared he can’t breathe, and he’s choking on it, throat closed up tight. 

Last door. He can’t open it, he’s trying, but the handle is stuck, and then — 

He wakes at the gunshot, wakes with a sob in the back of his throat, reaching out into empty space. 

Except it’s not empty. She’s already there, right there in his arms, sprawled half on top of him with her sweaty skin plastered to his. 

“You okay?” she asks, voice slurred with sleep. 

“I will be,” he whispers. She’s already falling back to sleep, but he says it anyway: “I’m glad you’re here.” 

He still sort of feels like he’s choking. Love feels a lot like fear, sometimes. 

It’s more like a stranglehold than an embrace, but he holds her close and listens to the steady rush of oxygen in her lungs. She shifts, digging a knee into his thigh. He’s getting pins and needles in one arm, and her breath is hot and damp on the side of his neck, tickling his skin with every exhale. Spencer is overheated and uncomfortable. He doesn’t move. 

There are billions of people in this world and trillions of cells in her body, and there are countless tiny miracles that led them to this moment: tangled in the sheets, breathing slowly in the darkness, together, alive. 

Spencer understands, now. He never, ever wants to stop touching her. 

.

.

.

[beautiful-bau-beau]

helloooo!! I have a Spencer request :) Could you write one where Spencer is injured (maybe like when he broke his leg or something like that) and he stays round yours and you look after him, help him shower, comfort him and stuff :)

Anonymous said to beautiful-bau-beau: could u do a soulmate au w spence where you feel the share pain with your soulmate, i think it would be interesting since spencer seems to be shot or nearly killed in almost every episode 

Sticks and Stones

fem!reader/Spencer Reid

masterlist

[Set in season 5 when Spencer gets shot in the leg but makes references to Maeve]

----

To the average eye flowers are soft, simple little things. They spark romance in the hearts of budding couples, they aid the grieving widows, their beauty inspires the masses in forms such as poetry and art. For some, flowers only caused distress.

Few were "fortunate" in the world to have soulmates. Once twelve years of age, a soul bound to another would feel the pain, to a lesser extent, as well as receive a flower at the sight of the intrusion. Small purple blooms grew at bruises, at a cut, the flowers would mimic the length and size. Any other type of pain was indicated by large, red blossoms. As each wound healed, the flowers would wilt and die.

You were among the many to few flowers as flimsy nuisances, only serving as reminders of the pain you had to go through.

Before turning twelve you often wondered if you had a soulmate. You had spent many days vividly imagining who your soulmate was, what he looked like, what he did for a living, choosing to ignore that if you indeed had one, a lifetime of pain was sure to follow.

Lifetime of pain indeed.

Your soulmate must have been a stuntman, a police officer, hell- even a lion tamer with the amount of pain he seemed to put you through. The occasional bruise and scrape seemed to hit you up until your early twenties, that's when the real pain began.

Every other day it seemed that you were doubled over, screaming in agony. You were an ugly vision of purple and red, but hell, it seemed to strike up a conversation with you and your patients.

You served as a private duty nurse, taking care of patients in the safety of their own home. You enjoyed the one-on-one with your patients, and it was decidedly better than working in a crowded hospital with a difficult schedule.

You had just finished a job working with an elderly woman, as her granddaughter had recently decided to move in with her to take care of her. It was a sad departure, but the job had finished and it was now time for you to find another patient in need.

You were employed through a small local medical office and received career requests through their office website.

One particular request caught your eye that morning from a Ms. Penelope Garcia. A friend of hers had recently been shot in the leg and needed to quickly recover before returning to his job.

You eyed your own leg, sighing heavily. It still seemed to throb harshly every once in a while.

A week ago, out of nowhere, an extreme pain radiated through your leg, causing you to drop what you were doing and scream. Thankfully you hadn't been on the job but the look of pity your neighbors gave you the next day felt just as awful. Every time you glanced at the offending appendage you could swear you saw another blossom grow.

"You and me both, buddy." You mumbled, picking up your phone. The job seemed simple enough, and hopefully you would be able to bond with this new patient by shared leg pain.

-

"You ordered a nurse for me?" Spencer hissed into his cell, turning to look over his shoulder. "I can take care of myself!" He eyed your figure, currently unpacking a medical bag. You had entered his apartment mere minutes ago, not understanding his confusion.

"Are you Spencer Reid?" You asked, greeting his wheel-chair bound figure. "I'm Y/n Y/l/n, the nurse your girlfriend Penelope ordered." You were met with a blank stare. "Is she uh.. here?"

"I'm going to have to make a phone call." Spencer blurted, wheeling himself inside. He left the door open so you took it upon yourself to enter.

"Spencer, I love you but are you listening to yourself right now?" Penelope replied, twirling a pen around her fingers. "You were shot a week ago, you're in a wheelchair. How are you going to shower? Replace your bandages? Sweets, this nurse will help you. And before you even have to ask I already checked and your insurance covers this!"

"Garcia-"

"I won't hear anything more about it as I know I'm right! Goodbye, dear!" A heavy sigh came from the man, and he placed his cellphone back in his pocket. He turned to look at you again, wheeling his way over to you.

"I apologize for earlier. I wasn't exactly informed that you would be coming here." He placed his hands on his lap, awkwardly.

"That's alright!" You chirped. " You’re low-risk so I won’t invade your space too much by staying overnight with you. I'm here to help with personal medical care, bathing, trimming nails, and making you comfortable.... as well as urinary and colostomy care." His eyes widened and you simply waved him off. "I get it. It's weird. But from what I read through of your medical reports, the bullet went clear through and you'll need a crutch in two weeks! At least you're not hooked up to a catheter?" You tried to joke. You were met with another simple stare.

"Let's uh, change your bandages, shall we?"

-

It had been a few days since you started working with Spencer. He was a nice man, a little awkward, and seemed to be more of an introvert, so you respected his space. He seemed to take to staying in bed, simply asking for books every once and awhile.

"There's no way you're able to read all these so quickly. You'd have to be superhuman..." You teased, bringing him a stack of his latest requests.

"I have an IQ of 187 and can read 20,000 words per minute." Spencer replied, catching your eye. He flushed under your surprised glance. "...Not to brag."

"Well... that'll do it." You set each book in your arm down, one by one, a particular title catching your eye. "The Narrative of John Smith?"

"Have you read it?" He asked, trying not to sound too eager. He hadn't originally pegged you for an Arthur Conan Doyle fan.

"Uh, no." You scratched behind your ear sheepishly. "But a few friends of mine have, they all highly recommend it. What do you think? Does it live up to all the hype?" Spencer opened his mouth but shut it almost immediately, causing your brows to furrow.

"I can't tell you what to read... it's just a very special book to me."

"Did someone special give you the book? Penelope?" Spencer let out a chuckle, hissing as he adjusted himself on his bed.

"Garcia is just a friend but you're correct, someone special gave me the book."

"A soulmate?" You asked, immediately regretting your choice of words. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed. I'm just the nosy nurse that asks too many questions." You knew it was a sensitive topic for some, with or without the soulmate.

"No, it wasn't from a soulmate... but I wish she was." Spencer's voice grew soft. You felt as if you had stepped too far, intruded upon a fond memory.

"I do have one though." He continued, noticing your unease. "Sometimes I worry I imagined her but every once and awhile, I'll notice some flowers by my legs, the likely result of a cut from shaving or bruises." You let out a laugh, leaning against his door frame.

"I would love a low-risk soulmate like that. He must jump through flaming hula-hoops or something. I could make a decent living as a florist." You murmured.

"That's got to be tough." Spencer observed, noticing no flowers on your arm.

"I guess he's a lot like you." You lifted up your pant leg, crimson petals on display. "His reason can't be nearly as heroic as yours, though." Spencer couldn't suppress the smile that grew from the compliment.

"Well I guess you'll have to find him and ask."

"Well you're in the FBI right? Let's formulate a profile and find him so I can give him a piece of my mind. You in?" You teased.

"Sounds like a worthy use of all my newfound time." He let out a small huff of amusement, eyeing your figure. He appreciated how lighthearted and casual you were. He noticed the space you gave him and your little efforts to make the apartment easier to maneuver around. Although he hadn't seemed motivated at first, something told him he should get to know you more.

-

"Y/n?" Spencer asked, drawing your attention away from one of the books you had borrowed from his shelf. "Is there any way we can wash my hair?" He had procrastinated in asking, too embarrassed for whatever your plan was for showering.

"Of course! I could cut it too if you'd like." You offered, standing to wheel him into the bathroom.

"Are you saying you don't like my hair?" He faked an offended tone which he knew would make you laugh.

"I think your hair is beautiful, right at that perfect length before it gets too weird for any man to wear." You snorted. You moved him to a stool, not too difficult a feat as he was able to support the majority of his weight on his good leg. "Alright, the shirt has got to come off."

"Isn't against a code to try and seduce your patients?" Spencer teased. Since your conversation the other day he had grown to feel more comfortable with you and a friendship ensued. You took care when treating him and told stories of past patients. It was clear you loved what you did and cared for the people even more.

"Oh please. If I was seducing you, which I'm not, you'd know." You rolled your eyes, waiting for him to lift his arms before peeling his shirt off of him. He leaned back, long tresses falling into a pool in the sink.

He was extremely handsome, you couldn't deny it. His sharp cheekbones and jawline, his full and enticing lips, the way his hand flexed as he read.... you didn't notice any of that. You especially didn't notice how wonderfully intelligent he was, or how kind. Not at all.

Besides, it would never work. You both had your respective soulmates and he seemed to still be carrying a torch for the past relationship he was in. Not to mention the most important factor of all, he was your patient.

You carefully stepped around him to grab a large and small towel, snickering as you found a familiar design on one.

"Star Trek fan?" You asked, hanging the fabric on the shower rail and turning the tap on to warm water.

"Typically I'm not one for fiction but surprisingly there aren't that many scientific errors in Star Trek, especially considering how long ago it was made. There are certain improbabilities, but not that many outright errors, which make it so enjoyable to watch."

"Eh, I've only seen the film from 2009, and I was mostly paying attention to the deliciously handsome cast." You knew that would agitate him. "And not just for Chris Pine but Zachary Quinto as Spock? Oh, he is gorgeous, even if he is gay. Not that there's anything wrong with being gay, and not that I had a chance with him anyway." You laughed.

"Y/n, I am not one to comment on the education of another but you are seriously missing out! Star Trek: The Next Generation is one of the most influential series of it's time. the new film doesn't even have Data! Data, y/n, Data!" He grumbled as you washed his hair.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Next you're going to tell me that the 1996 Doctor Who movie is better than the series?" He opened his mouth when you raised your soapy hand. "Disregard that statement, I can't afford another argument, I'm already too emotional from our last one." You faked a sniffle.

"You know, most females I talk to don't watch Star Trek or Doctor Who."

"I'm just that amazing, I know." You sighed, moving to grab the washcloth and dousing it with water, handing it to Spencer so he could wash himself. You grabbed the Star Trek towel and started to dry Spencer's hair.                                           

"You're something alright." He retorted, drawing a gasp from you.

"I could have let you sit with greasy hair, you know!" Just for extra measure you rubbed his head a little harsher than before but miscalculated your aim, accidentally hitting your wrist against the marble sink.

Spencer felt pain radiate through his wrist and time seemed to slow. It suddenly seemed to dawn on him all at once. You experienced constant pain, pain he gave you because he was often injured on the job. Not to mention his gunshot wound on your leg and now the purple blossoms forming on his wrist.

 He wanted to shout, yell, jump up, wrap you in a hug. He had finally found his soulmate! However, he remained silent.

When you spoke about your soulmate the other day you seemed angry and forlorn at the amount of pain you had to endure. There was no doubt in his mind that if you knew he was your soulmate, you would walk right out of his life, but not before giving him a swift kick to the ass.

So he stayed quiet.

-

You weren’t sure what changed between you and Spencer. After the shower he mentioned he didn’t feel too well so you guided him to bed. Since then he stayed in his room, barely calling you to his side.

It was weird. If it was any other patient you would have paid no mind and kept to yourself but you thought you had made a connection with Spencer. You enjoyed the banter between you both and finding out your shared interests. It must have all been in your head. You brought yourself out of your thoughts to prepare Spencer’s tea. 

“Here you are!” You called, stepping into his room to hand him the mug. “I’m about to head out, do you need anything else?”

“No, thank you.” You stayed by the door, waiting to see if he would even spare you a glance. When he made no motion to move, you gave up, spinning on your heel to grab your purse and coat. 

“Ah!” You heard Spencer hiss from the other room before feeling a sharp sting on your tongue. Your hand came up to cover your mouth, brows knitting together in confusion. Was he…? Did he…? 

Spencer was your soulmate, he had to be. There was no possible way that him burning his mouth and your pain that followed were coincidences, right? Spencer was your soulmate! So why did you feel your heart drop into your stomach?

You shut the door, racing down the stairs and out of his apartment building, letting the cold air sweep over you. 

There was nothing special about you. You were just a simple nurse and he was your patient. Besides, how were you deserving of Spencer? You weren’t. 

He couldn’t find out, he just couldn’t.

-

You didn’t know if it was just because you knew that Spencer was your soulmate but the tension between the two of you was… palpable. 

“Hey!” You popped your head into his room, his figure jumping in surprise. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you!” You exclaimed.

“Hi?” He greeted, trying to seem calm. You were leaving tomorrow and he was panicking. The past few hours were spent debating about whether he should tell you that he was your soulmate. Could he really just let this opportunity pass by?

“I just wanted to know if you needed anything? I figured you probably ran out of books by now. Everytime I think you’ve reread all the books in your library I keep finding new ones.” You tried to joke. 

“I… Yes. Yes, please.” He mumbled, hiding his gaze. You sighed, wondering for the millionth time what you had done wrong to make him so distant and reclusive. 

“Alright, I’ll take the stack.” You bit your lip to keep from sighing once more, groaning as you picked up the books littered around the room. “God these are heavy.” You whispered under your breath, trying to waddle into the other room as you quickly realized you were losing your grip. It seemed as if it was too late, the pounds of literature falling on your feet.

Both you and Spencer let out a groan, heads snapping towards each other in surprise. 

“Did you- did you feel that?” You asked, even if you knew the answer.

“I did.” Spencer’s voice seemed small. “Y/n, I am so sorry.” You were taken aback, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“You’re sorry?” You questioned, pain forgotten as shame radiated through you. “Am I that bad of a soulmate?” You whispered, clenching your fist to keep tears from pricking your eyes.

“No! No, no, no!” He tried to sit up as straight as he could, internally cursing at how hurt you looked. “I only apologized because… I can’t help but feel like I disappointed you! I am an FBI agent, I’m always going to be in danger therefore putting you in danger. When you first mentioned your soulmate you seemed so… upset. I don’t know if I’ll ever truly be able to make you happy.” He admitted, the tips of his ears turning red as his gaze fell to his lap.

“Disappointed? Past-tense?” You cried. “Did you know about this?” He didn’t move.

“Well… I guess I can’t be angry with that.” You sighed. “I knew too. I just thought that… you wouldn’t want me. You still seemed so in love with whatever woman gave you that book. And out of my league. And my patient.” You let out a wry laugh, sitting on the edge of his bed. 

“Are you kidding me? You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever met. You make me laugh and you are so kind and caring. I am proud to be your soulmate.” He swallowed thickly.

“Spencer you are selfless. You dedicate your life every day to helping others. You are handsome, sweet, and hilarious.” You reached for his hand. “And I am so happy you turned out to be my soulmate.”

Your eyes finally met and before you knew it, your lips smashed against his. 

“I don’t know if you know this… but I happen to get injured on a lot of missions.” He uttered as you pulled apart. “So I have a feeling that I’ll need you around more often.”

“Well Doctor, I think you just might be right.” You giggled, drawing him in for another kiss. 

-----

Feedback is always appreciated!

[moshymosh]

Remember me: A Night To Remember (2)

When the love of your life suffers from a disease that affects their memory of their life with you, what do you do? Will you spend your last days with them, trying to get them to remember you? The life you had, or would you give up and let them forget you?

Summary- Dr. Spencer Reid felt his whole life change when Agent Y/n L/n joined the BAU. She came in like a cool summer breeze changing everything Spencer knew about love and his capacity to care for someone so much. Y/n came to the BAU with a tragic past, her only goal was to save lives and make the world a safer place for everyone. She meets a skinny shaggy haired doctor, which causes her whole life to change, much like Spencer, will she fall in love or will her tragic past or even her job prevent her?

Pairings- Dr. Spencer Reid x f!reader.

A/N- This is a notebook inspired story, this story will be told and wrote like a chapter book. So some of the endings will not always make sense. Also I don't claim go own Criminal Minds or the Notebook, this is solely for entertainment purposes and for enjoyment. Some of the lines are from the notebook movie, again I don't claim to own either fandom/tv show/ movie. I try to make Y/n as vague as possible so shes more inclusive so if there is any descriptive things that don’t apply to you feel free to ignore them. Also just putting this out there as the story progresses Maeve is still alive and well, she is a good friend of Spencer and Y/n’s. There will be graphic content and sexual scenes in later chapters, warnings will be added as they go. Also if you want to be tagged send me an as or comment here, also send requests I'm down for making little fics.

Here is the board I've been using for inspo here

PS- Please don't post my fics anywhere without my documented consent, thanks -Karma (MoshyMosh)

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Spencer looked at his reflection in the mirror of the fitting room as he adjusted the sleeves of the suit jacket he was trying on, he sighed and stepped out of the small room into the sight of his coworkers.

“Do I look ok?” he asked his friends nervously

“Lose the gray shirt, go for white.” Derek said, looking up from his phone to Spencer. “Garcia just sent me a picture of the tie they got you that matches Y/n’s dress.” Derek said as he passed his phone to Rossi, sitting beside him.

“Yeah, white will look best.” The Italian agent said, looking up from the picture on Derek’s phone. “JJ has your tie, Spencer. She said she will bring it by later today, or in the morning it seems.” he said with a chuckle as he handed Derek his phone back.

“Looks like they're breaking out the wine.” Derek said, chucking at the picture of Penelope holding up two bottles of wine in Y/n’s living room.

“Good Italian wine they're having too.” Rossi remarked, smirking.

Derek looked back up at Spencer, “get the tux but with a white shirt.” he told him.

Spencer turned around to look at his reflection again and nodded his head in acceptance of the suit before he turned and told the employee nearby what he wanted. When the employee went to look for his shirt, Spencer went back inside the fitting room to change back.

Spencer handed the suit he neatly hung back on the hanger to the employee and followed his friends up to the registers to pay for his items. As he let Derek drive him back to his apartment he began to think about Y/n and if she really liked him or only saw him as a friend and coworker. Spencer then wondered if she was having fun with the girls.

“Why are you so quiet pretty boy?” Derek asked as he glanced from the road to Spencer then back to the road.

“Just thinking.” Spencer said looking from the window to Derek.

“About Y/n?” Derek asked softly, looking over to see Spencer nodding his head as he looked out the window again. Derek looked back to the road before he spoke. “Don't overthink your feelings or hers, it won't end well if you do.”

Spencer and Derek sat in silence the rest of the way to Spencer's apartment, once Spencer began to climb out of the car Derek spoke again.

“Keep giving her those gifts, let it come naturally.” Derek said as he watched Spencer grab his tux from the back of the car. Spencer walking into his apartment building, heading for his home as he kept repeating what Derek told him in his mind.

Y/n giggled as she sipped on her wine before she grabbed the box Emily was holding out to her. “What’s this?” she asked in confusion.

“Just open it.” Penelope said as she applied a face mask, looking into Y/n’s makeup mirror she set in Y/n’s coffee table.

Y/n shook her head with a laugh before she set her wine glass down and began to open the lid to the box. She let out a small gasp when she saw the necklace Emily showed her in the shop. “Emily... You didn’t have to do this.”

“Consider it my welcome to the team gift, that is several months overdue.” Emily said as best she could with the drying face mask on her face.

“Thank you, so much.” Y/n said before their laughter was interrupted by Y/n’s buzzer going off. “That must be the food.” Y/n said as she got up to buzz the delivery guy in. Y/n paid and brought their food back to be passed out to the girls. The rest of the night the girls laughed and cried together, just spending some time being friends.

Y/n walked into the bullpen with a groan as she felt the bright lights of the room hit her eyes. She walked over to her desk and plopped down on her chair, dropping her bag from her shoulder to the floor beside the chair.

Y/n spotted the coffee cup in her desk and grinned, looking over to Spencer. “Spencie, you are truly a Godsend.” she said as she saw him walk over to her desk, she stood and gave him a hug causing him to stand stiff.

“Uh, thank you.” Spencer said once she let him go and grabbed the coffee he got for her. She took a sip and sighed happily after.

"What are you guys doing here?" Hotch asked, walking into the bullpen in plain clothes as he looked around at the team that was in the room.

"What do you mean Hotch?" Derek asked him in confusion.

"We have the day off, I'm only here because security called me." Hotch said with a chuckle.

Y/n scoffed and shook her head, her hand reaching up to hold her head. "You're telling me I could've been at home sleeping off the wine headache?" She asked sarcastically as she reached down to pick up her bag. "Though if I did know I wouldn't have gotten my daily dose of Spencer coffee." She said as she grinned at JJ after seeing Spencer scratch the back of his neck in nervousness.

"Guys go home we have a ball tomorrow." Hotch said with a laugh, walking with everyone to the elevator. When they all began to load up in the elevator Y/n and Spencer slid to the back, standing behind everyone Y/n quietly switched the hand she was holding her coffee cup in and hooked her pinkie finger with Spencer's once she freed up her hand.

Y/n looked up at Spencer to see him smile before she leaned her head on his shoulder as they rode like the rest of the way down, only separating when the doors open to the elevator and everyone began to step out.

"Guys, let's have lunch at my place." Rossi said looking at his team. "I'll cook and from my profile of SSA L/n you seem like quite the cook."

Y/n chuckled nervously and shrugged bashfully. "I dabble but I'm down for some famous David Rossi cooking."

"Dabble? Bish please I've seen your kitchen." Penelope said, her arm hooked with Derek's as they stood around in the garage. "You're like a regular old Rachel Ray."

"That settles it. We're doing it. Everyone go home, change into more comfortable clothes and meet at my house after." Rossi called out as he walked to his car, his finger raised as he gestured to the team behind him.

Y/n watched everyone walk to their cars and begin to leave, she watched Spencer begin to walk to the exit of the garage to take public transportation back to his apartment. "Spencer!" Y/n called out to him causing him to stop and turn back around to look at her. "Let me give you a ride?" She asked him, holding her keys up.

"Uh-uh- yeah sure." Spencer said walking back over to him. "You don't have to stop at my apartment, all my clothes are like this."

Y/n smiled and nodded her head in thought. "Ok, it won't take me long to change." Y/n said as she unlocked her car and began to walk around to the driver's side door. "Come on, join me in my trusty steed." Y/n joked with a chuckle as she slid into her seat. Spencer laughed at her joke and slid into her passenger seat.

Y/n started her car and began to pull out of her parking spot then out of the fluorescent-lit garage. She started driving to her apartment, Spencer would steal glances at her as they drove, the soft sounds of Y/n singing to whatever song was on the radio, every time he looked at her a small smile would grace his lips.

"We're almost there, take a picture when you can." Y/n said with a smile, as she turned into her assigned parking space in the parking lot of her apartment complex.

"I have an eidetic memory, I physically can not forget things." Spencer said as he watched as she climbed out of her car.

Y/n laughed and leaned down to look at the man who was still sitting in the passenger seat of her car. "You coming smarty pants?" She stood up straight as she shut her door, moving to lean her hip again the hood as she waited for Spencer to get out. Y/n pressed the lock button on her key fob after he climbed out and began to walk up to her building complex.

Spencer looked around at the complex. "This is a very secure place." He noted when he looked back to watch her scan her keycard to enter into the gate that surrounded the living complexes and courtyard.

Y/n held the gate open for him and nodded as they began to walk to the building her apartment was in. "Yeah, safest one I could find when I moved here." She said softly as unlocked her door and stepped in letting him in behind.

"Why this place?" Spencer asked as he looked around at the organized chaos in her apartment. The chaos he knew from his own living space. Y/n sighed as she set her keys and bag down on the kitchen counter, Spencer looked into the kitchen and noted in his mind what Penelope was saying was true about Y/n's culinary expertise.

"I'll tell you someday." She said gesturing to her living room. "Please make yourself comfortable, I'll just be a minute." Spencer walked further into the living room as he heard her footsteps receding down the hallway to what he assumed was her bedroom.

After she changed and gather her things they were back on the road. heading to Rossi's house for the lunch he offered. The whole team had a great time at the Italian agent's house. Rossi true to his word roped Y/n into cooking with him. The time spent at his house was spent in laughter and fun. Lunch turned into dinner with Y/n being the sole cook this time and soon they were all heading home.

Spencer laid in his bed thinking about what Y/n might look like at the ball. No matter what she wore she would still look beautiful in his eyes. The night faded into the early morning dawn of the day of the ball.

The girls decided to all go to Emily's apartment to get ready for the ball. They did each other's hair and helped with their makeup. Y/n smiled at the girls as they fussed with their dresses. She looked out the window and smiled again at the soled of the setting sun. she looked back down at the mirror in front of the window and continued applying her light red lip stain.

Y/n finished her lipstick and stood, walking over her dressed that was hanging on the back of the door. "JJ help me get into this?" She asked the girl in question who was the first one dressed. She stepped into the dress and pulled it up where it belonged before she turned to let the blonde zip her up. "Girls the guys will be here any minute." She stated as she gathered her stuff.

Right as Y/n said that the doorbell to Emily's apartment buzzed signaling the rest of the team's arrival, causing Penelope and Emily to squeal in surprise. She rolled her eyes and laughed at the pair before she followed her female coworkers to the door to meet the guys downstairs to ride to the venue together.

Spencer stood outside one of the SUVs they were using for the night, watching each one of his coworkers exit the building. Spencer let out a quiet gasp when he saw Y/n, her being the last one to walk out. His eyes raked over her frame taking in every detail, knowing that it will be in his memory forever.

Y/n smiled as she stood in front of him. "Oh, I almost forgot." She said softly before she pulled out a yellow red-tipped rose that she had made into a boutonniere. "I uh- I got this for you." she said shyly as she gestured to the item in her hands.

"Thank you." Spencer said as he stepped closer to her.

"May I?" She asked as she looked up at the agent through her mascara-coated lashes.

"Uh, Yes please." Spencer said, feeling her skirt brush again his legs as she stepped closer to him. His hands instantly went to her hips, not knowing it was to keep her steady or for him to hide the shakiness of his hands. He committed the way the silky tule felt under his fingertips to his memory. Y/n focused on putting the flower in the buttonhole of his suit jacket and pinning it in place.

Spencer looked down at her hands as she straightened the accessory on his jacket. He had to suppress the whine when she stepped away, looking back to her face as it held a small smile directed at him, a blush coating her cheeks.

"Let's go love birds." Derek said with a chuckled as he and their teammates watched them. Soon everyone was loaded into the two SUVs and began driving to the location of the FBI ball.

Y/n and Spencer sat in the back seat of one of the vehicles, Spencer looked over at Y/n and watched the lights of the city flash across her face. Spencer's eyes looked down to his hand that was resting on the seat between them, her pinky finger was hooked onto his pinky and ring fingers. He smiled at the gesture and almost pouted when she pulled away as they arrived at the location.

"Let me get the door." Spencer told her as he got out of the car and rushed around to open her door. He helped her out of the car and smiled at her after he shut the door behind her. Y/n looked around before she linked her arm with his, as they began to walk up the walkway to the entrance.

The evening was spent in fun, dancing, and laughing after the awards were passed out and announcements of changes being made in the bureau were made. Soon the music slowed and Spencer asked Y/n to dance. She looked up and smiled, taking the hand he offered. He lead her to the dance floor and began to dance to the slow tune playing.

"Spencie?" Y/n asked softly, looking up from his shoulder that she was resting her head upon.

"Hmm?" He hummed out as he rested his head against hers.

"Those roses? The ones you gifted me, the coloring means friendships and or falling in love. You obviously knew that you know everything, mister four PhDs." She joked causing Spencer to chuckle and sigh in contentment. "What is your meaning behind them?" She asked softly.

"Well, we're already friends..." Spencer said softly. "Is it bad I meant them to be I am falling in love with you?"

Y/n smiled into his neck before she began to whisper. 'The poems of the privacy of the night, and of men like me. This poem dropping shy and unseen that I always carry. And that all men carry.' Y/n took a breath and pulled back to look at him.

'Love thoughts, love juice, love-odor, love yielding, love-climbers, and the climbing sap.' She continued only stopping when he started speaking.

'Arms and hands of love, lips of love, phallic thumb of love, breasts of love, bellies pressed and glued together with love.' Spencer recited from memory.

