#Not without creating a terrible butterfly effect for the rest of the world anyways

[selenelavellan]

Burdens and Shackles

Moon Palace AU

The next part of This AU by @feynites (Who Dirthamen and his family belong to)

The dawn comes, as Selene is released from the depths of their dungeon.

One of her fathers advisers ask her if she has learned her lesson after spending a night in the stifling darkness of the cage.

Selene has learned a lesson, she thinks. Though, likely not the one they wanted her to.

After a silent morning meal with her parents and bondmate, Selene heads out for her daily training. First physical with some of the soldiers, followed by magical and emotional with the scribes. Nothing particularly interesting or unusual strikes her, a mundane schedule by all accounts. But her mind wanders.

A prisoner they have housed longer than she has been alive.

A prisoner who could change his shape without meaning to, in a cell that should not permit such things.

She knows those wards.

If he can exploit them, it could mean trouble for all of her people.

Although...he did not seem to mean anything menacing with his shape, unusual as it appeared. And if he is unconsciously weakening the wards, that is even more troubling.

She mentions it to her mother, at their afternoon meeting.

“I'm sure it was just a trick, da'len,” Dhaveira assures her. “This is why I told your father sending you to that cage was a poor choice for punishment. He is known for his lies and his secrets, do not succumb to them.”

“He did not seem malicious-”

“Selene.” Dhaveira asserts. “I know you are young, and do not remember the uprising. But he has slaughtered thousands of our people. His family is made of monsters, who sacrificed elves and spirits alike for nothing more than their own power, and lies. They tried to force out our gods and replace them with their pale imitations. His own brother is still rampaging through the west and leaving rivers of our peoples blood in his wake. Make no mistake; if given the chance, that prisoner would be fighting right alongside his brother, and would slay you as soon as you came near enough.” She reaches out, long dark fingers gently cupping Selenes face in her hands before whispering “Do not mistake his patience for kindness. I could not bear the loss.”

Selene lets out a heavy breath, and replies with simply “Yes, mother.”

It does not stop her wondering, though.

The meeting shifts to concerns of food distribution, and a need for cross training in certain fields, and increasing benefits of teaching these methods as incentives to further the peoples knowledge. Selene wonders how many of these decisions will be turned away by her father when they are shown to him, as unnecessary, or wasteful.

Dhaveira will push many of them through, anyways.

And the end of the meeting comes the same way it has for the last decade.

“When will you and Haleir be having children?” Her mother asks in a tone that has become both familiar and unwelcome.

“When he is able to get it up without sticking it in the nearest member of the dance troupe, I imagine.” Selene quips back.

Dhaveira lets out a heavy sigh, as expected. “There is no need for crassness. Perhaps if you worked harder to please him yourself-”

Selene levels a stare at her mother. “I have other things to do than worry about his sexual preferences. If he wants to sleep his way through the entertainers, let him. None of them seem to mind.”

“If this is about when you first spent the night together again-”

“I know, I know. You are tired of hearing of it. And I am tired of the possibility of bearing children for a man I despise. So, it appears we are at an impasse.”

“At this rate, you will never be permitted to remove that mask.” Dhaveira mutters.

Selene shrugs. “I've grown to quite like it anyways.”

With a noise of frustration, Dhaveira gathers her notes, handing small stacks of scrolls to her advisers, and leaves the expansive chamber.

Once she has made her exit, Selene scratches at the skin just under the edge of her mask.

Not a metaphor for the people as they claimed, then. But the confirmation of it as a punishment is reassuring to her own theories, at least.

–

She manages to get through a full week of her responsibilities and research before the itch in the back of her head takes over.

How did he manage to shape-shift in that cell?

Her fingers drum against the hard wood of the library table as she contemplates her options. She could recreate a cell, duplicate the wards, and run an extensive series of measured tests against a control. She could look into who crafted the original wards; perhaps they were unconcerned with shape shifting as a whole, and oversold their abilities. She supposes, in the end, that the simplest way to find out would be to just ask the prisoner how he is doing it.

But perhaps that was his plan all along? Something intriguing to pull her back down and eventually lead to his...what? Release? She wouldn't, couldn't without authorization. A trap then, maybe. Something to do with his brother...?

No matter how many times to looks over the situation though, she can't seem to decipher what it is he may be trying to do. After ending up in too many circular thoughts, Selene finally settles on going, and dealing with potential consequences later.

It is a long walk down to his cage. Past level after level of dungeons, each more isolated than the last. Most are empty, or only temporarily filled. But at the bottom of the spiral staircase, are the final two cages.

Only one is filled, with wings and feathers and black shadows seeping into corners.

She thinks for a moment, he may be sleeping. But as she steps further down, and dismisses the guards for an extended lunch break, his eyes seem to pop open. First one, then two, and then more and more until she is unsure which would be polite to look back into.

She drags the wardens chair over, still several feet from the cage itself, and crosses one leg over the other.

And waits.

Slowly, he inches towards her. Not quite pressed against the edge of the cage, but close enough that she can see him shifting beneath the few shreds of the prisoners cloak that are still intact.

She watches, curious, as his wings shrink. Feathers fall to the floor, twelve eyes become four, and a few of the tentacles seem to solidify into more elven limbs. Whether arms, or legs, she's still not quite sure. But the longer she watches him, the less monstrous he seems to appear.

“How do you do that?” She finally asks.

His head tilts, a neck still far too long for most creatures. “I do not mean to. My form shifts on its own. I do not have so much control over it as I once did.”

He blinks, though not all at once.

“You have asked me that already.”

Selene nods. “I did. But neither answer makes sense to me. The wards in that cell should revert you into your most basic form,” she frowns, as realization begins to dawn on her, just a bit. “Unless, perhaps, you do not have one.”

“That seems likely.” The prisoner agrees.

Selene sighs, disappointed at the simplicity of the answer now that she seems to have found it.

He shifts further though, forming a hand with too many thumbs and moving into what she assumes is a standing position.

“I did not expect you to come back.” He says.

“I was curious,” Selene admits. “I don't understand you.”

“Do you understand most people?”

“To a degree.”

“You must be very clever then. People have often eluded my own understanding.”

Selene frowns slightly. “Do not needlessly flatter me.”

Her disapproval causes him to stumble for a moment, and she notes how genuine confusion carefully envelops him.“My apologies. I meant no offense.”

She leans back further in the chair, rubbing carefully at the space above the mask.

“No, I suppose you didn't. And that only leads to further questions for me.”

“...Am I permitted to ask questions of you as well?”

Selene pauses, and straightens in her chair. That could be very dangerous territory, she knows.

Still.

Curiosity abounds.

“You may, but I make no promise of answers.” she says.

“Why do you wear the mask?”

“For reasons that are not entirely my own.” She admits. “Are you close with your brother?”

“I was, once.” he pauses then, considering his next question. “You said you were a prisoner of Elrogathes, yet you roam free and the guards exit with your approval.”

“That is not a question.” Selene points out.

“Then what sort of a prisoner are you?”

“A prisoner of blood.”

“What was your crime?”

“Ah ah, that's two,” Selene smiles. “It's not your turn.”

He gives a soft noise in affirmation, and shifts further within his cage. The door swings open while she is considering which inquiry to pose next, and the warden steps in.

“My lady,” he says with a bow to her and a scowl to the prisoner. “Your husband requests your presence.”

Behind the mask, Selene rolls her eyes, not bothering to hide the distaste rolling off of her. He would manage to interrupt one of the most interesting things to occur to her in years.

“Tell him I will be up shortly.” She replies, without moving from her chair.

The warden seems caught then, between conflicting orders she supposes, and she lets out a sigh.

“Do not harm this prisoner,” she instructs, recalling the last time she saw the two of them together. “I will be back to speak with him when I am able, and I will be exceedingly cross if he is unable to hold a conversation. Do you understand?”

Once the warden acknowledges her orders, no matter how reluctant he may seem to them, she stands, straightening out her outfit.

“I will see you another time,” she nods to the prisoner, before ascending the stairs to deal with her husband. Likely he has burned through most of his share of credits on keeping himself 'entertained', and will be requesting more again.

She knows it is still better than the alternative.

[solllaris]

i can’t keep from loving you: noah [litg]

pairing: noah x my female!oc

summary: the time spent in the villa is rapidly dwindling and continuously watching the man collins is inevitably falling for with another woman has finally caused the cracks in her heart to give way and crumble and there is absolutely nothing she can do to stop it.

warnings: angst?, a lil fluff, some steamy kisses (whoops)

wc: 2.8k+

a/n: just a warning that i kinda suck at writing angst and arguments so i’m genuinely sorry if this is terrible. this was my first time writing noah, obviously, and i really tried to do his character justice so i’m sorry if you think he’s out of character at times. he’s a tough one to write, honestly, but i had a ton of fun! i hope you guys like it as much as i liked writing it. 

(side note: the title is a song by andrew james bc i love it so much lol. it’s not necessarily based off the lyrics; i just liked the title.)

masterlist // taglist

Never before had Collins experienced such a gut-wrenching ache in her chest until she was forced into watching the man of her dreams cradle and hum sweet-nothings to another woman. It was etched into the insides of her eyelids and each time she squeezed her baby blues shut she could vividly picture the most minuscule of details from earlier that day; she remembered the paths his fingertips traced along the length of her friend’s spine, the way his massive hands cupped her jaw with the tenderest of care, how his honey colored irises melted into a softer caramel color as he looked down at her clinging to his strong body. 

