#ohh that rambled fact with his morning voice SWOON

[reidsbookclub]

ROSIE MY GOD THJS WAS BEAUTIFUL

Tying to Me — Part IV

Summary: Band-aids don't fix bulletholes, but kind eyes and even kinder acts might just mend broken hearts.

Content Warning: References to their hookup, a kiss, running themes of infidelity

Word Count: 4300

Author’s Note: I am so sorry for this taking a very long time! I hope to have the last part out soon! Thank you to @reidslibrarybook for proofreading this & quelling my anxieties. I love you so much dude. The italics denotes a flashback, roughly two years before the start of the story.

Series Masterlist | Part III

PART IV — My Pain Fits in The Palm of Your Freezing Hand

The snow didn’t seem to want to let up. From midnight to well into the following afternoon the snow blanketed her small front yard, covering the sidewalks and street of the suburban little street. It was mostly a quiet neighborhood; people kept to themselves for the most part. The Millers, an elderly couple who lived to the left, were particularly quiet. The wife, Zelda, had a very successful garden and handed out homegrown vegetables every summer, even if she was a little bit of a recluse Her husband, Alan, was even more secluded than his wife. To the right lived the Reids. The wife, she hardly ever sees. If she remembers correctly, Y/N thinks the husband’s name is Stephen or Spencer, she’s not too sure, works odd hours too. They’ll wave tiredly as they pass in the driveway, him leaving for work, but her coming home from her frim. If the neighborhood gossip is correct, he’s an FBI agent of sorts.

The quiet neighborhood seemed even quieter as the snow fell and fell. It was so quiet out there that Y/N could swear she could hear each snowflake drop. Her face stung from the cold, but her hands burned from wearing her old woolen mittens. Looking into the house, the television flickered through the window. Sighing to herself, Y/N walked back to the house, tapping the snow off her boots as she opened the door, finding James exactly where she left him: drinking and watching the game.

“Honey,”

“Honey,”

“James” she says, finally grabbing his attention with a clipped tone, “I need help,”

“After the game,”

“James, it’s getting bad and I need to get to work tomorrow. And you know that the sidewalks have to be clear…”

“I told you after the game,” James responds, not even looking up from the television. The commercial blares in their living room, the smell of snow and Ice Melt stinging her nose, but not as much as her heart aches at James’ dismissal.

“Fine,” Y/N says, turning on her heel and grabbing her shovel, “It’s just that it’s not letting up and I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning—”

“After the game,”

The cold air feels refreshing against her face. She tears off the scarf she has wrapped around her neck. Maybe it’s James’, maybe it’s hers. They’ve been together so long that she’s not sure if things are hers or his or theirs anymore. Recently it’s seemed like it’s been more divided than united.

Shouldering herself, Y/N scoops up a pile of snow in the shovel, tossing it into the yard. Working out in the cold, as the snow falls gracefully into place, is probably the most peace she’s gotten in months. Maybe it’s James’ inability to acknowledge their partnership that makes her feel like she’s drowning. No, maybe not drowning, not yet at least, maybe more like treading water. Barely keeping her head above the waves.

“Hey, neighbor,”

Startled by the voice, and maybe hoping that it’s James more than she’d like, Y/N turns to the sound. It’s her neighbor to the right, Stephen or Spencer. He looks younger than he actually is, with rosy cheeks from the cold and wild hair from the wind. He has a shovel in hand as he smiles at her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, Y/N,” he says, “It’s Dr. Reid, I mean, Spencer from next door. Bec and I just moved in a couple months ago so we didn’t really have time to introduce ourselves. I saw you out here alone so I thought I’d help,”

Spencer, she thinks, leaving a note in her brain to not forget his name or his kind eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispers, unable to find her voice, “I really appreciate that, Spencer,”

He doesn’t respond, just smiling a kind of straight lipped smile that’s strangely endearing. Y/N wonders if he can see the television flickering in the window or if the pain in her eyes shows too much about her drowning, treading marriage. Even if he can tell, Spencer doesn’t show it. He nods and starts to shovel.

“You look cold,” Y/N says, walking through the short yard for the scarf, “Here, Spencer,” she says, wrapping the warm scarf around his neck.