'Earth of chase love, life that is only life after love.' She recited along with him. She stopped speaking thinking that they were going to stop, she let out a soft gasp when he continued.

'The body of my love, the body of the woman I love, the body of the man, the body of the earth.' Spencer finished, as he looked into her eyes deeply. "Spontaneous me. Walt Whitman." Spencer said as he smiled softly at her.

He began to lead Y/n to the open doors that lead out to a garden, as the song finished, the garden only held a handful of people that were talking and laughing softly amongst themselves. Y/n leaned against the railing of a small gazebo he brought her to.

"You read the book of poems I gave you." She stated softly with a smile.

"I've read it and re-read it several times." He said shyly, as he rubbed the back of his neck. "And that poem I've deduced is your favorite."

"Why do you think that?" She asked, tilting her head as she looked at him, her arms coming up to rub her bare shoulders.

Spencer watched her before he took off his jacket and put it around her shoulders. "It was the fact the spine was worn and the edges of the pages were worn." He stated as he reached up to rub her arms in an effort to warm her up.

"Hey, love birds." Emily sing-songed, coming up to the pair, slightly tipsy. "Time to go or you'll be riding in a yellow chariot."

Spencer laughed and gestured for Y/n to lead the way, she smiled and began to follow the tipsy Emily to the SUVs. Y/n silently reached back for his hand, he saw this and reached for hers as well, smiling as she used one of her fingers to grip his. Spencer made a mental note to as her why she does this.

Spencer rode with her till she was dropped off at her apartment, even though it was in the opposite direction of his own. He walked her up to her door, making sure that she got home and inside safely before he let the driver take him back to his apartment. He saved the rose she gave him, much like she did with the ones he got her.

They both fell asleep in their beds, each of their thoughts thinking of the other as they drifted off.

[lilbabychilton]

Two Weeks- Spencer Reid

Spencer Reid x Reader

Tags: Angst

Notes: The Reader, who lost her husband previously, comforts Spencer after he loses Maeve. (This’ll probably be part of a nearly canon universe, sooo we’ll see.)

Two weeks.

It had been two weeks since you watched helplessly as Spencer Reid got his heart broken and his entire life shattered.

You’d been at the BAU for a little over a year now, keeping your distance and never really allowing anyone to get close. You transferred there from Brooklyn SVU after your husband died. The gaping hole in your heart had never really mended instead of healing, you built walls. 

Watching Spencer lose the one he loved most brought up all of your unresolved trauma. Despite your best efforts to stay away from others, you’d grown a soft spot for Spence. He never asked questions, never pushed; but whenever he could tell something was wrong, he’d show up at your desk with a coffee.

One night, after a particularly triggering case, everyone had gone home; but you remained. Staring absently at the wedding picture on your desk, ghosting your fingers over the metal frame, you began feeling the all too familiar pangs of grief tugging at your heart strings. It was as if wind was howling through the emptiness of your heart. 

“Still here?” Spencer asked, leaning against your desk, his hands shoved into his pockets. 

“Still here.” You replied solemnly, letting out a deep sigh and prying your eyes away from the frame. 

“You okay?” He asked timidly, always careful never to cross your clear boundaries. 

“No.” You replied bluntly, shoving down the need to cry so far down into your gut you could feel it. The heaviness settling there like a block of concrete in the ocean. 

“You want to go get pizza?” A small, sympathetic smile crept onto Spencers face. Trying to cheer you up while effectively knowing nothing about you was no easy feat. “I know a place that’s open, it’s pretty good.” 

You graciously accepted, and found yourself sitting across from each other in the nearly empty restaurant. Spencer rambled on and on for hours about anything under the sun, and you didn’t stop him. His voice helped fill the emptiness, and to tell you the truth, it brought you joy. Watching him wax poetic about his interests was like watching a little ray of sunshine dance in front of you and warm the cockles of your soul. 

But now that ray of light was gone; and your heart ached all the more, wondering when it would come back. 

You made your way up the stairs to Spencer’s, apartment bag in hand. The hall was dimly lit and looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 70’s. Somehow it wasn’t where you pictured him living, but you pressed on. 

“Hey Spence, it’s me” you called gently, knocking on the door and waiting for a response. There was no answer. 

“Can you just let me know you’re alive in there?” you asked, with a sigh not at all expecting an answer. But a minute later there was a hard slap against the door and you felt your heart sink. 

He clearly wasn’t going to let you in, probably in no mood for company. But you couldn’t in good conscience leave him there to be alone another day. You’d been there, you did exactly this when your husband died, and to be honest isolating just made you feel worse, numb almost. 

So instead of leaving you did something you hadn’t done since you were a teenager; you picked the lock. Laughing to yourself as you pulled out the lock picking kit you bought on amazon a month ago in a wine drunk haze. 

“Who knew it’d come in handy.” You thought darkly as you heard the lock click open. 

You opened the door and were hit with a wave of humidity. The air was thick, the curtains were drawn, and there were books thrown all over the floor. Your mind flashed back to your house, a year ago, it looked exactly like this. And you looked exactly like Spencer, laying on the floor, greasy unkempt hair, and pajamas that probably hadn’t been changed since he ambled home that night. 

“Hey Spence” you greeted gently, sitting on the floor near his head.

“How did you get in?” He asked, completely unfazed, eyes fixed on the ceiling above him. 

You held the lock picking kit over his eyes and shook it a little. Spencer exhaled harshly, might have been a laugh, might have been frustration. 

“I’ve never told you about my husband.” You said, playing with the shoelaces on your beat up tennis shoes. Spencer turned his head, not willing to speak but interested in what you had to say. 

You never talked about your personal life. The only one that had known was Rossi, and you assumed he told the others not to ask, and you were grateful. 

“He died in a fire almost two years ago,” you started, “arson to be specific.” 

“I’m sorry” Spencer breathed, tears rimming his hazel eyes. 

“I know,” you replied, “me too.” 

“I was a Brooklyn SVU Detective and he was a firefighter. I was working a child trafficking case and I hadn’t slept in three days.” You anxiously picked at your nail, you’d never told this story to anyone but your therapist and even then it’d been a struggle. But you swallowed the lump in your throat and continued on. 

“The unsub was burning location’s to cover his tracks. The last location still had kids in it. Both my husband and I were called to respond. I couldn’t do anything with a burning building, so I waited outside, watching the crowd.” 

“Fuck” you muttered taking a breather and putting your head in your hands, by now Spencer had sat up and was listening to you intently with his legs crossed and his chin in his hands. 

“All the kids were out, they were doing a final sweep. I watched three firefighters go in,” you took a deep breath and felt the tears welling in your eyes threatening to fall and your voice shook. 

“And I watched two come out. I don’t think I’ve ever run harder in my life. By the time I got there two men were dragging my husband out of the building. He died holding my hand in the ambulance.” 

Tears were streaming down your cheeks when you finished your tragic tale. 

“Was that supposed to make me feel better?” Spencer asked getting up off the floor and moving to the couch, he was crying too. 

“No,” you scoffed, wiping the tears off your face and following him. “What I’m saying is, I get it. And it fucking sucks.”

Spence paused for a long moment then looked at you, “it does fucking suck.” 

That was probably the most inarticulate thing you’d ever heard him say, and you grabbed his hand to comfort him, “but it sucks more to do it alone, trust me.”

“When’s the last time you ate?” you asked and Spencer just shrugged. 

“You have to eat.” You said catching his sad gaze. 

“Not hungry.” He mumbled and you shrugged.

You stood up and walked over to your bag, pulling out a carton of lactose free ice cream and some plastic spoons. 

“I survived on this after John died.” You said, walking over to Spencer and handing him the container. 

“How do you know I’m lactose intolerant?” he asked with a near microscopic smirk threatening his lips. 

“I mean, other than the fact that statistically it’s super likely,” you began, “I pay attention, I’m distant not dumb.” 

Then you pulled out your laptop, and a set of dvd’s and set them on the coffee table. Spencer leaned forward to inspect them.

“The first season of the Doctor Who reboot?” He asked, turning the case over in his hands and scanning the images. 

“I’ve got all the other seasons in this bag. Sometimes you’ve got to distract yourself.” You said, laughing inwardly at your next thought. 

“When John died I binged all of the show Dexter, it was awful.” you paused, taking in your surroundings “but it was better than sitting in the dark and crying til I made myself sick.” 

“How?” Spencer asked, his face scrunching up in thought, like for the first time in his life he was at a loss for words. “How do I stop myself from doing that.” 

You sighed and he began to cry, you pulled him into you and stroked his hair as the sobs wracked his tiny frame. 

“Force” you said simply, “you force yourself to do it. The person you love wouldn’t want you to wither away in the dark.” 

“It’s so hard” he cried and you cried too, no one knew better than you did exactly how hard it was. That’s why you were here. 

“Do you blame yourself?” You asked. Spencer said nothing, he only sobbed harder, clinging onto you so hard you were sure he’d leave marks. 

“I did too” you said, easing yourself back and taking Spencer with you. “Rossi consulted on a case for us before my husband died. Said I had talent and should come help out at the BAU.” 

You paused and thought about that moment bitterly, as you were sure you always would. It was one stupid, simple decision what would have changed your entire life for the better. 

“I said no” you continued, absently playing with Spencer's hair in an attempt to sooth him. Your partner used to do that for you after John died, she’d come over every day and just play with your hair until you fell asleep. 

“I liked my life in New York. John was willing to go but I was scared.” You scoffed, and Spencer turned to you. 

“Do you still blame yourself?” he asked his eyes swollen from crying and sunken from lack of sleep. 

“Sometimes.” You replied simply, “less often now.” 

“Listen Spence, this is going to suck, and it’s going to suck for a long time. But I promise that eventually it’s bearable.” 

“That’s hard to believe” he said, no tone, no emotion. You knew exactly what was happening. Sometimes in grief your body gets so tired of feeling you just stop. That’s almost worse than the sadness. 

“Oh I know.” you said, “But you find people who make it easier. I’ve got my old partner in New York, she checks in on me all the time, we spend a weekend together every month. And there’s you too.” 

“Me?” Reid questioned, his brows furrowed. 

“Remember that night we got pizza?” you asked, and he nodded. “That was John’s birthday, we got back from a case where a woman lost her husband and fuck, Spence, I was in a rough spot.” 

“I assumed as much.” Spencer said, his memory rolling back to the deeply pained look he saw on your face as he packed up his things. 

“You were there, you didn’t ask any questions, didn’t try to comfort me, you were just there. And that meant a lot.” You said cracking a half smile. 

“I’m sorry I broke in,” you said moving some stray strands of hair out of his eyes. “But I couldn’t stand knowing you were going through this alone. Especially not after you helped me through one of my toughest days since I started here.”

“I appreciate it,” Spencer said, sitting up.

“The ice cream is going to melt.” You said, your eyes flicking over to the poor container sweating in the heat of the apartment. 

“You should probably eat it.” You said picking it up and putting it into his hands. 

“Only if you eat it with me.” He replied grabbing a second plastic spoon out of the box. You smiled and accepted it. 

“Only if we can watch Doctor Who, and only if you point out everything that isn’t scientifically sound.” You said and you watched a smile grow on Spencer’s face. 

“Okay.” He replied and you got everything set up. 

Wading through grief is heavy, it falls over you all at once and it’ll suffocate you if you let it. Sometimes you need a reprieve from it all. Something to help you feel joy again, remind you that the world is still turning. A ray of sunshine in the oppressive darkness. Spencer was one that for you, and now it was your turn to be that for him.

[managedmischiefs]

north//chapter twelve

genre: angst, tiny bit of fluff

pairing: season 11 and 12 spencer reid x oc

warnings: panic attack

word count: 12.4k

summary: change is wonderful. but there’s some changes that are far too drastic for spencer and amelia to handle.

pay attention to the pov changes and the time jump or else you’ll be confused!!!!!! it’s about to get good.

AMELIA

Months go by, and life goes on, and that's about all I have to say about the last few months. Spencer works and I bask in the successful, metaphorical glow of my last exhibit. I do some light work here and there but mostly, I take some time off and resort to lounging around and drawing in my sketchbook. Spencer complains though because he claims that if I have all this free time then he should too. But regardless, he leaves bed every day to go to work and fight the monsters of the world.

But nobody more than me knows that things change quickly. I accepted that a long time ago and the nature of Spencer's job just reiterated that sentiment, especially after he got shot. So even though it’s a bit too overwhelming when he comes home with cuts and bruises on his face, or get upset when he misses loosely planned dates because of cases, or we disagree on where to order dinner from or if we should even order at all instead of just cooking, nothing surprises me anymore.

It doesn't surprise me when Spencer calls me from work and tells me he needs to go to Houston for a case, and that he might be gone for a while. He tells me he loves me and that he'll be home as soon as possible, to be safe, and to drink a glass of wine for him. So I tell him that he's the one who needs to be careful and remind him many times of my love, then I force him to promise that he'll be careful. He does, and I send him in his way with one more proclamation of love.

Spencer has been through a lot. He's a very strong person, and he tells me a lot, but I know he doesn't tell me everything. He only wears his heart on his sleeve when it comes to his feelings for me, but not with anything else. He's not an open book when it comes to work and the horrors he sees on a daily basis and relives in his dreams. I wish he was, but I know that part of the reason he doesn't is so he doesn't affect me. I wish he didn't think that way. I wish he could just confide in me without worrying about upsetting me. 

That being said, he doesn't cry. As I lay on my couch and listen to one of the records Spencer bought me for Christmas, a glass of wine about to fall out of my hand, my eyes closed, I try to remember a time Spencer cried in front of me. I scrunch up my nose when I realize I can't think of a specific time. Well, maybe he has cried. Maybe he did in the hospital. Maybe he did when he revealed what happened with Maeve, or his drug addiction. I don't have his memory. Maybe my worries are for nothing and I don't need to waste my time worrying over him so much.

But the days pass and I hear very little from Spencer, so I distract myself with my friends. We go out and we spend nights at clubs and we congregate at someone's apartment to watch movies and it's a wonderful distraction, but it doesn't fill the void that Spencer leaves. So I often find myself leaving him quick voicemails in bathrooms and balconies and bedrooms, telling him that I hope he's safe and that I love him and to let me know when he's coming home so I can see him. I don’t ever hear back.

Friday's are normally easy and Friday's are brunch days with my friends. So I wake up and shower and dress for my day, pulling on my skirt and blouse, singing along to the records playing downstairs. I finish getting dressed and fall back into bed, reaching for my sketchbook to occupy me for another half hour until I need to leave.

"Amelia?" Spencer's voice comes through my apartment, frantic and panicked, as the door hits the brick wall and rattles the picture frames. "Baby, are you home?"

"Spencer?" I respond, and his head whips up, landing on me. He looks like an utter mess in a loose tie and disheveled suit, messenger and go-bag having already clattered to the floor. His hair can be likened to bed head and I can see from here that his eyes are red. I immediately rush down the stairs and forget everything I was just about to do. "Sweetheart, what happened?" I grab his cheeks, performing my normal routine of checking for injuries, and when I find none, I become utterly confused and even more concerned.

Spencer's lips quiver as he sniffles, but he can't hold anything back when tears start to pour down his cheeks. "I-" his hands reach for my waistline, grasping my skin and drawing me closer, "I missed you so damn much, Lia, god."

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" I ask when he pulls me even closer, our bodies pressing together and I can feel his rapid heartbeat against my chest. He tucks his head into my neck as he shakes his head no, arms finally circling my waist. "Okay," I whisper, coursing my fingers through his hair, closing my eyes as I breathe in the faint scent of his cologne. "I've got you, dove. I'm right here."

It only takes a second for Spencer to break down in tears, clutching my body like his life depends on it. Hearing his whimpers and feeling his shaking form breaks my heart, but I hold it together, rubbing him back, petting his hair, cooing in his ear, and telling him everything will be okay. His knees eventually give out so I lower us to the floor, landing in a weird position where I'm half in Spencer's lap while he cries in my neck. But neither of us seem to pay any mind to the fact that we're on the floor in the middle of my apartment. I just hold him and mutter sweet nothings and cheesy nicknames and pray to myself that he's okay.

"Spence, my love, can you talk to me? Can you tell me what's going on?" I whisper, trying to keep my voice low. I know that whenever I'm needing his comfort, his calm and low voice always helps me, so I try to provide the same for him. "I'm right here, sweetheart, talk to me," Spencer hiccups a few times as he lifts his head, and I reach forward to wipe his tears. "Take a breath, love. Just breathe, you're okay, I'm right here.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes shut and grasps at my thighs, and his head hanging forward. "I-" he takes a long, shallow breath, "you were clearly about to go out. Don't let me interrupt you."

I scoff out a laugh, shaking my head and pressing a kiss to his. He leans into my touch in a way that nearly makes me swoon. "Absolutely not, I'm not leaving you like this. You were on a case, is this about the case?"

Spencer nods slowly, keeping his head down. "You know about the whole thing with the group of assassins we've been hunting? The dirty dozen?"

"The people who've been targeting Penelope?" He nods again, and his hands tighten around my thighs. "Nothing happened to her, right?"

"No, no," Spencer finally lifts his head and sniffles again, wiping his cheeks with the heel of his hand, "she's fine. Actually, she's finally able to go home now because of this case."

"Okay, tell me what happened. Something must have happened if you're crying," I put my hands on top of his and brush my thumbs over his knuckles, hoping to bring him extra comfort. He brings them against his chest, allowing me to feel it rise and fall a little too quickly for liking.

Spencer gulps. "I had to pose as a married man who wanted his pregnant wife killed so I could lure the last hitwoman out of hiding so we could capture her. We'd gotten everyone else, it was just her. She was so smart and she saw through the whole thing. She knew my ring was fake right off the bat. She set a timer on my phone and was asking me all these questions about me and how we found her and about me and my family and-"

"Your family?"

"After she got rid of my ring, she asked if I had a girlfriend and I said no and somehow, she believed me. And then she was telling me that the only person who would actually date me would be a brat and an idiot."

“I mean, I guess it’s up for debate but I wouldn’t categorize myself as either of those things.”

Spencer giggles, just a little bit, but a joyful noise nonetheless, and that’s enough for right this second. "Then it turns out that she had a partner in the restaurant the whole time who had rigged bombs in the basement. She threatened to kill all these innocent people if I didn't let her walk free, but I couldn't do either of those things." He's getting worked up again and his eyes are tearing up and his breathing is shallowing and it just breaks my heart.

"Bub," I whisper, squeezing his hands, "breathe, okay? You're here now, you're okay."

Spencer lets out a heavy breath that sounds painful. But he squeezes my hands tighter and continues. "The only way I could throw her off her game was by lying to her. Her father had, um," Spencer glances up at me with a nervous look in his eye, "killed her mother when she was young and she was fostered," oh, that's why he was hesitant to say that, "and I had to tell her that I went looking for her father and that I found him and he just didn't recognize her, but that wasn't true. I couldn't find him at all. But then when Morgan moved in to take her down, he lied and told her that her father was at the restaurant and I just-” he shutters, “it was so horrible. I was so scared. She had a gun on me the whole time and I've had guns pointed at me so many times but I knew she wanted to shoot me and I knew she hated me and I knew she would have no problem killing me at any time. It was- god, it was so horrible."

I scoop Spencer into my arms again as he collapses into a new fit of sobs, body trembling. "Spence, I'm so sorry. But you did the right thing. Just think about Penelope. She's safe now, right? She can go home now and she can sleep peacefully knowing that there aren't hitmen coming for her and that you helped take them down. That hitwoman is in prison and you won't have to see her ever again. Now you're here with me and you're safe, okay?"

Spencer doesn't answer. He just lets me hold him and whisper in his ear and part of me hates that he's not talking. He shuts himself off and just barely hears what I’m saying, and only reacts when I touch his hair. He doesn’t return any verbal or physical expressions of love, not that I’m the one who needs them right now, but he just lays limp in my arms and whimpers like a kicked puppy.

"Hey," I whisper, pulling him up a bit and holding his face in my hands, "why don't you go change your clothes and maybe take a shower, if you want, and then come back down? Maybe you'll feel a little better."

Spencer nods and pushes himself up. Without another word, he grabs his two bags and trudges up the stairs to my bedroom, and just a moment later, I hear the bathroom door open and then the shower running.

With a heavy sigh, I locate my phone and text my friends to tell them I won't be making it to brunch. I don't bother to wait for their inevitably irritated responses before tucking my phone away, rushing around my apartment. I find the basket I'm looking for and then snatch the blanket from the back of the couch. I toss food and snacks and drinks into the basket, listening carefully to the running shower upstairs. When I've assembled everything I need, I take a seat on the island and wait for Spencer to be done in the shower.

It's almost half an hour before Spencer comes strolling down the stairs in jeans, a tee-shirt, and his converse. His work attire and weekend attire have too much of a layover, in my opinion. He’s always wearing his trousers and cardigans, occasionally a blazer. I’ve only gotten the pleasure of seeing him in jeans and a tee-shirt a handful of times, so despite the fact that he's the one with the fancy memory, I try to commit the sight to memory.

He's running his fingers through his wet and growing curls when he enters the kitchen, furrowing his eyebrows. "What's all this?"

"We, my dove," I quip, reaching my hands out for him, "are going on a picnic."

Spencer's eyebrows pitch up while he half-heartedly puts his hands in mine and steps closer to me, standing between my legs. "A picnic? Where? On the balcony?"

"No, silly," I giggle, leaning forward to kiss his nose. It makes him scrunch up his nose in the most adorable way. "We're gonna go to the park. It's nice out today and it's rare that I get to have you home during the day so let me cheer you up. Just- humor me, okay?"

Spencer glances beside me at the basket and the blanket, then back at my pouting face. He sighs, resigned. "Okay, sure."

"Good," I grin, leaning forward to press my lips to his briefly. “Let's go before it gets too late."

Spencer grabs the basket and helps me off the island, leaving me to grab the blanket. I lock up my apartment and we head off, walking hand in hand, silence looming over us. We would both usually attempt to fill the silence on a walk, but this time, it feels appropriate. We let the silence exist and distract ourselves by swinging our hands between us. I’m content with it though and I can only hope Spencer is too. I can only hope the silence isn’t letting Spencer get lost in his thoughts.

We finally reach the park and pick a spot to set up, using our shoes to hold down the edges of the blanket before taking our seats. We unload the basket and pass snacks to each other, avoiding the wine I brought, just in case we wanted to let loose. But this clearly isn’t the time for alcohol. So I work on my pretzels and watch a little boy giggle as he flies a kite with his mom.

"So, um," Spencer eventually hums, staring down at the container of walnuts in his hand, "I actually, um, I lied to you."

My hands freeze when they reach for a water bottle, my eyebrows raising. "Excuse me?"

Spencer lets out a breath. He reaches for a walnut but doesn't eat it, and just swirls it between his fingers. "I did go to Houston but it wasn't for a case. I went to see my mom. I asked Garcia to cover for me if you asked or went to the office."

"Why'd you have to lie about that? Is she okay? Spence, I could've gone with you.”

"I know, I should've told you and I feel bad that I didn't but I just wanted to deal with it myself."

"So what happened? Something happened. I can tell. What happened?"

The walnut in his hand slips out and falls onto the blanket, and now that his distraction is gone, he hangs his head again. "I got a call from the facility and they said the medication they were giving her wasn't working anymore. She was agitated and angry and they wanted me to go see her. So I went and when I went into her room, for three seconds-" he lets out a shaky breath and I find myself wondering if he even has any more tears to fall, but I quickly get that answer, "she had no idea who I was. So I had her tested and I found that night that she has an early onset of dementia."

I'm speechless for a moment, just processing that heavy information. I surely don't know as much as Spencer does but I know that this is not apart of schizophrenia. I've never heard stories of Diana not know her own son. I’ve never seen him so upset after a visit with his mom. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this intensely sad. Usually, if he’s upset from a case, I can spend an hour or two distracting him and then I’ll be blessed with seeing his smile again. But after this, I don’t know if he’ll ever smile.

"Oh, Spencer," I lurch forward and hug him for what seems like the millionth time, but he doesn't make an effort to hug me back. His arms hang loosely at his side and he just noses at my neck, not even caring enough to kiss me or hug me or touch me at all. "Love, I'm so sorry. And I'm sorry you had to go through that alone. I don’t know what to say other than I’ll be here for you and Diana and I’m always gonna be here to help you if you want it."

Spencer still doesn't respond and he still doesn't hug me back. So I let go and drop my arms to my side, chewing on my lip. I want to comfort him. I want to help. But he seems so lost in his own head, and that's the most dangerous place to be lost in. I know what it’s like to be trapped in your head with your thoughts, and I know Spencer does too, and it’s not a nice place to be. But I have no idea what I’m doing and I have no clue how to help him.

My eyes stray from his to the park around us. There are kids running around and dogs on leases and people going on runs. It's a stunning day out, and when my eyes linger up to the sky, squinting at the sun, I smile. I shift my body and lay down on my back, reaching back to rest my hand on Spencer's knee as I stare at the vast color that seems to match my eyes, or so I've been told. 

"I think," I say softly, pointing upwards, "that one looks like a dinosaur." The clouds roll along in the sky and I study each of them quickly, searching for distinguishable shapes that I can point out. "And that one kinda looks like, well, I was gonna say an alien but now it looks more like a turtle," In the corner of my eye, I see Spencer tilt his head up to stare up at the sky. "And that one," I point to a passing cloud, "looks like a hat."

Spencer grabs the hand that is resting on his knees and intertwines our hands before laying down beside me. "I still don't get it. They're just clouds,"

"Then tell me about the clouds," I quip, letting my head fall onto his shoulder. "Educate me."

“Well, there are three main types of clouds. Cumulus, stratus, and cirrus. Stratus clouds are flat and featureless, like layered sheets. Cumulus clouds are puffy. Cirrus clouds are thin and wispy and are usually high in the sky.”

Spencer surely educates me. He goes on and on about the different types of clouds and the variations of them, and which produces the most rainwater and which form the fastest. I think he talks for close to half an hour, going on and on with his beautiful voice about something I never really give a second thought to. But I stare straight up and barely move a muscle, keeping my head on his shoulder and my hand laced in his.

"I talked for a while," Spencer chuckles as his lecture comes to an end, and he twists his neck to kiss my forehead. "Sorry."

"I enjoyed it. Can't say I'll remember it, but I like hearing you talk," I smile, turning to capture his lips in a kiss. "But I think that one looks like a lamp."

"I still don't see any pictures," Spencer sighs, returning his gaze up to the sky.

"That's okay. You will one day. It takes practice," I pause, squinting my eyes. "That's definitely a car. Like, a pickup truck," I reach my free hand over and grab Spencer’s cheeks, twisting his head for him at the passing cloud. Cumulus, I think. “There. That’s the pickup truck.”

"Thank you for taking my mind off everything," Spencer whispers, and his head breaks free from my grasp to look over at me. My hand drops to his chest. "I don't know what I'd do without you. I think I'd go crazy. I truly don't know what I did before you and I don't know what I'd do if you-"

"You-" I cut him off before he can even finish his sentence, "don't have to worry about living without me because I'm not going anywhere. That's a camera, no doubt."

Spencer laughs, returning his gaze up. "Whatever you say, beautiful."

“You know,” I drag my hand down to his stomach and brush my thumb over the soft fabric of his shirt, “this might sound a little stupid. But the day we met, when I left my apartment for the cafe, when I looked up, there was a cloud in the shape of a heart. And I don’t know why but I just knew it would be a good day. Is that stupid?”

“No, it’s not stupid,” Spencer says. “Actually, if we were characters in a fiction novel, that heart cloud could be considered an objective correlative. That’s a symbol or event or group of things that are meant to represent emotions in the story. So in a movie, it could be thunder and lightning before a bad event or feeling a chill go down your spine. Or the cloud could be considered foreshadowing, even though foreshadowing doesn’t exist in real life. And if it does then it’s just a coincidence. Yeah, I guess for you it would’ve been a coincidence. A good coincidence. An accurate one because, you know, you kinda fell in love after you saw the heart cloud.”

It's my turn to look at him now, and I study the curve of his nose, his jawline, the outline of his lips. He's stunning. The sun illuminates his features, even the sweat gathering at his hairline, and I can’t remember a time when I was this utterly, wholeheartedly in love with him. With everything about him. The good and the bad. "Spence, I know it doesn't seem like it, but everything is gonna be okay," I whisper, moving closer to him, nuzzling my nose against his neck while his arm wraps around my waist. "And even if it's not, I'm gonna be right here, holding your hand and staying by your side the entire time. I'm not going anywhere. You can't get rid of me. No way."

"I wouldn't want to," Spencer quips, moving his arm around my waist. "I love you too much."

"I love you too. Come here," I sit up just a bit and draw his lips closer to mine, letting my eyes flutter closed. "Everything is gonna be okay, dove.”

///

ABOUT SIX MONTHS LATER

///

"Ow! Fuck, Spencer! That's way too hot!"

"Then turn it down."

