#spencer reid slow burn best friends to lovers au 20k

[wrinkledparchment]

the absence of everything (iii)

Summary: Based on 1x22 | 2x1 - After your trip to Vegas was rudely interrupted by a suspicious manila envelope being delivered to your hotel room, you and Spencer have to cut your vacation short to go back to Quantico. Although you and Spencer try to resume your professional relationship after sharing a bed, Spencer realizes just how much you mean to him, and can finally put a name on what he feels, once and for all.

Word Count: 6,030 words

Author’s Note: So... I’ve been gone for so long but this series is probably the main thing I still receive praise for in my notes. I’m currently focusing more on writing for HL but I’ve had this in my drafts forever and I decided to feed you guys!! I hope you like it... upon rereading it, some of my favorite fluffy lines I’ve ever written are in here. How did I manage that. 

Content Warnings: Your general criminal minds ish, death, stuff like that. Some fluff content for you guys!!

Series Taglist:  @liviasaugusta @l0ve-0f-my-life @imsuperawkward @nxstalgicnxbxdy @marciscaspar @april-14-blog @sweetreid @essenceproxima @sammypotato67 @idkanymore-05 @slep-slop @squirrellover1967 @irjuejjsaa @yomama-umbridge @holybatflapexpert @rosignoelle @ladyravenclaw @yours-truly-r @spenciepoo338 @masieofthevalley @throughparisallthroughrome  @afuckingshituniverse   @ladyravenclaw @irjuejjsaa @danandphilfan6​  @yasminwashere​  @mayempress  @kys-things

the abscence of everything: i | ii | . . . 

“It is me. I am his madness. For years he’s been looking for something to put his madness into. And he found me.” – John Fowles, The Collector

. . .

The coffee table in your Vegas hotel room had cluttered manila envelopes, the key and note given to Spencer, and a piece of missing evidence from your father’s murder scene. Rage bubbled in your stomach, so as Spencer called Gideon on the hotel room phone, quickly putting it on speaker, you paced around, unable to stop seeing your dad’s case files and his dead, mutilated body over and over again.

“Gideon, [Name] and I both got a package, I got a key and a note reading ‘She will die unless you save her, Doctor Reid. Call Gideon. He knows.’ She got two binded pieces of paper from a book her father was binding and repairing when he died.”

Gideon finally let out a sigh, “Yeah, I got a Nellie Fox baseball card from 1963 and a head in a box. Everyone on the team got something, but Elle was hit hard. She was framed for murder in Montego Bay, Hotch and Morgan went down to get her released and bring her back to Quantico.”

You walked closer to the phone and stopped chewing on your nails, rage bubbling inside your chest. “Gideon, whoever the hell this was had access to missing evidence from my father’s murder investigation. Meaning, this son of a bitch is the guy who robbed and killed my father. This is personal.”

“Don’t worry, [Name]. We’re going to find him. Get on the closest flight back here and Garcia will tell you where we are, we’re going to get this guy as soon as we can.” Right after he finished, Gideon hung up, leaving you and Spencer to race to get to the airport in time.

You left your rental car at the airport kiosk, signing it out and rushing after Spencer to get on the flight back home. It was all a blur, blended together to create your perfect disaster. You were stressed, overworked, and ill-prepared. This was the case you’d joined for—to find your father’s murderer and lock the bastard up.

You’d searched and searched and searched, and the criminal found you. Just as you’d eased out of work mode, just as something besides work and murder and blood filled your mind, he stole you away. Because of course he did. Because he was looking.

Spencer was a mess, but not for the same reason. You were obviously under duress, but you were so scattered that he felt like he couldn’t do anything. He did his best, carrying your bags for you, getting you iced chai while waiting for boarding. When you did get on the plane, he immediately lifted the armrest between you back, and pulling out Dante’ Inferno, handing his leather-bound copy over to you.

Your fingers ran over the spine of the book, feeling the indents where the title was, the smooth texture everywhere else. Fine craftsmanship, it must’ve been from a passionate, talented individual bookstore owner with a knowledge of binding. It reminded you of yourself, the care and attention devoted in the craft.

“You’ve got a fine copy here, Spence,” you smiled, as much as you could. “My dad would’ve loved it.”

“Do you think you can still bind books well?” he asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

“I’ll never forget.”

He nodded, smiling something bittersweet, “We’ll find your dad’s old book. And you’re going to fix it.” You smiled again, a little more genuine, and flicked open Spencer’s copy of Dante’s Inferno.

“I’ve got supplies in a closet somewhere,” you recalled, voice soft and quiet in case it suddenly broke. You didn’t want to cry, and you shouldn’t, not here, but it was becoming harder to not be vulnerable with Spencer. “I dream about him every night.”

Reid nods, moving his hand to rest on your knee, moving his thumb gently, allowing you to continue. “I’ve been waiting for a lead, since before I was even in the FBI academy. I’ve been waiting for 8 years and now that I’ve finally got it… just when I was happy, too.” You pause for a minute, letting one tear roll down your face but holding the rest in. “I see his body everywhere I go, can’t stop remembering how the blood felt on my hands, how lifeless he looked. I miss him, even after all this time, and now that I’ve finally got a chance to figure out who did it, I don’t want to.”