A thrumming throb pulsated through the beating organ in her chest and the ginger-haired girl instinctively clutched her half-empty glass of sangria tighter. Shaky fingers danced over the area above her heart, rubbing gently with a tiny whimper as if a simple touch would rid herself of the pain she felt. Hot pools of tears gathered in the lower rims of her eyes and a stuttered breath was all it took for them to plummet down her makeup-covered cheeks, leaving messy trails in their wake and destroying the cosmetics she had worked hard to apply. 

Tucking her knees even tighter to her chest in the hopes of shielding her wet face, Collins sunk further into the plush daybed and tried not to think about how utterly alone she truly felt. It was an impossible feat for the extremely sensitive girl and once the thought wriggled its way into the forefront of her mind it brought with it a fresh wave of tears to coat her face and lips in salt. As furiously as she attempted to fight her emotions, they had finally won and she allowed her head to bow forward until her forehead pressed against her bare knees and her small frame shook with the force of her cries.

Pursuing Noah had jeopardized multiple friendships that Collins had created with the girls and the only friends she felt that she had remaining lied with the boys. No, her relationships with each girl wasn’t completely in tarnishes, but it seemed that not one of them supported her in her feelings for the tall librarian. The one girl she had come to confide in, the one that understood and encouraged her, had been sent packing and left the Villa with necks craned to watch her go just as she had come. With Priya gone, Collins had found comfort in the sweet, sweet boys she had met weeks ago on the lawn and although they were incredible, she craved the company of other girls. Boys were programmed differently and sometimes all she wanted was the familiarity of giggling over drinks and whispered gossip.

A soft pattering of feet jolted Collins back down to her miserable reality and with a newfound haste she swiped the tears away and took a long sip of her sangria to act as if she hadn’t been sobbing miserably moments before. However, when her gaze fell onto the tan-skinned boy she’d been crying over the poor girl knew he’d be able to see straight through her little façade. Suddenly the floating fruits in her glass became very fascinating and as she felt him sit near her feet, she channeled all her remaining energy into focusing on the lingering sweet taste on her tongue from the combination of wine, brandy, and fruit. 

A beat of silence passed and Collins blue irises drank in the way his bare, muscular chest heaved as he sighed heavily. “M’ sorry about earlier,” He murmured and she felt her muscles almost instinctively relax at his low, smooth rasp of a voice. It acted like a warm blanket after an exhausting day. “You didn’t deserve that. You don’t deserve any of this.”

She could feel the intensity with which Noah looked at her, his hot chocolate colored eyes burning straight through her flesh and leaving nothing unseen or untouched. He had always been a stickler for eye contact each time they’d spoken so it shouldn’t have surprised the redhead when his hot palm wrapped around her calf, his digits splaying over her pale skin whilst his thumb stroked small circles over her shin bone. But for some unknown reason she still found herself breathing in sharply and had to coax her lungs to keep functioning. 

“Look at me, please,” Noah begged gently with a squeeze to her calf. 

Collins despised herself for being so weak when it came to him - how such simple actions and words were her ultimate undoing. She’d do whatever he asked of her as long as he kept touching her the way he was and speaking with the tenderest tone of voice. That instance was no different and she ripped her attention from the tiny bubbles in her drink to look him in the eye. 

The circles he traced on her shin halted and she sunk further into the pillows littering the daybed behind her once she saw his expression morphing before her. Noah’s honeyed irises darted over her swollen eyelids, then dipped lower to the salty tracks on her pretty pink cheeks, and finally to her puffy bottom lip where she had furiously bitten down on it to muffle her cries. All it had taken was mere seconds for his entire face to fall and for a look of devastation to wash over his gorgeous features and Collins’ heart throbbed painfully once more.

“I made you cry?” He asked carefully, softly. 

Curling her painted toes into the mattress until it was almost painful, she struggled to remain eye contact through the pain reverberating through her chest cavity. “It’s okay.” Collins shrugged and her gaze darted away for a split second as she took a shaky breath. “I needed a good cry anyway.”

The blazing heat wafting from Noah’s palm disappeared from her leg and she missed it after only seconds of being without it. She dug her toes into the sheet beneath her again to refrain from stretching her leg out to press against his warm, bare back and sucked in a deep breath as an attempt to clear her racing thoughts. Collins’ teeth clashed against the glass cup when she practically inhaled a large gulp of her deep red alcoholic beverage and shifted her attention to the gorgeous man sitting beside her. 

Noah’s tall, lithe form hunched over, elbows resting on his knees, and tugged on his chocolate brown locks out of frustration. “It’s not okay, Collins,” He growled roughly and sat up straight to meet her gaze with an intensity that made her shy away instinctively. 

The ginger-haired girl only transposed her focus elsewhere for a few seconds before she felt - and heard - him shuffle closer until he no longer sat near her feet but close enough to pull her into his arms if he desired. Collins presumed he was simply moving closer with no further intentions, but then his warm palm cupped her jawline and his fingers sunk into her red hair and she swore her heart ceased its beating. 

Guiding her face to look at him again, Noah managed a small, sweet smile and Collins melted into his touch despite the scorching ball of anger in her belly that she wanted to spew at him. “It’s not okay, honey,” He hummed quietly and the soft glint in his molten colored eyes made her want to shiver. “I’ve been an absolute div, haven’t I?”

Honey. Honey. Honey.

The sweet, attentive pet name made Collins’ tummy do all sorts of acrobatic routines and she was positively certain her cheeks were coated in a bright red blush. God, all she wanted to do was fall into his strong arms and kiss him without having any restrictions or scandalous secrecy; she wanted to kiss him whenever she yearned to and feel the racing drum of his heart beating out of the space behind his ribs, but she knew that it simply wasn’t possible. Her silly fantasy would never become her reality because the man she was falling in love with was falling for someone else. 

Turning away from him abruptly, Noah’s hand dropped and Collins quickly slung her legs over the edge of the daybed and darted towards the kitchen, her glass of sangria sloshing with the haste of her movements. The rampant butterflies in her belly died as soon as they’d come and as she tossed the leftover fruit from her cup to dump the blood red liquid down the sink, a heavy wave of exhaustion settled into her bones. She knew sleep wouldn’t come anytime soon for her that night and it was all because of the tall boy that had followed after her on her heels the entire time.

She rubbed at the spot between her furrowed brows and sighed tiredly. “I’m so tired, Noah,” She began dejectedly. “One minute you’re talking about Hope like she’s the woman you’ll end up marrying and then the next you’re...y-”

“The next I’m what?” Noah interrupted, urging the redhead to finish as he moved in closer to where she leaned back against the counter.

Collins breath caught in her throat when his hands gripped the granite on either side of her body, effectively pinning her against the cabinets. She had to crane her neck upwards to catch his eye before she continued. 

“Then the next you’re calling me ‘honey’ and...touching me with that stupid look in your eyes and making me feel like I’m the only woman in the world.” Her voice was shaky, dropping in and out like a receiver with a bad connection, and she felt her nose burn with an onslaught of frustrated tears. Her fists thumped against his exposed pectorals and she shoved forcefully, letting out a helpless cry when he barely moved at all. “Is this a game to you, Noah? What do you want, huh? What do you want fr-”

Noah’s lips captured Collins’ in a heated kiss, effectively cutting her off mid-rant. She had always caught glimpses of an underlying intensity and heat around him with stolen glances radiating unspoken lust, but had never experienced it unadulterated. He devoured her, tugging her tangled tresses to tilt her chin up for better access to her mouth whilst his opposite held her jaw tight enough to keep her exactly where he wanted her. It was hot and possessive and when she submissively parted her lips with a soft whine to accommodate for his tongue, it took every ounce of his willpower to separate from her with a wet smack. 

Panting, staggered breaths filled what little space was between them and for a split second Collins allowed herself to revel in Noah’s hips pinning her to the cabinets and his fingers gently pulling at her hair; she selfishly indulged in how her lips tingled and how the taste of a sweet chocolate lingered on her tongue from his own swiping along hers. For a throbbing millisecond all she wanted was to taste that rich chocolate in his mouth again, but the guilty knot in her tummy twisted painfully and that red-hot anger sparked once again.

Collins pushed against his pecs once more and that time Noah obliged, letting her shove him away even though every bone in his body ached to keep touching her. Frustrated tears clouded her vision and his figure blurred before her as an annoyed groan ripped through her throat. 

“You can’t just do that, Noah. You can’t just kiss me to make everything better!” She hissed bitterly and angrily swiped at the stupid tears dripping down her face, her body completely betraying her right in front of him. “You and Hope are back together and I don’t want to be your second choice. I don’t deserve that.”

“M’sorry.” Noah scrubbed a hand against the back of his neck and hung his head like a scolded puppy. “I’m just...trying to figure out what I want.”

Her heart clenched agonizingly and the images of Hope wrapped around him earlier in the day flashed before her. She could hardly bear to look at him as she croaked out, “I think it’s pretty clear what you want.”

A panicked twinge passed through his chest, suddenly feeling as though the ginger-haired girl he had blossoming feelings for was ending things before they had a chance to begin. The mere idea had Noah reaching out to glide his knuckles across her highlighted cheekbones, but she jerked away before he could even graze her soft skin and the twinge in his thumping heart amplified tenfold. 