"Well, my hands are a little tied right now."

"That's not my fault."

"It kinda is your fault because you made the stove too hot!"

Spencer laughs and comes up behind me, his arms circling my waist, resting his chin atop my head. "I'm sorry. You know cooking and baking aren't my forte."

I send Spencer a sharp look over my shoulder, huffing. "You're so lucky you're cute."

He rolls his eyes and then moves beside me, gently grabbing my wrist. "Let me see," he pulls my hand from under the running cold water to inspect my finger. "It's fine, just a little red."

"I know," I smile as Spencer brings my pointer finger up to his lips to lay a sweet kiss on my skin. "You're just so adorable."

"I try," Spencer shrugs innocently, making me laugh. "Okay, let's finish chocolate covering these strawberries and get them in the freezer."

I hum in agreement and move back to the stove, the heat setting now turned down by Spencer, post finger burning. So I reach over Spencer and grab another strawberry and dip it into the chocolate before setting it onto the wax paper. Once we've run out of strawberries, Spencer puts the tray in the freezer. I go skipping into his living room and curl up on the couch, turning on the tv and waiting for him to arrive.

It's only a minute before he's curling up beside me, pulling me into his arms and kissing my cheek. "It's amazing you didn't get called into work today," I say. "I guess since you had to miss our birthdays and Halloween this year, the serials killers decided to let us celebrate our two year anniversary together."

Spencer laughs as he pulls me even closer to his chest, placing a kiss on the top of my head. "I'm glad they did. I mean, I wish they let us spend every day together but I'm glad they let today be an exception."

I settle my head against Spencer's chest and keep my eyes on whatever's playing on the tv, brushing my fingers up and down his arm aimlessly. He hums contently and a smile comes to my face. These moments of quiet are rare. And getting to have these moments on days like today, our two-year anniversary, are few and far between. We have to take advantage of them while we can.

"Hey," Spencer whispers, "I've got a question." I hum in response, flickering my eyes up to him for a moment. "So, you know, you're always spending your time here and I'm always spending my time at your apartment," I immediately look back up at him, already understanding what he's about to ask. "We're always together so doesn't it just make sense that, you know, we live together?" He raises his eyebrows, then sucks his bottom lip between his teeth out of anxiousness. "We always make a point to get together when I'm home, and I know you sometimes stop by here when I'm away on cases. We should- doesn't it make sense? We'd get to see each other more."

My grin spreads across my face as I tackle him to his back, squeezing his waist. "Spencer, that sounds perfect. I'd absolutely love to move in with you."

"Seriously? You'd actually wanna buy a house with me?"

"Of course!" I giggle, bringing my hands to his jawline, holding his face in front of me. "Why do you think I’ve stuck around so long? Yes, Spencer, of course I do," He attacks me with kisses, quickly lifting me up and carrying me towards his bedroom. "Dove, the strawberries-"

"I don’t want the strawberries right now. I want you."

It was silly of me to expect that moment to last forever. Our second year together was amazing. Well, as amazing as it could have been. Spencer hunts the worst people in society and parts of him break every day and I start a new exhibit, but we still meet up when we can and hold each other and make each other laugh and cook and look at clouds (with only me describing shapes) and just comfort each other. It was completely foolish of me to expect that happiness bubble not to burst.

Spencer doesn't like change and that's not hard to tell. The change of dating me was hard enough for him and I've learned that it was hard for him to get used to a new daily routine with another person in it. But then the BAU team changes and that almost makes Spencer spiral. Alex Blake left a while ago and Spencer was crushed, and then Kate came and he loved her. But then she left to have a baby. Then Morgan went through a trauma and decided to leave to protect Savannah and his baby. He lost Morgan and then soon lost Hotch.

Hotch was targeted by a serial killer that I only know by the name of Mr. Scratch. He sounds horrible, especially since he captured Hotch and drugged him, then tried to get him to kill his team. Then there was a prison break that sounded absolutely terrifying and made me almost spiral when I heard about it, and Mr. Scratch escaped. And the first thing he did? Stalk Hotch and his son. Hotch decided to leave the team in the hands of Emily Prentiss, who I've learned is an old team member who left to work for Interpol after a very complicated sequence of events, and entered Witness Protection to keep Jack safe. Spencer learned so much from Hotch and looked up to him, so losing the unit chief was a huge hit. It was a hit for everyone on the team, but this huge change meant creating another new routine.

Although losing those valued team members was horrible and stressful, they gained amazing replacements. Tara, Emily, Luke, and Stephen are amazing profilers who jumped into the BAU pool with both feet in, and the rest of the team appreciated that. They give their all to the team and together, they're taking down the escaped serial killers who got away during the Rawdon prison break.

But then Spencer starts to get some phone calls. It started out as one, interrupting a late-night dinner date on the balcony after Spencer got home from a case. He didn't think much of it at first, not even going inside to his apartment to talk privately. Turns out, his mother wasn't reacting well to the new trial he just got her into. Spencer didn't take this news well and our dinner was ruined. He stormed inside and spent the rest of the night at his desk, reading the same stack of books about experimental medicine over and over. I cleaned up our plates and went home. That's when I first started to see him pull away from me. From life. From everyone.

The calls became more frequent after that and the books piled up on his desk. The dinner dates and the hookups and the mid-case phone calls stopped, and our before-work cafe dates have been completely nonexistent. Spencer put every ounce of free time he had into helping his mother and her condition, and I had to respect that so I didn't say anything. I let him research experimental medicine and do all the fancy doctor things that I'll never understand, and I just kept my focus on my art.

He decides to go out and visit her and insists I don't come, that he can do it alone. I try so hard to convince him, but he doesn't budge. So I concede and he takes a week off of work to go, and I practically lock myself in my studio. My friends come by and I keep my concerns about Spencer to myself, but then I rant when it's only Jenna around. She's confused too, understandably, but offers no valid advice. I don't blame her, if the roles were reversed, I wouldn't have a clue what to say. And when Jenna asks me if we've found a house that we like yet, I tell her that we haven't even started looking yet. Spencer has been too occupied with more important things.

When Spencer returns, a selfish thought comes to mind. I think maybe everything has been solved. I think that maybe all those hours Spencer spent ignoring me and focusing on his mom and researching experimental medicine have paid off and he's solved world hunger and now his mom is cured. It's absolutely horrible. It's maybe the worst thing I've ever thought. No, it's definitely the worst thing I've thought. But am I wrong for wanting things to go back to the way they were? Am I wrong for wanting my boyfriend back? No. Yes? I'm not sure. But all I know is that I'm worn down and no amount of wine can distract me.

When Spencer returns, he sits me down. And when he sits me down, I know my selfish thought was too selfish. My selfish thought made karma come back to bite me in the ass. He's got a solemn look on his face and he's not holding my hand or touching me at all, he barely even wanted to kiss me when he showed up at my apartment.

"So," Spencer sighed, running his hand through his grown-out hair, "um, the clinical trial that my mom is in isn't helping. She's not getting better." I had raised my eyebrows, waiting for him to get to the horrible and dark, inevitable punchline. "I'm gonna bring her here to live with me."

My mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, eyebrows turning in. "What?"

Spencer groaned, burying his face in his hands. "She isn't getting better but whenever I go to visit, she seems to be fine. So I'm gonna bring her back here with me and she's gonna live with me. I'm gonna hire a nurse to watch her while I'm away on cases."

"Spencer, that's-" I let out a breath, tangling my hands on my hair. "I love you and you know that but I really don't think this is a good idea. Maybe this trial isn't helping her but another might. Find something close to here so you can see her more often but taking care of her yourself is going to be so hard. I don't think you realize what-"

"I've made up my mind, Lia," Spencer said stubbornly, as if ending the conversation there. "I've spent too long away from my mom and I don't want to anymore. She always feels better around me and I want her to get better already."

"Spencer." Just speaking his name made my heart hurt because I could feel the foundation under us crumbling. I could see it crumble when he doesn’t soften at the sound of his name from my mouth. That used to always happen. "This is a bad idea. Please reconsider. You're so busy with work already and then you're gonna go home and have to take care of your mother. You're not gonna have time to see me, or Henry and Michael and Hank, or do literally anything else. Spence," the selfish thoughts came back, "I'm sorry to be like this but you asked me to move in with you."

Spencer sighed, and that was all I needed. I stood from his couch and he quickly followed me to the door where I had already started pulling on my shoes. "Amelia, please. I know I asked you to move in with me but she's my mother and I can't abandon her-"

"She needs professional help!" I exclaimed, whipping around to face him. "You went through this pain when you were eighteen and you're gonna force yourself to go through it yet again when you don't even have to. Hey, Spencer, did you notice I got a new piercing?" I pointed to my ear and watched his face fall. "Yeah, I got my tragus pierced. But you've been so caught up in this experimental medicine thing that you haven't even noticed that. Just imagine how much more time you won't have when your mom starts living with you."

Spencer shook his head at me, just tucking his hands in his pockets and staring down at his shoes. "You're not listening to me." And then I left.

We didn't talk much after that. I texted him to make sure he was doing okay during his cases and got minimal responses. He eventually told me that he found a nurse to take care of Diana, and that he'd be traveling to Houston to take his mother out of the trial. It was surely the worst decision for Diana, but I guess I have to support my boyfriend.

So after Diana is settled into Spencer's apartment as much as she can be, I head over. She knew who I was right away from the two times I'd met her before, and Spencer and I were both surprised about that. I expected her to not recognize me and Spencer expected her to accuse me of being a spy. I didn't fully understand that, but when he explained how Diana had accused the nurse of being just that, it made sense. Kind of. I don't know how Spencer couldn't see it, but Diana didn't seem comfortable in his little apartment. Or maybe he did see it and just ignored it because he liked having her so close after so long.

Exactly what I predicted happened. I barely saw Spencer for two weeks and in the few times that we got to text, I found out that Diana wasn't doing well at all. She flooded the apartment and ran out the first nurse and now Spencer couldn't go on a case until he found a new nurse. She hated the taste of her medicine, which is odd because I've never found that pills have much of a taste unless you hold them in your mouth too long, and didn't want to take it. But Spencer is a hardass about medicine. I know that from experience when he complained I wasn't taking medication for my panic attacks.

But eventually, Spencer finds a wonderful nurse named Cassie who agrees to work with them and Spencer goes off on a case, and I accept that I'll never get to see him again. We text occasionally but I haven't heard his voice in weeks and we haven't gone on a proper date in maybe months and god knows we haven't had sex in forever. All those selfish thoughts return to make me feel like a horrible person, but am I horrible? Diana needs to be in a care facility, not her son’s apartment where he leaves every few days, and with a stranger who Diana believes is a spy.

I was completely ignorant to believe that our happiness bubble wouldn’t pop. No, the harsh beginning of our relationship would prove that no happiness lasts. We couldn't even get through a year without something tragic happening.

And it sounds so horrible, but at this point, I'm incapable of creating my own happiness. I need Spencer to be happy. I need him to be able to enjoy my tea in the morning. I need him to enjoy watching The Polar Express. I need him to find shapes in the clouds. I need him to make my spontaneous trips to the BAU to see Penelope. I need him so I can be happy. It's codependent and maybe it's toxic but he's my whole world. He's the reason I live and breathe.

///

SPENCER

///

I'm good at holding myself together. I'm good at putting on a smile and helping others before I help myself. It's become a skill of mine over the years, and maybe one that I shouldn't be so good at. But it is and I pride myself on not alarming my teammates when anything is wrong. But stalking cases are a whole other story. I do my best to keep up my world-class poker face when I see that the object of the unsubs affection is a brunette with bangs, but it proves to get harder and harder throughout.

I commend myself for keeping it together. I commend myself for keeping it together when the unsub kidnaps the brunette after we arrive. I commend myself for keeping it together when we witness the unsub send a bullet through the brunette's head. I commend myself for keeping it together as I slap handcuffs on the unsub and shove him in the backseat of a car. I even manage to keep it together through questioning from the whole team. Emily, Rossi, Luke, Tara, JJ, Stephen, and Garcia all ask me if I'm doing okay. Seriously, even the new people. I promise I'm fine. It was a while ago, I tell them, I'm fine.

I should be proud of myself for keeping it together until I get back to the hotel. I keep it together through the wrap-up interviews with the unsub and the goodbye with the local police, ignoring the images that are circling in my brain, now adding another set of images to resurface when I wish they never would.

I don't break down until I'm lying in my hotel room bed. It doesn't happen at first. I just lay down and stare at the ceiling and then my eyes start to burn and then suddenly, there are tears dripping down my cheeks. And as soon as one tear falls, there's a waterfall that follows.

I reach into my pocket and rip out my phone, searching for Amelia's number. I'm blinded by my own tears but I hiccup and hold the phone up to my ear, curling up on my side, ignoring the way I feel so uncomfortable in my trousers and converse and way-too-tight tie. After the phone rings twice, I accept that she's not going to answer, but then she does, and I feel a wave of relief wash over me.

"Hi," she answers softly, and then pauses. "Spencer, what's wrong? What happened? You're crying."

"I know you're mad at me," I cry helplessly, squeezing my eyes shut, "but I really need you right now."

"Of course. I’m right here," she answers in her beautiful, sweet, calming voice. "What do you need? Are you okay?"

I hiccup again, bringing my hand up to my eyes and trying to wiping my cheeks. "It was-" I sniffle, "a stalking case.”

"Oh," Amelia answers, fully understanding. "Okay, dove, do you have your medallion?"

I suddenly remember that and I sit up, hastily grabbing my messenger bag and digging it out of one of the many pockets. "Y-Yeah, I have it now."

"Good,"

"Could you pick me up? I don't wanna drive home."

"Of course. I'll be waiting when you get back."

///

The ride up the sixth floor is excruciating. I'm cramped with everyone else and I just want to go to sleep. I just want to be with my girlfriend. Emily looks over at me and smiles, but I don't bother to profile her smile. Whether it was pity or sorrow or just plain friendliness, I don't care at the moment.

I'm the first one out of the elevator when the doors slide open and my eyes wander inside and to my desk, and my feet glue to the floor. Everyone passes right by me and into the bullpen, but I just stare at the beautiful scene in front of me.

Amelia is sitting on my desk with her legs crossed, dressed in oversized sweats, which are definitely mine, with her curly hair in a bun and her glasses on. I can't blame her for her outfit choice, it is nearing midnight. But she's got her sketchbook in her lap and she's speaking to Henry who's sitting in my desk chair with a notebook in his lap, and she's clearly instructing him on how to draw something. He turns his notebook to her and she grins proudly before giving him a high five. Henry encourages her to teach him something else and they both flip their pages. Amelia leans in with her pencil in hand to show him something else.

"Hey," JJ comes from behind me and lands at my side, following my line of sight. She grins and watches the two interact perfectly, and Amelia gives Henry another high five. "You know, if we don't get a case this weekend, I'm available to go look at rings."

I just start to nod slowly, my head fuzzy with the amount of love I'm feeling for my girlfriend. We haven't been in a good place with our relationship and that's not really a secret. She isn’t happy with my choice to bring home my mom, and she's upset that she feels like her life has to suffer because of the choices I've made, and that's completely valid. But here she is, dropping everything to come and comfort her crying boyfriend at midnight on a Wednesday night, despite how upset she is with me.

So I just look down at JJ, nodding, and her smile grows as I say, "Deal."

///

AMELIA

Change can be such a beautiful thing. Change can be the thing that encourages people to start over and become a new person. A big enough change can transform a life. My life has been change after change after change that I've embraced it and welcomed it. If I don't accept something that happens so constantly in my life, where would that get me?

But sometimes change isn't good. Sometimes it's imperative that things stay the same. There are times where life is too hectic and busy and it would be detrimental for change to make an appearance. Change, then, makes life far too stressful and just plain unlivable.

I thought I'd gone through enough change since meeting Spencer. Dating an FBI agent, specifically, someone in the BAU, changes enough. But then he gets injured and he misses important dates and he works with the man who arrested my serial killer father and he brings his paranoid schizophrenic mother with dementia home to live with him. That's enough change for anyone, and Spencer hates change. I've never met a person who hates change more than him.

I've learned to keep a normal routine since I met Spencer. Well, as normal as I can. Even though I may not be doing anything in a day, I always get up and get dressed, whether Spencer is around or not. I've gotten used to not changing things and I've found the comfort in it.

I don't let today differ from my other days. I wake up in my cold, empty bed and stumble into a cold shower, washing away the throbbing between my legs and the oil on my skin. I blow dry my hair and get dressed in a white sundress that Spencer once told me is his favorite, tying half my hair back with a bow. I do my makeup and put in my piercings and clean my new piercing and go about my life, checking my phone for a text from Spencer. But all I find is groupchat texts from my friends and a text from Jenna asking me if I wanna go out tonight, so I put my phone away and go make myself a cup of tea.

My tea tastes wrong today. I've put in too much sugar and it doesn't taste right when Spencer's not making it for me, or when he's not holding my hand, or when he's not stealing kisses before rushing out the door for work. Life just isn't the same without him and I wish that he could come to his senses about his mother.

I'm halfway through my cup of tea when there's a knock at my front door. The irrational part of my brain perks up and thinks it's Spencer coming home from his trip to Houston, but the rational part of my brain knows that he would go home to his mother first. His mother comes first now. That is a change I need to get used to. Selfish.

"Coming!" I call, setting my cup of tea down on the island. I double-check to make sure I've turned off the stove and the kettle is safely moved aside before rushing to the door.

I pull open the door and instantly, my heart sinks to my feet. Seeing Penelope and JJ standing at my door would usually make me smile and pull out a bottle of wine, but today, it makes my hands sweat. I know this isn't good. I can tell it isn't good by the way JJ is staring down at the floor and by the tears stains in Penelope's makeup.

Spencer is dead. That's it. He's gone. I don't know how it happened but he's dead and gone and I'm all alone. My head starts to spin and I grip the doorknob in my hand so tight that I think I might break it off.

JJ's head pops up a moment later and she gives me a quick, tight-lipped smile and I notice her grab onto Penelope's hand. "Hi, Amelia," she says, her voice quieter than I’ve ever heard it before. "We, um, we gotta talk to you."

I gulp, my chest burning as I nod and open up the door a little bit further for them. The two step inside and even though they've been in my apartment a few times, when I was invited to ladies nights and hosted, they walk as if they're strangers. They're uncomfortable strangers who would rather be anywhere else.

I close the door and the three of us linger in the entryway. I almost regret not putting on a record this morning because the silence is choking me. Garcia is avoiding eye contact and looking around and JJ is doing something similar, but her eyes are stuck on my wall of pictures. And it seems to be the picture of Spencer and I. It was one that had taken hours to convince him to take and when I'd finally pressed the button on my camera, we were giggling relentlessly and Spencer was clinging to my side. It's one of my favorite pictures of us, which is why it's on my wall. I look at it every day and wish we could go back to that moment.

"Do you guys want a drink or anything?" I offer because I just don't know what else to say. I truly don't want to hear what they have to tell me.

Penelope turns her head back to me and shakes her head. "Um, no. No thanks."

"Amelia," JJ states, her voice sharper than I imagined. But then she brings her eyes to mine and her face softens. "Do you, um, do you wanna sit?"

"Tell me what happened to him." I sputter, bringing my hands to my hips. I'm already breaking and there are already tears in my eyes. They wouldn't be here during a work day just to tell me that Spencer is happy and healthy at work, about to get on the jet so they can go to their case.

Penelope lets out a whimper and puts her face in her hands, pulling her hand away from JJ's. JJ sighs and looks between me and her friend. "Spence is, um," she lets out a breath again and forces out whatever words are painful on her tongue, "he got arrested in Mexico. He was in a car chase with the Mexican police and then he was found with a huge amount of cocaine and heroin in his trunk, and he was high out of his mind. Emily, Rossi, and Luke went down to Mexico to investigate and they found a body and they're now charging him with drug possession with the intent to distribute, and manslaughter."

Like I said, some change is good. Changing bed sheets, changing clothes after a workout, changing your mind on a restaurant for dinner. Change is necessary for life to go on. Not change like this. I could never accept a huge change like Spencer getting arrested in a foreign country while being high. All of that is absolutely ridiculous and I almost roll my eyes when JJ tells me. But her face stays stoic and I know it's true.

Sometimes, I can feel myself getting pushed into the ground. I can feel my feet melt into the hardwood floor and I watch as the room starts to spin like a carousel. But there's no eccentric horse and no cheerful children. It's just me and my tears and my trembling knees.

"Amelia?"

There's a voice but I can't tell who's it is. Maybe it's JJ. Maybe it's Jenna. Maybe it's Penelope. Maybe it's Spencer. Maybe it's my mom. Maybe no one spoke at all. I can't even tell what's real anymore. If Spencer is high and getting arrested then we surely, must have entered a new dimension.

"He was framed, Amelia, we know it."

There's the voice again, and suddenly there's a hand on my arm, but my whole body tenses. My eyes glaze over and I can't even breathe, my chest heaving every time I try. Silent tears fall down my cheeks and I know that the longer I stand here, the more pain I feel.

But the glue under my feet has taken a liking to this specific spot of the floor and I'm stuck. So utterly stuck in this spot, in my head, in this lifetime. I can't breathe anymore. My lungs are flattened and they won't inflate.

"Amelia, you need to breathe."

I move my lips but no words come out. I'm grappling for words and gasping for words and I know what's happening but I can't stop it. Spencer always stops them. He always speaks to me in his soothing voice and waits to touch me until the nonverbal part of my attack has passed and then he hugs me up until I almost bruise.

But thinking about Spencer makes my knees buckle and I crumble to the floor, staring down at the hardwood as my tears create a puddle. I hang my head and ball my hands into fists, trying to find something to ground me but there's nothing. JJ and Penelope don't know what to do and Spencer can't magically appear to help me. They can't even call him because he's been arrested. Arrested.

My boyfriend has been arrested. My FBI boyfriend who wasn't happy to bail me out I when I was arrested for spray painting a brick wall that was public property. And now he's getting arrested for being high, being in a car chase, narcotics possession, and now murder? My boyfriend? My boyfriend who walks around with his sobriety medallion and cringes when we even see a scene on tv of someone doing drugs. This isn't him. This isn't My Spencer.

"Emily, Luke, and Rossi are with him. They said he's hazy and missing time but he's okay."

He's not okay. God, no. He won't be okay. He relapsed and once he comes down, he's going to be crushed. Absolutely pulverized. He'll never want to look at his medallion again. His medallion. Where the hell is that?

Time passes. So much time passes. It feels like forever. My hands bleed and my knees ache and my back is sore and my head starts to pound. I eventually collapse onto my side, almost curled up in the fetal position, my eyes squeezed shut. I need Spencer. I need him to hold me and to tell me he's going to be okay and to come home. Someone needs to tell me this has all been a cruel, disgusting, horrible prank.

"Amelia?" It's Penelope this time, that I know.

"Amelia, can you hear me?" And now it's JJ and she's crouching right beside me. I nod weakly and she sighs of relief. "Can I get you something? Water?" I nod again, and she goes rushing off to my kitchen.

Penelope helps me sit up again and leans me against the wall, wiping the tears from my cheeks. Her touch feels nice but it's not the same as Spencer's touch. Nothing will ever be the same.

"We're gonna save him," she whispers to me. "We're gonna prove that he was framed and we're gonna bring him home."

JJ returns with a glass of water for me and joins the two of us on the floor, crossing her legs. I sip slowly, my hands still shaking and my knees pulled up to my chest, protecting myself. My thoughts are shooting around in my head and I can't stop them.

"We've been fighting recently," I confess quietly. "Ever since he decided to bring his mom home, we have. On our anniversary, he asked me to move in with him and we agreed to buy a house, then he brought his mom home and started ignoring me. He cared more about experimental medicine than he did about me."

"That's not true," Penelope murmurs, placing her hand on my knee. "Anyone with eyes can see that Reid loved you more than himself. He'd lay down his life for you. He looks at you like you put the clouds in the sky," The statement makes my head spin quicker.

"Why don't you," JJ speaks next, "pack up some stuff and come to the BAU with us? You probably shouldn't be alone right now and you could use some company."

"Plus, we can keep you updated on Spencer when you're closer," Penelope says. "Go pack and we'll drive you."

I put the glass of water on the floor and manage to push myself to my feet. I trudge away from the girls and up the stairs to my bedroom, lugging a duffle bag out from under my bed. It almost doesn't feel real as I put a few things in the bag. It feels like someone else is controlling my body. I’m not moving like this. I’m not living in this dimension. 

I make my way back down the stairs and see the two women still lingering in the doorway, not even speaking. But they give me pitiful smiles when I enter, and they don't say anything when I grab my keys and open the door. I don't clean up my water glass or my cup of tea or double-check anything. I just need to leave.

///

Stephen and Tara's heads pop up when the elevator doors open, but I keep my head high. They're profiling me, as they always are with everyone, but I don't want to give them the power to see me so broken. So I keep my face neutral as I march right past them and down the hallway, directly into an empty interview room and slam the door shut.

Maybe it's wrong of me to be so cold to the team that is doing their best to help Spencer, but I can't help it. And maybe I'm mad at him. Maybe I'm fucking furious. How could he do this? How could he go to Mexico and put his life at risk, being a federal agent and being such a big target? How could he neglect to tell me that he was leaving the country? How could he do this to his team and his mom? How could he do this to me?

"Amelia?" Tara's knocking at the door, entering before I can even say come in. "I'm just checking in on you. I'm sure you're upset. We all are."

"He's stupid," I'm not sure why that's the first thing out of my mouth, but it is. "He's a fucking idiot. I've always known that but I didn't think he'd be this stupid."

Tara sighs and leans against the wall, dropping her head and trying to stay calm and level for me. "Did you know he was going to Mexico?"

"He told me he was going to Houston to meet with a doctor, that's all," I shake my head, ripping the too-cheerful bow out of my hair and letting it fall to the floor.

"When Garcia looked into his travels, it turned out that he crossed the border three times." I can't even bother to react. My body just feels numb and no new information can get past the shield I'm putting up. "You had no idea of any of this?"

"He always told me he was going to Houston. I never would've thought he was going to Mexico. Tara," my teary eyes travel up to meet hers, "JJ and Penelope said he was framed. Who is trying to frame him?"

Tara grabs a chair from the table a few feet over and sits in front of me. "Did Spencer ever tell you about someone named Mr. Scratch?"

"Him? I thought he was going after Hotch."

"He's coming after all of us. He came after me, he kidnapped my brother and drugged him, and we know that he did the same to Reid. It's our job now to find the evidence that points to Scratch." Stephen is at the door now, giving me a pitiful smile before gesturing for Tara to follow him out. She pats my knee before standing. "We're gonna get him home. You're obviously welcome to stay here, and if you need anything, let us know."

///

I thought that being apart of one FBI-involved case was enough for one lifetime. I don't miss being in this stale interview by myself while the BAU does their work, scrambling for evidence that supports Spencer and gets him home. But there's clearly not much or else I would have heard something. All the horrible memories of my childhood in police stations surface and swirl around my brain, leaving me frantically covering my eyes to will them again. I’m a kid again, laying on an uncomfortable couch and watching officers go back and forth without even looking at me. I’m a kid again, lost and confused with nowhere to go and no one to love me.

JJ and Penelope stop by over the day to check in on me and bring me food whenever they order some, but I don't eat much. I just spend my time staring at the wall and trying not to cry. I eventually leave the room just to change into sweatpants and a hoodie, and when I return, my phone is buzzing with a call from Jenna.

"Hey," she answers, and there's quite a bit of commotion from her end. "You were supposed to be here a half hour ago and The Bachelor starts in twenty minutes, so are you coming? Everyone else is already here and Frankie said he's gonna eat your Popeye's order soon."

"No," I answer quietly, "I'm not gonna make it. Sorry. I forgot to call."

"Are you okay? You sound off," Jenna's no profiler but she's always been good at hearing when I'm off. "Did something happen? Is Spencer okay?"

I cover my eyes with my hand and let out a shaky breath. "No, Jen, he's not."

There's a moment of silence on her line and the shouting from our friends gets quieter as she gets further from them. "Are you guys fighting more? What'd you guys say this time?"

"It's so much worse than that," I cry, curling up on the couch as the waterworks start yet again. "He got arrested." And so I start the story, relaying the details as I know them.

It's now that I accept the situation. Spencer is being framed by a criminally sophisticated serial killer who organized a prison break from behind bars. There won't be evidence. No, actually, there will be evidence and it will all be planted to point to my boyfriend. The minimum sense for murder is twenty years and the maximum is life. No matter what, he's going away for a long time or for forever. I might never see him in my bed again, or on my balcony, or buy a house with him, or have a family with him.

And so I cry to Jenna for hours. She misses The Bachelor and she has no idea who gets sent home or who gets a rose, but I don't think she cares. She listens to me cry over my tainted life plans. The wedding I'll never have. The kids I'll never birth. The mortgage I'll never pay. The college acceptance days I'll never attend. The birthday parties I'll never throw. It may never happen. And I've never been a pessimist, but this is the perfect time to be one.