Spencer pulled you closer, looking out the small window to see the bright blue sky and all the clouds. Your breathing was still erratic, your heart still broken. And he hated how in the moment you needed him most, he couldn’t figure out what to say. “I’m here,” he murmured, over and over again until he was sure you knew what he meant.

. . .

Even though Garcia’s explanation was rushed, you vaguely understood what was happening. She refused to look you in the eye, too, possibly because Gideon had told the team about what you’d found and how it was connected to you personally. It didn’t matter though, because you’d just pulled up to a possible unsub’s apartment.

The alleyway in which all the cars were parked was also crowded by other FBI members, all unguarded, meaning the unsub wasn’t there. The local police, and an extra car were also there, you assumed some sort of medical examiner, and there was probably a body.

You and Reid were authorized to enter after flashing your badges, and neither of you were asked to put on vests. Walking in, the both of you grabbed gloves, Spencer just holding them while you slid them on and followed him over to the crime scene.

It wasn’t overly graphic, compared to other things you’ve seen, but it was traditional to become emotionally numb in the job. No matter what, someone had died here, an ‘unrepentant bad man’ or not. The bed, and with it, the man named Frank Giles, was lying in the center of the room, a sword plunged into his chest and sticking upright.

Elle, Hotch, Morgan and Gideon all stood in the room, Hotch reading something written on the sword out loud to the rest of the team. “To learn of what should next be done, leave the blade til’ the hour be none.”

Spencer stepped closer, watching as Hotch asked Elle to step back. “The bed’s in the middle of the room,” Hotch began, Morgan interrupting for a second, “And maybe the light from here casts a shadow and points to something.”

Derek quickly began explaining his theory, “Well midnight is 00:00 hours in 24-hour time. Would that be none?” Hotch dismissed this quickly, stating that there would be no shadow at midnight, until Reid finally spoke up.

“3pm.” Everyone turned to him first, then you, then back to him. Obviously, Gideon did tell everyone that this was connected to your father’s death. And surprisingly, you looked very calm for someone about to embark on their quite literal personal case, the one you’d joined for. “Hey guys, Garcia told us where to find you.”

Hotch nodded at you, barely acknowledging how personal of a situation this was for you, but quickly dismissed it, listening to Spencer talk about medieval terms for hours of the day, then asking for lighting equipment so he could replicate the 3pm sun.

While people walked in and out with various standing lights, Gideon finally walked up to you. You turned to him, offering a quick nod and smile before quickly dropping it when he mentioned your dad. “You know you can’t let your past affect this case,” he states, and you nod. “It’s obviously personal, and I know this person is targeting you, but you can’t allow yourself to make mistakes because of your past with the unsub.”

Sighing, you agreed with Gideon, instead moving next to the shadow as Reid adjusted it, and you knocked on the wall until you heard a hollow sound, ripping away the wallpaper without need for Hotch’s command. Underneath all the wallpaper was a box, and you immediately grabbed it.

Reid stopped you, “Are we sure it’s safe?”

Hotch quickly dismissed him and allowed you to examine it. You played with the lock for only a few seconds before looking back up at Reid. “Give me the key.” Without hesitation, he handed it over and you shoved it in, and to nobody’s surprise, it fit perfectly. You lifted the lid, and familiar music had began to play, one that Reid had played for you during the classical music quiz.

“Forellenquintett,” you and Reid murmured in unison, the rest of the team looking up at each other before shrugging it off. Reid reached inside to grab the note from the music box, reading it out loud to the rest of the team.

Never would it be night, but always clear day to any man’s sight.

Elle scoffed, walking off, “Well, that was worth it.”

Gideon ignored her, speaking right afterwards. “The lid. Little tab right under the lock.”

You quickly fiddled with it, revealing a CD and a lock of hair that nearly perfectly matched yours. You hummed under your breath in disapproval and disgust, Derek and Elle working together to put the lock of hair in an evidence back and grab the CD for review.

After heading back to the table room, you and Reid sat next to each other, which was your usual spot. For some reason the team seemed to eye the both of you, suspicious about what had happened in Vegas and why you two were still together when you should’ve left before that.

You carefully watched the TV after someone slid in the CD. A dimly lit desk with cluttered items all around it, and a very large throne behind it. A man wobbled into frame, clearly injured by something, which the team noted.

“I assure you, you’ll all understand in the end why it must be this way. You might even thank me. You know now you’re on a quest; a young girl’s life depends on the successful completion of it. As you can see, she’s quite beautiful . . . and in distress.”

You clenched your fists when you saw the girl come into frame, screaming at the camera, begging for something. You wondered if everyone on the team recognized just how much, even from the little they all saw, how she looked like you.

“Now please listen closely for there is one rule, and this rule must be followed. The one rule is only the members of your team may participate in the quest.” He began to list your names, and displayed pictures of each of you in the video, you and Reid in the same frame taken during one of the previous cases. “A quest must be completed in a proper way, or it isn’t a quest, is it? That’s it. One rule. Simple.

“Now, you will be receiving an item soon that will hold the final clue you’ll need to finish the quest. You will find you also need a book which has inspired many an adventure like mine. Believe me when I tell you, I truly hope to see you all soon. It will mean a successful end to this adventure for all of us, but especially [Name].”