“No, honey, I-”

“Don’t call me that!” Collins cried. She knew her angry resolve would weaken at that sweet term of endearment and that was the last thing she wanted. 

He sighed and whispered yet another apology, desperately trying to diffuse the growing tension settling in the kitchen. “Collins, please just hear me out, okay?” He begged and her beat of silence spurred him on. “I-I can’t just end it with Hope. You know that.”

“Why not, Noah?” She spat and instantly hated how he flinched at her hostile tone. “What—you just want to have your cake and eat it too, huh?”

“Fuckin’ hell,” He growled, beginning to get irritated with the way she kept putting words into his mouth. “You know I’m not that type of guy.”

“Do I?” She threw back in seconds. “Because since we’ve been in the Villa all you’ve been doing is stringing my feelings along.”

“That was never my intention. You have to understand that.” He took a few tentative steps towards her and seeing no visible reaction to suggest he shouldn’t, he proceeded to move closer until he was close enough to reach out and touch her. He felt his expression softening and as a last attempt, he slid his thumb along the length of her jaw with feather-like pressure and relaxed as she allowed it. “I’m crazy about you and I don’t want to lose you before I’ve even had you.”

“So what are you gonna do?” Collins asked and Noah despised the resigned lilt in her pretty accent. “Go back to Hope and keep acting like everything’s fine? Like you’re happy?”

“I promise I’m going to fix this.” He increased the pressure of his thumb and palm against her jaw, fully cupping the sharp bone. He relished in the sight of her subtly tilting further into him, a tender adoration settling in every crevice of his joints. “Don’t give up on me, honey. Please.”

“Noah…”

It was a meek, broken whisper of protest as the tall boy began to pull her face upwards until their lips ghosted against one another’s. When he breathed another incredibly vulnerable and wrecked plea to “please not give up on him” against her parted mouth, Collins tipped over the edge and pulled him down by the back of his neck. Their lips met roughly and the guttural groan her action pulled from deep in his throat only encouraged her to tilt her head further, deepening their passionate exchange. 

Her head spun and before her brain had the chance to catch up, Noah had bowed forward, one of his ridiculously large hands sliding down the expanse of her sides to cup her bum possessively. The warmth of his palm easily bled through the thin material of her pajama shorts and she barely had time to soak up how good it felt for him to touch her like that before he squeezed her bottom appreciatively. Her gasp elicited the sexiest smirk from him and he took her parted lips as an opportunity to glide his tongue against all the places that made her keen.  

They broke apart much too soon for Collins’ taste and she whimpered pathetically, pushing up onto the tips of her toes to chase his lips; she really couldn’t handle how swollen they looked, all slick from her tongue’s endeavors. 

To Collins’ dismay, Noah chuckled huskily and tilted his chin up which put his lips out of her reach. 

“Um, rude?” She scoffed and lightly pushed at his muscular pectorals.

“Have to keep you wanting more, don’t I?” He hummed, his honeyed irises twinkling mischievously and she understood why immediately as a muffled ‘smack!’ met her backside before he pulled away completely. 

“Noah!” Collins squealed. She was sure her face was the exact shade of her hair.

He laughed, full-on and boisterous, and the sight was so pretty that it stole the breath from her lungs. Noah reached out to tangle their digits together and tugged her in the direction of the communal bedroom, bubbles of laughter continuing to shake his broad shoulders.

“C’mon, honey. Let’s go to bed.”

They clutched onto one another for as long as they could, only dropping hands once they reached the bedroom and ultimately split ways. Noah was swept away by Hope, his feet having barely crossed the threshold, and Collins drifted towards an empty bed to sleep alone. 

Things certainly weren’t perfect for the girl, but as she curled up under toasty sheets, she clung onto his whispered promise and let sleep overtake her with the dreams of her future circling her head. 

taglist for noah:   @miss-raleigh-carrera  @taye-x

[megamegaturtle]

gorgeous (chapter one)

Spencer Reid x Reader Fic

No Rating

Ao3

Summary: You're early for your first day at work, but the universe is a funny thing where butterfly wings cause hurricanes from a wing’s single flutter. A story about how you and Spencer become friends and one day lovers.

WC: 11K

(First Criminal Minds Fanfic. Here goes nothing!)

Everything has a beginning and an end and yours starts when you pass through security at 8:05 AM. You're early for your first day at work, but the universe is a funny thing where butterfly wings cause hurricanes from a wing’s single flutter. Being early by 25 minutes has that effect as well, events brewing in your future that you won’t see until years later. Your every movement spins with faster velocity, creating a pressurized cyclone wherever you go. Gales under your fingertips as the world goes round and round and round.

Your true beginning started a few years prior, where you luckily got a job working in the administration and payroll department at your regional Census Bureau Office. Who knew that serendipity laced fingers with surveys and data of the American population? Who knew life held on tight as you moved your trajectory to where you are now?

It was a nice pre-beginning, a small start towards a government career you always wanted and maybe you weren't an analyst right then how you dreamed, but payroll paid well and—life in Los Angeles can only be so exciting and—there was a posting in the FBI and—

(You have always been defined by your ambitions, by your zeal, your need to strive and chase after things and be better and life had been so stagnant and—)

You applied, were interviewed three months later, and waited six months and thirteen days to receive your final offer after that. Waiting and waiting and waiting because bureaucracy is slower than glaciers moving in the Arctic. Slower than drip coffee pods when the machine is clogged. Slower—than waiting for your period to start when you are ten years old because your best friend had hers at nine.

(At twelve when it happens, you think maybe it began all too soon. Maybe childhood should have tried a little harder to cling on you.)

And then life springs into action, butterfly wings causing hurricanes in the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbeans and the world is ending as there is an onslaught of terrible news every day and yet—

You get a job in the FBI. In a Bureau people actually know by name. A step closer to prestige and recognition as you sign your name on the dotted line of your new contract. A step closer to an image you’ve always wanted for yourself because you want to be someone important. You want and want and crave to be someone important.

It’s human nature, you’re told, to see that grass is greener on the other side and you try hard to humble your roots, but the sun shines so bright as the future promises good things for those who work hard. And you’re not the kind that gives up, not the kind that goes home if there is work to be done, not the kind who says no to when opportunity knocks.

(Pride will continue to be your biggest folly, a double edged sword that is painfully sharp with a wobbly handle.)

You are a new admin and timekeeper clerk for a bureau built on secrets and hidden information. It's a stepping stone like how going to grad school was a stepping stone, how working for the Census was a stepping stone, how this will be a stepping stone to being an analyst or researcher or—  

(Anything will do. You just. Want to work with information. You want something fast paced. You want something that makes you think. Puzzles. Calculations. People. And you can be cross trained and transfer because once you’re in, you’re in and you just—you just—  

You want to think.)

You wear an outfit you've kept from all your precious new beginnings, wearing a milestone ring on one hand, wearing milestone earrings too. Gifts to yourself for being better than you were yesterday. Jewels to reward yourself because someone has to love you and you love yourself. Sometimes. With therapy. Reminders to yourself that hard work will see you through to as many as tomorrows you’re willing to see.

You wear a plum colored dress with plum colored lipstick. Contour carves out your cheekbones and you angled dark purple blush to make you look striking. You wear winged eyeliner and waterproof mascara that can thankfully hold a curl. You feel powerful, otherworldly as people smile a bit brighter and the several security guards all comment they have never seen a lipstick match a woman's dress so perfectly.

This is your reckoning. A beautiful, colorful storm and no one will ever be ready.

(Butterfly wings flutter against your heart and your stomach and metals that wrap around your finger and pierces through your ears anchor you to this moment, become armor from nerves that start to accumulate at the levys, threatening to flood every quarter of your being.)

But everything comes back to serendipity, to fate working in mysterious ways and metaphorical hurricanes as you wander the halls of Quantico, looking for Human Resources which is tucked away in some odd room by the vending machines the guard told you about because of remodeling and—

You round the corner quickly, happiness and giddiness soaking in your veins as you think of your higher pay grade, a song in your smile. A brilliant tune of glistening silver and persuasive chimes. Earbuds in each ear as you play your favorite song of the moment one more time, the words on your lips and a hum in your heart. Vocal courage, you think, as you sing your most favorite line quietly and maybe too much excitement as you bump into another human being and…

All their files go tumbling to the ground, clashing like thin cymbals and fanning like ocean waves.

The music that rang with every step  fades as reality comes rushing back, your rose tinted glasses cracking into something useless. You blink once, then twice as the concept of manners come back to you, your mortality recognized as you are filled with acute embarrassment. A surprised gasp escapes your lips as you see the mess scattered around a man’s feet. You tear off your earbuds and tuck them back into your purse, music still blaring from the tiny speakers.

Mindful of your dress, you hurriedly get to your knees and help the man pick up the files you rudely knocked away from his person.

Papers are everywhere as you collect them, trying to be as neat as you can. Without looking at him, you say, “I am so, so, so sorry. I—ah, today is my first day and I am a bit excited…” you babble. “I just—you know, new career and ah—”

(Your pride is a shaky thing, battle armor useless once you interact with another human being and you’re reminded that purple lipstick can’t erase social fumbles.)