I know that I fall asleep on the phone with her because when I wake up, my phone is on the floor of the room and it's still unlocked, telling me that it's nearly three in the morning. I'm wide awake and plagued with memories of the times I used to sit in bed with Spencer at this early morning time, eating Chinese food or ice cream and sometimes playing dumb card games that he lets me win or watching movies in a language I don’t speak or teaching him how to braid my hair.

I leave the dark interview room and wander into the dimly lit bullpen, finding right away that the four members of the BAU that are in the country are still in the conference room. They're working through the night and I wish I had the energy in me to thank them.

I push open the doors with every intention of forcing yself to have to energy to thank the team, but I pause when I get to Spencer's desk. His cardigan is still on the back of his chair, and there are more books covering the desk than I’ve ever seen. My pinky promise note has never moved from its spot on his computer and there are now two framed pictures of me on the desk. One is the same one that's hanging in my apartment, and the other is just me on my balcony, grinning at the camera. I hated the picture at the time and I still hate it now. Clearly, Spencer loved it enough to get it developed and put it on his desk. Every time I come here and see this picture, it makes me fall in love with Spencer just a little bit more.

I sit in the cardigan-covered chair and open the top drawer, finding basic office supplies. The next drawer is full of case files and paperwork that I don't have the stomach to go through, and besides, I'm sure I'd be the next to get arrested if I go through them. Federal business and all. I already know what is in the bottom drawer but I open it anyway, and I find that the stash of snacks I supply is still held there. I smile when I find that there are new snacks there, meaning that Spencer has finally learned and eats more when he's at work, even taking it upon himself to buy things other than what I provide for him.

I swivel the chair to the other side and open the only drawer on that side. This drawer is filled with the sketchbook/journals that I've provided for him, and at this point in our relationship, after two years, I've provided him with six already and he's working on his seventh. Each one is decorated differently and uniquely and each one is filled with whatever Spencer decides. I also find one of my hair scarves in here but I don't dare to touch it. I lost this scarf very early in our relationship and I realized I left it at Spencer's apartment, and I knew he'd never give it back to me. I steal his clothes and he steals my hair scarves.

The last thing I find is Spencer's medallion and I quickly pull that out, slamming the desk drawer closed. I'm not sure what to think of this. Did he leave it behind because he was tired of being sober? Did he leave it here on accident? Did he leave it here because he was framed and he didn't plan on getting drugged in a foreign country? I juggle the medallion between my fingers like I've seen Spencer do so many times and wonder if Spencer remembers his promise. I wonder if he remembers that he promised to always come home to me, that he'll always go north and he'll come home to me. Does he remember that?

"Hey," Penelope leans against the desk, giving me a small smile, "I've got a tiny bit of good news."

"Good news?" I echo, not at all convinced. How could they have good news that's tiny? The only good news in my book right now would be Spencer is released from custody.

"Yeah," she nods eagerly, "it turns out that the woman who was killed was a Mexican and an American citizen. The case was just extradited! They were gonna move Spencer to El Diablo Maximum Security Prison but instead, he's gonna go to federal jail here and await his trial."

I just nod at this news, because it's not really good. He's not proven innocent, in fact, plenty of people seem to think he's guilty if he was supposed to go to a Mexican prison. He still has to go to jail and stay there to wait for his trial and he still has to be proven innocent. It's not good news.

"Amelia, it's good, I promise. This means that we can control the case." But I still don't look up from the medallion as it passes between my fingers, and I only look up when she speaks again. "They're on their way back now and they're stopping by here first before bringing him to the federal jail."

"Really? Am I gonna be allowed to see him?" I perk up, the medallion rolling out of my fingers as I jump to my feet.

"Yeah! He's supposed to keep his handcuffs on but if we get you guys into an interview room or something, I'm sure we can make an exception for you," Penelope rubs her hand up and down my arms, smiling. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but everything's gonna be okay."

I scoff out a laugh, already retreating back to my lonely interview room. "It's funny, that's what I said to Spencer when he was upset over a case once. Guess I was wrong."

///

"Amelia, he's here." Penelope beams, waving me out of the interview room.

When I get to the elevator, Spencer is already hugging JJ. She sighs as she's nudged by his jacket-covered, handcuff-bound hands, hugging him as best as she can. I hear her promise the handcuffs are only because there are other people around, and Spencer nods in understanding. He looks horrible- exhausted and disheveled and nothing like the man I fell in love with. But as soon as I see him, a new wave of overwhelming, painful emotions wash over me.

Spencer lays eyes on me and his face crumbles, stepping past JJ to get to me. "I'm sorry," he whispers, but I'm not quite sure what it is he's apologizing for. There's a mountain of things it could be for. But I don't care.

I forget all the horrible things I was thinking before and pull the jacket away from his hands, ducking down and moving inside his circled arms, wrapping my arms around his neck. I squeeze him as tight as I can because I know he can't really hug me properly, and I hear him sigh contently. He melts into my embrace. His arms just hang around my waist but I barely pay mind to them. He's here and that's all I care about. He’s here and he’s touching me and he’s not okay, but he is alive and that’s all I care about.

"Are you okay?" I murmur into his neck, my eyes closed.

"No," he answers, and while I'm happy with his honesty, I'd do anything to change that answer. "I relapsed. After all those years, I relapsed."

"Spencer," I pull away and put my hands on his cheeks, staring into his red-rimmed and bloodshot eyes, "did you do it? Did you kill that woman and did you take those drugs and did you intend to distribute that stuff?"

"No, absolutely not," he answers quickly, shaking his head. "I-I was there," he looks over to make sure the team has left and they have, to give us privacy, "to get medication for my mom. I'm missing time from the drugs but that's the only thing I'm sure of. The medicine she was on wasn't helping and I found this experimental treatment but this doctor would only give it to me in Mexico and Scratch must have found out and used it against me and I'm so, so sorry, Amelia."

"Okay," I whisper back, nodding. "I believe you, dove. Whatever you tell me, I believe, you know that. The team believes you too and they're doing everything they can to prove your innocence."

He glances into the doors of the bullpen where the team is surely debriefing, now together after almost a week of being apart. Then Spencer brings his gaze back to me and rests his forehead against mine. "Are you okay? You look tired."

"Don't worry about me," I give him a tiny smile. "You worry about you."

"You had a panic attack." He quickly concludes, his face contorting into one of concern. "Where were you? Were you alone? Were you-"

"I was at home and I was with JJ and Penelope, but you know that you're the only one who helps. Anyone other than you just makes them worse. But it's fine, I'm fine. Don't waste your energy on me."

Spencer sighs, resigned, his eyes fluttering for a moment. "Can I give you a kiss?"

I savor the kiss. I savor the moment. I savor the way Spencer tries to get his hands on my back. I know that life is changing for a while. My pessimism is rearing its ugly head and I can't stop it. And whether I'm the only pessimist here or nobody else is confessing what they're thinking, I'm the only one acting on it, it seems. I kiss Spencer with everything I have because as soon as he's here, he's gone. He's sitting in a jail cell and he's staring at all without me and without his team. But this is the change that life has brought us. A change that I refuse to adapt to.

TAGLIST

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[imagining-in-the-margins]

Spencer Reid Fic Headcanons Q&A

Well, here is my nearly 7,000 words worth of answers for headcanons on my stories! Thank you to the Anons, @dreatine​, and @thatgeekwhotalks​ for submitting so many wonderful questions! I love you all very much!

Here to Misbehave

Who is always horny and will have sex at any time, at any place and at any time?

Reader. While Spencer is basically always capable of being turned on, there are many situations where he would be uncomfortable. Reader would care much less. Basically the only way she would be completely against the idea is if there were unwilling participants nearby. 

Who is more seductive when they are drunk?

You’re going to see this in the story, but I’ll tell you anyway - Reader is more seductive. Spencer basically turns into a giant pile of mush that won’t stop talking about how much he loves his girlfriend. She’s the one who has to convince drunk Spencer to let her do anything, because he gets distracted every five seconds (again, distracted by telling her how much he loves his girlfriend).

Who is louder in bed?

Reader. Unless she’s gagged. There are some times when Spencer is louder (usually Sub!Spence), but Reader cares significantly less about being heard, so she’s usually louder. If they knew no one could hear them? They’d probably be evenly matched.

Who asks for more cuddles? Who’s the first to initiate cuddles?

Spencer. He’s the one who initiates more often. Reader claims she only does it because he seems like he needs them, but it’s really because she wants them; he knows and lets it go. Reader generally has a hard time admitting she needs gentle intimacy (something he is very aware of and tries to make up for). That’s why it was a big deal when she first asked him to just hold her.

Who makes fun of the other for having a crush on them, and who has to remind them that they are in a relationship?

Reader makes fun of Spencer for being sappy all the time, and he reminds her that she loves it. This cycle never ends. Even if/when (cough) they’re married, she constantly makes fun of him for being so in love with her.

Who starts a food fight in the kitchen?

READER. Spencer is disgusted (and kind of pissed lol), but also feels the undying urge to beat her. Afterwards they both clean the kitchen and each other happily.

Who initiates duets? And who is the better singer?

Reader always makes Spencer sing, even though they’re both bad at it. She’s much, much better than him, though. They like to listen to each other sing. She makes fun of him because theoretically, he should be good at singing, since he can remember all the words and how the notes go. But he sucks, and she loves how it’s one of the few things she’s better at.

Who starts the hand holding?

Spencer. Like I mentioned before, she has a really hard time requesting or initiating gentle intimacy without sex. He gives her an out by initiating it for her whenever he thinks she needs it.

Who grabs the others butt?

Tied. He grabs her butt all the time in public just because he loves how no one would ever believe that he did it. She does it because she just loves touching him. She’s not nearly as sneaky about it.

Who slides their arm around the other’s waist?

Reader puts her arm around him a lot. It’s basically a half-assed hug from her. She also does it anytime she gets even remotely sleepy.

Who likes to put their fingers in the belt loops?

Reader. She would basically always be holding them if he let her. He makes jokes about how she’s basically holding his pants up better than the belt (until she takes them off).

What’s something they like that may be surprising to others?

For Reader, she like to play strategy based board games with him. He didn’t believe it at first, either. For Spencer, he loves watching sitcoms with her (this will be in the story!)

Who is more likely to cheat?

I want to preface this by saying that neither would ever cheat. They both love each other very much and would both reach out to their partner before it reached that point.

That being said, Reader. Only because she is more aggressive in her pursuits. She would still have to essentially be blackout drunk, and even then I don’t think she would be able to go through with it. Spencer I could only see emotionally cheating, and even then I think he would have left Reader before it reached that point.

They love each other okay 😭

Dark Side

Who gets attacked by a bully and who protects them?

This will be in the story! The answer is honestly both. Bambi is more of a target than Spencer, but if she ever saw someone mess with Spencer, she would definitely fight for him. Her methods are much less physical than Spencer’s, tho.

Also, Spencer would let Bambi try to fight her own battles at first. He trusts that she’s strong and capable of protecting herself.

Who makes the bad puns and who makes a pained smile every time the other makes a pun?

It depends on the pun. Super technical/scientific puns are more often said by Spencer, and Bambi would cringe at most of them. When Bambi makes super technical/scientific puns (about psychology), Spencer just wants to jump her bones.

Bambi makes the pop culture references and puns that, once Spencer understands what they mean, he hates. Eventually they both start to find them genuinely hilarious.

Which one holds the umbrella over both of them when it rains?

Spencer, just because he’s taller. There are times Bambi demands to try and he just gets hit in the head a lot. He suffers through it for her, though.

If your OTP went on vacation, where would they go and what would they do?

I think they would go to London.

Bambi would want to go to the Freud Museum, and Spencer would hate it. He’d spend the whole trip asking her why she bothered studying someone who’s been so discredited (despite her explaining that’s why she’s interested! And it’s history, Spencer!)

To make up for it, she would surprise him by taking him to the Down House (home of Charles Darwin). She’d also book them a private Doctor Who sightseeing tour and pay the guide extra so that Spencer could tell her everything, instead.

Who would take the pictures?

Bambi. Spencer breaks every camera he touches. He also doesn’t like being in pictures, but will take them with her (so a lot of the pictures are selfies).  Occasionally he’ll snap a candid of her and she loves it even though it’s blurry. Most of the pictures taken are of their view, rather than either of them.

Who is always horny and will have sex at any time, at any place and at any time?

Spencer! This one should be pretty obvious (lmao). Although he’s less risky now than he was when he met her, he’s still pretty adventurous. She acts like she hates the idea, but she definitely is excited by it.

Who is more into taking showers/baths together? Who tries to make it relaxing and who tries to make it sexy time?

Bambi. She loves the chance to take care of him under any circumstances, which is why she tries to keep it relaxing. Problem is, someone taking care of Spencer awakes all of his urges (since it basically never happens, he’s spent his whole life taking care of other people, even his own mother), and he has to have her immediately. She usually lets him.

Who likes to walk around the house naked and who tells the other to go put some clothes on?

Spencer is basically never naked, so it’s Bambi. Since he lives in an apartment, he’s always concerned about all the different situations someone could walk in, or that he’d have to quickly evacuate. He wears pajamas basically all the time, and was shocked to find that Bambi basically doesn’t own any.

He tells her to put clothes on, but they’re always his clothes and they never stay on very long.

Who sleeps on the couch when they get into a fight?

Bambi. She’d wait until he fell asleep because she’s worried about him not getting enough, even when she’s angry. Afterwards she would get up and leave. She’d wake up in the morning to him desperately trying to fit on it with her while he apologized.

Who thinks they are not good enough for the others love?

Surprisingly, Bambi. She always wonders if she really did take advantage of Spencer, and if he would have ever considered her to be anything special if he’d met her before he went to prison. She never talks to him about it, but he can tell she’s worried about it so he constantly reassures her.

Who’s more afraid of losing the other?

Spencer. He’s petrified that he’ll make a mistake and lose her either by someone taking her (cough cough), or hurting her badly enough that she can’t be with him anymore. It takes him a long time to really open up about his problems because he’s worried she’ll start to view him as more of a client than a boyfriend.

Who thinks they keep messing up, only for the other to tell them they don’t need to worry?

Both of them. Spencer more often than Bambi. As he starts to actually unpack his trauma, he worries less about it and Bambi starts to worry more. At one point she worries that once he’s better, he won’t want to be with her anymore (essentially, that he’ll view her as a therapist instead of a girlfriend lmao).

Who starts randomly slow dancing with the other in the kitchen?

Spencer dances with her every chance he gets because he remembers that he never got a chance to dance with Maeve, and he never wants to wonder with Bambi. She comes to expect it and will put music on whenever she wants to dance with him. At one point, she jokes that they’ll have their first dance planned way before they get married. He gets very embarrassed but excited.

Who holds the other just above the ground and kisses them?

Spencer picks Bambi off the ground and kisses her all the time. Basically whenever she gets sad, he picks her up and carries her around.

Who says shitty puns and sex jokes just to see the other giggle and blush?

Bambi. Despite Spencer’s demeanor during sex, he gets very flustered when she brings it up or is raunchy outside of the bedroom. He never expects it, so she likes to mess with him.

Who said “I love you” first? and who ends their arguments in a fight with “Because I love you”?

Spencer said it first, and she immediately said it back. It was completely random, and neither of them made a big deal out of it. It was like they’d said it a million times before.

He’s also the one who ends arguments with “Because I love you.” Mostly because she knows if he’s using that line, he has an actual answer that’ll prove her wrong. It’s his way of letting her win, so it always successfully ends the argument.

Who starts the hand holding?

Spencer, technically. She kept staring at his hands until he held hers. Eventually she admits that’s not why she was staring, but that she enjoys it nonetheless.

Who grabs the others butt?

Bambi grabs and smacks his butt all the time. He jumps and blushes every single time.

Who slides their arm around the other’s waist?

Spencer pulls her close to him whenever they aren’t holding hands. She occasionally has to stop him. She’ll link arms if she’s worried he’s getting too touchy.

Who likes to put their fingers in the belt loops?

Bambi. It’s a (not at all) subtle way of telling him she wants them off.

Who likes to write the other’s name on their wrist?

Bambi won’t necessarily write it on her wrist, but she doodles his name in her notebooks often. At first he’s worried when he finds it because he thinks she’s keeping client notes, but then he realizes they’re really just teen-romance doodles (including her signature with “Reid” instead of her last name).

Does Bambi have a nickname for Spencer? If so, what is it?

She occasionally calls him Prince Charming to be funny. Otherwise, she calls him “darling” or “dear.” He always makes a joke about the latter (because Bambi is a deer).

Why did Spencer make first move to Bambi in the prison? What was it about her that he felt a connection to her that made him act that first day?

For one, she was just the first person he’d really seen and she was very beautiful. But beyond that, she immediately recognized that he was a good person, which was something he really, desperately needed someone to tell him.

She never doubted his intelligence or moral character (even when she should have). He could also see that despite not being scared of him, she was very… jumpy. He thought it was cute and wanted to experiment with it.

I also didn’t show their initial interaction, but she was generally interested in learning more about him and his work. Not to profile him, but because she recognized he was being dehumanized and wanted to offer him some reprieve. That really touched him and it made him a lot more vulnerable than he would have been with a more transactional person.

Was he surprised that she let him have sex with her in the prison? Did he honestly expect her NOT to come back?

At that point, he was kind of fucking losing it, so I’m not sure he ever really stopped to consider whether she would want to or not. He figured she would make it obvious if she didn’t want to. After every single one of their interactions, he was convinced he’d ruined everything and she wouldn’t come back. She felt the same and was always worried he’d turn away her visits.

After the events of Part 2, did Bambi and Spencer talk about what happened when she called out Flower?

Yes and no. They spoke a lot in generalities about their hard and soft boundaries. It did change how their later sexual interactions went. He was much more vocal about what was going to happen and she was more obvious about whether or not she was enjoying it.

For awhile, they used the red/yellow/green method to test how far the other was able to comfortably go. They also had a period where they only had vanilla sex to protect his psyche (and remind him that he doesn’t have to hurt her to make them happy).

How did that conversation go? Is that when they decided to become an actual couple or did they both know back at the prison that they were meant for the other?

Spencer’s joke about the husband was only half a joke; he really did wonder how wrong he’d been about her since he only got to see her very briefly. Although he wanted to be with her since the prison, it wasn’t until after the Flower situation that she asked him if they could be in a relationship. He was initially too stunned by the question to answer. When she asked again, he said yes.

Which one likes to surprise the other with a lot of small random gifts?

Bambi buys him the nerdiest gifts ever. She doesn’t even understand half the references, she just knows it’s something Spencer talked about before, so she gets it for him. Half of it she just keeps at her place so that he’ll feel more comfortable there.

Which one keeps accidentally using the other’s last name instead of their own?

Both of them! Since they both call each other Dr. (last name) when introducing them to others, they mix up their names all the time. Bambi always jokes that once they’re both Dr. Reid, things will be way easier.

Who spends almost all their money on the other?

Bambi spends a lot of money on him. She wants to make sure he always has something to remember her by. She also wants him to experience things with her – especially considering it doesn’t happen often. So when they go out, she usually goes pretty hard.

Who walks around the house half-naked and who yells at them to put on some clothes?

Neither of them, honestly! If anything, Bambi kind of wants him to be more naked, more often. Since he’s usually pretty self conscious, she likes the opportunity to surprise him with praise. She’s known to pop up behind him and put her hands up the front of his shirt.

Which one tells the other not to stay up all night and which one stays up all night anyway?

Both of them. They’re chaotic as hell. Even worse, their all-nighters never really seem to coincide. Bambi is more likely to get more sleep, even if it’s still not much.

Which one tries to make food for the other but burns it all by accident and which one tells them that it’s okay and makes them both cookies?

Bambi is a terrible cook, but an excellent baker. So while Spencer would tell her it’s okay, she would already have made the cookies to eat instead of dinner. His sweet tooth is usually pretty okay with it.

Who is more seductive when they are drunk?

Bambi. Spencer is surprised, because she usually is the more reserved of the two. When she drinks, he jokes that she becomes an entirely different person. He assumes that persona is more similar to what she was like as a teen/young adult.

Who is louder in bed?

Spencer. Bambi is very quiet, and enjoys hearing him more than she enjoys expressing herself. Spencer loves when she does make noise, because it shows just how overwhelmed she really is.

Who is more protective?

Spencer. Bambi gets pretty protective of him, but also knows that he can take care of himself. While Spencer wants to give Bambi a chance to take care of problems herself, he often finds himself unable to wait. He would throw hands for her in seconds. It would take a bit more for her to become violent.

Who talks to the other while they are sleeping?

Spencer talks to her while she’s sleeping often. She doesn’t have the heart to tell him that she’s a light sleeper. Sometimes when he suspects she can hear him, he’ll only talk to her in other languages.

Who drives and who has the window seat?

Bambi usually drives! Just because she likes to, and he doesn’t.

Who falls asleep in the others lap and who carries them to bed?

Spencer falls asleep in her arms a lot, but she can’t carry him to bed, so they just sleep on the couch. On the off chance she’s the one curled in his lap, he would definitely carry her to bed.

Big spoon/Little spoon?

They share the little spoon spot about 50/50. If one had to win, it would be Spencer as little spoon. Any chance for her to baby him and make him feel loved and vulnerable, she will jump on.

Most common argument?

Conversations about the zodiac and personality tests. They argue about whether or not one is more justified than the other. Basically any psychology topic ends up in a playful fight. She just hates that he’s always right, so she’ll argue whatever side he doesn’t take until he can’t handle it anymore and jumps her.

Favorite non-sexual activity?

Holding hands while they both read their own books. A close second is walks the two take in the park.

What is their favorite feature of their partner?

Bambi loves how expressive his face is, and the way he uses his hands when he talks.

Spencer loves the way she’s always humming and singing when she thinks he isn’t paying attention. Sometimes when he’s having a hard time falling asleep on a case, he’ll think about her humming to help him fall asleep.

What’s the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other?

Spencer starts calling her by her real name more often. Bambi is much more affectionate (hugs, holding hands, kisses on the forehead/cheek).

Who wakes up first? Who wants to stay in bed just a little longer?

Bambi. She usually wakes up with the sunrise. Unless Spencer has a case, he sleeps in late and basically never wants to leave. She keeps a book on her bedside table so he can cuddle with her until he’s ready to get up.

Who reaches for the other’s hand first?

Spencer always wants to hold her hand. Whenever she lets go because she needs to do something, he gets very sad. She tries not to take too long.

Who initiates kisses? Who kisses the hardest?

Bambi initiates, Spencer kisses harder. If Bambi kisses hard, she is really turned on. Like, they better get in private real quick.

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear during inappropriate times?

Spencer whispers inappropriate things to her all the time. No one ever believes her.

Who needs more assurance?

Spencer. He’s always worried she’s going to realize he doesn’t deserve her, or that he’s not interesting enough for her.

What would be their theme song?

This one is easy because it’s what inspired the fic! Dark Side by Phoebe Ryan.

Don't turn on the light and stay with me tonight I don't want another version Don't be a better person Don't want nobody perfect So pull me beneath the surface 'Cause I'm in love with your dark side

Has Bambi met Diana? If so, how was that meeting?

She hasn’t yet, but when she does, it goes well. Spencer was hesitant because he didn’t want Bambi to see what he might turn out to be. In the end, Bambi was very patient and enjoyed hearing Diana’s stories. She’s never bothered when Diana doesn’t remember her, and says she loves the chance to meet her over and over again.

Also, did Spencer, on some level, hope to get Bambi pregnant after he had sex with her in the prison and the time in part 2, considering he has an impregnation kink?

In the prison, probably not. Too many logistics that would be problematic if she got pregnant. Outside of the prison, yeah, he did. He wanted to dominate/claim her in any way he could. He was also very emotional in Part 2, so the idea of being with her forever sounded really ideal.

Schrodinger’s Relationship

Who sleeps in the other’s lap?

Spencer is always trying to sleep in her lap. Always. He’s like a cat; he falls asleep there so often and she just has to sit and suffer because she wants to get up but he looks so cute.

Who walks around the house half-naked and who yells at them to put on some clothes?

Reader walks around the house naked all the time and Spencer always freaks out because she leaves all her blinds open and she’s just like “who fucking cares?” Then he gives her a 20 minute lecture on stalkers and peeping toms.

Which one tries to make food for the other but burns it all by accident and which one tells them that it’s okay and makes them both cookies?

Spencer burns everything he tries to make her. Reader is actually a pretty good cook, although she eats at the bar way too often. When Spencer found out how much she loves baking, he almost made a joke that it didn’t seem to suit her, but got distracted by picturing her in a maternal setting.

Which one constantly wears the other’s clothes?

Surprisingly, Spencer steals her clothes a lot because she wears things around the house that are way too big for her (he also usually shows up straight from work and has no other clothes). She basically lost all of her basketball shorts, sweatpants, and big t-shirts.

Which one likes to surprise the other with a lot of small random gifts?

Reader has always wanted to do a road trip across the country, so Spencer is trying to buy her a small gift from every state. He’s like halfway there thanks to work. She plans to buy him one in each state once they finally get to go.

Which one keeps accidentally using the other’s last name instead of their own?

This one is the same for all of them, since Spencer is referred to as “Reid” all the time, it’s easy for his girlfriend to tag “Reid” on her own name, too. Less so a problem for this Reader as Dark Side, though! 

Which one gives the other their jacket?

Spencer gives her his jacket often, but every now and then she’ll drop her oversized clothes over his shoulders when he’s cold or sleepy. He snuggles it like a toy.

Who’s the first one to admit they have feelings for the other?

This wasn’t shown, but it was Spencer! She was having a really awful day, so he stayed after (per usual). Although she was the one to start the conversation and vent about her day, Spencer was the one who basically told her that she deserved to be treated better. Reader asked if he knew any willing men, and he (ahem) volunteered himself.

How good would your OTP be at parenting?

They would be the coolest and most chaotic parents ever. Reader would let the kids get away with everything, but they would be (for the most part) very well behaved. She would try to get them to get into trouble with her as they got older. Eventually, their idea of getting into trouble was things like correcting their teachers and grammar mistakes in graffiti. Spencer was very proud.

Who said “I love you” first?

Reader was the first one to say I love you, and it was a mistake. She was so embarrassed she covered his mouth and kicked him out. He shouted it back from the hallway.

Who ends their arguments in a fight with “Because I love you”?

Reader. After she got over the initial embarrassment, she says it nonstop now. Spencer knows she does it to win arguments, but he still lets her win every time.

After part 2, did the situation with the team get better for the Reader and Spencer? Who was the first to come around? And did JJ and Emily ever confront Spencer on catching him and the Reader finishing having sex?

Emily was the first person to come around. Her and Reader had a heart to heart at the bar a few nights later. Spencer and JJ had a talk, with the latter agreeing that both of them had been hard on the other.

At first, JJ and her were just cordial until one night JJ desperately needed a babysitter and asked Reader, who was so touched by the fact she trusted her with her kids that the two finally apologized to the other.

JJ and Emily are still mortified about what happened in the office, and Reader likes to bring it up often. Spencer is super embarrassed about it, but also a little proud, so he lets her.

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear during inappropriate times?

Both of them. All the time. At first, it’s mostly Reader, but as time goes on, he gets way raunchier than her.

Who needs more assurance?

Reader. She regularly feels like she isn’t good enough for Spencer since she’s not as “impressive.” He regularly reminds her how much he enjoys how different they are.

What would be their theme song?

Bad Girls by MKTO!

She gets what she wants, she takes what she needs She all over me She kinda mean but ain't a problem to me A little bit of hell, but she got me in heaven She my bond girl, I'm MKT-007

I love them bad girls doing bad things Lookin' hot with an attitude Love them bad girls like a bad dream Shouldn't want them, but I do

Who would sing to their child back to sleep?

Spencer. He’s terrible at it, but he does it, anyway. Reader loves to listen to him, and always encourages him to sing with her in the car.

Who initiates kisses? Who kisses the hardest?

Reader to both. She is very aggressive with him in general.

Who reaches for the other’s hand first?

Spencer. He wants to show her off all the time (because he’s so proud a crazy cool lady like that loves him, but also because he knows it means a lot to her).

Who wakes up first? Who wants to stay in bed just a little longer?

Spencer wakes up first, and Reader wants to stay in bed a little longer. She works late nights, so he always lets her.

Who rocks the Ferris Wheel seat and who flips out and begs them to stop?

Definitely Reader, lmao. Spencer refuses to go on them with her now. He’s also scared of being in elevators with her (and usually kisses her in them to distract her).

Who is always horny and will have sex at any time, at any place and at any time?

Spencer is always horny, but Reader is the one more willing to do it in risky situations. She’s very convincing.

Who is more into taking showers/baths together? Who tries to make it relaxing and who tries to make it sexy time?