With that, the clip was over and all that was left was static. Reid had tensed after he’d mentioned you by name, and it didn’t fly over the heads of any of your coworkers either. The unsub knows you so well, doesn’t he? Pictures of you and Reid together, knowledge of just how to tick you off, and additionally, he knows what happened to your father the last night he was alive and is plunging that knife of knowledge right into your heart and twisting it. Involving all your coworkers in it, making it clear that all of this, it’s all for you.

You were the subject of madness, the main target of all of this. You were the ‘protagonist’, he was the villain, and everyone else—the dead, your coworkers, the girl he’d kidnapped—were all side characters in the story. But Reid, standing right next to you in the picture while everyone else was photographed individually, that said something to you. He knew about whatever was happening between the two of you, so much so that it was terrifying because he probably knew better than either of you.

Suddenly, the team was active. “This guy’s got pictures of us?” Elle exclaims.

Reid fiddled with the pen in his hand, “What do we do now?”

Hotch eyed you, noting how tense you seemed when only just minutes ago, even with a dead body in front of you, you were eerily calm. “The lock of hair’s being analyzed for DNA. There might be something on file.” JJ walked out, vowing to figure out who the girl is. Hotch nodded, “Let’s get the clues up on the board. Maybe we can make some sense of something.”

Elle immediately objected, “Wait, we’re going to play this guy’s game?”

Reid sighed, glancing at you for a few moments, “Do we have a choice?”

Everybody stayed silent, Spencer’s words lingering in the air while Gideon and Hotch went to a different room. You began quietly pinning the clues in the evidence bags to the board, not saying a single word to anybody else in the room. Elle found the soft crumple of the evidence bags relaxing, eyes closing softly until Hotch interrupted her nap and sent Anderson to take her home.

Soon enough, yet another piece of evidence, a list of number sets in a strict pattern, though it may not seem like it without a keen eye. Just as Spencer opened his mouth, you beat him to the punch. “Sets of numbers, page number, line number, word number. It’s a cipher based on a book which he expects us to know.”

Derek stares back at you, Spencer’s mouth opening and closing like a fish. Sure, you were quicker sometimes than he was, but you seemed so rigid, it was odd to them. “Yeah but what book?”

“Well, this ‘quest’ is clearly meant to be personal to you, [Name],” Derek proposed, “Meaning this is a book he expects you to know.” Spencer sighed, walking over to grab the ripped pages the unsub had sent you and examines them, reading the words hoping he’d remember reading this book at some point but he doesn’t.

“Dante’s Inferno?” Reid questioned, even though he obviously knew it wasn’t.

“Both of us would recognize it. Whatever book my dad was fixing that night, it was that book. Specifically, a first edition. Let’s see… that was eight years ago. Do you think memory recall would work?”

Elle and Derek simply stood off to the side while you and Reid debated each other, glancing at each other occasionally. Yet, the body language was the same as it always was, and maybe what had changed was the way Elle and Derek read the situation.

“When you got there, the book was gone; how would you know which one he was supposed to be working on?” Spencer rebutted.

“I was closing, I must’ve—” you stammered, “I must’ve known what book he was working on, I have to!” Soon, you were pacing around the room, muttering things underneath your breath and attempting to retrace your steps from 8 years ago that also occurred across the country.

Derek set his hands on your shoulders, holding you in place and stopping your pacing. “Okay, [Name], calm down, we can always try memory recall, and if not, the clues should be in the evidence—this guy is meticulous, I’m sure he’s accounted for this.”

Suddenly, Gideon walked back into the room, looking at the four of you. Spencer was still staring at the evidence board, Hotch leaning back in his chair, and Derek and you standing in the middle of the room. “[Name], you don’t have to relive that memory if it’s not necessary. How would we proceed if we didn’t have all these clues? What’s the first thing we’d look at?”

“Victimology,” you swallowed, both thankful and displeased that Gideon was looking out for your wellbeing. Everybody was watching you so closely, especially because this was a personal case to you, as if they expected you to break down at any moment.

“And we have a victim, Rebecca Bryant. Hotch and I will follow the mailman lead. Derek, take JJ and find out everything you can about Rebecca. Reid, [Name], stay here and find the book. If anybody can do it, it’s you two.”

Everyone else left the room, Reid and you staying. Sure, Gideon didn’t want you to relive the worst moments of your entire life, but you were so close. So you shut the door to the roundtable room and turned back to Reid. “I want to do memory recall.”

. . .

The chair you were sitting on was soft and sturdy, so you let yourself lean back, and you closed your eyes. You breathed, waiting for Reid to begin. You tried to calm yourself, enough to the point where your anger flooded away and all you could do was think. See your memories in a clear light.

“I’m going to try and calm down first, can you guide me?”

Spencer nodded, breathing along with you. “What is your favorite memory?”

You focused in on the word, smiling; favorite. You could hear Spencer’s giddy laugh echoing in your ears, bright city lights clouding your vision. The hood of your black rental car from Vegas reflected them, the smaller model of the Eiffel tower standing tall, neon signs and main strip casino windows. The cool, night breeze in your hair. You could still feel Reid’s lingering presence in the passenger’s seat, the way he looked at you with those doe-y, hazel eyes. His pupils were inflated, shrinking again when he turned away to change the stereo.

You could feel the pain in your toe when you stubbed it on the hotel bedframe, you could feel the newly replaced bedsheets of the hotel against your legs, and you could see Spencer standing over you, smiling so widely when you laughed. The way his warm skin felt against yours, how gentle he was with his arms around you.