He laughs, the first sound you hear him make. “No, it’s fine. Thanks for helping me pick these all up.”

Your bangs cover your eyes as you grab a page tucked under a bench. “Of course. I hate it when people just like…walk away or something. Biggest pet peeve ever.”

He hums in agreement.

You two work for a few more moments gathering the fallen files, once you have a generous stack in your hands you look up finally, stunned a little at a smiling handsome face. Long curly hair and hazel eyes greet you as pleasant warmth spreads into your own girn.

(Oh, your heart was not ready. Not ready at all for someone so cute this before you had a second cup of coffee.)

You check your watch and see it’s about 8:20 AM, panic brushing your insides again as you quietly squawk about the time. You hurriedly stand up as he does the same, noting with abject humor that he towers over your extremely small frame.

(He grins a little unexpectedly wider when he realizes you’re so tiny even in heels.)

You extend the stack in the space between you and help him gather it into his arms. You adjust the strap of your purse, time ticking in your ears.“I’m sorry about bumping into you again. Hopefully there’ll be no more collisions today. ”

He nods, looking at you a little brighter. “Ah, yeah. That might be good.”

You smile and wave goodbye at him, glancing down at your watch once more. “Yeah. Anyway, I hope you have a great day, Mystery File Guy. I gotta run and try not to be late for paperwork. Whoo!”

He fixes the papers to rest more comfortable in his arms, bidding you a feeble wave. “Good luck on your first day.”

“Thanks,” you beam, happiness fluttering in your being.

As pride will always be your folly, honesty with always be your strength so you’re not surprised when you pause and let the words fall from your lips in complete sincerity.

“By the way, before I go, I just wanted to say you’re really gorgeous and I hope you have an awesome day.”

The man snaps his attention at you from a page he was examining, caught off guard as he tries to reply. Honesty colors his expression, the unperceived positivity shocking him. Somehow he whispers his words of thanks.

You giggle as you turn on your heel to embark on a new journey in the FBI.

(It dawns at you hours later you forget to ask for his name.)

(Unbeknownst to you, he thinks the very same.)

-

You learn his name is Spencer Reid.

Doctor Spencer Reid to be precise and this is where everything starts to go downhill because the other day you called a man with eidetic memory gorgeous. You called a man with three PhDs and two BAs (maybe three if you heard the humor correctly about philosophy) gorgeous.  And the universe works in funny ways because you’ll be his new timekeeper and write his paychecks and—

Dear lord, he’s everything you’ve ever inspired to be wrapped up in a generally nice person as your new supervisor introduces you the Behavioral Analysis Unit and he’s there.

The man you bumped into.

The one named Doctor Spencer Reid.

In the back of your mind, you’re aware that he will not forget this because he does not forget anything and you try not to stutter, but you stutter your name anyway and he gives you a look of confusion because a few days ago you were this striking young woman you told him he was attractive and you know and he knows that and—

The universe works in funny ways as your growing admiration for the man before you makes you unable to speak.

(He’s everything you’ve ever wanted to be.)

(You don’t realize until years later that he’s everything you’ve ever wanted.)

-

You rarely have to speak to Doctor Reid which makes you count your lucky stars as months go by because talking to him is impossible because you have so many questions and questions and questions and—

You might have read a lot of his papers. It begins innocently enough. You’re just Googling him—for science and/or morbid curiosity—and there he is in Google Scholar and then you find his website that a friend runs and… Okay, you don’t really understand the math behind them, but the theories are understandable and you wish you were just as accomplished and talented.

And when you hear his name you feel a little more centered and focused because you’ve always needed a goal, you’ve always needed inspiration, and what is more inspiring than watching a young genius be so good at striving?

-

The East Coast is a little lonely, you think, one early winter day. Sunny California is across a vast continent and maybe, maybe, maybe you were a little rash when you packed up and left because adventure was calling you, but the East Coast is a little lonely.

Watercolor art prints and patterned sofa cushions can only keep you so much company. Who will see your teal and golden plates? Who will to come over to play video games and watch movies snuggled under fluffy throw blankets? Who will you invite to dinner one night after you cooked all day?

Your lovely apartment isn’t as warm with just one body. You need someone to talk to minus the lonely girl in you find in every mirror you own.

(Granted, there is nothing wrong admiring the self, just you can only tell your own joke so many times until it stops being funny.)

But friendship finds you fast one morning as you walk to the BAU and find the local tech analyst to certify timesheets for her colleagues.

(Sure, you could have dialed her extension, but sitting is the new silent killer and well—there is nothing wrong with meeting people. You can only talk to Mary for so long. The woman could easily be your grandmother.)

Your heels click once last time as you stand outside her door, hearing her voice muffled through the thick material. You pause with your fist raised and wait for her to stop speaking, not wanting to interrupt. But after awkwardly standing outside her door for five minutes, you think it’s best to try again later.

You sigh to yourself and turn to leave when the door swings wide open.

“Oh, a visitor!” she squeaks, asking about your name.

You clear your throat and tucking fallen hair behind your ear. “Yep, that’s me. Um, Ms. Garcia, I just wanted you to certify these timesheets are correct? I was told to ask you when Agent Hotchner wasn’t on site.”

She’s wearing a lovely shade of oxblood lipstick, her teeth far more than pearly when she smiles at you. “Yeah, the team just finished up their latest case and will be on their way home soon.” She glances at you and moves out of her door. “Come inside and I’ll sign these for you, alright?”

You nod and enter her office. There are computer monitors everywhere, much like a spy movie. “Thank you, if I’m not too much a bother. You seemed—like you were about to maybe leave?”

She plops herself in a rolly chair and laughs, logging back into her computer to e-sign if she needs to. “I sometimes get a little stir crazy in here, but my precious angels saved the day as usual so I thought I would get some fancy coffee or something.”

You like her outfit, you like the swirls and shapes of her dress. You like her snowflake earrings and headband and the way she smiled when she saw you was so cute you can’t help but ask.

“I’m about to go on my lunch. We can...we can go together if you’d like?”

(Winter is such a lonely season and you're desperate to connect with someone, to make sure that this move was worth it.)

Ms. Garcia peeks at you over the rim of her glasses, a friendliness in her very smile. “I think I’d like that very much. Lord knows I have to know where you got your blush!”

You laugh and find that in the months to come, things are less lonely with a new friend.

(The answer is you shop indie; loose powder blushes are best with a light hand.)

-

You go home for Christmas and run into your ex-boyfriend. Your heart calls out to him, wanting so much to pick up where you left off because you haven't stopped loving him yet.

He's smart, makes you laugh, is the one you've known for so long, that that familiarity is hard to replace.

As he kisses you, you realize he feels the same.

(He told you once that his home is California, but now he tells you that his home is with you.

A dark part of you wonders how long he’ll keep this claim.)

-

Winter snow melts and the seeds you planted in your friendship with Penelope bloom into soft laughter and happy conversations. You have someone whose office you run towards when paperwork gets boring and—

And she listens to your hopes and dreams as you crave to do more.

“My job,” you tell her, “is stupidly easy. Everything I do is stupidly easy which is fun and all, but I just…want to do more.”

Penelope laughs. “Okay, but I think payroll would hard. Like, really, dollface, there is nothing simple you do.”

You shake your head. “Nah, I used to work at a car dealership and I had to do all the math by hand. I had to learn how to do sales commissions by hand in about a month’s time. And while it was time consuming, even that wasn’t that hard. They’re just numbers, you know?” You groan. “I was just hoping for something a bit more fast paced, but I finish all my work so quickly and stuff? They’re running out of new tasks for me to learn because I keep getting them all.”

Penelope takes a sip of her coffee. “You should come work for me. I’d keep you busy! Plus, the department over here is a little understaffed in general.”

“Haha, maybe I can come train with you at least when I finish some of my other work?”

Garcia looks at you, thoughtful for a moment, and then grins. “Let me see what I can do.”

-

You get caught in an elevator with Doctor Reid. You avoid speaking to him still, but you have a notification setup that you get an email if he writes a new paper.

His latest one was about the mathematics for poetry formatting in books and how there is an algorithm to which poems are deemed best. It was a lovely weekend morning read. You left an anonymous comment on the journal’s page.

(You dug out your grad dissertation on universal global feminism and you’ve always wanted to rewrite it and submit for publication. You started a new document on Sunday.)

“Good morning,” he says.

You mumble the greeting in return, wincing internally that this will only add to your fumble tally.

He notices your bracelet, a lovely arrangement of turquoise cast in silver. A gift from your grandfather.

“Did you know,” he starts, “that the ancient Egyptians thought turquoise was a holy stone that brought good luck? And it’s goddess, Hathor, was a cow goddess and the mother, wife and daughter of the sun god, Ra. She was known as ‘Lady of Turquoise’, ‘Mistress of Turquoise’ and ‘Lady of Turquoise Country’.”

You briefly glance at him, taking a mental note to look up more about her when you get home. You’re about to respond, say please continue, enquire more because you want to know more...when the elevator dings and you—and you—

—panic as usual.

You brush by him, whispering, “Interesting.”

(You’re reminded when you had a Japanese teacher in college who told that Americans only say “interesting” when there is nothing nicer to say, but you know that’s not true. It was interesting and fascinating and left you wanting more! You know it’s not true, you just can’t…befriend Doctor Reid.     