Spencer has to convince her to do it, and she always turns it into sexy times. He’s always trying to find an excuse to praise and cuddle and baby her. She always turns it into a joke.

So, how many times has Spencer come into work with hickeys and scratches? Does the team even bat an eyelash?

He doesn’t do it as often after they had a sexual harassment training on  professionalism. That was mortifying. Rossi also had a talk with him. The worst. Now she keeps them mostly hidden. Whenever he wears a scarf, they all know.

Has Reader met Diana? If they have, what were their reactions?

Yes, she does meet Diana. Spencer is shocked by how calm and patient she is, and Reader gets mad at him for it (because of course she can be nice and maternal, asshole!) Diana loves how goofy and fun she is.

If your OTP went on vacation, where would they go and what would they do? Who would take the pictures?

They would go on the road trip across the country! Reader would take a BILLION pictures, and demand Spencer take pics of her at landmarks (even though he’s terrible at it).

Who is embarrassed when they have to wear glasses and who thinks they look super cute?

Reader hates having to wear glasses. Spencer thinks she looks adorable in them. She also loves his glasses - he rarely wears them because every time he does, she tries to have sex with him lmao.

Late Nights & Bar Lights

Who spends all their money on the other?

Reader. The funniest part is she spends it on experiences she forces to Spencer have with her. Things like… going to amusement parks, watching movies he’d never otherwise see, etc. She also buys him lots of keychains, pins, stationery, and fancy pens. He basically always has at least one gift she’s given him on him at all times.

Who is insecure about deserving the other's love?

Spencer! It’s not that surprising considering who he is as a person, but… He’s always seen Reader as a super beautiful unattainable goddess who shouldn’t even look twice at him. Despite being super submissive in bed, outside of it she constantly showers him in praise and shows him off to everyone who will listen (including cashiers, family, and the rest of the team, all of whom are forced to listen).

What would be their theme song?

Bones by Galantis 🥰

You bring an energy I've never felt before Some kind of chemical that reaches through my core Feels like as far as you and me, I've never had a choice You feel like home.

You’re like the opposite of all of my mistakes Tear down the biggest walls and put me in my place I know, that kind of comfortable you cannot replicate You feel like home.

Ribcage

What happened after? Did both the reader and Spencer go to therapy?

Spencer was put on paid administrative leave. His sabbatical was moved up so he could stay with Reader. They did both go to therapy, and he taught at university for a semester until Reader returned to work. 

Was Spencer able to properly tell the Reader that she was love of his life?

Yes! Not long after the situation, the two moved in together (out of her fear and also because they wanted to have a more serious relationship). Within a couple years, he would propose to her.

Were the team a little concerned with the aftermath of Spencer's rage?

Yes, but no more than they were with Hotch and Foyet. If anything, they were less concerned considering Spencer’s history with his girlfriends. Mostly they were just thinking “Thank god she’s alive.” Since Spencer was so open to therapy and an extended sabbatical, they knew he would be okay. They still stopped by and checked in on the two of them often. About halfway into the time off, they actually got worried Spencer wouldn’t want to come back because he was so happy spending time with her.

Body of a Goddess

Has what Spencer did, help with her body positivity? Has she become more confident? Do they start making love with the lights on?

While this was the first time he’d done it in awhile, he continues to do things like this more often. Each time it gets a little bit easier. He can’t fix her problems by himself, but he does continue to find more ways to make her feel beautiful.

When they do eventually have sex with the lights on like it’s no big deal, it means a lot to both of them. She doesn’t actually even notice until much later, when he brings up how happy it made him.

Does he share any insecurities he has with her?

Yes! He does this often, but is worried that it will distract her. He usually does it in a funny way, to show her that we’re our own worst critics.

Different Kind of Daddy

After he got the news, what changed for Spencer? Has his desire for the Reader grown exponentially? Was he afraid of hurting her? Did the reader reassure him?

Not too much changed in their dynamic - it was already pretty solid. While he was more attracted to her, most of that attraction was not necessarily sexual more than it was intimacy. Things like holding her more often, wanting to bathe with her, wanting pictures of her. He was afraid of hurting her, especially since they were used to more rough play (which she didn’t really want to stop, but he was uncomfortable with it).

Reader often reassured him that her and baby would be fine. One day she got tired of waiting and just straddled & rode him like an unhinged woman. After that he got a lot more lenient.

What has he done to prepare for the arrival?

Mostly normal things. He already knows a ton about the pregnancy and birthing process because he learned it when JJ was pregnant. He started looking at and buying more baby related things as the pregnancy went on. Mostly they did it together. The only thing he did by himself was buy small trinkets for her whenever he had to travel. He also started behaving more conservatively at work (taking less risks).

How protective did Spencer get with the Reader? More possessive? Did he confront anyone who so as much looked at the reader in a wrong way?

Very. While he wouldn’t ever get upset or hostile with anyone, he definitely didn’t like her being in any situation without him that was even slightly dangerous. He didn’t even really like her going to stores without him in the later months. He freaked himself out by looking up information about crimes against pregnant women.

But overall, he kept a handle on it. She did everything normal, anyway.

How was Spencer when the Reader first started showing? Pride? Horny?

He definitely felt a lot of pride. She would constantly wear maternity shirts that were nerdy or explicitly said she was pregnant. They made him happy. She also bought maternity specific lingerie, which was the most turned on he was the entire pregnancy.

For the most part, seeing how she looked while pregnant stirred up a lot of complicated emotions (Will I be a good dad? Am I supporting her enough?) but also a lot of very happy emotions (He never thought he’d get here, he loved other people knowing she was his). You know how it goes.

Repentance

Did Spencer and the Reader eventually get together?

Yes! While nothing happened that night, they started seeing each other more often (and not just when they were sad!). Eventually, he asked her on a real date. Their progress was very, very slow. It took them like another year before they actually started seriously dating and announced it to coworkers (who already been knew).

Has Spencer become more affectionate with the Reader?

He stopped holding himself back. Reader had to remind him often that most people don’t touch their friends like he does. He didn’t really know, since he doesn’t normally touch anyone. It was part of him realizing how much he liked her.

Does Spencer finally believe he's found true love with the Reader?

I think, eventually, yes. But like I said, it took a very long time. Spencer and Reader both had a lot to work through before they could give themselves to the other. They didn’t want to rush into things and make juvenile emotional mistakes.

Jazz & Jealousy

What did Spencer do after meeting with Ethan at the end? Did he join the reader?

He eventually climbed back into bed with her, but she was too tired to even notice at first. In the morning they wake up very hungover, but cuddling very intimately.

Did Spencer play the piano for the Reader?

Yes! The next time she went to his place and saw the keyboard, she made him play for her. She sang though (he’s terrible at it).

Who is the most affectionate?

In public - Reader. She’s known to be more aggressive/domineering of the two of them to other people, so they keep up that charade in public. Sometimes the role reversal slips through, though, and people are always weirded out by how easily he can get her to do anything.

In private - Spencer. He’s the first one to touch her and the hardest to get to stop.

Big spoon/Little spoon?

Reader is the little spoon. She also likes to face/hug him a lot. She’s also known to lay halfway on top of him when he’s on his back.

What is their favorite feature of their partner’s?

Reader loves his fashion sense. She always tells him he looks like a sexy librarian or a professor. He gets embarrassed, but secretly likes how much she enjoys how he dresses since he’s always insecure about it.

Spencer loves her laugh. He always tries to tell jokes and keeps track of what she laughs at around other people, so he can try to make her laugh more often.

What’s the first thing that changes when they realize they have feelings for the other?

Their communication gets way fucking better. They also start performing better together on cases. Half of the tension at work is gone (and replaced with another kind…). Otherwise, she hugs him a lot more. Everyone notices.

Nicknames? & if so, how did they originate?

She calls him Tomcat sometimes as a joke when he gets feisty and reminds her of the way he was at the Jazz Festival (where they heard “Tom Cat Blues”). He’s since started calling her Duchess in return since she made him watch Aristocats with her.

Who worries the most? Who needs more assurance?

Reader. She always worries about Spencer getting hurt because she feels she relies on him more than he does her.

Who initiates kisses? Who kisses the hardest?

Spencer to both. Reader would much rather tease him with the cold shoulder. She likes to feel desired.

Who reaches for the other’s hand first?

Reader. Like she did in the story, she holds his hand whenever he gets anxious. The first time she does it for no reason he gets confused and points out that he’s happy. She responds, “Me too, that’s why I wanted to hold your hand.” It makes him even happier.

Who wakes up first?

Reader. She blames how much coffee he drinks. She’s a morning person.

Who wants to stay in bed just a little longer?

Spencer. She brings him coffee in bed to get him up. Only works like half the time

Who says I love you first?

She does. Since she made Spencer admit to liking her first, she only thought it was fair. He was relieved, because he was scared to tell her (he didn’t want to rush anything).

What would be their theme song?

Body & Soul by Billie Holiday! The song Ethan sang. He picked it because he could tell the two of them were clearly pining for the other.

Thank you again for all the questions! If you have any others, please feel free to join us on the Discord!

[heavenlyrosegenius]

Cat and Mouses

A/N: Set during Entropy

Abigail had everything she could have dreamed, a wonderful but stressful job, a wonderful father, an impressive intelligence, but the most perfect thing of her life was waking up to her genius husband and brainiac girlfriend.

Abigail stirred as light poured through the black curtains in the bedroom. She sighed quietly as she rolled over, opening her green eyes meeting blue-green eyes. She let out a quiet sleepy sigh, “Good morning Maeve.”

Maeve let out a smile looking down at her raven-haired girlfriend, “Good morning, Abbie.” Maeve ran a hand through her hair. Abigail only had allowed Maeve and Spencer to call Abbie, it was special between them. Abigail remained on her side, wanting to remain in the warm bed when she felt Maeve’s delicate fingers trace down her stomach.

“Abigail, the faster you wake up and get ready, you will see Spence, he was supposed to get home last night.” 

“You are right, I forgot.” Abigail stood from the bed, making a gesture at Maeve to follow her.

After a streamy shower, Abigail stood in front of their vanity applying black eyeliner as Maeve’s arms wrapped her middle.

“You are so beautiful, how did Spencer and I get so lucky getting to be with you?” she breathed.

“My genius brain landed me in places where you two happened to be working.” Maeve let out a little chuckle in her ear. Abigail put the eyeliner down and turned giving Maeve a little peck before applying her dark lip gloss. She adjusted her choker in the mirror, it had been a gift from Spencer. Maeve took her hand into hers, walking down the stairs when Abigail caught the scent of pancakes in the air.

“Pancakes?” Maeve looked at her, realizing what that meant.

“Spencer is back.” Without a second word, Abigail and Maeve walked into the kitchen to see three plates of pancakes on the dining room table, and Spencer pouring two cups of coffee and a cup of tea sat on the table. Spencer heard the soft footsteps, causing him to turn. He let out a huge smile to see his two favorite girls in front of him.

“Good morning, sleepyheads.” he teased, opening his arms, Abigail ran into them quickly, he had been gone almost a month to visit his mother to help with her condition. Spencer’s strong arms picked up the small girl, holding her for a bit, placing a kiss on her head, as Maeve walked over, getting a kiss from the genius as well. 

“Abbie really missed you,” she said with a light smile. Spencer placed Abigail down, keeping his arms around her as Maeve hugged her as well.

“I missed you both too so much.” Spencer pulled away, taking both of their hands leading them over to the breakfast he had prepared. He handed a cup of warm coffee to Maeve and a warm cup of earl tea to Abigail.

“Two warm beverages for two beautiful women.” Abigail out a small giggle, she had missed Spencer’s sweet compliments, they still made her blush to this day even if there had been together for five years and married for half a year. As they were finishing up breakfast, Spencer’s phone pinged.

“New case?” Abigail asked as he pulled it out.

“No, Morgan wants to see him since he heard I was back, and he wants you to come with me since he referred to you as small fry.” Abigail let out a small smile. Maeve took Abigail’s hand.

“You two, go. I can clean up before heading to the lab.” Abigail gave her a kiss.

“I love you,” she said and got down from the table grabbing her keys and her bag as Spencer was grabbing his satchel and their guns out of their safe. She felt him sliding it into her holster. “Thank you.” She blew a kiss to Maeve.

“Be careful saving lives. I will be saving them as well. Abigail drove them over to Morgan’s where Savannah let them inside. Abigail stood as Savannah and Spencer hugged, he looked so uncomfortable, he always had a thing about germs. Morgan and Spencer talked for a bit before Spencer got a text. A text that got Abigail sitting at a bar sipping a glass of water with lemon.

“Hi. Table for two for Spencer.” Abigail looked up from she was sitting, she had been texting Maeve for a little bit, letting her know they were okay and would be home safely tonight. Abigail watched as Spencer sat at the table, pulling a red rose out of his suit placing it into the table. A woman with short black hair approached him.

“Spencer?” she asked.

“Cat? Hi!” 

“Hi. Hi. 

“Hello. Hi. Hi. Nice to finally-- “ Cat tried to hug him.

“Oh--sorry, I have a-- a germ thing. Oh. I'm kind of weird with hu-hugs. Sorry.” Spencer stuttered out, he was truly awkward. 

“Can I sit down?” 

“Yes, please. Oh, yeah. Of course. Sit down. 

“First time doing this?” Cat asked, sitting down.

“Yeah. I mean, yeah.”

“Yeah, I--I still get nervous, too. Really, it wasn't until an hour ago that I was like, wait, we've been trading emails back and forth, but I still have no idea what this guy looks like. Hence the... I know. And then I was like, wait, he's going to bring a red rose, so we need to go to a nicer place, which is why I switched the restaurant last-minute-- “

“Not a problem at all.

“And now I need to change and put something nice on for this place, 'cause I was totally underdressed, and my whole wardrobe makes me look like a Kardashian. You know who that is, do you?” Cat sighed.

“No, oh, yeah, Robert Kardashian. He got O.J. Simpson off. You--you don't look like his daughters.” Spencer said. Abigail out a quiet laugh at Spencer’s cluelessness, with him being married to a profiler and dating a geneticist, the three of them preferred enjoying a night at the opera instead.

“Yeah, no, I was making a joke about them,” Cat said plainly. 

“No, it was good. It was a good joke.”

“No, it wasn't.”

“It was funny.” They both chuckled.  “

“Can we start over? Hi, I'm Cat.”

“Hi--hi, I'm” Spencer let out a laugh -- I'm Spencer. It really is nice to meet you, in person, finally. It's nice to meet you.”

“Tell me a little bit about yourself. Do you really have 3 Ph.D.s?” Cat looked fascinated by the fact of it.

“Yes. Um, I--yeah, I do, I have 3 Ph.D.s.”

“What was your favorite book that you read last year?” Cat asked.

“Um, honestly, I've never read a book I didn't love,” Spencer admitted.

Cat switched the subject. “Tell me about your wife.”

“If you don't mind, I'd, uh, I'd rather not talk about her.”

Cat sighed, “Might as well get it out in the open, right? That's why we're here. How long have you been married? 4 years. When is she due to give birth?”

Spencer cleared his throat.“Uh...A couple of-- a couple of months. Should we talk about price now, or...”

Cat stopped him “Slow down, tiger. What exactly are we negotiating here? You know. I want to hear you say it.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “To have her killed.” Cat pointed at the ring on his finger. 

“Let me see your ring. You know what that is? A noose. Only it doesn't kill you all at once. It kills you slowly, day by day. You ever feel that way? I feel that way all the time. Take it off.” Cat explained.

Spencer raised his eyebrow.“Why?”

“As a sign of your commitment. To me.” Abigail watched as Spencer slowly slid the ring off, the same one she had slid on his finger half a year ago, giving it to Cat.

“24-karat? 24k times... 4 years means this ring should be dinged and nicked. But the sucker is brand-new. You're not married.” Cat said. Abigail heard a click. 

Hotch spoke into her ear. “Everyone hold, but Abigail. You need to help Reid outsmart her.” Abigail placed some money on the table for the water before walking over to Spencer.

“It is true, he is married,” she said, holding her hand to show her silver wedding ring.

“Who are you?” Cat demanded. Abigail slid in next to Spencer.

“Dr. Abigail Reid, hello Catherine.”

Cat sneered at her. “No, you are Abigail Smith, I have heard of you.”

Abigail chucked. “I was until I married a few months ago. Cat smirked at her.

“Why are we here, Spencer?”

“We're here because you belong to a network of 4 hitmen who've been operating in the shadows of the Internet. You're known as Miss .45. My team and I have been hunting for months, and I knew that if I boxed you in, I could arrest you with as little resistance as possible.” Spencer explained.

“Your team being the behavioral analysis unit of the FBI? You guys are good. You're the only ones that got close to us. But we got kind of close to you, too, didn't we?” Cat taunted. “Hi, Penelope. Do you know why I'm so good at my job? 

“Because you kill without compunction or remorse.” 

“That only gets a girl so far in life. No, it's because I think through every potential outcome and then I plan accordingly. You see, I didn't walk into your trap. You walked into mine.” 

“Where's your head, Spencer?” Cat slid over to him. What are you thinking about?”

“I was thinking about entropy.” Cat hummed at him. “It's the thermodynamic measure of the degradation of matter and energy in the universe.” 

Cat slid over to him, taking his gun out of his holster as well as Abigail’s. “ To put it another way. There's your gun.” 

A waiter came over. “Good evening.” 

Hi, uh, you know what? We've been having so much fun getting to know one another, we'll let you know when we're ready, ok? Thank you.” Cat said with a sickenly sweet smile. “Now that we got that out of the way, will you do me a favor and tell Blondie McBlonderson over there at the bar to disappear.”

“JJ, stand down.” J.J got up pulling her fur jacket over her chest as she glared at Cat. “Thanks for playing, sweetie.”

“All right, you're in charge. Tell me what you want and I'll see if I can get it here for you.”

“Anything I want?” Cat questioned.

 Abigail nodded her head. “Anything you want.”

“Like a million dollars in unmarked bills, maybe a plane to Aruba?” 

“Is that what you want?”

Cat crossed her arms.  “And you'll say you'll bring it here, but the real plan is to distract me from what is, I'm sure, an impressive law enforcement response just outside that door. Is that the plan?”

“That's the plan.”

“Ok, let's talk, but let's talk about something interesting, at least. Tell me about me.”

Abigail smirked at her as Spencer as he profiled Cat. “You? You're a black widow hitwoman. You specialize in seduction and you're patient. You learn everything you can about the men you're hired to kill, physically, psychologically, and emotionally, because you want them in as compromised a position as possible so they don't see it coming when you pull the trigger.”

“And when I do it really well, they pull the trigger themselves.” Cat held out her hand. “Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“Because I know what I want now. I want to play a game with you two. You like games?”

“I do,” Spencer said.

“Do you win?”

Abigail let out a little chuckle. “He always wins. 

“Give it to me.” Spencer handed it to her, the timer was set for 30 minutes.

“Ok, here's my game. You have 30 minutes to answer every question I ask. And if you lie, I'll know. Because I've spent the past 10 years of my life studying men and their lies before I kill them. Do you believe me? 

“I do.”

That was true. You're getting this. Now, here's how we'll know who wins at the end of 30 minutes. If you win, you'll drag me out of here in handcuffs. But if I win, you will escort me out like a gentleman, to make sure I exit safely. What do you say, Spencer? Think you can win this one?” Spencer gestured for Cat to lean forward, Abigail felt a blush on her cheeks. 

“Considering everything you've put Garcia and so many people through, you're going to have to shoot me in the face before you walk out of here.”

“Game on.”

“What do you want to ask me?” Spencer asked.

“How you found me, of course. A professional learns from her mistakes. 

“We got our big break in the case at the end of last year. I didn't learn how big until I came back from some time off.”

“Why'd you take time off?” Cat questioned. Abigail gulped, even she did not know why Spencer had taken time off besides going to see his mom at her hospital.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  

Morgan came into the room. “Hey, get your greasy hands off my girl. Nice to have you home, kid.”

Spencer laughed.”Good to be back. 

“Let me get my stuff.”

Savannah handed Spencer a file. “That thing you called about, here's some updated stats.”

“Stats? Stats from what” Morgan questioned.

“Medical research. Shop talk. Things you wouldn't be interested in.” Savannah explained. Morgan took Savannah in her arms. “Well, I can tell you what I am interested in, and that is you. You gonna love me forever?” Abigail looked away, their attraction for each other was romantic, but she preferred to keep it in private. Spencer’s phone pinged.

“Guys. Garcia and Hotch need us ASAP. for a briefing on the 4 hitmen.” Cat held a finger up.

 “Stop" 

“What?”

“You didn't tell me why you took time off.”

“It's not relevant,” Spencer said.

 “That's not the game. The game is you answer every question I ask.” Cat explained.

“Is it a secret?” she asked.

 Spencer shook her head.“No.”

“Is it dirty?”

Abigail sighed. No. I was not with him, and he would never cheat on me.”

“Then tell me,” Cat demanded.

“It's not important to your story. “

“Out of curiosity, is it me you don't want to tell or the people listening in or your sweet Abigail? 

Abigail rolled her eyes, this girl was good, but she was better. “Is this really how you want to spend your 30 minutes? 

“Yes. No. Ok, so you were saying you showed up for work that morning and... 

“We learned that someone unexpected decided to talk.”

And who would that be?” Cat asked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hotch pulled a man onto the board. “Brian Cochran from the NSA. I've placed him on 24/7 lockdown at USP Terre Haute. The network has proven that they can kill anyone, anywhere, anytime, and now that they've targeted Garcia, we can't afford to lose another lead. Cochran used one of the hitmen to target DEA supervisor Graff. 

“But we can press him on that to get him to cooperate,” Morgan said. 

“Well, fortunately, that won't be necessary. He had a breakdown in solitary confinement and he was already willing to make a deal.” 

“We need to go talk to him.” Rossi stated.

“Garcia and I already did.”

“This is, we video-conferenced with him. He was limited in what he could tell us about the hit people. He didn't know their names, but he did know all of their areas of expertise.” Garcia explained.

“How specific do they get? Most successful hitmen are basically just Swiss army knives of murder. Spencer asked.

Well, take the O.G. hit guy who got us into this mess, Giuseppe Montolo. Remember him? He was a genius at making hits look like an accident. The others, depends what you're looking for. Take the guy that's still out there who's responsible for shooting poor Mr. Graff. He's known simply as the sniper. He can make a T-zone shot from over 2,000 meters. 

Morgan looked at “Which means he's ex-military. Not necessarily ours, but he's definitely trained. 

“So who's number two?” Tara asked. 

That would be the chemist. He works with poison.  He specializes in hits that don't leave a trace.”

“He sounds delightful,” Rossi said with sarcastic. What about number 3? 

“Well, that would be the bomber.” Garcia pulled a picture on the screen According to Cochran, he's responsible for this. It's a chemical fire in Tianjin, China. Apparently, a bureaucrat didn't pay his bribe on time. 

“You know that's conspiracy theory garbage.” J.J said.

“But what is credible is Cochran's insistence that he was trained by Mossad. Jack Garrett's following up on leads.” Hotch said.

“That leaves us with number 4, the one with the highest body count of them all. 

Spencer peered his eyes. “And who's that?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Me.”:

“Yes.” Spencer nodded

“Wow, that was really impressive. Yeah, the way you just made all those brilliant deductions with all that information that was just handed to you on a silver platter. “

“Quick question--are you guys really profilers or are you just lucky? Because this, what I'm about to say--” Cat cleared her throat is profiling. 

“The reason you took time off from work was to deal with the same girl who broke your heart.”

“No, Spencer and I are still happy together, very happy.”

“Then why do you wear two rings, both of them on your ring fingers,” Cat questioned, taking one of Abigail’s hands.

“It is none of your business.” 

“The death of a parent, then.

“No.”

“Ah, hello, I'm getting close. It's mom or dad in the billiard room with the candlestick.” Spencer remained silent. “Oh, you're mad at me, aren't you? 

“Not even a little bit.”

“Yes, you are, I can tell,” Cat said with a smirk.

“No offense, but you're not really worth getting angry at.”

“So you figured out what the 4 of us did, and then what? 

“We profiled that you operated as spokes on a wheel. Somehow it had to be centralized, how you got jobs, who paid you. Somebody did all that for you. 

“You found the Snowman, didn't you?” Cat questioned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spencer explained how they found the Snowman, their technical analyst.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, I'm confused. What just happened there? 

“When we arrested Cochran, we found a flash drive, one that gave us access to a specific shadow of the Darknet, one we didn't even know existed.”

“Well, well, well, you took the chemist and the sniper out of commission, huh?” Cat taunted.

“Did you know?” Abigail asked.

“ I knew something was off. They didn't bid on some contracts. And this isn't the kind of job where you get to take time off to be with your... Mother? she asked. Is it your mom? It's gotta be your mom. Why'd you take time off from the FBI?” 

“I'm not gonna tell you.”

“Abigail, why did he take time off from the FBI?”

“You can ask us as many times as you want, and you can continue to waste your time, but he is still not gonna tell you. 

“Then you're cheating, and I don't like cheaters. “

You don't get everything you want just because you're pointing a gun at me under a table. You're not the first killer to point a gun at me. You're not even the first woman to point a gun at me. Sorry.” He apologized, Cat wished she was the first woman to point a gun at him, but that belonged to the woman who they saved Maeve

“You're really gonna take this all the way, aren't you?”

“Yeah” 

“So am I. Look at my face. Does it look like I'm bluffing? 

“I know you're not bluffing.” Cat moved back over, grabbing at his tie. “I'm gonna ask you one more time. Before you say no, I want you to consider something.” She pulled his tie back pushing on the microphone.

“I'll kill the fed walking toward me first. A stationary target's easier to hit. After that, it's a free-fire zone. 

“Fine, I'll tell you.” 

“Sorry, what was that?” Cat teased.

“I'll tell you. Rossi, stand down.” He looked over his shoulder. “Please.” Spencer fixed his tie before continuing. 

“My mom has schizophrenia, and the doctor has changed her medication, which seemed to agitate her, and so I went to the treatment center to help her.” He explained. Abigail looked a little surprised, she had not known she was getting bad, all she knew her medication was not working.

 That's it? That's it. 

“You just risked your life over mommy's pills? 

“It's the truth.”

 “It's part of the truth. You're holding something back. Here's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna penalize you by adding 10 minutes. And keep in mind that the only reason you're not dead right now is because I did learn something important. 

“Oh, really? What's that?” Abigail asked.

“Your backup. I flushed them out. It's just you, Abigail and me now.”

“So when we left off, the score was you had two of our guys and the Snowman. You must have thought you were home free.”

“No, if anything the case was harder.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soon Spencer had been able to figure out how to lure out Cat. Abigail walked into the room as he was explaining his plan.

“I'm going to pretend to be a husband who wants his pregnant wife dead.”

Abigail placed her cup of water down. “Well, I'd want to kill you if you told me that.”

“Exactly. Then all we have to do is set the right meeting spot. A bar or a restaurant we control so the odds are better of us taking her alive. That's our best strategy.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“But there is one flaw. You. You're the flaw. You're might be married but you don't have children.” Abigail let out a chuckle and placed a hand on her stomach.

“Wrong again, Catherine,” she said. Spencer looked at her in surprise, “Abigail you are not pregnant..” he put two and two together, “You were going to tell me after I got back.”

“Yes, Spencer, I found out shortly after you left, now keeping taunting her.

“I'm the person on my team who's the closest to your age, and I knew that if I lost control of the situation, you'd be more likely to negotiate with a peer. 

“You have zero control here. None. I outflanked you from the beginning. “

“Some of your moves were pretty obvious. Spencer pointed out.”

“Such as?”

Such as showing up armed. Such as changing the venue at the last moment. 

I needed a restaurant full of innocents in case this was a trap.

 If you really suspected this was a trap, then why show up at all? Even when you first laid eyes on me, from the bar, from outside, from wherever you were, you should have seen through me and kept on moving, but you didn't. You couldn't. Because you can't get to the man you really want to hurt, so you need to hurt any man who reminds you of him. “

“That's kind of boilerplate psychology, isn't it? I'm just another girl with daddy issues.” Cat sighed.

“You'd be surprised how many killers do what they do because of their parents, but some of them use their skills to help others.

“Like me.” Abigail said. 

“If it's so boilerplate, why don't we test that theory? How hard did you look for him? 

“Very hard. “

“And how disappointed were you when you realized that you will never find him? You needed some other outlet for your rage, and for a while this worked, but it also tripped you up. Can I tell you a little secret? Everything eventually falls apart. The trick is accepting when it's over.” The stopwatch rang.

“Except it ain't over, is it?”

“Do you really think I'm just gonna let you walk out of here? 

“You profiled so much about me, except you forgot to ask the most important question. Why would I make you sit here for 30 minutes?”

“Because you're stalling.”