You imagined the pool water as he splashed it back at you, the water droplets against his skin and the way he slicked back his wet hair. His laugh and shy smile after you told him he still looked like a rat when he was wet. The understanding look when he listened to your struggles with the BAU, your life story, the interest in your past and your hobbies.

After all the memories you’d made yesterday had flashed through your head in a matter of seconds, you registered what it meant. When you thought of happy, you thought of him. Some of your favorite moments in life were with him, being around him, watching him. Him, him, him. This feeling—it was consuming you, and it felt so delightful. You wanted it to devour you, and you let it.

“Yesterday,” you whispered after a minute of reliving the best day of your life. You didn’t open your eyes, but you could hear Reid shift in his chair and you smiled, assuming he was blushing. Profiler or not, he knew what that meant.

He sighed, “Are you ready to go back?” You nodded. “It was eight years ago. How old were you?”

“I was sixteen, and about to graduate high school.” You still remember how frustrated and overwhelmed you were. The night before you discovered your dad, you had the closing shift along with a massive pile of homework and colleges to apply to. You sat behind the wooden counter, combing through your homework as fast as you could, eager for your father to come and take an overnight shift in working with the books.

“What time was it?”

“It was five minutes until the clock struck 11,” you said, which was the beginning of your father’s shift at the bookstore. You were packing up your homework and college applications back into your bookbag, noting on a stray piece of paper all the leftover homework and applications you had to pour over in the morning. You were so tired, but you wanted to thank your father for taking the shift tonight and letting you rest.

“My father is coming in,” you tell Spencer, reliving the last moment you saw him alive. The door rang, signaling his entrance. His hair and shoulders were wet from the rain outside, something you didn’t remember about the scene until now. He smiled, asking you how your day went.

“Okay, sweetpea,” he had begun, “are you ready to go home?” You nodded to him, but not before helping him with his bags. He looked at you, smiling while you followed him down to the book storage, an icy cold basement.

You watched, setting out his materials for him while he brought out the book, which was partially bound but tattered still, especially the cover, and you had to take a double take, pausing and hearing Reid’s voice. You weren’t listening, but rather going through the evidence in your head.

JJ’s butterfly, Reid’s key, and a lock of hair all on top of a piece of bloodied parchment. You could see the dainty, cursive letters, shocked as to how you’d not remember the cover when you worked at a bookstore. You gasped, nearly crying as you remembered the last thing you’d seen your father doing alive.

You tried to shake it all out of your head, the unsub wanted to get to you. This quest was curated for you and him, a chess game, and you needed to have a level head to win. Sitting straight up, your eyes shot open and you and Reid shared a glance, him smiling proudly. You handled yourself so well.

“The Collector, by John Fawkes,” you stated, rushing over to the board where all the evidence was pinned. You took off the butterfly, the lock of hair, the key and the bloodied paper and set them in front of Reid.

“These are all on the first edition front cover, a bloodied piece of paper as a background, the key, the lock of hair and the butterfly all on top. Not only do they have a personal significance to us, but to the book. I should’ve known sooner,” you berated yourself, explaining quickly before walking off, ready to call the nearest library for their first edition copy of The Collector.

. . .

Reid, Garcia, and you had all stood around, them solving the cipher and writing the message on the board. Elle had been sent home earlier, so you were a team member short, but you were closer than you’d ever been on solving your dad’s murder. So close you could almost imagine him, smiling down at you and telling you that you were doing a good job. That’s all the encouragement you needed.

Hotch had berated Anderson for only dropping Elle off rather than staying at her house, stating that the unsub had all of your personal information. You begged Hotch to let you go to her house and stay, but he said he had needed you too much because of your connection to the case.

Instead, you watched as Reid and Garcia went over the cipher with the librarian. You walked away from the team when Hotch called you. “Yes sir?”

“Elle was shot at her house, I’m at the hospital now, I need you and Reid to keep working on those clues. I’ll update you when she’s out of surgery.”

Your stomach twisted, wondering why in all hell the unsub took Elle. This was your quest, the team were all there to aid you. Why would he hurt Elle instead of you? Instead of your family or someone you were close to? You nearly cried out as you broke into tears—this team, the BAU, is your family. And you’ve brought all of them into danger just by being here.

When you walked back into the room, you’d discovered that Reid had called his mom to be flown into Quantico by the federal agents there, and that you’d be meeting his mom for the first time. She was involved in this case now too, and you wondered if you should stick around after this. If all of this, if Elle’s shooting was your fault.

. . .

You leaned against Reid’s desk as he fiddled with the evidence bag that the poem was in. “Your mom’s safe,” you said, “agents just picked her up and she’s flying over here now. Garcia told me.”

Reid didn’t even dare to meet your gaze, staring at the poem still. “I forgot she always used to read me this poem,” he started. “And I realized that nobody knows things like the fact that JJ collects butterflies except for me. People tell me their secrets all the time, and I think it’s because they know I don’t have anyone to betray them to… except for my mother. I tell her pretty much everything in my letters. Did you know that I write her everyday?”

You smiled, leaning forward, “I did, Reid. And I know that you feel guilty about not seeing her two days ago. That you write all of those letters to make up for the fact that you think you don’t visit her enough.”

He looked up at you, a clear question in his eyes. How do you know?