He’s far too cool to be your friend, you think.)

-

Long distance is hard, but seeing Matthew’s face after a long day is worth so much. It’s dark in your room, your hair in a lazy bun with your big headphones your ears as you both video chat.

It’s getting close to 1:00 AM and you’re rambling about what happened in the elevator the other day. How awkward you were, how adorable Doctor Reid was.

Matt laughs, his voice a familiar balm for your anxiety. “Babe, I hate to break it to you, but it sounds like you have a crush on this doctor guy,” he tells you with an easy smile.

You loudly snort and bury your face in your pillow. “Matt, don't be ridiculous! Besides the only doctor I need is the one who I'm gonna marry,” you tease.

(Marriage is a fickle subject for you, both wanting a future together, but each of you stepping forward and back and your feelings hardly sync.)

He pauses for a moment, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well...if I get into Georgetown, then I think I can make that a reality.”

-

Doctor Reid’s comment in the elevator starts a fixation on knowing the meaning on every stone you own.

Pearls are for wisdom acquired through experience. They are also used to calm oneself and to balance out one’s karma. Natural pearls form when an irritant - usually a parasite and not the proverbial grain of sand - works its way into an oyster, mussel, or clam. As a defense mechanism, a fluid is used to coat the irritant. Layer upon layer of this coating, called 'nacre', is deposited until a lustrous pearl is formed.

Diamonds are created out of pure carbon. They have very strong crystal structure where the carbon atoms in the crystal are especially strongly bonded. They can form octahedral (classical diamond), trapezoidal and dodecahedral crystals. Diamonds represent faithfulness, love, purity, innocence, and relationships filled with love.

Emeralds are for hope; to help tranquilize a troubled mind. The characteristic live green color of this stone originates from chromium impurities built-in within its crystal structure at the positions of aluminum.  Emeralds come from a stone called beryl. Lots of stones come for beryl.

For example, if there is too much blue in it, then it is an aquamarine. The Romans believed that if the figure of a frog were carved on an aquamarine, it served to reconcile enemies and make them friends.

(You’re not sure if Doctor Reid would appreciate a frog carved on an aquamarine.)

-

Two months later your supervisor calls you into her office and informs you that on Mondays and Wednesdays you will begin cross training with Penelope Garcia, provided there is no payroll that needs to be completed.

Butterfly wings find welcome in your heart again as your run back to your desk dialing her extension. She picks up on the very first ring.

“Thank you for dialing Penelope, the Fairy Godmother for admin clerks!”

You whisper loudly into the phone. “What did you do?”

Penelope chuckles and you can hear her shrug. “Nothing minus give you a challenge. Plus, if I train you, I can take more vacation days.”

You sink into your seat, disbelief seeping from your pores as you try to wrap your mind around everything. “But Garcia, I only know basic IT. I can’t even hack anything or anyone.”

“Oh, don’t worry, my sweet. You’re the one that said you’re a quick study.”

You scoff. “I meant for like! Simple things! I’m really not that smart.”

Garcia’s voice is warm over the phone. “Oh, I’ll be the judge of that. If you’re no good, I’ll send you back to admin full-time, but for now, be ready for next week!”

-

Your mother tells you she's so proud of you. So very proud of the young woman you’re becoming, happy that you’re seeking out good things out for yourself, so pleased that you’re living a life she didn’t get to have.

Matthew is oddly quiet at the news. He only sends a small congratulatory text and then proceeds to tell you about his day. He had avocado toast and is helping contribute to why millennials can’t afford houses.

It really bothers you when he does that. Ignores your successes because he thinks things are a competition between the two of you. Ignores your good things to shadow them with his bad.

(Recently he mentioned about applying to UCLA again. That California is a wonderful place and—

You tell yourself to be patient and just wait.)

-

You’ve always been one to like getting your feet wet, you’ve bragged enough times how you just jump into things without thinking it through. And the same is true come that Monday when the BAU is already hard on a case and you shadow and watch Garcia with amazing speed find all the information she needs.

You sit and shadow her, awe and fear rolling off you in waves.

-

Your mind spins after that first case, trying to keep up with everything, but you heart hammers happily in your chest and you feel breathless as you reason that you’ve been looking for this all along and—

Garcia smiles at you, warm and inviting.

“Show me what you can do, Miss Smartypants.”

(Lives were saved that day and you were apart of that.)

-

You properly meet Special Agent Derek Morgan on a night out with Penelope for dinner. His warm brown eyes size you up, see if you’re authentic or made of lies.

(Since you started therapy years ago, you no longer need to stitch yourself with false truths.)

You proudly grab his hand and give him a firm shake. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you. Penelope says you’re the light of her life.”

His smile widens as his fingers wrap around yours. “You know, my Baby Girl says the exact thing about you. Says you’re one of the smartest kids she knows.”

You scoff at that and roll your eyes. “She’s a flatterer who only wants vacation days. Truly, I have a wonderful mentor though.”

You sit with them on a late spring evening, enjoying good food and great company.

(You’re finding roots here, finding a home as people slowly begin to enter your life and call you their own.)

-

You mother calls you sounding tired. Her cancer has come back, but she goes to chemo every three weeks and is doing well.

You wish you weren’t so far from home, but she tells you she’s proud of you, proud of what you’re doing, proud of who you’ve become.

“You’re like me, my love, always chasing after something better.”

-

You see Doctor Reid in your local bookstore, browsing for something new to read. You’re doing much the same, perusing the oh so stimulating romance section.

You could say “hello” or ask what he’s reading next. You could ask him if he prefers paper or e-ink. You can ask him if he’d like to chat or discuss the weather or...

You could ask him a lot of things, but for some reason, anytime you see him, your bravery runs away.

(You don’t know this, but he sees you too. He’s at the same crossroads trying to befriend you.)

-

Penelope’s smile is so wide when you enter her office, two coffees in hand. “Why are you so happy?”

She spins in her seat and sighs with glee. “Oh, my wonderful and local genius has a girlfriend and gah, it makes me so happy!”

You giggle, “Well, that sure does sound wonderful! Congrats?”

She babbles about super genius babies as your mind drifts away. You wonder when your boyfriend will trek out East like you did too.

-

Doctor Reid doesn’t write for a long while. Can’t when you find out from a weepy Penelope that his girlfriend was murdered in front of him.

(He didn’t even touch her once and you find that’s far too intimate of information about a man you don’t even know and—)

You weren’t there when it happened, not training or shadowing. You went home to sunny California to visit your family and loved ones and yet—

Who knew that nine days away could change everything in a man’s life?

(Butterfly wings create hurricanes after hurricanes after hurricanes.)

-

Matthew breaks up with you via text.

I love you, but moving to the East Coast can't be part of my plans.

The message flashes over and over in your mind as you jab a punching bag. You don’t really know how to use a punching bag, but that’s besides the point as you smack at it away anyway. And since you don’t get field time, there’s no reason for you to have a gun. And maybe when someone is so angry, they shouldn’t want to practice shooting for the first time at the range.

You jab too swiftly to the right and your wrist bends in a way you’re positive it’s not supposed to and you hiss out in pain. In a fit, you kick the punching bag and it does little to soothe your building rage.

“Hey, hey, hey,” a concern voice says. It’s warm and kind, like milk and honey. “Pretty sure pretty girls like you should know how to put up a fight.”

You roll your eyes and cradle your wrist. “Hey, Morgan,” you say flatly.  

He gestures to take a look at your wrist and he happily decides it's not broken. “So, what’s his name and how should I hurt him?”

He puts up both his fists and your mirror him, following his motions as he shows you how to punch correctly. You smile for the first time since this morning.

“His name is asshole and good riddance!”

(The calluses on your knuckles do little to ease your broken heart.)

-

Butterfly wings cause hurricanes and you’re sitting at a used car lot alone signing the contract for a 2012 BRZ in white. You’ve always wanted a sports car, wanted to learn how to fix one up, have a nice car to drive on pretty days, have one to call yours and—

Matthew didn’t think getting a second car would be worth it, said weekend cars were lame and—

—you realize once again, that things just aren’t the same.  

You’re not very good at driving manual, and you stall about five times on the way home, but it’s okay.

-

Doctor Reid doesn’t come back to work right away. That makes sense. The love of his life just died in a most violent way.

But that doesn’t mean you don’t hurt a little, don’t feel any empathy. A life is gone from this world and now there seems to be a light missing.

(Will she be a star that watches over him and protects him? Does he even believe in those things?)

You might not be his friend, might never actually talk to him because he makes you tongue tied because you’re constantly afraid of fucking up in front of him so you always fuck up in front of him—

But that doesn’t mean you can’t send him your sympathies in an unsigned card, your heart going out to him as his remains missing.

(You kinda get the feeling.)

-

You might be, might be running yourself ragged as the months go on. Torn between payroll and the BAU, you can never get a moment’s rest. You’re in Garcia’s office more than just on Mondays and Wednesday. You’re there all the time, trying to soak up as much information as possible, learning the ins and the outs of her system, learning how to use computers in a way you’ve never thought before.

(You might use binary code to wash away every trace of Matthew from your mind. Try and try to forget him and just achieve.)

You’re taking over her little tasks slowly. Soon, you’ll run all of the inventory for all the field agents in the region, you’ll fix small problems, reset passwords, keep the world going and going as Garcia saves lives.