“Thank you, Y/N. It’s well made” Spencer says, turning to brush off her car with his ice scraper, “I know how to knit too,”

“Oh, I made that old thing years ago,” Y/N says, “I can’t remember if it’s James’ or mine. Well it’s more mine, because James thinks it’s hideous. But I’m trying to make Aster a one for her when she comes,” she finishes, patting her lower stomach out of habit as she talks.

“You’re having a baby? You and your husband, I mean,” Spencer asks, a hidden layer of something that Y/N can’t quite read flashing before his eyes.

“Yes, I’m due in 4 months,” Y/N says, smiling as she talks, “She’s been such an easy baby so far”

“You shouldn’t be out here,” Spencer says, “it’s too cold for you, and you should be resting,”

When she looks back on this for years to come, Y/N will swear to herself that it’s the cold that makes her eyes sting. Glancing downward, she refuses to meet Spencer’s eyes, no matter how kind they seem to be.

“I have a doctor’s appointment in the morning,” Y/N says, “and I need the snow to be cleared. If I’m not going to do it who will,”

“Me,”

“I can’t—” Y/N says, feeling her voice catch in her throat. Standing out there in the cold with Spencer’s red cheeks and kind eyes looking back at her, she’s never felt so small, “You are very kind, Spencer, but I’m not going inside,”

“Alright, so tell me about your baby,” he says, making her chuckle as she swallows her tears— and pride.

They don’t say much as they work. Maybe he prefers the quiet too, being alone with their thoughts is peaceful in a way. When he finishes, Spencer waves goodbye, brushing off her 'thank yous' like her husband should have brushed off the snow from their cars.

Normally, she hates the sunlight on her face. It gives her a headache. But right now, with the heavy weight of an arm around her upper half and the warmth of his head buried in her neck, Y/N swears she can learn to love it. Spencer’s patterned breathing threatens to lull her asleep again. She’s so tired that she just might take the offer, but she knows that Aster will be crying shortly.

It might sound a little ridiculous, but it wasn’t until she watched him sleep for a second time that Y/N realized how beautiful Spencer really is. His hair is magnificent. With golden strands littered in between a warm brown. She knows how soft it is, but finds herself wanting to touch it again, just to make sure. Even though she can’t see his eyes, she knows exactly that they are deep brown, sometimes green. And his hands. They are so strong and sturdy, yet they are soft and gentle. Y/N can tell that his goodness radiates out from his hands. He extended them to her last night like a lifeline.

Y/N does a double check, making sure they both have their clothes on. It’s not that she doesn’t want to sleep with Spencer, or that when they did sleep together it was awful. It’s the opposite. She just really rather not sleep with him when she’s crying over James and a bottle of red wine.

Spencer sturs next to her. He slept like a rock, holding her tightly as they dreamed side by side. Y/N wonders if he’ll stay for breakfast, or if he’ll sneak out like she did. Spencer moves his hand up her torso, his hand slipping under her shirt. His fingertips skim across her bare skin. She can hardly breathe. His hands are so warm and she’s starved for them. He must still be sleeping because his movements are too uncoordinated for him to be awake.

Or not.

“Did you sleep well?” Spencer asks, his voice gravely with sleep. It’s an addictive sound, “Your bed is much more comfortable than mine. It’s actually proven by sleep scientists that a supportive mattress correlates with general well being. Sleep is one of the most important things you can do for your health….Sorry, am I rambling-”

“Yes, but it’s cute,” she says, reaching forward to brush the stray hair that falls across his forehead, “I didn’t do any research either. I just went into the store and picked the most expensive one. James would have had a fit. I think it’s some kind of cathartic release doing things that would piss him off,”

Like sleeping with Spencer. And enjoying it. Enjoying it too much. The restraint in his voice telling her more than the exact words ever could. Sitting up in her bed, Y/N covers her hand over Spencer’s. The drunken memories of last night come rushing back, as does the embarrassment of practically begging him to sleep with her again.

“Right,” Spencer says, bringing her back to Earth. “I don’t think I’ve been called cute since I was like 5 and that was my mother,” his cheeks turn red and his eyes meet Y/N’s in something that could only be described as bashful.

“You are cute,” she says, feeling a need to fill the silence before she says something about last night that she’ll end up regretting, even if it’s the truth.