“Reid, during my memory recall, when you asked what my favorite memory was… I’ve been alive for twenty-four years, and out of any memory—the ones with my best friend, the good days here, my childhood—I chose Las Vegas. Not because of the beautiful city lights, or the fancy car, but because you were there with me, just us.

“I told you about my father not because you don’t have anyone to betray me to, but because I want you to know. Because I trust you whole-heartedly, and if anybody in this world should know me best, it’s you.”

Spencer finally held his eye contact with you, swallowing hard. You let your words hang in the air before putting your hand on his shoulder and squeezing, allowing it to linger there for a few seconds before walking back to Garcia’s lair, wanting to soak up all the information she might have. 

You heard the signature ‘beep’ of Garcia hanging up on someone, and shut her door gently before striding over to her desk. “What’s going on so far?”

She didn’t lift up her eyes to look at you, typing furiously on her computer, “I’m searching for Rebecca Bryant’s biological family, turns out she was adopted by the Bryant family and her real last name is Garner.”

Penelope filled you in further on the details, actively working to unseal her adoption papers and find out what happened to the original family; after all, the victimology is the first thing you look at. 

Could you consider yourself a victim? He’d been taunting and tormenting you and your entire team, he was most likely the man who had killed your father, or at least knew what happened or was involved somehow. Your father had been murdered prior to Rebecca’s disappearance, and you considered why this man would have been involved with your father’s murder and Rebecca’s disappearance. 

Were you actually a target?

You went to sit back at your desk, looking at your old piece of parchment paper with your favorite canto of Dante’s Inferno written in cursive, the fifth, the canto of Francesca. The most famous line written in bold and in the original Italian, “Amor, ch’a nullo amato amar perdona,” or “Love, that excempts no beloved from loving in return.”

The bullpen was a shuffle of people, other agents you didn’t interact with that much, that didn’t come with you on cases, and tons of other people rushing around, going through files, making phone calls. Spencer strided over from the small kitchenette to sit at his desk, which was connected to yours, sitting across from you with a small wall of transparent glass in between. 

He smiled at you, a warm, small smile that frequently was exchanged between the two of you. Sometime in between your talk at his desk and the hour or so you went without seeing each other, there was a microscopic layer of tension between you, beginning right where your desks separated. 

The shuffling of the bullpen dulled the ache of the tension, and so did your eyes slowly closing to rest for just a few minutes as Reid spent his time half-dozing off while reading a printed out version of The Collector. Reid finally broke this silence when your head began to tilt to the side as you fell into a tiny cat nap. He called for you, with no response, so he got out of his chair and poked you in the forearm. 

You wiggled a bit in your sleep, shifting around trying to find some semblance of comfort in your uncomfortable office chair. He takes a moment to stare just for a bit at your face. Looking at your eyes gently closed, your face peaceful even in this painful position, his mind fogged with the soft midnight laughter you traded with each other in the Vegas hotel room. He imagined the weight of your head on his chest, your arm laid over his stomach, your face and warm breath against the crook of his neck. 

He realized quickly the words that came along with the happy memories made along with you. The constricting yet freeing feeling stuck in his throat and squeezed around his heart, the sort of euphoria you associate with the warm feeling of sun on your skin and driving a convertible along the coast. That beautiful, powerful, devouring feeling of knowing that someone has you. You’re theirs, completely and utterly. 

The feeling of pure joy when you stop daydreaming and start remembering memories instead. When the words to describe this feeling escape you because all you can think about is that one, special person who has altered the course of your life forever. When you can no longer write romance because none of the words you put onto a page can do this feeling--this love--justice. 

He was in love with you. He felt it in everywhere he looked, everything he did, and every moment he lived. 

Spencer took a quick look around the office, and gently prodded at your sleeping form again until you open your eyes just a little, squinting against the bright lights of the bullpen. He held out his hand, which you, in your sleepy, half-awake state, took with no hesitation as he guided you into the conference room and turned off most of the lights. 

He showed you to the couch, sitting on the far end, leaving you room to lay down and take the rest of it while the two of you rested and waited for Spencer’s mother to arrive. The crown of your head was just barely touching the side of his thigh, and eventually, moving and wiggling around in your sleep made you lay your head straight in his lap. 

He felt the sudden movement and then the weight, and stared down at your side profile, admiring the way the dim lights highlighted your face perfectly. He brushed hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear, and he swear he saw a ghost of a smile on your face. He fell asleep, fingers still intertwined and resting in your hair. 

Spencer dreamt of city lights and midnight laughter and Vegas hotel rooms. He dreamt of walking up behind you while you made pancakes in the morning and piling kisses all along the side of your neck and face, arms wrapped around your waist and the way your body would be decorated in stripes by the morning sun. 

He was woken up by the distribution of weight changing, your head shifting to stare up at him, hair surrounding your face in a pile on his lap. The sleepy smile that graces your face twists his stomach into knots and melts his heart. 

You seem to not mind the fact that your head had wound up in his lap, and instead, you muttered a small, sleepy, single word. “Coffee?”

He almost laughed, just stunned by how natural the domesticity and comfortability between you two felt. Like the wall that had built between you--separating your pinkies from intertwining, separating your fates from inexplicably linking--had suddenly vanished. There was a mutual understanding there--you make me feel safe, you make me happy, you are mine.