It’s hard work, being backup, but you go forth and try your best because this—this is what you’ve wanted all along.

-

It’s late one night as your eyes feel like they’re going to pool from your head. It was a payroll day and everything bad happens on payroll day, but you stay late in Garcia’s office long after she’s gone home to better familiarize yourself with her system.

It’s not hard, but there is a learning curve and just remembering all the things, all the little odds and ends.

Garcia is making you code a new program. She said it would be good to understand computer pathways. You want to pound your head against the desk, but you—you’re not the kind to give up. You’re almost there. You can do this by yourself because one day she won’t be here and you’ll have to help the team.

You refuse to give up and back away when you’re so close to something exciting and new and—

You see Doctor Reid pouring over paperwork when you go to get coffee and you feel slightly more renewed. If he can do it, then you can do it too.

You sit and close your eyes for a moment, finding yourself caught in the suspended reality of your body nodding off to sleep while your mind races. Black spots fill your vision despite you’re sure you’re still awake, but you’re not.

You wake hours later at the table in the kitchenette with a worn sweater around your shoulders.

(It looks oddly familiar.)

-

Fall welcomes you with open arms as you find yourself in Special Agent Aaron Hotchner's office a bright morning. You woke up at five, unable to sleep because today is the day and butterflies are swarming with every heartbeat.

You decided to wear dark red today with lipstick that looks much the same. You adorn yourself in pearls, praying for wisdom and maturity, for—

(Please remember to breathe, one breath, then two. In and out, out and in.)

You can—you can do this.

Hotchner sits across a dark wooden desk, a neutral expression on his face. “I see there is something you’d like to talk to me about?”

You nod, refusing to break under pressure because the man can read every micro expression. He can’t know there is tension between your shoulder blades. He also can’t know that it’s taking everything you have to not bounce your leg as nerves course through your whole body.

But the universe works in funny ways as it did almost two years ago, and events lead you to here as you catch a glimpse of Doctor Reid and you remember that this is where the man you most admire works and this is place your dearest friend works.

And this is the place you feel like you’ll belong because you’ve always been defined by your ambitions and this is no stepping stone, but somewhere you clawed to get to as you stayed up late for countless nights and learned how to code a computer in less than a year’s time and—

You square your shoulders back and let pride sing like your favorite song lyric.

You grab your resume and letter of reference from the folder sitting across your lap and push them across his desk. You read about this, performing a power play like successful businessman.

“I think it’s time you hire me, sir.”

Special Agent Aaron Hotchner gives you the briefest of pleased smirks as he takes your papers.

“Go on.”

-

Everything has a beginning and an end and yours starts when you pass through security at 8:05 AM. You're early for your first day at work, but the universe is a funny thing where you cause hurricanes because you have butterfly wings.

You greet the security team as you have done each morning, the sun shining brighter as it glistens spectacularly from a diamond milestone ring. It glows and sparkles with promises of a better future to come. You performed a small ceremony between you and this new opportunity.

You make your way up the elevators, finding friendly faces along the way. Today is a beginning, a new one for you, one you didn’t think you’d find but yet—

You’re the newest technician specialist for the BAU and they haven’t seen anything yet.

You’re ready.

You meet Hotchner in his office as he extends a warm hand and takes you to the meeting room where you are formally introduced to your new colleagues as Garcia’s new subordinate who will also do admin, payroll, IT, filing, inventory, and much more for the team.

“A jack of all trades, a master of none…” you start to say.

“...but better than being a master of one,” Doctor Reid finishes for you. He offers a small smile, an attempt, perhaps an olive branch.

(You want to reach out, you want to accept it like how Athena would want you to, but fear flashes fire in front of you and you...can’t.)

You swallow, your heart thudding in your chest, your smile falling, your tone more flat.

“Yes. Exactly.”

His own smile disappears, a slow descent like embers in the wind.

(Oh, you think with shaky feelings, maybe you’re not completely ready.)

-

You surprise the team with your efficiency, surprise them especially when you carry a crate and set up your desk in a half hour’s time. Your kettle sits on the corner of your desk, filled to the brim with steaming water.

You set up your packets of tea and line them up accordingly, place the sweetener in their container, organize your lipsticks and rollerball perfume bottles in their selected bin. You have knickknacks and things and a small plant.

You already knew which supplies you wanted, place every pen where it needs to go, setup your desktop and login, rearing and ready to go.

You surprise them with the snacks you have, always prepared with a bandaid and lint roller and anything thing one needs off hand.

You surprise them when you expedite their things and find files they need before they ask. You surprise them with extra thoughtfulness.

It’s only been two weeks.

(You ignore that your desk seats across from Doctor Spencer Reid. You ignore that fact, but you still politely offer him tea.

You no longer stutter, but butterflies dance on your tongue, the beats of their wings taking the rest of your words with them.)

-

You both politely exchange “hello” and “goodbyes” and work well enough when he requires something of you, but there’s a distance that stretches two years long of fumbles and weirdness and you’re not sure exactly how to take it away.

(You know he remembers every mistake. You know he knows ever ill attempt. You know he knows a lot of things, but you doubt he knows that you just want to be his friend.)

You know it’s wrong how you are able to laugh with the team, you being you and slipping your way to patch up the cracks effectively. It’s just how you are, you see the problem and fix it because you’re a fixer and—

—it’s so wrong when you can’t fix the awkwardness that sticks to you whenever you see Reid.

-

JJ smiles at you, but there is a distance in her smile, the same sizing you up, the same decision on the tip of her tongue that Morgan once gave you. She wants to know if you’re good enough, if you are quick enough, if you are enough.

She’s just too polite to directly ask.

You learn quickly that Doctor Reid is someone she cherishes most in the world, an underlying easiness and trust between them. Her son is the doctor’s godson. A bond of family and forever intertwining their lives.

However, there's a barrier between you and her as you continue to unsettle her.

And you're not sure how to branch the divide. How does one cross a desert in the middle of a sandstorm? How does one exit a forest but have no map? Yet the universe works in the funny ways and you find her struggling to carry heavy boxes. Wordlessly you take some from her and give her a hesitant from.

“Hi.”

JJ blinks then acknowledges you slowly. “...hey.”

“Tell me where to go, yeah?”

She blinks again, her mouth in a twitching line as thoughts speed through her head. After another pause, she nods and gestures not too far down the hall. “Follow me.”

It's a little stilted, but not impossible as you help her lift crates from one room to the next. There's a slight tension in the air; however, it does not hurt you. You don't mind. You're just trying to not dirty your dress.

After many quiet minutes, she gestures around the room. “Thanks,” she says as she wipes her hands on her jeans. “For everything. You're actually doing an awesome job.”

You feel warm at the unexpected praise, as if permafrost is melting. “Thank you,” you bashfully reply. “I'm still really nervous and I triple check everything no matter how small the job.”

Her firm mouth softens, understanding present in her blue eyes.”I was just like that when I first started. From media liaison to actual agent, micromanaging will always be my forte.”

You nod, sitting down and twisting your diamond ring. “Yeah, my business brain is good at it. It likes everything nice and organized.”

“Business brain?”

Your gaze meets her slightly before going back to your ring. “Yep, business brain. I’m much more relaxed when I’m not working. More chill, I guess? I just get really focused when I’m working so when I’m at home I kinda just...let my mind wander? Disarray doesn’t bother me as much and I’m quite messy much to my mother’s frustration.”

For the first time since you’ve met her, you hear JJ laugh because of you and it’s a nice sound. A bit warm and kind like she is. “I definitely know that feeling. The tunnel vision is real and by the time I get home, I just want to kiss my kid and husband. Who cares about dirty dishes when you get to lay in bed?”

Even though the two of you stand on opposite cliffs, the gap between you and JJ closes a bit more that day.

-

There will always be a gap between you, between the awkwardness that surrounds you when Doctor Reid is concerned. And he is one of JJ’s most precious people, a bond between them only needing glances, brimming smiles and inside jokes and—

JJ is more fond of you now, but you will not forget where her loyalty lies.

Will not forget where all their loyalties lie.

-

You have desks scattered around the office as the weeks go by and after forty-one days, you’ve accepted that your most central desk will continue to be the one right across from Doctor Reid. You tried to make yourself at home by one down the hall near the windows, in Penelope’s bat cave, and even at a small kiosk by counterintelligence.

But home is where your kettle is and the desk closet to the filtered water and the bathroom happens to also be the same once near Doctor Reid.

So you accept your fate and call that desk your home base, slowly giving that name to tell others where to find you if they need you. You say it in your emails, in your phone messages, in conversations had briefly in the halls.

“If you need me, I’ll be at my home base. The desk right across from Doctor Reid’s.”

(Of course, the other three get names as well: the windows, the bat cave, and the boondocks.)

But home base is yours as much as it is his in a way. It’s easier when he’s not there, when the whole team is away on a case and you can breathe without his all remembering eyes keeping detail of your every action. There is a freedom in doing the tasks without distractions and Doctor Reid’s eyes are inquisitive and curious things that follow your many movements throughout the day.

It’s unintentional, of course, the way his sight falls on your form when you’re there sitting across from him. They are not of lingering looks of longing from a lover or even jaded jealousy or fracturing frustration at the constant chatter. No, they are just learning eyes that can’t help but soak up information with their movement.