Spencer sits up, still wearing his clothes from the night before. His shirt is wrinkled and his pants have creases in them from sleeping in them, but nothing is as messy as his hair. Oddly, it suits him. His messy hair, wild and unruly, makes him look more peaceful in a strange way. She’s thinking too much about his hair; about her fingers in his hair.

She casts her gaze down, avoiding his gentle eyes for his hands that bunch some of her sheet. Which, in hindsight, isn’t the best choice. His hands, like nearly every part of him, are distracting in all the wrong ways.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she mumbles. She had too much to drink last night, drunk called Spencer and nearly begged him to sleep with her again, “It’s not like me. I don’t want you to think of me like that. Well, not not like that. But you know, not all sad and drunk and crying and begging you to sleep with me. What I am trying to say, Spencer, is that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for taking advantage of you, you’re hurting too,”

“You have nothing to be sorry about, Y/N,” Spencer says, his voice telling her that he believes what he says. He makes her look him in the eyes, holding her chin up with his fingertips, “We all have our moments that we’re not proud of. You’re strong, smart and an amazing mother. I think you’re incredible,” he says, his hands moving over to yours. They are warm and his palms are soft. His skin against his is bad, but not nearly as bad as the kind words he whispers.

He can’t whisper those wonderful things as he’s basking in the sunlight, wrapped in her sheets. He can’t say those things and not expect her to call him up again, but completely sober. Then again, part of her wonders if Spencer’s also starved for kind words and soft lips to kiss. She wonders how long it’s been for him to feel safe and cared for. Has it been as long as it’s been for her? It’s a strange comfort knowing that Spencer is all too familiar with lonely gray nights and the empty feeling of very being enough for the one person who’s enough for you.

“I think you’re pretty incredible too, neighbor,” she says, her voice coming out more raspy than she intended. Maybe it’s because she’s holding back. She’s holding back because she’s terrified; terrified of moving on and getting hurt again. Or hurting Spencer. Or Aster. There’s a lot swimming around in her head and it’s near impossible to concentrate on anything when Spencer holds her hand and rubs his thumb against her skin.

Spencer’s head inches closer and closer to Y/N’s. His hands dragging up her arm, the warmth from his palms burning her bare skin. He’s going to kiss her. He’s going to kiss her and they’re not even drunk. They’re not even seeking revenge against their ex-spouses.

It’s almost comical.

Aster, with the best timing in the world, screams from her bedroom. Y/N jumps from the bed like she was struck by lightning. Her startled reaction nearly causes Spencer to topple over in the bed, but he, rather ungracefully, catches himself before he falls onto the floor.

“I’m so sorry. It’s just, Aster and-” she stammers, rushing out the bedroom. She doesn’t stick around to see Spencer’s pink tinged cheeks or his huff of disappointment. Spencer, nodding awkwardly, waves her off, understanding completely, because of course he does.

Once she’s in Aster’s room, Y/N smiles, leaving her embarrassment and anxiety in her bedroom. Aster, a generally happy baby, cries in her crib. Seeing her mother, she tries to stand up, holding onto the bars before falling onto the small mattress with a thump. She smiles gleefully, entertained by herself.

“Oh no!” Y/N says happily, her voice raising a couple octaves in the way it does when she’s around Aster, “Are you hungry, baby? Are you hungry?”

Aster laughs delightfully, raising her hands and practically demanding for Y/N to pick her up. She scoops her up, balancing her on her hip as she bounds down the stairs. Aster looks around at the pictures on the wall, some of Y/N and her mom, her sister and Aster, and even some with Aster and James. Y/N wanted to make their house without James seem as much like home as it could for Aster.

Walking into the kitchen, Y/N doesn’t expect to find Spencer opening the cabinets. Aster coos happily on her hip, excited to have a guest in the morning. Usually it’s Liz, but Spencer’s familiar enough for her to recognize him.

“I thought I’d make you coffee,” Spencer says, “You know, as you’re getting Aster ready,” he adds, nodding towards the tin of coffee grounds he brought out from the cabinets.

“That’s very sweet of you,” she whispers, disliking how much she’s taken aback by the kind gesture. She can’t remember the last time someone made her coffee to make her morning run a little smoother. Y/N isn’t exactly sure what her relationship with Spencer is, especially after last night, but it doesn’t seem fair to compare him to James. There’s history with James. Murky, complex, difficult history. But history nonetheless.