He slid out from underneath your head, turning around just before he reached the exit to look at you, splayed across the couch comfortably, the dim 5:00 am moonlight gleaming through the windows, and your eyes, shining even brighter back at him with a giant smile on your face. 

In the small kitchenette, he tidies himself up as much as possible, fussing with his hair while coffee brewed, and just as he finished pouring the both of you a cup, a group of FBI agents gathered around the entrance with a blonde, tall and pale woman that was Spencer’s mother. 

“That’s why you’re so skinny, you know,” Spencer’s mother, Diana Reid stated only a few seconds after walking into the bullpen. Spencer turned his head, setting down the pot of coffee. His mother’s eyes were sunken just a bit, dark circles underneath, worry lines accenting her face. “Too much coffee.”

Her frame was cramped up, shoulders tightened and her body looking even more frail by the minute. Her short pixie cut looked untamed, and Spencer wondered how stressed she had been. He knows that she hates planes, and the government, and basically anything else where somebody might be watching her. 

Schizophrenia tends to do that to a person. Even the smartest people get unlucky, get ill in a time where there isn’t much help or refuse it themselves. Spencer lives every day wondering about his mother’s happiness and well-being, but knows she is taken care of in her facility. He writes her everyday, and thinks about his childhood memories, about his father and mother and how he wanted a relationship that was nearly the opposite of that. 

They loved each other at one point. Enough to have him and raise him together for a few years, and all he can think about is how much he would love and cherish his wife, his children with her, and how no matter what got in the way, he couldn’t see himself ever letting go.

All these thoughts, worry for his mother, himself, his future, his children float through his head and pass by in a few seconds. The next few seconds consist of you, whether his mother would approve of you and just how much she might adore you for seeing you make her son so happy.

Finally coming back to reality, he nodded at the FBI agents who had brought her here. “Thanks a lot guys, I’ve got her.” Walking forward, he looks at the horrified look on his mother’s face, eyebrows raised and hand coming to cover her mouth, glancing around the FBI bullpen, clearly unnerved by where she was.

Once the FBI agents have disappeared around the corner of the hallway into the bullpen and Spencer takes a few more steps towards her, she lets her hand drop from her face. “You know I’m terrified of flying,” she states, shaking her head for emphasis. 

Spencer gives a small, fake smile. “I know mom, I’m sorry.”

Spencer glances over his mom’s shoulder, seeing you come out of the roundtable room and begin walking over to where he and his mom were standing. Still obviously upset, his mom continues, “Well then why did you have those fascists arrest me?”

He can hear your footsteps echoing throughout the mostly quiet bullpen, and he tries to calm his mom down before you arrive here, to introduce yourself. 

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new absence of everything drops on Friday at 3:30pm MST. I know it’s been a long wait but since I’ve gotten back into writing, I thought it might be good to finish up some old works. thanks to encouragement from @nightxwitch​ in my notes, it’s finally here. i love you guys <3

[wrinkledparchment]

in the absence of everything (i)

Summary: [Based on 1x18] | Gideon, Reid and you go to LA for a profiling seminar for the LAPD. Reid meets a beautiful lady at an art gallery who is being stalked. The BAU team needs to solve the case, but the ambiguous relationship between you and Reid is put on the rocks when the victim and Reid get a little too close. 

Word Count: 9,027 words

Author’s Note: Here it is ya bastards,,, thank you so much for always being so supportive and lovely. I tried to get this out as quick as possible, and this is just the first of many chapters in this series, hence the i in the title. 

Content Warnings: Vague depictions of violence, murder, and crime scenes, typical criminal minds stuff, lots of jealousy and pining with a healthy mix of fluff (at least for this chapter)

Series Taglist: Go ahead and comment if you’d like to be tagged in this series, and I’ll be keeping track :) Hope you like it!!

the abscence of everything: . . . | ii | iii

You really, really wished you hadn’t been chosen to come with Gideon and Reid today. Gathering yourself, you watched as an old high school friend of Reid’s came to greet the three of you. He was quite handsome, clearly confident as he took large strides and used sweeping hand gestures. As he gave his greetings to Reid, you watched as he pulled your partner in for an uncomfortable hug and Reid stumbled, clearly disliking the gesture. You giggled a little bit under your breath, still sleepy and delirious from the jet ride.

You were always happy to work alongside any of your colleagues, most especially Doctor Spencer Reid, the closest in age range to you and youngest member of the team, beating you out by just a couple years. Obviously handsome, incredibly intelligent, witty, nerdy, with an endless source of curiosities and newfound discoveries to pick at. He always kept you on your toes, consistently pulling out random facts from the library that is his mind. You definitely didn’t mind the challenging pace he set for you, as he drove you to do better and be better at your job in the BAU.

You were almost always paired with Spencer—Hotch found you two work well together and had been pairing you up nearly since you joined the BAU. On a later case, he decided you and Elle would be more suited to a specific job, rather than you and Spencer. Both teams involved in the switching up—Reid and Morgan, Elle and you—later told Gideon and Hotch that it’d been difficult. While Elle and Morgan frequently paired up with other team members, you and Spencer had gotten so used to working beside one another that your teams had found themselves not working as efficiently. Elle mentioned how you had referred to her as “Doc” or “Spence” several times and didn’t acknowledge any of the slipups until she confronted you about it.