Maybe it comes from the fact that people have the eyes of a predator, always looking forward, always stalking, always hunting in slow motions. That humans have only survived so long by the ability to endure slowly, by always following, by tracing and remembering every detail. By pure stamina alone.

Sometimes you wonder if the Doctor realizes he’s a predator of memorization—of knowledge—his gift as easy as breathing, his mind a shimmering wonder. It—he—his mind unerves you. By one look and you feel exposed and the butterflies in your chest cavity break free and you feel very alone.

But you are just as human as he is, you think, so you continue to endure, continue to also look forward as you help a colleague reset his email and meet the Doctor’s quick instinctual glance with your heart hammering against your chest in both uncertainty and admiration.

If only you can be a predator of knowledge as he is, the world a book for your to reveal in every detail without forgetting, perhaps you would look at others so innocently and kindly without regard to their notice of your every movement.

-

You rarely speak full conversations with Doctor Reid. They are speechless and brief encounters as he tries to get you to open up. Mainly you just nod and listen before dashing. If you’re lucky, you avoid him before he sees you. But on the off chance you haven’t hidden yourself somewhere away in the vast building, he tries to talk to you.

(Bless him. Bless him because you’re awkward and you know that you shouldn’t be afraid but—

—the lingering fear of him always remembering your fumbles stops you from continuing.)  

He’s tried jokes. Awful jokes about philosophy and physics. Little literary tidbits that delight your day. You smile small, your face feeling tight and you mutter you ever rude American interesting again and again and again.

Sometimes you switch it up. Sometimes you say “I see”.

But of course when you go home and have time to process, you cackle at his hilarity

He’s tried greeting you, asking you about your day, asks what you’re doing, but his very existence causes your hair to stands on ends and you don’t know why and you trying and so—you barely answer him.

“Hello.”

“It’s going well.”

“Working.”  

Today you promise—will be different. You cannot continue to be like this around him as you grow closer to the people he loves most. You promised it will be different the day before and the day before that. But today’s a new day and you’re making coffee—

You feel cheerful at a dumb mug that’s ages older than you from your mother. A stupid mug for a worker in the cog and it’s faded yellow with the inside all marked up. You love this mug more than anything in the world because it reminds you how much time has passed since you were a little girl.

And you’ve always wanted to be just as hardworking, just as strong and powerful as the woman who raised you by herself for years and years and years until she found good love sometime later. You’ve always admired her and wanted to be like her and there was this dumb mug of hers that she said would be yours one day if you worked hard enough and—

It showed up in the mail a week ago, filled with all the sweets you adore most. Tucked inside rested a folded up note with her praise written carefully.

For my child, who has done everything I’ve ever wanted to accomplish and more. Who makes me proud every day and who will always be better than her yesterdays.

Love you more than anything in the world,

Mom

Joy surges deep within as you take a sip of coffee made from your press. Also a present that came with the mug. A glorious French press to only add to your stylish ambiance you’ve spent years crafting. Shining stainless steel glistening and gleaming as hot water simmers coarse ground beans into something delicious.

You feel a little complete, your back straighter than other days. Today will be the day you stop being a chicken and finally cease the awkwardness around Doctor Reid. It just has to be. You mote it be.

He comes in not too long after you’ve settled down while going over inventory for the department. He says hello to Morgan and Blake, and situates himself at his desk. He’s a little late, you notice, knowing that punctuality is important to him, but you ignore his slight frazzled rush as you recount the number of items you’re ordering.

Anxiety cements your stomach as you force yourself to look up and brave him a smile. You know it’s not your best, but you try as you steady your mug in your hand.  

“Good morning, Doctor,” you say, meeting hazel eyes.

The mug is warm in your hands as you bring it to your lips to sip. You mentally pat yourself on the back.

He stares at you for a moment and gives you a tight nod. “Morning.”

In a flash, as if an idea has come to him, he’s searching for a paper in his stacks on his desk and you return to your inventory counting. It’s a start, you think. Just enough of something that you find yourself grinning a bit to yourself. You tally up the amount of one item and you’re quickly on to the next when he addresses you offhandedly.

“You know, you are lucky to work here,” he says.

Your pencil halts in your hand, a milimeter away from making a new checkmark in its column before you are entirely distracted. You swallow. You look back up, seeing he’s completely immersed in his search.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat yourself?”

Doctor Reid looks at you and smirks, though there is an oddness in his expression and you’re not able to quite place it. It...it unnerves you.  “Yeah, I said that you’re lucky to work here.”

You blink and stop breathing. Anxiety clings to every part of you, you replaying his words on loop. And he’s right, because it’s only by dumb luck you’ve ended up on this team and hard work can only get your so far and you’ve seen talented and it’s comprised entirely of the BAU and—

The gap between the two of you widens beyond compare and you’ll never be his equal—its just not possible—and he’s knows that. He has all seeing remembering eyes, Penelope the greatest tech whiz on the planet, the list goes on and on and you count each thing in lightning speed and—

(Oh my, you might need to write this shit down later to talk about in therapy.)

You nod only once, getting to your feet and grabbing your cell phone. You clutch it so tight you’re afraid it will snap, the intensity hurting your knuckles.

“Duly...duly noted, sir,” you say quietly. A crashing train rings in your ears. Your mouth is dry. “There’s coffee cake in the break room if you’d like any…”

In the corner of your eye, you see Morgan start to rise. You can’t bare to look at Doctor Reid and ignore further still when he calls your name. You can’t look at any of them, the difference between them and you so striking. It makes the diamond ring on your finger turn into lead.

Tightness expands in your chest, but you expel it instantly when you see a supervisor is calling you. And supervisors don’t care if you’re in the middle of reevaluating your self worth.

“Hello, BAU Automation. How can I help you?”

You escape the rest of the day from the prying eyes of the profilers of the BAU. You ignore their looks and you don’t see Reid for the rest of the day. You count your blessings. Each one a soothing balm on the burns upon your skin and your heart and your disposition.

You are in the break room washing the coffee cake platter that you realize you haven’t washed your mug from this morning. Coffee was long forgotten as your heart sped up too much for you to stand.  Makes you too antsy when you’re already in turmoil, you stomach too weak and your nerves too strong.  When you get back to your desk, memories of this morning smack you with clarity as everything begins to make sense.

You’re lucky to work here, he said. You’re lucky to work here, he said, he said, he said.

Shame floods you instantly as embarrassment comes like an unwanted bully taunting you. Your mistakes laughing at you once again as your mind thought too far ahead without all the facts. Without asking. Without understanding.

(You’re a selfish creature, it seems. Sometimes caught up in your own mind on your own time without a care in the world for others.

Oh, what a stupid and foolish girl you truly are.)

For there, written as plain to see in red letters is the phrase: tell me again how lucky I am to work here again.

-

Penelope confronts you first about it, catching you in the kitchenette as you fill up your kettle.

“Hey, lovely, I don’t know how to say this, but—”

You stiffen for a moment, before bowing your head, accepting what fate has in store for you.  “Please be blunt. I’m sure whatever you’re going to say won’t be that bad.”

You hear her swallow as she leans against the counter. “Well, as your closest friend on the team, we just—have kinda noticed—”

(You wince. You know. You know what she’s going to say. You know.)

“You’re really weird with Reid. And it’s super weird because you’re so nice and I’m pretty sure you actually read his articles and I was wondering if you—maybe had feelings? For him?”

Her words hang in the air, a squeaky echo that rings with your very heartbeat as everything comes swinging back in full motion.

You slam on all metaphorical breaks and refuse to let this conversation continue down this road.  Refuse to take your heart down this road. You shake your head and groan. “No, no. Just. I don’t have a crush on him. I just—” you sigh and sit at the nearby table. “I just—”

Penelope grabs your hand and gives it a squeeze. “Did he do something wrong? Is that what it is?”

You laugh and feel heat spreading to your face. You can’t believe you’re about to say this. To someone who you work with because you’ve only talked about this with people detached from your job.  “No, I just...really...stupidly admire him and he...intimidates me…because I think he’s one of the most remarkable people on the planet....”

(In fact, you told your therapist the same thing two weeks ago when you saw her last. Before the whole cup debacle, you told her how you were failing at this one attempt of friendship and you were watching everything go downhill in a fiery crash.)    

Penelope blinks, her mouth forming a little “o”. She tries to speak, but laughs instead. Such a delighted sound spills from her and you want to bury yourself in quicksand knowing that it will never be like the cartoons.

“Oh, that’s rather sweet.”

You rest your head on your forearms. “No, it’s anything but sweet. It’s really weird and I keep obsessing that he remembers every stupid fuck up I’ve done so I fuck up more and...Penelope, it’s freaking awful. So yeah, there you go. I admire him very much and he gives me intense anxiety.”  

Penelope leans forward, her cheek resting in her palm. “I don't think I've ever heard anyone say that Reid gives them anxiety, let alone intense anxiety.”

You look at her straight in the eye. “Penelope, that man is a demigod and terrifying. Terrifying!”

She chuckles again, her eyes warm. “Sweetie, this is Spencer we’re talking about. He’s a bonafide dweeb,” she declares with mirth. “I should know. He and I are the greatest of geek buddies!” She pauses for a moment before her eyes narrow. “Hey! Why is he a demigod and I’m not a revered goddess?”