“It’s nothing,” Spencer says, “I know from JJ, my friend, how busy mornings are.” He tosses some coffee grounds into the coffee pot, along with some tap water. He moves around the tiny kitchen like he somehow knows where everything is already, “I also wanted to apologize for this morning. It was inappropriate to try to kiss you. I know you’re still reeling from James,”

“Spencer, you’re not the one that drunk called last night. And maybe we can just forget about what happened this morning,” she asks, the embarrassment of wanting him to kiss her, but the guilt of moving on too soon bubbles to the surface. As it seems, there’s no right answer for getting over a heartbreak.

She moves about the kitchen, getting Aster’s breakfast ready as Spencer stares intently at the coffee pot. Aster babbles happily in her highchair, looking around at the kitchen with wonder and awe. Spencer glances over to her, clearly interested. It’s amusing. From block parties, Y/N knows that Spencer is good with babies and children. He’d usually have a gaggle of children swarming him as he performed magic trick after magic trick.

“She won’t bite, you know,” Y/N says, teasing Spencer as she puts a small bowl of cereal on Aster’s tray. She grabs the cereal, pushing into her mouth hungerly. He watches her with a smile, pulling a seat next to the high chair.

“It’s been a while since we’ve had a baby at the BAU,” Spencer says, “Michael is JJ's youngest. I haven’t been around him as long as I’ve been around with Henry. She’s such a fun age right now,” he continues, “But I was in jail, I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, Y/N. So I missed out on a lot of good memories,”

“I heard,”

“I’m innocent, innocent of that at least,” Spencer says with a somber smile, “I did things I’m not proud of, Y/N. Terrible, terrible things to survive. And, you know, sometimes I wonder if it was worth it all,” Spencer finishes, thanking her silently for the cup of steaming coffee she hands him.

“Spencer, I wouldn’t let you anywhere near Aster if I didn’t think you were anything but a wonderfully kind and gentle man. We’ve all been through bad times, you more than most, but it’s okay to hurt from them. To still be confused by them. Someone really smart told me we all have our moments that we aren’t proud of,”

She doesn’t want to let herself get swept away by his boyish smile that peeks out from underneath his sleepless eye bags, yet she finds herself reaching out to squeeze his hand three times. It seems like a lot of their interactions can happen without words. Spencer’s eyes, kind and bright, are a more fulfilling kind of temptation. Sitting there with Aster babbling in the high chair spilling Cheerios on the floor and hot coffee in their hands all Y/N could think of is how sweet it would have been if it had been Spencer all along.

“You’re a very good person, Y/N,” Spencer whispers, his voice cracking as he continues. He doesn’t let go of her hand, something tells her that he needs to hold it to remind him he’s still fighting, “Not maybe people can handle my quirks, my past, and me if I’m being honest,”

“That’s their loss,”

Spencer chuckles, trying his best to keep himself together as Y/N stands next to him sitting on the kitchen chair. She can see his old house, now empty, from the kitchen. It’s as if that night that changed everything had never happened. The two houses still look the same. Her’s blue with gray shutters and Spencer’s yellow with white shutters. Their lawns are covered with flowers and a tall tree in the corner. Everything looks the same, while everything has changed. She would never have thought that it would take losing everything to find herself again.

Just as Y/N’s about to ask Spencer if he’d want to take a walk to the local diner for breakfast, the kitchen light flickers. In an attempt to keep her cool, Y/N closes her eyes in frustration.

“Damnit,” she mutters, under her breath as she leaves Spencer’s side. Her hand feels strangely cool without his skin pressed up against her skin. She never thought she could crave someone’s touch like she craves Spencer’s, “I’m going to literally–”

“Do you need help with something?” Spencer says, standing up. He follows Y/N’s line of sight to the flickering light fixture on the ceiling, “Oh, I got that,” he adds, “I’ll need a screwdriver to open the fixture and maybe we’ll need to screw the bulb in a bit tighter. If not, I’ll take a ride to the hardware store and get a new lightbulb for you,”

Spencer has a nervous habit of licking his lips when nervous. He does it now, staring at her as her brain tries to process someone doing something for her. The last thing she wants, as they stand so close, is to be distracted by his lips.