FBI Policy was not geared towards supporting romantic relationships in the first place, and you thought Hotch wouldn’t be very enthused either, but you swear that when Elle mentioned that and Hotch saw you blush, he had the tiniest smile which disappeared only seconds later. Spencer and you insisted that there was no romantic connection, absolutely none at all, in fact, and why was everyone so certain you were lying? For a room full of profilers, this meant nothing, of course, but you persisted anyways. The both of you stayed so incredibly persistent, in fact, that you began to believe it.

No, Spencer, the compulsion to spit out random, irrelevant facts or quote your favorite things or swing by that coffee shop he hears you rave about and get you a morning treat does not mean he likes you. He admires you, respects you, hell, idolizes you even, but he does most certainly not like you like that. You also deny all these feelings. You deny it even as you pull out the secret drawer in your desk where you keep your notepad full of anything relevant to Spencer’s favorites. No, you did not have a map of his favorite restaurants, and a ranking of 1-3 top meals at each restaurant listed. And how dare you insinuate that you have a section of your notebook dedicated to Spencer’s favorite morning snacks, coffee orders, or books he’s mentioned he wanted to read. Why would you?

You finally broke out of your jet-lag induced stupor as Reid motioned to you, and Reid’s former classmate held out his hand for you to shake. “Agent,” he smiled, shaking your hand, and lingering for just a little longer than he should. You weren’t even aware of Reid’s subtle offense, first after saying he looked just like he did when he was twelve, followed by a lingering gaze and grip on his coworker.

Reid, Gideon and Dunley continued to chat about the venue, but you were zoning out. You’d been losing sleep consistently, having worse nightmares after days you weren’t paired with Spencer. Even on days you were, though, you continued to wake up in the middle of the night, unable to shake the feeling that you were, and would always be too late. Too late to work, too late to tell Reid how you feel, too late to save the victims.

Instead, you watch as Dunley walks over to a beautiful woman just entering the gallery, attempting to smile as bright as you can when Reid asks you, “Do I look twelve years old to you?” You laugh, assuring him he’s at least 15, one year up from Gideon’s estimation as they both walk away to follow Dunley. You stay there, opting to watch from a distance the interactions there. You can hear Spencer stuttering, the same way he did when you first entered the office and sat down in the desk across from him. You can still feel the new-hire jitters, the lingering excitement that quickly evaporated as soon as you started to empathize with the victims.

The way he stutters, draws his eyes away from hers, you know he’s attracted to her. You’re a profiler, and you’ve known him long enough to recognize the tell-tale signs. She smiles, as if endeared by the bumbling agent who is certifiably absolute sh*t at talking to girls. Gideon looks back, feeling the missing warmth of your nearby presence, and for a fleeting moment he makes eye contact with you. He gives a soft smile and a knowing look, an offer of condolences maybe, because he knows the all too familiar pang of jealousy.

It made you feel even worse that he wasn’t yours. You didn’t have the right to be jealous or protective or defensive because he wasn’t yours and would never be. The both of you knew that. Perhaps that what Gideon meant as well, condolences as well as a ‘maybe if you weren’t such a coward’. You couldn’t bring yourself to ask him out. Ever.

Reid was the office pretty boy for a reason, despite being awkward and clumsy, he could get girls or guys with his looks and wits in a matter of seconds. Didn’t matter where or when, Spencer was the prettiest one there. You knew that, everybody else on your team knew that, and so did the woman standing over there, allowing him to embarrass himself. You couldn’t blame her for enjoying Spencer Reid stuttering and finding any chance to flirt with her.

Her name was Lila, such a simple and beautiful name. You could swear you saw them shake hands, something he never did, and your heart nearly crumbled, so you decided instead to face yourself towards the artwork behind you. You tried so hard not to eavesdrop, hearing Reid talk about the training service and her obvious flirting, but it was so, so difficult. You tried to stare at the photo, a beautiful purple background with near-neon coloring of an empty gas station. The way your heart thundered in your rib cage almost made it so you couldn’t eavesdrop, but your FBI agent instincts kicked in. Even without being able to see them, you could feel the sexual tension between them.

They began coming over to the photograph you were next to, and you decided to go look at a different one. You could swear you felt the confused eyes of a certain doctor burning into the back of your head as you moved away, but only for a few seconds before their conversation began again, Reid even saying he felt ‘pretty good’ after she asked him how the artwork made him feel. Before you knew it, Gideon’s arm rested on your shoulder, drawing your attention from the photograph in front of you and your ears away from their conversation.

You made eye contact with Gideon as he displayed a smirk, nearly chuckling under his breath at the obvious jealousy in your eyes. “You’ve got it bad, kid,” he commented, and you nodded, giving him a small, fake smile as a response. He nodded his head and walked towards the exit, telling Reid to come along with the two of you to get to the conference. Of course, he was always slow at finishing up conversations with flirty girls when he liked them, so you had a small window of opportunity to gather yourself and turn back into the normally playful, witty person you are.

As soon as he began following you, you smirked and raised an eyebrow at him. He blushed, not deep red, but just enough that it was a faint pink among his cheeks, and you hated the way your heart was sent ablaze by just how adorable he looked. “Shut up,” he murmured, close enough to you that only you could hear it as your shoulders brushed on your way out.