This time you laugh, a true smile digging into your cheeks. “No, no. Don’t worry, my dear. You are most def a terrifying goddess, but I happen to love you.”

Penelope stills before melting in her seat. “Oh my god, I love you too, you sweetest of sweet talkers.” She captures your hand in hers again, mischief and happiness dancing in her eyes. “But still, there’s no need to be afraid of Spencer, he’s just a dweeb.”

You focus on the texture of her skin as your heart thuds in your chest, your mouth in an awkward line.

“Sure, Penelope. Whatever you say.”  

-

A few days pass in relative quietness as the team is away on training. You’re praying that perhaps, just this once, Doctor Reid will be able to forget everything. Just once. Just one time and you’ll go back to your normal life where you’ll continue to be awkward and weird and—well, that’s the status quo you know and you’re gonna fucking stick with it if it kills you.  

Because, okay, sure. You fucked up the other day, but today is the day! And yes, the status quo is awkward and weird, but you’re such a glutton for punishment, such a person who survives on succeeding, that you go back to the drawing board and will yourself to try again.

But of course, you’re an overachiever. A frightened and terrified overachiever, but one nonetheless.

So, you do the one thing you’re elementary school teacher told you to do: you write him a letter.

A hastily written letter detailing your vague explanations for your odd behavior. Your apologies are peppered with compliments and fear sprinkling in loopy misspelled words.  You write only one page length, refusing to pen a novel. Because even you have standards when it comes to desperations and it has been two years of awkward miscommunications for this to continue any longer.

You stick it under his stapler and hopes he doesn’t notice it right away when he first comes in. You’re already knee deep in updating all the property passes for cell phones right now in the department, finding your stride as you listen to movie and video game soundtrack scores.

(You read somewhere that those kind of scores are good for keeping concentration.)

Doctor Reid pauses for a moment as he settles his bag down, his ears straining to hear what you’re listening to.  You can feel his curious gaze wash over you as you continue to do your work, but you lightly swallow and glance up at him.

“Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood soundtrack. It’s an anime,” you say. Your voice sounds muffled as you continue to stare at the screen.

In your perphiary, you see him nod. Someone across the room catches his attention and he leaves his desk before he even sits down.

You ignore the part of you that wants him to notice the letter. You know that if he does, then things will change and change is hard and—it’s a lot easier listening to the part of you that hopes he never finds it because things can continue as they are.

You let out a breath and answer an email instead, finding out that Kevin needs you down in counterintelligence to help one of his guys with a password issue. It will be a welcome break from the waiting.

Or dreading.

(While you’re away, Reid finally notices a note under his stapler.)

-

An hour later after dumb conversations, you finally wind your way back home to your desk to suffer under property passes when Doctor Reid all but slides up to you.

You yelp, placing a hand over your heart. “Oh my god, you scared me.”

His mouth is in a firm line, holding something in his hand. “Like how I scare you daily or…?”

Your eyes drift to the paper, thoroughly crinkled now after you last saw it. “I—I think the words I used were intimidating and awe inspiring. It’s truly a compliment.”

He quirks a brow, his mouth twisting more with displeasure. “A compliment? Seriously?”

You take a step back, finding air in your lungs again as you assess the situation. You’re tired of the tension that simmers between the two of you. You’re reminded of a rubber band.

You shrug, putting on false airs. “Yeah, a compliment. You make me speechless and that’s kinda remarkable.”

Doctor Reid looks down, the paper crackling in his hand. “That’s really sad.”

Your heart is beating like thunder in your chest. You’ve been avoiding this like the plague because confrontation is hard and you’re—not as amazing as you claim to be. You’re just a person.

(And so is he.)  

(And so is he.)

And relief rains down over you as you feel a giggle bubble in your chest. Doctor Reid snaps his attention to you, confusion marking his features.

“Are...are you okay?”

You suck in a quick breath of air, nodding. “Yeah, yeah. I’m just—oh god, this sounds so stupid, but I feel so much better now.” You smile is wide as you look at him, your shoulders feeling less tense and the world a bit more bright. “I’m sorry for being weird, but can we start over?”

The doctor blinks and quirks his lips in a wry smile, baffled yet pleased. “Um. Sure? Like right now?”

“Yeah, like right now,” you tell him. You stick out your hand. “Nice to meet you, Doctor.”  

You know he doesn’t do handshakes, it’s not his thing. Germs and whatnot, but he stares at your chipped fingernail polished hand for a moment before grasping yours. He’s warm to the touch even if his grip isn’t the strongest you’ve felt.

His smile is careful as hope digs into his dimples. “Nice to meet you.”

-

There’s a gentle mist outside as you leave to go home that night. Doctor Reid is not far behind you, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag as a sudden chill sinks its teeth into both of you.

A hung silence stills as you peer over at the man beside you, your body on autopilot to flee, but your heart wanting to root your feet into the ground.

“It’s scary how you don’t forget things,” you tell him honestly. You scuff your shoe on gritty concrete, the sound a clashing cymbal. “And I got really hung up on that. I’m sorry.”

Doctor Reid doesn’t say anything for a long time, the night air frizzing your hair. Your adrenaline tries spiking again, but you’re tired. You’re tired and you just to have clear air between the two of you. Forever.

His voice is gentle and just as frayed as you feel. “When I first met you, the very first time, I was the one who was awestruck and intimidated,” he chuckles. “You were this bright purple entity and you smiled at me so brightly and called me gorgeous. I was…” he pauses, “...I literally stopped thinking.”

Heat rushes to your face, a natural blush creeping under your makeup. “I agonized over that for so long, you know,” you tell him quietly. “Like I felt like such a fool because you’re truly are inspiring and well—yeah.”

It’s hard to say all the things you think about him--idealized and fictitious and real. Too real to share with a practical stranger.  

(If only you realize your feelings would spiral into something more fond than admiration, perhaps you would have jumped feet first faster.)

There is a magnetism between the two of you as you stand in the quiet. An otherworldliness where hurricanes no longer exists and all the butterflies sleep. A change happening quicker than you can think.

He hums. “I think—you don’t realize that you’re scary too. You’re actually terrifying.”

You snap your attention to him and he gives you a kind grin. “What? No, I’m not!” you protest.  

Doctor Reid laughs and it’s a good and pleasing sound. It lights up his whole face as he gestures towards you. “Yes, yes you are! You are so calculated and great with people. Always fashionable and you’re so intelligent. And teachable. You just...absorb information. It’s fascinating. And everyone knows that you’re an extremely hard worker and adorable overachiever.” he says with a smirk.

Your throat feels thick with all the praise. “It’s not that hard...someone has to do it...”

Doctor Reid steps in front of you and briefly touches your upper arm. “See? You don’t even realize that to someone else watching you achieve all these great things, that you’re terrifying. You have no idea how high of a standard you’ve set. You have no idea how remarkable you are. I’m truly and utterly impressed.”

The pretty hazels of his eyes have turned a warm brown in the poor lighting. You nod only once, your voice soft. “...thank you, Doctor.”

“Spencer,” he corrects. “My friends call me Spencer.”

Everything has a beginning and an end, but there’s not end in sight as you grin. “Thank you, Spencer. Truly.”

—

Condensation mists at the coffee shops window as you both step inside, unsure exactly how you got here with Spencer, but pleased all the same. Who knew that a lame letter would be catalyst you needed?

You both order your respective drinks and sit down at table towards the back, away from the chatter of college students pretending to study.

Both of you don’t know exactly what to say.

“It kinda feels like an awkward first date,” you tell him and you squash all shame that comes up from feeling stupid because you’re not stupid.

You’re not.

(You’re so intelligent.)

Doctor Reid--Spencer!--lets out a surprised laugh, almost spilling his drink on his clothes, but only getting the table. “Dear god, I hope not. I have been on a lot of those. Enough for this lifetime, that’s for sure.”

You giggle as you sip a tea latte. “Mmmm. I have only been on a handful. None recently though. I don’t date much these days.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit...difficult to date...in this line of work.”

You see him swallow and slight unease rolls off his shoulders. You think of a card you signed almost two years ago, tucked into a basket Garcia left on his doorstep after--the you know, the thing.

“Well,” you start, picking up the energy. “It doesn’t have to be! This can be--this can be, I don’t know a fun first friend date. Friend dates are kinda best dates anyway.”

“A friend date?”

You nod. “Mmmhmmm. Friends don’t let you know, just dumb ex-boyfriends who break promises about not moving to the East Coast with you,” you sing.

Spencer’s eyes widen at. “Oh?”

You laugh. “Oh no, you have to go on like--at least, three friend dates to unlock my tragic backstory. Like a dating sim. It can be a heart event!”

He takes a deep breath through his nose, trying to suppress a laugh. “You know I’m...basically a technophobe, right?”

“I might not be as techy as Penelope, but I think I have enough gadgets for the both of us. I’ll get you up to speed with my farming simulation games.”

Spencer runs a hand through his hair, this time actually laughing. “Do I really even want to know?”

You smirk and lean back in your seat. “Look, farming simulation games where I can marry a cute villager is important to me. You’re just gonna have to deal with it.”

“Because we’re gonna be friends now?”

You smile wide and pat the top of his hand. “Exactly.”

(Oh, how the future looks merry and bright.)