Then you don't know me at all. Did you guys show up here without an escape plan? Or is that what just another girl with daddy issues do? Maybe if you hadn't fallen victim to your own gender bias, and, yes, all men have gender bias, even you, Dr. Reid, you would have recognized that your entire strategy was based on one faulty detail. Can you see it?” Cat taunted again.

“You're not here alone,” Abigail said. 

And my partner? Less paranoid than you think. 

You planted a bomb in the building. We're on the move. 

“I didn't. My job was to keep your entire team focused on us, so he could do what he does best.” Cat said.

“There are innocent people here. 

Yes, there are. So let me remind you what we're playing for. Not only will I walk out of here, but you will make sure I leave safely. And from where I'm sitting... It looks like I've won. 

“You need to pay attention to this part. I'm going to tell you the terms of my victory. I want you to move all of your backup away from this building. If I walk out of here and I see one cop, I will incinerate us all. 

“We can't do that.”

Cat started to say his name. “Spencer--

“It's not me. What you're asking takes time.” 

“This is to whoever's in charge. Unless you guys want to be responsible for the biggest FBI disaster since Waco, you will back off now. Watch this. 

“There they go. All we want to do-- Minimize the collateral damage. I get it. I'm not mad. It'll give me the cover I need to slip out. I just need to know it's clear, so do me a favor and tell your boss that nobody leaves until it's safe for me to. Spencer remained quiet.

“Spencer...”

“You can leave.” Cat stood up, grabbing her jacket and bag, but for Abigail this was not over.

“But you won't.” Abigail said,

“I'm sorry?” 

Double or nothing. You need to sit back down. 

“Wow, now you're stalling.” Cat pursed.

“You played your trump card, but we have one, too.” Abigail explained. Cat was not buying it. “Thanks for dinner. I had fun.

“ I found your father. 

“No, you didn't. 

Look at my face. Am I bluffing? I'll tell you where he is. But you need to sit back down and listen to the rest of my story. No. Tell me now. Or I'll-- detonate the bomb? 

“You're not gonna do that, Cat, because then you won't learn anything. You said you were good at your job because you think through every outcome. Well, guess what-- so do I.” Cat sat back down.

 “All right. Finish the story.”

“ To prepare for this dinner, I had to learn everything about you, starting with your real name.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Abigail was going undercover for this case, she had changed into a black lace dress with fishnet tights and black heeled boots. Meave had called her when she had finished getting ready.

“Hi, sweet girl.” she breathed.

“Hi, Abbie. I wanted to see how much longer my favorite boy and girl will be working on the case.” Maeve’s soft voice said on the line.

“We will be home tonight, I get to be a little sneaky tonight.”

“Oh, define sneaky.”

“Let’s just say I’m wearing your favorite dress on me.” 

“The lace one?” Maeve asked.

“Yes, You will see it tonight when Spence and I are home, I have to go. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Catherine Adams. Daughter of Daniel Adams, who did in fact leave the country in 1987 but returned in 2012. Based on confidential records in rehabs and sober living houses, which in turned pointed us to flophouses and soup kitchens. He couldn't put 24 hours together sober. And you can probably imagine my surprise when I discovered that he actually lives right here in D.C. 

“Where?” Abigail could sense they had a hit a nerve.

“It's not that simple. He was in bad shape when I found him.

 “He didn't remember me?”

“ The alcoholism shredded his brain. I'm sorry. 

“You're not sorry. Sorry is what people say when they don't understand. Cat had tears in her eyes. “Wait. Your mother--tell me.

“ Is--is this part of the game?”

“No. The game's over.”

“When I looked at her medical chart, it--it didn't make any sense. The medication that they gave her should have been helping, but I couldn't figure out what was making her so angry. So, I, uh, I went to see her. The moment I walked in her room, I saw it. Spencer had some tears in his eyes. “For 3 seconds... She didn't know who I was. I, um, I had her tested that morning, and I found out that night... That she had early onset of dementia. Most likely Alzheimer's.” Spencer explained. Abigail took his hand under the table, he had not told her this information. 

“Did you test yourself? Spencer looked down, he bit his lip. No, you didn't. You were too scared.”

“I thought I dodged a bullet when I turned 30 and didn't have a schizophrenic break like her, but, uh, this is somehow bigger and scarier because I can actually see it happening. All the memories that we used to share are just dying. I can't stop it. I can't help her. All I can do is find people that I can help. 

“Is that really why you showed up tonight? To help me? Do you know how many men have told me that they wanted to help me? How do you think that worked out for them?” Cat taunted with her questions.

“You're right. You don't need my help. You don't need anyone's help. You are completely in control.” Morgan grabbed a girl in a blue dress. Abigail suddenly felt a hard grab and a gun was pointed at her head.

“Oh, Cat, you aren’t the first woman to hold me hostage and I’m not the first woman in Spencer’s life to be held hostage either.

“Don't!” Cat yelled. 

“FBI. Everybody stay calm, please. “

Tara had the bomber in her tight grip .“We're gonna be smart about this and talk it out. Aren't we, Cat? 

“That's up to you. 

“Get everyone out of here,” Spencer said. “Morgan, you, too. I'm not going anywhere. “

“Guess we're right back where we started. You and me with a gun.” Cat said.

“Reid, it's time,” Morgan said. 

“No. “

We don't have a choice. We have to do it. “

“Do what?” Cat asked, holding the gun closer to Abigail’s head.

“ Morgan, shut up.”

“There's one thing he hasn't told you yet. “

“That's not true. He's lying. Don't listen to him.” Spencer protested

“What haven't you told me?”

“Nothing. I told you--nothing! Nothing!” Spencer said.

“What don't I know?” We brought your father here. 

Spencer sighed “Here? He's here? 

“He's right outside. Reid thought he needed every bargaining chip he could get. 

“Morgan, I'm begging you, don't. Don't.” Spencer pleaded.

“Every bargaining chip he could get to convince you to do the right thing. “

“How is this the right thing?” Cat asked.

“Your father killed your mother. And there's no statute of limitations on murder, so you really need to think about your options right now. You shoot her, I will kill you. Or if you surrender, you will live to testify against your father.” Morgan explained. 

“That's not good enough.”

“We can arrange it for the two of you to drive into custody together, and then you can remind him of who you are.”

Spencer sighed. “If you give her this, she wins. Don't do it.”

“Kid, I am trying to save Abigail’s life. Now let me do that. They're bringing him in right now.”

“You're really upset about this, aren't you? 

“This is what you wanted, isn't it, a chance to finally hurt the man who deserves it? 

“They all deserve it. 

“He deserves it the most.” Morgan said.

“Only if Spencer and Abigail escort me out. 

“Deal.” 

“Wait. Ok, I'm ready.” SWAT opened the back of the truck, revealing the empty back.

“You lied to me,” Cat said, as Spencer handcuffed her onto the chair.

“If it makes you feel any better, I really-- I did look for him. But...I couldn't find him, so, yeah, I did make it all up.” Spencer admitted.

“Not all of it. You don't pull a story about a parent losing her memory out of nowhere. Your mother and the Alzheimer's, that's true. And Abigail, you wouldn’t lie being pregnant especially everything you have gone through I won.”

“How so?”

 Because I will get out of here. 

Abigail laughed. “Yeah, in 20 years, maybe, if you're lucky.”

“Yeah, that's fine. You know why? Because in 20 years... I'll remember your name, but you won't remember mine.” Cat taunted. Spencer got out of the truck, leaving Abigail.

“He will remember your name thanks to me and well Maeve.”

“Maeve, who is Maeve?” Cat demanded, trying to grab at Abigail.

“She is the reason I wear the second ring, and like Spencer said, people like you do what they do because of their parents, and he is right, I am one of those cases, my stepmother is the reason why I became a profiler,” Abigail said and started to walk out of the truck.

“That is why, I know you, Abigail, but one day you will cross a line and never return.” Cat screamed. Abigail walked over to Spencer, they had gone back to Morgan’s to celebrate. She was texting them that they would be home soon.

“Abigail, are you really pregnant?” Spencer asked when they were alone, walking outside of a local park.

“Yes, Maeve noticed the signs so I got tested,” she said, feeling the soft lips of Spencer on hers. The familiar ones that were always chapped from him constantly licking him when focusing on a case or reading.

“Let’s go home.” He said softly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Abigail laid on the bed, a blanket pulled over her, her hair flowing around, she felt a small hand rest on her stomach.

“Are you okay?” Maeve asked, looking at her.

“Yes, Maeve, I am, I am just blissful in everything, especially taking down Cat Adams.” she breathed then laughed feeling arms wrapped around as the bed dipped next to her.

“We both did, little one, but you were clever.” Spencer chuckled.

Abigail giggled, looking in Spencer’s hazel eyes. 

“She learned not to play a cat and mouse game with Dr. Abigail Reid,” she said with a laugh.

“Yes, Spencer and I have learned you are a brilliant young woman.” Maeve breathed and kissed the top of her head. Abigail sighed, she really did have a perfect life, well until Cat Adams came back.

[chxsemehardandsoft]

Season 8 Episode 12 criminal minds (this is a warning)

so I was writing a thing from the point of view of Spencer’s daughter during the whole Maeve ordeal, and I wrote a scene (since apparently we angsty tonight) where basically Penelope brings her to school and she decides to give his kid a break and bring her to the BAU and when Morgan drives her home she goes in and he’s overd*sed.

everything ends up cool because I cant bring myself write major character death (at least not yet, and probably not for my comfort character ever) and I'm listening to the slow version of the sad piano music from Disney’s UP and I just wanted to share with you what I've written for this scene (not in the daughter’s POV) because wow am I proud of this blurb

PS: I decided his daughter’s name is Bailey :)

As his daughter is outside, this is when Spencer realizes how long it’s been since he really took a second and thought about her. He’d been so wrapped up in what happened to Maeve, he’d neglected his own child. He’d forgotten anything else except his own misery and his poor little girl had been trying her best to take care of him, make him happy, and he ignored it.

He ignored the now-empty plate of food she’d left for him on his nightstand and he put away the books scattered on the floor that she’d left because she hoped it would be some sort of comfort and he ignored the baby picture of her above the drawer he’d grabbed the vial from and when she’d come back into the house was when he decided to let go of consciousness and now she couldn’t even bring herself to speak or feel because he’d ignored her.

He thinks about the times he himself had been abandoned and feels even worse. How his father and then Gideon had left him notes that he’d slowly started to resent, how he’d just wanted to tell her he loved her. But he thought that if he loved her so much, he’d never have ended up here, and he worried that she’d grow to resent him as well. He thinks about how he never really wanted to stop living, he just wanted to find something else to feel, and he realizes Bailey would have made him feel all the love in the world if he’d bothered to pay any attention. Spencer thinks, and he can’t stop thinking.

And as he thinks about why he’d been a terrible father, Bailey trembles in Penelope’s arms thinking about how she’s the worst daughter. Why she should’ve stayed home, why she should have paid more attention, why he’d decided that being dead was better than being here because they’d sworn to her he’d get better and then she went home and found him lying there dying in his bedroom. The thought that makes her feel the worst is what’s in the note he would have left her. The thought that her father has been abandoned by his own father with a note and then again by Gideon, the man he’d adopted as his own father, and how her mother had gone without a word and then how her mother had died without ever telling anyone about her and how maybe she just wasn’t meant to have a family. The note sits in her backpack still, and she wonders if the rest of the team read theirs. Bailey thinks, and she can’t stop thinking.

And the Reid curse hits Bailey and Spencer with its full force, because when they start thinking, they never stop. They spiral, and spiral, and they can’t stop thinking. They can’t stop thinking no matter how hard they try, no matter how much they want to, no matter how many tears they try and wipe off their faces.

And it’s Penelope who pushes open the door and they both catch each other crying and for the first time since Maeve died, Spencer feels guilty that he’s had this life in front of him that he’s ignored. And for the first time since Maeve died, Bailey wants to leave her father’s side, but she doesn’t. She walks up to him and she slowly climbs up onto the bed next to him and she just stares at him for a second. He pulls her in so quickly and so forcefully, like he’s trying to make up for all the time he’d spent neglecting her, and they both cry even harder, and Penelope shuts the door, tears streaming down her own face as she calls the team.

“Give them some time,” she requests, “but they’re going to be okay.”

Penelope = big sis of the year every time I write a daughter!reid concept

anyways there’s that yeah

[jessefandomunited]

Alternate reality (Part 1)

Spencer X OC Piper

This is a story i’ve been toying with about a Person who’s able to jump through different dimensions and even into TV shows, she uses this to help out her fictional crush Spencer Reid. However because of her being there she may have altered the timeline of the show to the point where she may be killed.

little different hope you enjoy

Piper had been acting different lately very jumpy and nervous, not her usual cocky and happy self. I wondered if it had anything to do with when we kissed the other night but I don’t think that was it. She typically phases in for a case and gives us some vague clue in the way of a song or a little note or she’d text it to me, i’m still not sure how she got a phone or my number but yeah. Either way she was acting strange and I had to ask her about it. “ Hey, you seem, jumpy,” I asked her as she nervously tapped at her thigh. “ I shouldn’t be here,” She stuttered, “ Zugzwang is almost upon us and I may just duck out on that one all together because I’m no help if i’m crying .” I wasn’t sure what she ment by that but if her thing about this all being in a tv show is correct it could be an episode title. She looked up at me nervously and said, “ have you been talking to her yet?” I was confused, she didn’t look jealous but I saw a lot of hurt in her eyes, “ her, what are you talking about.” I hated seeing her sad. She walked over to a bench to sit down, “ Piper what is going on, you’re very on edge?” She took a few deep breaths and closed her eyes as if trying to find a solution to her problem. I think she was also debating telling me something. “ What is it,” I pryed. I heard someone call my name and I called back, “ Go without me i’ll catch up.” She finally opened her eyes and dug out her little notebook and flipped to a page titles Zugzwang, “ do not read anything other than the pages I show you.” I gently took it and read, “ Reid get’s to see Maeve for the first time, I’m crushed because that stupid stalker girl kills both herself and Maeve right in front of poor Reid. I’m sure this is a major plot line and cannot be tampered with, but maybe if you give them the stalker Reid can have some happiness with her, maybe he’ll actually get to tell her he loves her.” I heard Piper sniff and looked over at her. She was trying to hide her tears but her mascara was running a bit and her nose was more red than usual. I couldn’t even begin to process what this meant, I supposed to fall in love with this girl and then she get’s shot, that made no sense, but if Piper was never supposed to be in here that in itself could have altered things, especially since I am pretty sure I love her. “ This could be very bad,” Piper said taking the book out of my hands, “ this means that I have made a lot more of an impact than I wanted to which also means i’m probably a character in this show now. That could be good, but, depending on how you feel, I may have to take Maeves place which, though I love you, I would really love it if I was not shot in the head.” The thought of that made me sick , “ what should we do?” She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head, “ I’m going to go back home a bit and research finish up this case and try not to think too much about this, there is no way to know what will happen.” She hopped to her feet, and vanished, I was still stunned every time she did that, I wasn't sure if I was on board with the alternate reality theory but she had something different about her. I decided to focus back on the case and try not to be too worried about her.

I was coming home late when I realized the light was on in my apartment. I sighed, Piper must have come in again while I was gone. This was a bit different though, she was pacing and gesturing widely like she was talking to someone. I quickly ran up my stairs to my apartment and opened the door. She stopped in her tracks and she looked more frazzled than normal. She had changed into a very simple out fit of brown shorts, a pastel pink t shirt, her watch around her neck and glasses . Not a million bead bracelets , no goggles no light up shoes, nothing. “ What’s wrong,” I asked . She laughed nervously , “ what’s wrong? He asks whats wrong? I am what’s wrong.” She threw her hands up in exasperation and began pacing again. “ I’ve been tearing apart the episodes , I took a whole weekend in my time combing through the episodes of you and Maeve and nothing has changed in my world , at least on the show. But BUUUT , here you now are not talking to her at all, which is a major deviation, will...will the episodes stay the same or will something else happen now, the trauma comes back up a lot ,but is it significant to the point where I will not be able to help you guys anymore,” She was starting to cry, which scared me a bit. I walked over to her and pulled her into a hug. I took her love and support for granted she was always there when I needed her and now she needs me. She hugged me back tightly sobbing now. “ There is something else isn’t there ,” I said slowly sitting her down on the couch. “ I’m in danger, real danger,” She sighed, “ as I told you if you’ve been truthful and havn’t talked to Maeve I could be taking her place, I could be killed...in front of you...i can’t.” She started crying again and buried her face in her hands. I pulled her closed, “ we’ll get through this I won’t let anything happen to you okay?” “ You can not say that that is a promise you cannot keep, it’s dangerous ,” she stuttered jumping up and beginning to pace again. “ It’s okay,” I said and pulled her back onto the couch so she was laying on my chest. She whimpered a bit and hugged me closer, it hurt me to see her so upset I wasn’t sure how long she had been working on this but it must have been a while because in a couple minuets she was fast asleep . I gently removed her glasses and put them on the table. I didn’t want to wake her so I decided that sleeping here was the best option. I closed my eyes hugged her securely , no one would hurt her  I’d make sure of it.

[ironwoman18]

The Worst Third Date Ever part 18

Chapter 18: Special meetings.

The next morning Max woke up early and check on Spencer, who was still sleeping. She walked to the bathroom, washed her face and brushed her teeth then she walked back in and Spencer was opening his eyes softly.

"Hello there handsome" she walked to him and ran her hand on his head "how did you sleep?"

"Fine but I'm still feel tired" he said looking at her.

"Of course, you had a tough day yesterday" she said to him "just take it easy, ok baby?" He nodded.

His doctor walked in "oh I see you are awake Doctor Reid. How are you feeling?"

"Fine but tired"

"That's normal, you had intracranial hemorrhage and your body was in a lot of stress, headache?" She asked as she checked his eyes, he nodded softly "ok, that's also normal. We will do MRI and a transcranial doppler. The first to check your brain function and the second to check your blood pressure to your brain and if there is more bleeding"

He nodded softly "ok doctor"

"Perfect, we will schedule both for today at night so you can rest some more" she said and he falls back to sleep then she looked at Max "can I talk with you?"

"Sure" she said and both women walked out of the room.

"Well I think bringing his mom here yesterday to make decisions was a mistake, I didn't know she wasn't capable of that due to her schizophrenia and alzheimer so I think you should make them"

"Oh no, I don't feel prepared to do it"

"Miss Brenner. You are his girlfriend and I'm sure you can make the right decisions for him to be safe" Max sighed.

"And what do I have to decide on?"

"Nothing yet but in the future you may do. Right now I will leave him rest and recover. But he understood what we said and he spoke coherently so that part of his brain is working" the doctor continued "I think his brain is pretty much at ninety-eight percentage fine but we will need some test"

"And when he will be able to leave?"

"Once we check him and make sure he will be fine, we can let him go back home and will be on medical leave for a month. I would like if you stay with him while he's at home"

"Sure no problem"

"Perfect. I will go write his name on the list for those exams and you should rest too. He needs his girlfriend to be healthy" she nodded.

"I will, I just going for breakfast oh and I was wondering if he will be able to eat today"

"Yes we will go to his room in an hour to give him some food"

"Ok thank you doctor" then Max walked to cafetera and bought a sandwich and coffee then she went back to his room and ate while reading a book.

Two hours later she was focused in her book when suddenly heard his voice "what are you reading?"

She looked up and smiled "I'm reading The Picture of Dorian Gray"

"Oh... great choice. It shows an hedonistic point of view and it was very polemic back then but now it's a classic"

"Yeah I already read it but I lent it and my former roommate left before she ended it and instead of returning it, she took it with her"

"That's terrible, that's why I never lend my books, even to my closest friends"

She nodded and smiled "yeah after that I decided to not lend them anymore" she stood up and walked to him "you look more like yourself. I guess those naps are helping" she ran her hand into his hair "do you need anything?"

"I'm hungry and thirsty" he looked at her and held her hand

"I will call the nurse to get you something" he nodded and she pushed the button of the nurse center "doctor K said that you will need help when you get discharged so I will stay with you on your medical leave" he was about to protest but Max gave him a warning look "I won't accept a no for an answer"

"Ok I understand and I guess that stubbornness brought me here right?" He smiles.

"I guess that big brain is working just fine" she smirked, then the nurse walked in.

"Oh look who is awake" she said looking at his signals and that everything was working fine "I will get you lunch, because breakfast time had already ended. It will be here in a few minutes" both nodded and the nurse left.

Max was rubbing his hand softly "want me to read to you while we wait?" He nodded and she got her book then sat on a small piece of the bed and started to read to him. She was already reading chapter 5 so when she started Spencer knew exactly what happened before thanks to his eidetic memory.

Some minutes later the nurse arrived with his food. Chicken soup, ground meat with rice, juice and jell-o. Max moved to sit back on the chair and looked as he smiled when he saw the jell-o.

"You are like a kid when you see that" she laughed softly "its weird and adorable at the same time"

"I love them since I was a kid" he laughed and started to eat "are you going to take lunch?"

"Yeah I will but no yet" she put in her bag her book. She looked at him as he ate then she saw JJ and Emily out the door she just stood up and walked out of the room

"Oh hey" said Emily holding a balloon saying 'Get better' on it "how are you?" They walked in.

"We are fine" said Max smiling at them "Spencer, as you can see, is eating so I guess he's recovering fast"

"That's great" JJ smiled "and did you take lunch?" She shook her head "if you want you can go to get some food, maybe a shower while we are here with Spence"

"Sure, the doctor will take him to some test in an hour so you can keep him company while I'm gone" the two women nodded. Then they all walked in "honey, look who are here to visit you" she pointed to her coworkers "I will go back to my apartment and I will be here soon. Love you" she kissed him softly.

"Ok see you later. Love you too" then she left the room and went to her car.

In the room Spencer commented "Everett Lynch's still alive" he said with worry in his tone.

Both women smiled and sat down "we found it out the next day"

"Really?... how...?"

"The forensic analysis said one of the bodies was Roberta but the one we thought was Lynch was actually the detective"

"Oh my..." said Spencer drinking some juice "I figured it based on the hypothesis of him using a tunnel" he rubbed his forehead softly.

"Hey genius calm down" said Emily "you don't need to analyze it. We already killed him"

"How?" They explained what happened "wait... JJ blown up the jet?" JJ nodded biting her lip "but that's impossible... the diesel it use doesn't ignite at that temperature. It's not like gas so a flare gun can't be used to turn on the diesel"

"And there is the Spencer we love" said JJ laughing "I don't why it happened but it did and Everett Lynch is dead"

"How's Rossi?"

"With a cast at home" answered Emily "I'm happy we got him and that every member of the team is alive. With scratches but alive" she smiled.

"Totally, I'm happy, I think this was just another big test for our team, and we passed it" the two women smiled then they talked some more until the doctor arrived to take him back to run the tests.

Thirty minutes later he was back, Emily went to get some coffee for her and JJ so when he arrived there was just JJ.

"Where's Emily?"

"She's getting coffee. How were the tests?"

"I don't know, doctor K will give me the results later. JJ can I tell you something?"

"Sure Spence, anything"

"Well... um... during my time unconscious I had, once again, one of those near-death hallucinations" she covered her mouth "and there was Maeve... it felt so real" he had some tears "she asked me what I love and she asked me to do what I love"

"And what do you love?"

"Lot of things but one of them is Max and after what happened I feel like the next move should be..."

"Pop the question?" She smirked looking at him as he smiled and nodded "well that's something very common in this unit. Will and I, Derek and Savannah, Rossi and Krystall" they both laughed "and if I have to bet, Andrew could do the same sooner than later"

"Would love to join that bet" they laughed.

"How will you propose to her?"

"I would like to do it outside the hospital. Maybe at the park we met"

"Sounds lovely Spence, I'm sure she will love it. She is lucky to have you" she smiled and he nodded.

"Thank you JJ"

"For?"

"For everything. I know you were worry about me when I was here, unconscious. You are my bestfriend" she held his hand.

"I said this when you were sleeping but I want you to know that I'm sorry, I didn't insist you hard enough to get checked after the explosion... Hotch could be so disappointed we didn't take care of you"

"It's ok JJ. I was full of regret for the dead of the SWAT team. I wouldn't listen" he looked down.

Then Emily walked in "JJ we have to go... we have a case" they both looked at him "Max is on her way so you won't be alone for so long" he nodded.

"Go save the day" he smiled as both women hugged him and leave.

OOooOOooOO

So that's it for now. What do you think? And I would like some ideas for his proposal, have one but I would like to read yours and if I like it I will use it and give you the credit.

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Virginia Kisses Part 1. -Grief-

Description: Every single time Spencer kissed you.

Author’s Note; Oh my gosh, my first Spencer Reid story. I’ve read some absolutely amazing ones here and they have inspired me to write my own. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing this. I’m planning to make this a multi-chapter fic :) Takes place in the future with flashbacks of the episode Zugzwang. Disclaimer: I own nothing except for anything you don’t recognize.

“Sometimes you wonder if he sees you. If he actually knows you. Knows who you are; what you do, and what you're about to do. Because when he sees you in the morning and he looks at you, he's not looking through you like the rest of them do. His gaze is calm and gentle, but behind his brown eyes you can see a storm brewing; but, before you register it, he looks away; as though he's scared of what will happen if he looks at you for a moment longer, and a part of you wonders if perhaps he feels the same way...”

It honestly hit you like a bullet train. You knew you were already friends with him, best friends even. The type who hang outside of work, who sit next to each other on the plane home; the type who know the ins and outs of each others lives. You know that his apartment smells like dust and coffee and old paper, that he prefers to sit on the right side of your couch because there’s a wall behind it. Yet you had never thought that maybe you were in love with him. You had those moments when he pushed you back so you were behind him when there was a gun pointed at you, or when he just held you as you cried because of a particularly bad day. You never got the butterflies around him, but you were always comfortable. You never got the tingling when he touched you, but there was always a sense of belonging when you were with him. Through the long days and the seemingly endless nights, he had always been there for you. No matter what time you called, he would be at your tiny apartment in exactly 17.3 minutes. In the years you had both known each other, he had only broken your heart once. Did he know it at the time? Probably not. But neither did you. Maeve Donovan was beautiful, she was smart, and she had her entire life with Spencer to look forward too. And then she didn’t. You probably should have realized your feelings for him then; when you got mad at him for telling you that he loved her. You regretted it, of course you did, because Spencer was happy and you were meant to be happy for him. However, there was that sickening feeling in your stomach every time he spoke about her. “It’s jealousy” SSA Jennifer Jareu used to tell you. Yeah, maybe you were jealous. You thought he might end up replacing you with this other woman. That your late nights together were going to become extinct, and then maybe your friendship. You couldn’t bear to lose Spencer as a friend. When she died you watched a part of your best friend die with her. You watched him crumple to the ground in grief as the rest of the team stood around. Your gun was holstered almost immediately so you could go to him; you cradled his head to your chest, as you would a child. You allowed him to yell and cry and hold on to you so tight you woke up with a bruise on your upper arm. Not that you would ever tell him that. The heartbreak you watched your best friend go through almost destroyed you. At first, he ignored you. He ignored your calls, and your knocks at the door. You could have let yourself in, after all, you had a spare key as he did for your apartment. But you wouldn’t. You didn’t want to push yourself on to him, so instead, you waited for him to come to you. The day it happened was a late afternoon, your black boots tiptoed around the many gift baskets Penelope Garcia had left behind. You knocked once, and yet again there was no answer. Then you knocked again, “I’m not leaving Spence. You’ve been by yourself for too long. I’ll sleep in front of your door if I have too. Meaning I’ll get a bad sleep and I’ll be cranky,” You gave a small sigh, “Please Spencer. Let me help you,” And he did. He opened his door and allowed you to see the mess he had become, the bags under his eyes, the dirty dishes scattered around the apartment, the books laying haphazardly between the floors and the bookshelves. You ended up spending many long nights together with you running your hand through his hair as he lay on your lap silently crying. Holding a book to his chest. Many nights he would fall asleep in that position, and you would lean down and kiss his forehead; reassuring him that you were still there and never going to leave him. Slowly you watched as he began to tidy up more. It was little things like rinsing his cup and placing it back on the dish rack, picking up a book and placing it on the table, instead of the floor, after reading it. He began allowing the others in to see him. You had been staying there for just over a week now, and while you both sharing the couch had become commonplace, a small part of you had begun missing proper coffee and a bed. Then one day it happened, when you came back from getting coffee and some shopping and you saw the rest of the team filing out of his apartment. His apartment was so much cleaner than when you left it and he was stood at the window looking out down the street below. You dropped the items on the counter and you came to stand next to him. The sun was out for the first time in what felt like weeks. You could still see the sadness in his eyes when he turned his head to look at you, but a small smile crossed his face and a thank you left his lips. He tells you that he didn’t think he could have gotten through the past few weeks without you, and you reply that you’re always going to be there no matter what. And without warning, he leaned down and kissed you. You think this was the boldest Spencer has ever been when a gun wasn’t pointed at him. However, as quick as it happened he was gone. He was going to apologize to you, and you knew it. So you reminded him that you’re best friends, and this is what best friends do. No mention of the brief kiss was needed. You both knew he was grieving, and he needed that small comfort to remind him that he was human. Instead, you both turned around and watched the sun go down out the window, your head resting on his shoulder.