“You’d do that? You’d do that for me?” Y/N asks, knowing it’s useless to hide her shock from someone as observant as Spencer, “I mean, you don’t have to do that Spencer. It’s been like that for months, maybe years. You don’t want to know how many times I’ve asked James to fix it for me. I mean, you don’t have to do it, Spencer. I don’t want you to go out of your way for me,”

“I’d love to–”

“I’m sure you’re busy–”

“I have the day off,” he replies, waving off her protest as he sips the coffee, “This coffee is excellent by the way. Where’s the ladder?”

“Left closet down the hall,” Y/N answers, sitting back down in the chair as she watches Spencer walk off down the hall. She rubs her thumb across the corner of Aster’s mouth, wiping off the crumbs from the Cheerios. Aster giggles as she tosses the cereal over the tray and onto the ground.

“Silly girl,” Y/N says, picking up the pieces as Spencer comes back into the room with the ladder.

“It’s really fine, Spencer. I’m sure I can figure it out–”

“Y/N,” Spencer says, the firm way he says her name catching her off guard, “I like doing things for you. I can tell you’re not used to it, so get used to it,” he says, his charming smile leaving her too flustered to respond.

“Fine,” Y/N says, pretending that this whole thing is more of a favor to Spencer than to her, “At least hand me the cap so it doesn’t fall on your head,” she adds, taking the fixture from his hands and placing it on the table.

Spencer’s quiet as he works, tightening the light bulb in it’s socket. Like magic, it flickers once and finally illuminates to it’s full brightness. Letting a yelp of joy, Y/N jumps up, nearly knocking Spencer off the ladder. He starts to climb down, carefully putting each foot in the rung below as he descends. Y/N, despite her eager celebration at the working light, notices Spencer’s smile.

“Thank you,” Y/N says, reaching up to hug Spencer as he stands on the first rung, balancing carefully, “I know I could have done it myself, or gotten Liz over here, but it’s just–”

“You wanted someone to do something nice for you” Spencer says. She ignores the way his breath hitches when she rests her head against his body, choosing to push away the way her entire body aches for him, aches from someone to love her, “I like doing nice things for the people that matter to me,”

“I matter to you?” she asks, hating the way her voice sounds like a meak wallflower. She never was shy around people when it came to romantic interactions. If she could even call what she has with Spencer romantic, or rather, if they have anything at all.

It happens in half a second, maybe less. Spencer, just as he’s about reply, comes tumbling down the ladder. Luckily, he’s only barely a foot off the ground. Unluckily, when you’re over 6 feet tall and as gangly as a teenager, any kind of fall is hard and fast.

“Ooof,” Spencer says, steadying himself on the nearest “thing”, which just happens to be Y/N’s waist. His hands, in his attempt to catch himself, lifted her shirt a bit from her hips leaving some skin exposed. Spencer’s large hands cover the expanse of her bare skin. His hands are warm, warmer than her already warm skin. He grips tightly and she’s not sure if it’s because he wants to or because he has to. Spencer’s face, in the fifteen seconds that it lasts, is so close to her face that she can see the small wrinkles in the creases of his eyes. Spencer has beautiful eyes, kind eyes. And warm hands, very warm, very big hands that are brushing up against her skin–

His face is getting closer, much closer. Crows feet. That’s what the lines in the corners of his eyes are called. Whatever they're called, they look beautiful on him. As his face grows closer, Y/N knows that he’s going to kiss her and she’s going to let him. Even if they both have morning breath and Aster’s throwing cereal at the ground.

When he kisses her it’s not like any kiss she’s ever received. Her husband used to kiss her with excitement, but soon that morphed into a chore. The first time Spencer kissed her it was hungry, mainly teeth with an undercurrent of anger rushing through both their veins. But now, Spencer kisses her like he’ll do it for the rest of his life. His hands, much to her disappointment, leave her the bare skin of her hips for her cheeks. Spencer holds her, keeping her steady as he catches her bottom lip between his lips. Pulling gently, Y/N chokes down a whimper and feels a shudder travel from her head to her toes.

Just as she feels his hands make their way to the back of her head, Spencer pulls away. He rests his head against her forehead, his eyes studying her face like he wants to commit her to memory.

“You matter to me,” Spencer whispers, leaning back in for a kiss. Y/N catches his self assured smirk as she giggles into his mouth, kissing her again, but this time in the daylight.

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