You wish you realized it back then how in love with him you actually were because now you might never get the chance to properly tell him. You watched as he gave you a tight smile, both of your arms strapped down to your sides; large amounts of blood trailed down the side of your face, you could feel yourself wanting to lose consciousness. However, Spencer was there across from you, continuously talking to you to keep you from going to sleep.

[beautiful-bau-beau]

If You Love Someone

Tale as Old as Time Masterlist

-

“This is some storm.“ Maeve shuddered, pulling a covering tightly around her shoulders, holding an umbrella over Diane’s head. The aforementioned woman wore thick, warm furs to protect herself against the harsh wind and rain as they walked through the village, heading to the tavern.

"At least we’re not tied to a tree in the middle of nowhere… surrounded by bloodthirsty wolves.” She whispered. Maeve did not know whether she should laugh or cry as she thought of Diana all alone in the cold. “You know it’s not too late. We could always turn back…” Diane’s eyes narrowed and she turned to her companion.

“Why would you want to? The old spinster is getting what she deserves after treating me so harshly. Calling me ugly, denying me from my one true love. Impossible.” Diane snapped, “My god Maeve, why do you care about her well-being? You can not even hold an umbrella correctly!”

Maeve immediately lifted up the umbrella, flushing with shame. “It’s just… every time I close my eyes… I picture Diana stranded alone. And then when I open them… she’s… here!” The woman gasped, arm lowering.

“Do not be ridiculous Maeve, the idea of that is simply…inconceivable….Just as your ability to hold the umbrella!” She huffed, turning to see Maeve staring at something behind her.

The library was dark, but the rooms above it were dimly lit with candles. Diane could not believe her eyes when she saw Diana in the window, a woman beside her. “Who is she?” Her tone was similar to before Diana was tied up, making the hair on the back Maeve’s neck stand up.

“That is Emily Prentiss. She takes care of the books when the director of the library is away on business.” Diane simply said nothing, but sharply turned her heel, marching away.

“Miss?” Maeve called, running after her. “Where are we headed? What is going on?”

“Maeve, I have a plan. A plan to get everything I ever wanted, and no one can stop me.” - (Your POV)

“What are you doing y/n?” A voice inquired from behind your figure. You spun to find Alex Blake behind you. She had been the castle librarian, historian, and your old tutor, but she had been transformed into a bookend. You had not see her much since the curse was placed. “It looks as if you are polishing the mirror you were gifted.”

“‘Gifted’ does not seem like the correct word.” You mumbled, placing the object upon your table.

“Nevertheless dear, my question still remains. You seem to be anxious, why is that?”

“I was hoping to give this to Spencer. He seems lonely and I believe if he were to see his mother, he may feel more at ease here. I know I have already introduced him to the wonders of the library, but I do not think I have given him enough. He saved my life, and has somehow given new meaning to it.” Alex smiled softly at your sentiment.

“I realized I have now changed. I wake up every morning, excited and overjoyed that he is apart of my life now. The staff used to be so cold, but now I know and care for them. I am no longer the person I used to be….That is all thanks to him.”

“I believe that you are in love.” Alex chuckled. “That is wonderful! It is what every one has been waiting for!”

“Then you know I cannot allow him to remain here?” You sighed, turning away from her gaze. “I care for him too much to allow him to be separated form his mother, and forced to be with me.”

“Y/n… there is to be a ball for the two of you tomorrow, yes?”

“Yes. He has been helping restore the palace to its former glory, and I suggested making use of the ballroom. I hope to…” You broke off your sentence. “The mirror will be his to use however he wishes. A…parting gift. My goodbye.”

“I believe you are very wise Princess. I believe love is like a dove. You must give it room to venture, and be free. The tighter you try to hold onto it, the more it will try to get away.” You stayed quiet, looking out your window.

“You have taught me well. I will and have always treasured you, even if I have never said it.” You failed to notice between your conversation that she climbed up on your vanity, pressing her cold lips on your cheek.

“I have always known. I wish you luck, for parting is never easy, no matter how many times you have done it.” -

(Third Person POV)

“Mademoiselle Turner, a woman of high stature, such as yourself must know that I don’t usually leave the asylum in the middle of the night, but I believe you will make it worth my while.” Mousier George Foyet, head of the insane asylum, sat across from the two women in the parlor of Diane’s home.

“My good sir.” Diane faked a smile as she handed a few gold pieces to Maeve, who stood beside her. The servant passed the currency to the leering man who wasted o time to inspect its realness. “The situation resembles this. I’ve got my heart set on marrying Spencer Reid, but he needs a little… persuasion.”

“Mousier Reid is very concerned about the health of his mother. The worry is…overtaking his time.” Maeve carefully clarified.

“Everyone knows his mother is an absolute lunatic. She forced me to help her the other night. She was convinced that Spencer was taken by a terrible beast, and mentioned talking teacups, a castle in the middle of the forest, and that it was covered in snow. May I remind you that it is summer?”

“I believe the woman sounds harmless, even if her brain may be starting to go.” Foyet sighed, rubbing his nails on his shirt, eyeing the objects around him greedily.

“We may agree to disagree. My point, Mousier, is that Spencer would do anything for the safety of his mother.” Her eyes gave away the meaning of her seemingly ordinary phrase.

“So am I to understand that you wish for me to throw Diana in the asylum as bait to persuade the young man into marriage with you?” Diane nodded. “I do not believe I understand why you would chase after a man who clearly does not have any interest in you when there are so many others that do.”

“I am not paying for you to understand, you simpleton.” She barked, shoulders squaring up. “Do you agree to my terms?”

“You drive a hard bargain Diane.” Foyet snickered, standing and bowing deeply. “But how could I refuse?” -

Once Diana had been healthy enough to venture outside of the library, she insisted on Emily leading her over to the tavern, and exposing Diane for who she truly was. She was convinced that with Emily by her side, everyone would finally believe her. The large crowd the tavern inhibited quieted down immediately at the sight of the two educated women. The silence was broke down by a triumphant cry.

“Diana!” Diane cheered, running over to the older woman and wrapping her arms around her. “Maeve and I were so concerned! After you ran into the forest we tried looking for you but we feared the worst!”

“The lies that slip from your tongue are despicable. You tried to kill me and you left me to the wolves.” Diana pushed herself away, crossing her arms.

“Darling, It is s one thing to rave about your beasts and castles but it is another thing to accuse me of attempted murder.” The crowd mumbled incoherent ramblings.

“Diana… do you have any proof of what you’re saying?” A young barmaid, Elle Greenaway asked, a hand coming to rest upon Diana’s shoulder.

“Ask Emily, she rescued me from death.”

“Emily Prentiss! You would hang your accusations on the testimony… of an old spinster who wastes her time reading books when she is supposed to be watching over them?” Diane chuckled, a few chiming in with her. Emily kept her calm, observing the selfish airhead in front of her.

“I believe Diana mentioned that Mademoiselle Donovan was also present. She saw it all.” Emily uttered.

“Me?” Maeve squeaked, eyes wide. Diane never mentioned that she would also be involved in this plan.

Ah, right. Don’t take my word for it. Maeve… my dearest companion… did I… your oldest friend and most loyal compatriot… try to kill the mother of our dear friend Spencer?“ The way Diane smiled may have seemed innocent to others, but to Maeve it was almost as terrifying as knife to her throat. If she answered truthfully it was highly doubtful that anyone would believe her seeing as Diane’s parents helped found the town of Villanueve. If she lied, as Diane wished her to do, Maeve would live to see the next morning.

"No, she did not. Diane is the sweetest person I have ever known and is not capable of any malicious thought, let alone a murderous action.” Maeve swallowed thickly not being able to look anyone in the eye.

“Diana… I dealt with your delusions the other night but it pains me to say that I believe you have become a danger not only to yourself, but to others. No wonder Spencer ran away. He must have been so exhausted having to deal with your lunatic ramblings and accusations. You need help, sweetnesss. A place to heal your troubled mind. Everything’s going to be fine. Let me introduce you to my friend, Mousier Foyet.” At the mention of his name, the man seemed to appear out of thin air.

“No…no please you cannot do this to me! You cannot hide me away because I chose not to subject my son to your horrors.” Diana tried to step away from Foyet’s grasp, only to bump into associates of his. “Emily! Elle! Someone, please!” She turned, hoping to find a compassionate face only to realize that Emily was gone, and no one dared to speak up.

“Please!” Diana screamed as she was dragged into a cage within a carriage. Her begs and pleas fell on deaf ears, as did her sobs. “Spencer….someone….help me.”

- @phoenixwwitch @totallynotn3rdy95 @cool-bluemoon @amarislestrange @rogerthatsgt @marieannfandoms @bekaperk  @dontshootmespence @mariadrinaa @charcoalblack-ish @queenelsaschyler @captainreid @drunk-fairytale @thepartofmethatyouneverfind

[managedmischiefs]

north//chapter three

here’s the new chapter!! please enjoy and leave me your feedback! as always, let me know if you want to be on the taglist by sending me an ask :)

genre: fluff, angst if u squint

pairing: season nine spencer reid x female oc

warnings: none

word count: 11.3k

SPENCER

The elevator doors pop open on the sixth floor on a bright, sunny day, and the smile on my face is the biggest it’s ever been and I don’t think there’s any way I’ll be able to wipe it off. This morning, Amelia confessed that she had never seen Doctor Who before, and then she encouraged me to ramble on and on about my favorite parts and favorite characters and she asked questions and my smile never went away, even as we said our goodbyes and through the dirty train ride. But having seen Amelia will make my day better and the walk to my desk seems so much brighter and happier than normal.

"Good morning, Spencer," Alex smiles at me as she passes my desk, setting her bag down and sending me a wave. 

"Morning," I return her smile, taking the last sip of the coffee from my cup, the one from my meeting with Amelia, giving it one more longing look before tossing the cup in the trash.

Alex watches me closely as she sheds her jacket and scarf, draping it over her chair. "Weather's rough, right? It's getting really cold,"

I spin in my chair and my eyes trace up to where the wall and the ceiling meet, staring out the windows there. "Yeah, it's pretty rough out there,"

"Christmas is soon though," a smile comes to her face as she sits and takes a breath. "Do you have any plans yet? Do you think you'll go to see your mom?"

I shrug my shoulders and push away the sharp pain in my chest at the mention of my mom and at the mention of such a joyous holiday that’s supposed to be filled with friends and family. But instead, I’ll do the same things I’ve done the last few years- sit by myself at home and reread a book from my shelf. "Not sure yet. Haven't really thought about it,"

Alex hums, not pleased with that answer, and spins her chair around to face her desk. "Okay, well, don't wait too long or else you won't have any plans, and nobody should be left alone on Christmas," I choose not to respond. I just turn my chair back to face my desk and get to work.

"Good morning, wonderful crime fighters!" Garcia exclaims, bounding into the bullpen as Morgan holds the door open for her. Her bubbly attitude brings JJ and Rossi over to my desk area and even though I was trying to avoid any conversation, I spin in my chair to join the circle that forms. "I've brought cookies to lighten the mood that this horrible, horrible cold weather is reigning down on you BAU-tiful people," she grins happily at her recycled pun as she pops the top off the tin in her hand. Everyone, except for me because group food is not and has never been my jam, reaches their hands in and grabs some cookies, mumbling a few thank yous to our dear friend.

"So what's up with everyone?" Morgan asks, glancing around at the team. "We're always together but we don't always get to talk about our lives. So, come on, I know someone's got something,"

There's a moment of silence between the team where everyone wants someone else to speak up first, especially me. I wish I could duck my head down and hide under my desk because I know they will all want to ask me about what’s going on in my life and I'm not ready to tell them yet, and I’m not the best liar. I want to keep Amelia a secret. I want to keep her for myself. But if I try to make myself smaller in any way, then a team of profilers will notice immediately and I'll get called out. It's a lose-lose for me. And maybe it's irrational to want to keep her my secret. Last time I did that, it didn't end well and I’ve never forgiven myself for that. But even still, I want to keep Amelia for myself.

"Well," JJ laughs when nobody speaks up, "Will and I took Henry to the zoo for the first time over the weekend and he absolutely loved it,"

That brings everyone into a conversation and I'm glad I can let my mind wander off to Amelia. She always looks beautiful, but she looked especially stunning today. She wore plaid jeans with a black sweater tucked in, a black knit scarf, and her normal black boots. Of course, she had a black peacoat on to shield her from the weather, and the strap of her camera was slung over her shoulder instead of around her neck. Her hair was up in this messy braided updo that I don't even want to spend time wondering how long it took her to execute. Her nail color changed for the millionth time, now to a pale blue. Her necklace was almost completely hidden behind her scarf but I noticed that she wears the same one every day, a small butterfly. But today, there was just something about her smile and her laugh that made me feel extra warm inside. It made me feel like I wanted to scoop her up and bring her back to my apartment and never let her leave.

"Reid? Hey, Reid!" There's suddenly a hand snapping in front of my face, bringing me out of yet another one of my daydreams.

Everyone has vacated the area and Alex is crouched in front of me, brows furrowed in confusion. I lift my head, blinking a few times to bring myself back to reality. "Sorry, what did you say?"

Alex tilts her head, resting her arms on her legs. "Are you okay? You haven't been yourself lately. You've been a little bit distracted," she sighs and I can tell that she's wondering if she should say something. She ultimately makes a decision in her head to not say it and instead just waits for me to answer. But her holding back her thoughts frustrates me. I thought we were close so why would she hold anything back from me? When has she ever held anything back from me?

"Say what you were gonna say," I insist, sitting up more in my chair. "You were gonna say something. Say it,"

Alex chews on her lips and lets out a long breath, glancing around to make sure that nobody is too close. "Well," she hesitates one more time, "I know that you're still hurting about Maeve and-"

"No," I cut her off before she can even finish her sentence, "it's not about that. It's-" I push my hair out of my face as my breath gets caught in my throat. I take a replenishing breath and shake my head, turning back to the paperwork on my desk, "I'm fine, okay? I promise. Thanks for, uh, looking out for me,"

"Maybe you should consider going to therapy," Alex is clearly not ready to let this conversation go.

"I'm fine," I say yet again, giving her a tight-lipped smile, not even glancing her way again.

I hear Blake sigh and then walk around, seeing her sit down at her desk. There's part of me that feels bad for being so secretive to my closest friends. But I want to keep Amelia for myself. The team likes to know everything and they like to bring up significant others all the time. I don't want Amelia brought up like that. I don't want Morgan teasing me about her, or Garcia insisting on a double date, or JJ wanting to know how we met. But besides, Amelia isn't even my girlfriend. Right now, she's just a girl that I get coffee with before work. I wish she was more, but she's not.

Garcia comes back into the bullpen, holding a hoard of IPads in her arms and one case file for me. "It's case time, my loves!"

There’s a collective sigh that falls over the group as everyone pushes themselves out of their seats and towards the round table room, ready to endure another day of sadness. There’s no good day to get cases but really, there couldn’t be a worse time to get a case. Amelia and I ran out of time this morning and her story about the time her and her best friend got lost in California on a spring break vacation got cut short, and she promised to finish it tomorrow. She also swore that I could tell her all about my time at CalTech and about my favorite classes, all while she lets me fiddle around with whichever camera she happens to bring that day, even though I could possibly break it. I mean, she couldn’t get any more amazing. Technology is not my strong suit, whether it’s a computer or a phone or even a camera, but she’s still going to let me tinker with it. I didn’t think that she could get any better. 

After the catastrophe with Maeve, I never thought I'd ever have feelings for another person again. I thought that I'd die alone and loving Maeve. I thought she was my soulmate. I thought that the connection we had was one in a million and that I would never connect with someone on a romantic level again. Seeing her die right in front of me was like no other death I had ever witnessed and nobody, including and especially me, thought I would ever recover from that.

As much as I don't want to admit it and as adamantly as I will deny it, I've been through a lot. Childhood aside, my work at the FBI has been grueling. I've been taken hostage, I've mourned the death of my best friend who actually wound up to be alive and I’ve mourned the death of my unit chiefs wife, I've conquered drug addiction and two relapses alone, I’ve spent months mulling over the death of my girlfriend, and I've seen more death, destruction, and horror than anyone ever should.

It's unfair, really. All I wanted to do with my life and with my career was to help people and do something bigger than myself, but in turn, I've ruined myself. And after everything I've seen and how it has changed me, I’ve been expecting to work myself to death and die alone. I'm a loose cannon and it's obvious. I try to keep myself reined in, but I know that won't last for long. The years that I’ve spent at the FBI have imprinted on my brain and I thought that Maeve would be my refuge, but she was ripped away from me. Then and there, I knew that I would never love again. 

But then Amelia waltz's into my life. She comes bouncing in with her black heels, vintage cameras, tea bags, nose piercing, beautiful smile, and melodious laugh. She makes me feel like a normal person. She doesn't treat me like an FBI agent, or like someone who has endured the traumas that I have, and maybe that's because I haven't told her about any of my trauma, but I intend to keep it that way for as long as I can. Amelia comes laughing into my life with her denim skirts that aren't appropriate for the cold weather, curly blonde hair wrapped in patterned scarves or tied back in scrunchies, love for red wine, entrancing blue eyes, and her affinity for strawberries.

It's impossible to not fall in love with her and I hate myself for that. She makes it incredibly easy, so maybe it's not my fault that I can't get her out of my head. Maybe it's not my fault that I look at the empty spot on my desk and wonder what it would be like to have a picture of her there. Maybe it's not my fault that I hold her pinky in mine for far too long when we say our goodbyes. I wish I could blame my feelings all on her. I wish I could blame Amelia for how fast I'm falling for her.

I fall in love with the energy she radiates. I fall in love with the way she speaks of her creative process while painting a new piece or drawing a new picture. I fall in love with the way she claims she has a foolproof formula for finding hidden treasures in any given thrift store. I fall in love with the way she always has a new story to tell yet listens to every word I have to say. She speaks with such passion and fire in her eyes that it draws me in. Amelia has even taken to setting an alarm on her phone to make sure I leave on time for work and every few days, she makes sure to show up before I do so that she can order both of our drinks so that it's not always me ordering for her and "wasting my money on her hot, flavored water."

Amelia and I keep up our morning coffee meetings for two months. We meet as much as we can, only taking the time off when I'm not away on a case. It's actually normalizing my sleep schedule too and I'm getting more sleep than I have in two years- or since Maeve died. When these meetings started, I used to not be able to sleep out of pure excitement of knowing I'd be able to see Amelia again. But then she started to text me the night before, sometimes to remind me to set an alarm so I'm not late or to remind me to bring a magic trick to show her (magic tricks are now common occurrences in the mornings) or to just tell me that she's looking forward to seeing me tomorrow. It’s always an odd sensation to get that third text because most people aren’t usually excited to see me.

The word date never surfaced in any of our conversations. I'm not sure if any of these meetings would be considered a date. Typically, dates happen at night, but these coffee meetings are happening bright and early in the morning. And maybe I'm too scared to even bring up the word date because then that will solidify what we're doing, if we even are doing anything. I'm too scared to admit that I'm falling way too hard and way too fast for Amelia.

But as terrified as I am of the way that I feel about Amelia, I wish so desperately that I wasn’t. I wish I could climb to the roof of my apartment building and scream at the top of my lungs that I’m falling in love and that I want everyone to know. I want to be able to see her outside of the confines of a tiny cafe just a block away from my apartment. I want to be able to see her out on the town, laughing and bouncing on her toes in the adorable way that she does. I want to do anything else in the world with her besides just sitting and drinking tea or coffee. I want to know even more about her. I want to know absolutely everything. I need to know everything.

ONE WEEK LATER

SPENCER

"So you got shot in the knee?"

"Yeah. The doctors told me that I might never walk without a cane again,"

"I'd like to see you with a cane," Amelia snorts, tucking her face behind her cup of tea as she succumbs to a fit of giggles. The sight makes me laugh too, trying to hide my joy behind my cup of coffee. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh. It's just-" she takes a long breath to calm herself, and, with a giant smile, she continues, "an FBI agent with a cane? I can't picture it,"

"Well, I wouldn't be allowed in the field. As much as I thrive in the police departments, I love being in the field. It gives you a rush, you know?"

"Mm, no. I don't know," Amelia laughs, "but I can imagine what you're talking about. An adrenaline rush. I've never caught a bad guy in action like you do. I mean, the closest I've ever come to that is catching one of my siblings stealing cookies late at night,"

A fond memory comes to mind, one involving a dinosaur-shaped cookie jar and a little hand. "I've caught my godson doing the same,"

"So, Spencer," Amelia's voice is lighter as she moves away from the previous topic of me taking a bullet in the field. She shimmies her shoulders just a little bit, then gestures to the Christmas drawings on the window. "Do you have any plans for Christmas next week?"

Oh, the dreaded question. Each of my team members had asked me that during our case last week and I had to lie every single time. I don't want them to feel bad for me when I tell them I don’t have any plans and I’ll be spending Christmas alone. Alex might try to invite me to dinner with her family, and JJ would probably do the same and swear that Henry had been asking about his godfather, but it's just out of pure pity. I don't need any more pity from my team.

"Um," I have to keep my voice from cracking as I drown out myself in a sip of coffee, "no,"

"No?" Amelia repeats, but her face doesn't change at all, not like she’s sad or she’s pitying me. "Me either. I told you, my family's in Texas and I'd only be able to go out there for two days. So as much as I'd love to go, it doesn't really make sense, you know?"

"Yeah, that makes sense. My mom is in Las Vegas so I know what you mean,”

Amelia looks down at her cup of tea, fiddling with the teabag. "You know, if you don't have anything to do on Christmas, maybe we could spend the day together?" She suggests, glancing up at me with a nervous smile. "I was planning on spending the day alone but if you also don't have anything to do, maybe we could do something together," she goes quiet for a moment and I wait, wondering if she's finished with her request. Or maybe it’s just that I’m speechless and I have absolutely nothing to say in response to that request. Yeah, that’s more likely. She, again, looks down at her cup and I can see her fingers shaking slightly as she toys with the teabag. "And besides, I love our little coffee dates but it'd be nice to see you outside of here,"

And there it is. It all comes out with just those few sentences. Not only does Amelia see these meetings as dates, but she wants to see me outside of the cafe. She wants to spend Christmas with me, a day that you usually spend with your family or your closest friends. She was so nervous to ask me about this that her hands are shaking. When has this ever happened? Usually I'm the anxious one. I'm the one here who does the nervous laughing and fumbles over my words and taps my feet and fiddles with my hair. She's usually the one who takes charge of the conversation and laughs louder and initiates our pinky hold when we have to say goodbye. Being anxious is my thing and if Amelia is taking that over, then that must mean that this request took a lot to say.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," she adds quickly before hiding, again, behind a sip of her tea.

I’ve let myself hold back with Amelia for far too long- for two whole months. I’ve gone two months without growing some balls and asking her out and I can’t handle it anymore. I need to see her with a different background behind her other than a tan leather booth. So I don’t give myself a moment to think or stress before I speak. "I'd love to," 

Amelia's eyes dart up to me and her smile starts to grow. "Really?" I nod wordlessly, too scared that I'll say something dumb and ruin it if I open my mouth. "I would've thought you'd say no," The alarm on Amelia's phone goes off, telling us that it's time for me to leave for work. She gives me a sad smile and silences it, chewing on her lip. "Time for you to go. You've got people to save, Dr. Reid,"

The two of us stand and wrap ourselves in our coats and scarves before heading out the door, into the bitter, cold wind. Amelia turns on her heel and holds out her pinky to me. I switch my coffee to my left hand and wrap my right pinky around her, watching her nose start to go pink from the weather surrounding us. Amelia smiles, and the timer in my head starts to run, counting up the seconds we stand in front of each other and just smile. We’re already standing here longer than yesterday but not as long as Tuesday two weeks ago. And the longer we stand here, the pinker Amelia’s nose gets, and the more my heart melts.

"Get warm soon," I tell her softly, worried that if I speak too loud, I’ll ruin the moment.

"You too," she smiles, wrapping her finger even tighter around mine as a way to tell me not to leave just yet. "I know you'll let me know if you have a case. But if you do," she lets out a breath, dropping her smile until her dimples disappear, "get home before Christmas."

///

I inhale deeply and brush my fingers through my hair, trying to make it seem somewhat presentable as I turn the corner to Amelia's apartment, double-checking that I'm at the right one. I smooth down my sweater and check that my converse are tied twice before knocking on the door. I can hear music from inside her apartment but I can't tell exactly what the song is yet, but based on what today is, I can only assume it’s a Christmas song.

I wait patiently for a moment behind a closed door, still second-guessing my slightly more casual outfit of converse, jeans, and a Christmas sweater. And after only a minute I'm convinced that Amelia has backed out and doesn't want me around for this sacred holiday, and I’m almost convince o turn around and leave. Maybe I could walk home and find a bookstore and get some takeout. I'm about to do just that and I’m mentally mapping out the best route home when the door swings open and Amelia stands there with her stunning smile.

"Hi, Spencer!" She exclaims, popping the door all the way open and letting me feel the heat that radiates from the inside. "Come in, please," Relief washes over me as I step inside her warm apartment, my eyes darting around the walls and decor of her home. "You can just put your stuff anywhere. It doesn't really matter to me. Make yourself at home. Be comfortable," I recognize the song now as It's Beginning to Look A Lot Like Christmas, playing from her beloved record player that I’ve heard a surprising amount about. She bought it when she first moved to Virginia and it was the first thing she bought for her apartment, before she even bought a bed or food or utensils.

I pull my messenger bag off and set it beside the door, ridding myself of my peacoat and my scarf, hanging them up on the coatrack. Amelia is still standing beside me but before I take the time to admire her like I usually do, I really stop to look at her apartment. It's exactly how I pictured it to be. It reflects her personality perfectly.

The walls are comprised of dark brick and there are different pieces of artwork scattered along the walls of her entire apartment, like stray photographs and polaroids put up with wash tape, or a canvas painting in a frame, and a floral tapestry behind the television. To my left is a huge shelf of books and records followed by a wall full of picture frames with pictures I can only assume are of her family and friends. To the right of the door is a cozy looking living room with a tv and the active record player, and a fireplace with a log already lit. Beside the living room is the kitchen, and across from the kitchen is a set of floating stairs that leads up to what I presume is Amelia's bedroom. In front of the stairs is a door out to a small balcony overlooking the city.

"Hey," Amelia reaches over and pokes my shoulder, laughing, "stop profiling my apartment. I cleaned up for you, there can't be too much for you to judge,"

"Profiling isn't actually judging, per se," I blurt out facts before I can stop myself. "Profiling is actually just noticing behavior,"

Amelia crosses her arms over her chest, etching on a smile. "Sometimes I wonder how your head isn't physically bigger with all that information you've got stored up in there. Really, it keeps me up at night sometimes," she says quickly, and then rolls her eyes at herself. She gestures towards the kitchen, "Well, I've got- oh, Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas,” I echo, following her into her kitchen, trailing just a step behind her.

As she walks in front of me, I get the chance to admire her. Today, she's decided to wear a black and white plaid tweed skirt with a red knit turtleneck tucked into it. Her legs are bare otherwise but she's wearing dark wool socks with a pattern on them, almost identical to the ones I’m wearing. Her hair is down in curls and flowing down to her waistline, but there's a green clip on the left side of her head that's holding back some of her hair. Her face is glowing, like usual, and her nose and ear piercings are in, like usual. It takes me a moment to realize how much smaller she is now that she's not wearing the heels she always has on. I'd peg her at around 5'2" and that's a major difference with me at about 6'1”. But even though I’ve observed countless outfits of hers, she's just as beautiful today as she is every other day.

"So I thought that, since it's only noon, we could make some Christmas cookies," she suggests, showing me her kitchen island full of cookies and bags and ingredients. "I have ingredients for quite a lot of cookies because I meant to make them myself but never got around to it. I have ingredients for gingerbread cookies and sugar cookies and oatmeal cookies and probably way more,"

"Sounds good to me. I like all of those,” The thought of making all those cookies with Amelia sounds much better than sitting and doing nothing. I don’t have time to make cookies like this on my own and I didn’t get to have any of Penelope’s, so making cookies with Amelia sounds like the perfect way to spend Christmas.

Amelia sits down at a barstool and gestures for me to sit beside her, and it’s a weird sensation, for a split second, to be sitting beside her instead of across from her. She reaches for a bag of flour and a bowl, but her hand stops midair when she looks over at me and a smile breaks out on her face. "I like your sweater,"

I glance down at my sweater, just shrugging at my own appearance as if I wasn’t freaking out about it ten minutes ago. "It's just a sweater," It’s one that I’ve had for as long as I can remember and one that could probably pass as ugly, but it has a pattern with snowflakes and stripes and reindeer. I almost didn’t wear it because I thought that maybe Amelia would think it was ugly.

"But Spencer, I always see you in your work clothes. You're always wearing sweater vests and button-ups. You're still wearing jeans and converse but the sweater is a change. I like it, that's all,"

She turns her back to me to grab something else and her compliment makes me chew on the inside of my cheek. I wipe my hands on my pants before I take a deep breath. You can do it, Spencer. You grew enough balls to accept her Christmas invitation. You can do this. "I like your outfit," Oh thank god I managed to say that without sounding like a total idiot.

When Amelia turns back around to set the sugar on the counter, she's blushing. "Thanks,"

I read over the recipes she has printed out and then set them aside, standing up again so I can attempt to start helping her. We decide to start with the Pillsbury sugar cookies since all we have to do is put those in the oven, so we start arranging them on a tray.

"I should warn you," I mumble to Amelia as we bump hips, "I'm not the best baker,"

"It's not too hard," Amelia says nonchalantly. "I'll give you some tips. A smart man like you can pick it up, don't worry, love,"

The simple pet name makes me blush but we're both so preoccupied with putting the frozen cookies on the tray that Amelia doesn't notice. The simple pet name makes my heart beat faster and almost burst out of my chest. Once the cookies are on the tray, she puts them in the oven and then turns to me.

"Okay, which cookies do you wanna make first?" She grabs the recipes and holds them up for me to see as if I hadn’t looked at them before. 

"What do you think we should do?" She looks up at me with her big, beautiful eyes, and I almost get lost for a moment, but I pull myself back when she rustles the papers again. "I've never done this before and you seem to have a lot of experience so-"

"You've never made Christmas cookies before?" Amelia gasps, the papers falling onto the table as her jaw drops in disbelief, and I shake my head at her. "Okay, then we're gonna make gingerbread cookies first because they’re a classic. They're my favorite and they're the most fun to decorate so hopefully you’ll like them too. I can't believe you've never done this before!"

She whips around and starts to assemble a new set of ingredients, telling me now and then how much to measure out, even though I've memorized the entire recipe. But nonetheless, I let her take the lead and take the previous cookies out of the oven.

"Okay, come here," Amelia says when my back is turned to her. She has the gingerbread dough rolled out on the island and a few different sized molds laid out, flour caked on her hands. "Getting the dough onto the pan is an art itself," I let out a little laugh, but then she turns her head with a threatening look as if to say I’m serious, that isn't threatening at all. "I'm serious. First, you've gotta use the mold to cut. Then you've gotta wiggle the mold. Then you've gotta get the dough off the counter and that's the hardest part because if you didn't put down enough flour then you’re screwed. It's an art. You laugh, but it's true,"

"I believe you," I put my hands up in surrender, reaching for one of the molds. I stand beside her and it takes me a moment to process how close I actually am, and I only do when I feel her body heat on me. "So, like this?" I push the mold into the dough and then wiggle the plastic back and forth until it's completely separated from the mass of dough, just like she told me to. But then when I lift the mold, the snowflake-shaped piece of dough completely lifts and folds over, ruining the dough. I let out a defeated sigh, looking up at Amelia with a dramatic pout, silently begging for help. "It is an art,"

Amelia giggles, bopping my nose, and I can feel some flour residue getting left there, making me scrunch up my nose. "Yes, it is. I'm glad you've realized, let me help you,"

///

An hour passes and we've finished baking all the gingerbread men, we're baking chocolate chip oatmeal cookies, and we've eaten half of the sugar cookies. We're chatting aimlessly about anything and everything and I'm starting to really actually enjoy this. I’m happy to be seeing Amelia outside of the cafe and I’m happy to be so comfortable with her, and to see her literally and metaphorically let her hair down. I thought I would be riddled with anxiety and would have to make some excuse to go rushing out, but now I don’t think I ever want to go home. I would be content with never leave this artsy apartment and making cookies with Amelia for the rest of my life.

"I'm gonna try to make you but as a gingerbread man," Amelia says as she sits down with a piping bag full of icing and half of the gingerbread men. I've got the other bag of icing in my hand and the other half of the gingerbread men in front of me, waiting to be decorated with far less finesse than Amelia’s cookies.

"You're an artist. You've got an unfair advantage," I pout yet again, starting to make uneven lines and lopsided eyes on my cookies. I grimace at my creations and my pout only grows when I glance over and see that Amelia’s look perfect.

"It's not a competition," Amelia responds, not even looking up from her interpretation of me in gingerbread form. "And remember what I said, everyone sees art differently. There’s no right or wrong in art,” she lets out a small squeal and then throws her piping bag down, leaning closer to me to show me the cookie. “Look! It’s you!”

The gingerbread man has an attempt at curly hair along with a button-up shirt, a tie, slacks, and converse. Honestly, the cookie version of me is pretty cute, but maybe I’m biased because Amelia made it. Amelia is elated at my pleased reaction and goes on to decorating more cookies, so I prop up her creation and keep on going.

I settle into my barstool and keep my eyes down, swinging my feet back and forth. There's a question on the tip of my tongue that I'm too scared to ask. It's been there for weeks. But this question implies follow up questions about me and I don't want to risk that. But I’ve been pondering this question since I met Amelia and I think that I would be willing to risk the follow-up questions if it means I get some sort of answer.

"Amelia," I say quietly, earning a hum in response, "I have a question,"

"Yeah?" She's soft-spoken, clearly focused on her cookies.

"Why don't you talk about your family?"

I look up just in time to see her grip on the piping bag falter, and she has to readjust her hold. But before she can do that, her hand reaches for the butterfly necklace that's forever around her neck and she tugs on it gently. That tells me that the necklace has a connection to her family, I just don't know how. Nope. Stop it right there. She told me when I came in to stop profiling her, even though it was clearly a joke, I shouldn’t start doing it now. 

"I, um," she lets out a breath and lets her eyes wander behind me, presumably at the wall of picture frames, "I just don't really like to talk about my family," that's all she says before she goes quiet. She readjusts her grip on the piping bag and goes back to work, deciding the conversation is over. Heat rises to my cheeks and my anxiety increases when I realize that my curiosity has gotten the better of me and I’ve ruined the good thing we have going on here with that simple question. So I just decide to shut my mouth and keep decorating my cookies. "You don't talk about your family either,"

It’s the question I was dreading, but it’s the one I was expecting. So I just shrug my shoulders as nonchalantly as possible. "You're not the only one who doesn't like to talk about their family,"

Amelia doesn't respond to that. It's one of the first times in our two months of knowing each other that I've seen her act shut off. The only time she ever acted out of character was asking if I would come over today, and she was only a little bit nervous for a few minutes. She's always so bubbly and open to any question or topic I have, so to have her sitting as close as ever but feel so far away is frustrating and the need to fill the grave I just dug myself.

"Amelia, I didn't mean to offend you with-"

"No, it's okay," she shakes her head, once again, her fingers adjusting around the piping bag. "It's a common thing that people talk about and I've never brought it up and you're a profiler so naturally, you would bring it up. It's fine, Spencer. I promise,"

"It doesn't seem fine. You're not even looking at me,"

"You're profiling me again," Amelia responds, her voice wavering.

I put my piping bag down and move closer to her, gently taking hers out of her hand and placing it down on the table. "Amelia, I-I didn't mean anything by it. You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to,"

She looks up at me and I can see that her eyes are glassy, and it stings to know that I’m the one who made her feel like that. "I’m sorry. I didn't mean to be doing this on Christmas," She sniffles, reaching her fingertips up to wipe at her under-eyes. I have an overwhelming need to comfort her back to happiness, especially since I made her so unhappy. So even though my hands shake in the slightest, I hold my arms out towards her. Amelia notices right away, her eyebrows raising. "Seriously?" I nod. "You won't shake or hold my hand but you'll hug me?"

"You need a hug so I'm here to give you a hug,"

Amelia’s face lights up and she steps forward, wrapping her arms around my waist tightly. I circle my arms around her shoulders and tuck her head under my chin, smiling at the way she fits perfectly under me. This is comfortable and I feel warm and when she wiggles her body to get closer, it brings a smile to my face. I feel safe. I haven't felt like this is a long time. I might never want to let go, but I think Amelia might have the same idea.

"Does this mean I get to hug you more often now?" Amelia mumbles into the fabric of my sweater. "Don't get me wrong, I love our pinky promises but I also love hugs,"

My eyelids flutter closed and I nod against her head. "Yeah, we can hug more often," I flatten my hands on her back and pull her closer. "I really am sorry about asking about your family,"

"Well, I brought yours up afterward so it's fine," 

We're only pulled apart when the timer on the oven dings and lets us know that the oatmeal cookies are finished. I reluctantly pull myself off of her and grab the oven mitts, pulling the tray out while Amelia returns to frosting her gingerbread men.

"Hey, Spencer?" Amelia calls as I'm scooping cookies off the pan. "Do you have any information about gingerbread men in your big genius head?"

She asked, so I answered. I go off and tell her how gingerbread men date back to the 15th Century and how the first documented use of them was at the court of Elizabeth I. I go on for maybe ten minutes about the history of these edible men and maybe it's more than she was bargaining for, but she never interrupted and she listened to the whole thing. That's rare these days. Even my closest friends on my team cut me off constantly and sometimes tune out my facts.

"I didn't know any of that. School really doesn't teach students anything they wanna learn about," Amelia laughs, adding two more gingerbread men to the pile of cookies.

We finish creating our mountain of different types of cookies at around 4 so we decide that we should start making dinner, that way, we can relax the rest of the night and not have to be rushing around the kitchen. The sun starts to set and the snow starts to fall as we set out on a new adventure of cooking dinner. Amelia goes to turn up the heat and I notice her take a moment to pause in front of the balcony doors to stare out at the fresh blanket of snow. But the second she turns and comes back to the kitchen, I whip my head down to the lasagna recipe in my hands to memorize it. Yet again, I decide to let Amelia take charge of this recipe because I would rather not mess it up.

///

We pop our tray of lasagna in the oven and then set a timer for the proper amount of time. "Alright," Amelia says, clapping her hands together and bouncing on her toes, "that'll be done in about twenty-five minutes. So maybe we could watch a movie? We've been baking all day so it'd be a good idea to get off our feet,"

It’s a no brainer to agree to the suggestion and I follow Amelia into her living room like a lost puppy with his tail between his legs. She gestures for me to sit on the couch while she drops to the floor in front of the tv, sitting up on her knees to shut off the record player. Then she pulls out a wicker basket filled to the brim with movies. "What are we watching?" 

"I've got plenty of Christmas movies because they're my favorite. I've got ones like," she holds up the case to each movie as she names it, "Polar Express, The Grinch, Home Alone, Elf, Love Actually, A Christmas Story and way, way more. Plus I've got the claymation ones like Year Without a Santa Claus, Rudolph, Jack Frost, Frosty the Snowman, and Santa Claus is Coming to Town," she looks up at me. "So which one do you fancy, love?"

There's that damn pet name again.

"Um," I let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of my neck, "I've actually never seen any of those before so I guess just put on your favorite,"

Amelia's eyes widen. "You've never seen any of these before?" I shake my head with a coy smile, my cheeks turning pink. "Wow, I guess it's my turn to educate you, Spencer. I might never get the opportunity to do this again so I'm going to take advantage while I can,"

Amelia jumps to her feet and pops one of the movies in the DVD player. She doesn't tell me what it is but she grabs the remote and comes to sit next to me on the couch. She's not too close to me but she's close enough to make my hands sweaty. I lean down to unlace my shoes and set them aside before getting myself a bit more comfortable on the couch, but not too comfortable. I’ve overheard far too many arguments between Morgan, JJ, Emily, and Garcia about how sitting too close to girls in moments like these can make a guy seem like, in Garcia’s words, a douchebag. And the last thing I want is for Amelia to think I’m a douchebag. So even though I feel I’m a mile away from her with just a couch cushion between us, I don’t move to close the distance.

"I put on The Polar Express because this is one of my favorite Christmas movies of all time," Amelia explains as the main menu comes up and shows the opening titles. "It's a good intro to Christmas movies, I guess, I don't really know,"

"Sure," I nod enthusiastically. "I like learning, I'm ready to watch. Go ahead, play,"

Amelia presses play and then reaches behind her for the blanket draped over the couch. She folds it over her lap and then glances over at me, holding up the corner of the blanket. "Do you-" she trails off, asking me if I want to share. I nod, scooting just a bit closer so we can both comfortably fit under the blanket. Our thighs are touching and it takes everything in me not to cuddle up even closer to her. She invited me over here so she must not think I’m a douchebag, right? This is okay, right?

The movie starts and it's quite different from the movies I'm used to watching. But I can tell it's a movie that has sentimental value to her so I pay close attention to it. It’s not filled with history or framed with subtitles or spewing information at me to instantly memorize. It’s just a lighthearted children’s movie that celebrates Christmas and teaches kids to not let others judge you and to believe in what you want to believe. I would have never watched a movie like this without Amelia and the longer I sit through the movie, the more I wish it wouldn’t end.

But eventually, I lean down to whisper in her ear. "None of the kids have names. Only Billy does,"

Amelia giggles, her head tilting closer to mine but keeping her eyes locked on the tv. "Yeah, you're right. I'm not sure why, they just don't,"

I hum, looking back up at the tv, not completely satisfied with the answer but willing to accept it. I try to focus back on the movie and figure out why these kids are sliding down tiny conveyor belts but I feel Amelia's eyes on me, locked on the side of my face. My attempts to ignore her gaze go in vain because I'm looking back down at her within another minute. She's looking up at me with her bottom lip between her teeth and her blue eyes widened, eyelashes fluttering. She looks horribly stunning and I fear I let my eyes linger on her lips for too long.

"What?" I whisper, wondering why she's staring at me when she should be watching the movie, a movie she claims is one of her favorites.

"Nothing," she says, but makes no attempt to break eye contact with me. "Nothing, I just-" she trails off yet again.

My hands had been placed at my sides but I can't help it when one of them moves to Amelia's cheek, barely even touching her soft skin at first, too afraid that she would flinch. A part of me is almost surprised when she doesn't pull away, but why do I keep getting surprised by her? She's remarkable. She asked me to spend Christmas with her so I wouldn't be alone. She cares about me in some capacity. She's showing me her favorite movies and baking cookies with me and she cares about me. I care about her and she cares about me. Why am I holding back?

"Can-" I clear my throat nervously, "can I kiss you?"

Amelia's eyes flutter for a moment before she nods, tilting her chin upwards. For a moment I think she's going to initiate the kiss, but then she doesn't. She just waits there, leaving me to feel her warm breath on my face and her cold skin under my fingertips. But she respected my boundaries when it came to handshakes and hugs, so even though I've already asked and she's already accepted, it makes sense that she would respect my inevitable boundaries with something as germy and personal and bacteria-filled as a kiss. So that means I have to finally take charge and I don't even have time to figure out if that terrifies me or excites me.

With my hand on her cheek and my heart about to beat out of my chest, I draw her forward and press my lips to hers in the softest and sweetest, most wonderful kiss. She tastes sweet, like strawberry lip balm and gingerbread, and I find my senses being filled with the taste of her. My brain had intended for a simple kiss, but after said simple kiss, I had to have more of her. Amelia doesn't resist as I deepen the kiss, bringing my hand to her neck to bring her closer. Her hands start at my chest but eventually travel up to my jawline, fingertips resting there softly, just barely coaxing me forward. Our lips move perfectly in sync and I could swear, as cheesy as it sounds, I feel burning on my skin from the fallout of the fireworks that erupt above us. I feel Amelia smile as she shuffles a bit closer to me on her knees, her body making even more contact with mine than before when we were just sitting. 

My mind is screaming at me to pull away, to push her off of me and run home and curl up in bed, and to ignore Amelia forever. My head says to shield her from this horrible part of the world that I expose myself to and to protect her innocence. That's all I want to do. I want to protect her. As it often does, my head says no but my heart says yes. I can't deny what I'm feeling for Amelia. I can't deny that I haven't slept over my alarm for two months because I'm far too excited to see her every morning at the cafe. I can't help the way my heart speeds up when she walks in and waves at me, or the way I can't help but beam when she laughs, or how I don't want to leave when the alarm on her phone sounds. That's what leads me to wrap my free arm around her waist and bring her chest to mine, the fabric of her sweater clutched in my fist and my lips fervently sliding against hers.

The sharp cry of the oven alarm is the only thing that can get us to pull apart, far too quickly for either of our likings. Amelia pulls away with a sharp inhale, her eyes closed for just a moment longer than mine. "I'll-" she moves one of the hands from my jaw to wipe at her bottom lip, "um, I'll go get that,"

Amelia begrudgingly untangles herself from my arms and then from the blanket around her legs, feet silent on the floor as she hurries to pull the lasagna out of the oven. I'm left on the couch for a moment, completely stunned and actually quite pleased. I’ve never been kissed like that. I didn’t even know I could kiss like that. I didn’t even know I had it in me. But once the momentary shock wears off, the tension sets in and I know I need to follow Amelia. I reach up to pause the movie so we don’t miss anything before following Amelia into the kitchen, seeing her close the oven as she places the tray of lasagna on the stove. Her cheeks are flushed but I can't tell if that's from the kiss or the heat from the oven.

The apartment is tense now that it's silent and Amelia's back is turned to me. Despite the obvious verbal consent, I fear I've ruined everything. I asked to kiss her and even though she accepted, she's quiet. She's busying herself with dishing lasagna and I'm realizing that the only other time she acted this shut off was when I asked about her family. Does that mean I need to apologize again? Oh my gosh, I really don’t know how girls work. I’ve already upset her twice in one day and made her act in ways I’ve never seen before. Maybe I should have listened more when Morgan complained about his girl problems. You know what? Maybe I won’t apologize this time. I’ll try a different approach.

"That wasn't-" I mumble, lingering in the entryway to the kitchen, "weird, right? That didn't totally ruin things, right?"

Amelia's hands pause mid-air for a moment but then she continues dishing food. "No, it wasn't weird,"

Okay, Spencer. If you've ever needed to be bold, now's the time. She obviously likes you and you've accepted that you like her too and that you don't want to lose her, and right now, you're losing her to whatever her brain is telling her. Don't let that happen. Do something.

"So," I take a step closer to her and place my hand on her waist, spinning her around to face me, "so you wouldn't mind if I kissed you again?"

Amelia doesn't even respond, she just grabs my cheeks and kisses me again. I instinctively push her against the counter and hold her there, my hands clutching her waistline as her hands start to thread through my hair. This kiss is needier than the first one, almost as if it's solidifying to both of us that we're really doing this and that these feelings are actually mutual. That the first kiss didn’t scare either of us off and we’re not going anywhere.

I'm the first to pull away when I run out of breath, but I have not a single intention of moving away from her. I still feel Amelia's lips brushing mine and her warm breath fanning across my face, delicate fingers pushing my hair off my forehead. It's shaggy and falling over my forehead, but she arranges it perfectly so it's out of the way. She smiles nervously at me and then she shrinks, and I realize she had to go on her tiptoes to kiss me. "I, um," she laughs, letting her hands fall to my shoulders, "I've had a crush on you for a while. Like, since we first talked,"

I slide my hands down to her hips, feeling the rough tweed fabric under my fingertips. "Really?"

"Yeah," she smiles bashfully. "I thought you were really cute and I may have walked into you on purpose because I was too scared to approach you when you were reading,"

My eyes nearly pop out of their sockets at the realization that the camera fiddling was just a ruse. "What?" Amelia giggles, ducking her head into my shoulder to hide her blush from showing. "No! No hiding!"

"It's true!" She pulls her hands from my shoulders and covers her face. "You were reading and you were doing it so fast and I was confused at how you were actually retaining the information and you looked so cute with your hair up like that and I wanted to talk to you but I didn't know how to. When you got up, I just walked over and then grabbed my camera and-" I grab her wrists gently and pull her hands away from her face. Amelia's face is bright red in embarrassment but she smiles as I slide my hands into hers and lace our fingers together. "I thought you didn't hold hands,"

"You also thought I didn't hug or kiss until tonight," I remark, bringing our hands down to our sides. I lean in one more time and press our lips together, and this time the kiss doesn't need to be quick or passionate or wet. It's slow and sweet. It fills me with the familiar warmth that only Amelia has been able to provide me with.

"You're just full of surprises," Amelia giggles, twisting her head to kiss my cheek. "We should eat before it gets cold, right?"

"Yeah, probably," I don't want to let go of her but I reluctantly do, letting her continue her task of dishing lasagna for the two of us. We resume our positions on the couch, sitting even closer than before. Amelia rewinds the movie quite a bit, making sure I’ve seen every frame that we missed while we were engaged in other activities. She claims she doesn’t mind seeing it again, that she watched this movie last week anyway so rewinding it for me isn’t a big deal at all.

I do my best to pay attention throughout the rest of the movie like Amelia wants me to do, but it's proven to be a challenge. All I want to do is look down at the angel sitting beside me and kiss her and play with her hair and talk to her about any topic that might pop into my head. But she's fixated on the movie and I don't want to tear her away from something that she's so invested in. So I stay silent and sling my arm over the back of the couch in an attempt to get more comfortable. I do it unintentionally, but Amelia takes this as an invitation to cuddle up beside me. She brings her knees up to her chest and rests her head on my shoulder, effectively tucking herself into my side. I'm not complaining, because even though I wasn’t intending to do the ultimate douchebag move and basically silently invite her to cuddle with me, I’m not complaining. I grin for the rest of the movie.

///

"So did you like it?" Amelia asks eagerly, sitting up on her knees as the credits rolls, an expecting grin plastered on her face. "I know you're used to watching movies in different languages and-"

"It was pretty great, actually," 

"You're not just saying that because I told you it's one of my favorites?"

"Not at all. It bothered me that the children didn't have names, besides Billy, but other than that, it was a wonderful movie. I can see why you like it so much," I tell her. "And it's only seven. Are we gonna watch something else?"

"Well," Amelia chews on her lip, pulling away from my embrace slightly as she plays with the hem of her skirt, "the depends on you. If you wanna head home, I know you have work tomorrow and-"

"Actually," unintentionally, I cut her off yet again. But she looks up at me with bright eyes, hopeful that I'll want to stay, "I don't expect that you got me anything but I brought you a gift,"

I quickly leap up to avoid seeing her reaction, returning to my messenger bag in the doorway, reaching in for the perfectly wrapped gift. I spent hours on the floor of my bedroom wrapping the present, and then unwrapping it when the paper creased, then wrapping it again, then unwrapping it when the paper ripped, and then finally leaving the wrapping after what seemed like the millionth try. It was a process but it was worth it because it looks absolutely perfect.

When I return to the living room, Amelia is gone. I sit down with the gift in my lap, assuming she'll be back soon. And sure enough, she comes bounding down the floating stairs a second later. "I did actually get you a gift," she says, jumping back onto her spot on the couch. "Just something little," I pass my gift off to her and she does the same with me until we're holding each other's presents. It's odd actually, because I've given and received gifts with my team and with my mom, but never like this. Never with a girl I have a massive crush on. Never with someone who I care on another level for. Never with a girl who seems to put the sun in the sky.

I gesture for Amelia to go first, placing her gift in my lap, to be opened next. She gives me an excited smile and nods, obeying my quiet warning to hold it carefully as she searches for a spot to pull the paper back. "They're-" she pulls the paper clean off and beams, "45's,"

"Yeah," I nod anxiously as she reveals my present. "You told me you love records and this bookstore I love sells records too. I found these and I thought of-" I clear my throat, "well, they made me think of you,"

Amelia looks through the small stack of records in her hands, narrowing her eyes at me. "Most of them are classical, Spencer,"

"You need more classical music in your life, Amelia," I sass back at her, earning a small scoff in returning, bringing up a small quarrel we had a few weeks ago. "You can't spend your days listening to Christmas music, Frank Sinatra, and Taylor Swift,"

Amelia glances up at me with a small pout. "I could try,"

I laugh, pointing to the records in her hand. "Well, now you don't have to,"

"Thank you, love. This is wonderful, really. I'm gonna put one of these on right after you open your gift," she places them on her lap and then points at the present in my lap. "Go ahead. It's your turn."

I tear back the wrapping paper and first find a pack of coloring pencils, which seems like an odd gift, considering how many times I’ve established that I’m bad at art, but then I find a black leather journal behind it. Upon further inspection, I find that there are drawings on the front of the journal. My name is written in beautiful calligraphy on the top of the cover, and all around the front are small pictures. I find things like coffee cups, cameras, a deck of cards, an imperfect square with the pattern of one of Amelia's scarves, a record player, beakers, plenty of books, and much more.

"It's a sketchbook," Amelia explains softly. "You were saying how you wish you were better at art, so now you have the means to practice. And I was thinking about when you go on cases and you could bring it with you and I tried to put things on the front that would maybe, I don't know, comfort you." She pauses and I look up at her, waiting for her to continue with what she wants to say. Because just by the tight-lipped smile on her face, I know she wants to say something else. "Selfishly, I put references to me on there,"

I set my gift onto the coffee table and then move the records aside, pulling Amelia into my arms again. She happily accepts this embrace, arms circling my shoulders. "I love it," I tell her. "Thank you. I'll definitely bring it on cases with me. I can't ensure that anything I draw in it is good, but-"

"But you've got a pretty great teacher right here."

///

Amelia watches with an overly dramatic pout as I button up my jacket and put my scarf on, glancing out the window to check out bad the snow is. She crosses her arms over her chest as I put my messenger bag over my shoulder, making me laugh. "Don't make me feel even worse for leaving,"

"If I make you feel really bad, will you stay?" Amelia practically begs, even though she's already reaching for the doorknob. She knows I have work tomorrow and I have to be up early. She opens the door and then leans against the frame, still clearly not ready for me to depart.

"Hey, why don't you sleep in tomorrow? We don't need to meet up tomorrow morning. Get some extra sleep. It's almost midnight,"

Amelia's pout grows. "What? But what if you get a case? Then I won't see you for a few days, at least,"

"Then," I hadn't entirely thought this through because she totally has a point. WWDMD? I know exactly what Derek Morgan would do. Of all the times I’ve thought about Morgan today, I know exactly how he would respond in this situation. I reach out to grab her waist and pull her into a half hug, smiling, "then I'll make it up to you by taking you out on a proper date when I get back,"

Amelia's smile grows and she starts to nod. "That sounds like a plan," she goes up on her toes to kiss me but her lips only brush mine before pulling away again. "What if you don't get a case? Are you still gonna take me on a date?"

I put on a pensive face that makes her laugh. "I'll think about it," I press my lips to hers, unable to handle the short, torturous distance anymore. The kiss doesn’t last nearly as long as I want it to because we’re standing the hallway at midnight where anyone could catch us, letting the heat out, after a long day of making cookies and watching movies, and it’s absolutely freezing. So when we pull away, I have to will myself to not groan or grimace.

"Let me walk you out," Amelia hums, grabbing her keys before walking out with me. Our pinky's interlock as we walk down her apartment hallway, towards the door outside. "Will you text me when you get home? I just wanna make sure you get home safe," we stop in front of the door and she wraps her arms around my waist. "I know you're a fully capable FBI agent and all but it's late and I worry about that stuff,"

"Of course I will," I hug her tightly, pressing my lips to her cheek. "Thank you for inviting me over. I would've just been sitting alone and reading books all day without you,"

"Thanks for coming over," she echoes, pulling away from our ultra-warm hug and letting a chill run down her spine. "I would've watched movies alone all day. So thanks for being with me. I'll miss you tomorrow,"

"I will too, but I'll text you when I get home and I'll talk to you tomorrow to let you know if I get a case or not,"

"I'll be glued to my phone," Amelia winks at me, getting me to laugh one last time for the night. "Now go, before it gets even later."

“You go back to your apartment first. I know it’s right there but I, uh,” I glance behind her, down the dim hallway, “I worry about that stuff,”

Amelia smiles in the most smitten way I think I’ve ever seen, and for once, I think I’ve actually done something right. “Yeah, okay,” she nods, and she pushes herself up on her toes to kiss my cheek on more time. “Bye, Spencer. Merry Christmas,”

“Merry Christmas,” I echo, watching her scurry back to her apartment and unlock the door, stepping into the warmth. Her head pops out once more and she sends me a wave, blowing me a kiss before she disappears. The air I exhale reverberates off the wall and the smile on my face is undeniable, even as I dance on the cusp of frostbite during my walk home. A girl like that is mine? A girl like that who blows kisses and bakes cookies all day and cuddles during movies? She’s mine? Amelia is mine. She really is and as soon as that thought echoes in my head, a laugh escapes my lips. I must be the luckiest man alive.

  hello there! if you’re still reading here then please tell me your favorite snack!! plz im v hungry thank u sm okay here’s the taglist

 TAGLIST

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