“Doc, you and I both know that I will never shut up about this,” you remarked. He nodded, chuckling, and turned his head back to you, falling into a matching rhythm of steps as he remembered just how comfortable he felt around you. For a quick moment, Lila slipped out of his mind and all he could think of was how adorable you were when you were teasing him, and just how much he wished he could grab your hand right now, and drag you in and out of the conference before taking you all over LA to every spot in the region he knew you’d like.

“Hey [Name]?” he asked, and you quickly made eye contact with him, allowing him to continue. “You, uh, you didn’t come with to greet her and when we went over to the photograph you were looking at you turned away. If you’d known we were coming, and I know you did, why wouldn’t you stay and introduce yourself?”

Your heart dropped for minute, and you hated yourself for forgetting that he was a profiler. Unless he was oblivious, which he definitely was, he’d know you were jealous. But you pushed that aside, relying on your teasing relationship to get out of every mess you’d gotten yourself into. You swore you saw Gideon turn a tiny bit towards the conversation, hoping that you’d just admit to it already. You didn’t. “Well Spence, you definitely looked like the two of you needed some alone time. I am not third-wheeling you and another woman again.”

You could swear you saw a glimmer of disappointment in eyes, but he still smiled, and you knew he knew that there was something more, but you were a professional. You’re never going to admit to your coworker that you’re jealous of a lady he was talking to right before a conference on profiling. Plus, you’re not stupid, and you know that Spencer knows what you’re doing. He knows you’re deflecting, a hidden message of ‘don’t you dare try and uncover this’, of ‘you know I’m in love with you but I would never tell you, you know I can’t.’

He quickly turned his head away, opting not to respond but instead digest your words. He knew there was hidden meaning there, but he couldn’t tell if was malicious, sarcastic, or just plain jealous. But you were, well, you, and you could get anyone and anything you want on the spot, including him. All you’d have to do is ask, and he couldn’t get you out of his head. He was so desperate for your attention, so sick of waiting, but he was too scared of ruining your friendship. Perhaps that was why he was so quick to respond to Lila’s flirting, because any attention he received from anyone else was so desperately needed. He was quick to replace Lila with you, quick to take any attention he could get from a girl and wallow in it. He pretended it was your eyes he was looking into, that you were standing next to him, that you were staring at him from across the room or hitting on him at the bar.

 . . .

“You know, we really can get ourselves to the airport,” Gideon comments, looking at the detective beside him. Spencer and you fell into step beside each other, as usual, with Spencer carrying a bag for you. Spencer had your phone, a book, a notebook, and a small journal with an assortment of pens and pencils in his satchel that hung across his body, all of which accompanied his things. Spencer had been carrying your stuff for a while now, and nobody in the department had commented on it besides Elle, at least to your face. She saw once how you held out your hand to Spencer, and how he reached immediately into his pockets and gave you the notebook, the one you always carried around with you on cases. She’d questioned it, but Spencer immediately dismissed it as him just being nice. Sure, she had murmured under her breath.

As Spencer and you got inside the backseat, he handed you the small journal and some pencils, watching as you mindlessly sketched on the way to an LA crime scene with the detective driving, and after that, LAX airport. You missed how Gideon had heard the rustling and looked into the rearview mirror to see the small interaction between the two of you. Gideon subtly watched as Spencer’s hand lingered near yours just a little too long, and the way both of your eyes gleamed as your hands touched but did not dare look the other in the eye.

You two were really that fucking oblivious.

Gideon wanted to slap both of you and hopefully get you both to realize just how fucking in love the two of you are, but he just smiled to himself instead, letting a breath out of his nose and turning back to the road as the detective drove.

Gideon and the detective sat in the front seats, discussing the previous crime scenes, briefing the situation and background of the victim, at least, as much as he could without being at the crime scene. Meanwhile, though, you half-listened to the pair in the front of the car as you filled up the page of your journal with a drawing of the photograph in the art gallery. Spencer recognized it immediately, hands tracing the edge of your paper, watching the way your hands stilled once you looked up to him.

“That’s—that’s the exact photo. It looks like you printed the outline of the photograph exactly,” he whispered, quiet enough that you were sure the people in the front seat could hear the words but not loud enough they would pay any attention.

You turned back to him with a smirk, “Psychoanalyze, huh? Are you doing that to me right now?” you spoke as close to Lila’s tone as you could, and Spencer’s cheeks once again dusted pink. Reid’s eyes looked over your face and back to the picture, thinking. You could tell he was psychoanalyzing, and the fact that you made him wonder what was going inside your head made your insides turn. That he was thinking about you, trying to understand you as best as he could.

“You heard the conversation but have a perfect memory of the photograph,” he commented, clearly speaking his thoughts, and he turned to you once again. “Why were you eavesdropping?”

You looked Reid deeply in the eyes, staring for a few seconds, enough that you saw him squirm under your intense gaze. “You have no game, Doc,” you smiled, and he mirrored your expression. “You were stuttering, uncomfortable, barely able to speak. You were attracted to her, and she, you. You deserve someone of high caliber, and this team is family. I’m a profiler, all I did was profile.”

Even speaking in fragments, even dancing around the point that you just wanted to protect him, he understood you. He quickly looked back down at your hands, which were relaxed, still gripping the pencil, and he sighed. You were good at pretending, because none of your body language indicated you were jealous or lying. None. “Thank you,” he muttered, meeting your eyes again.

“We’re family, Spence. I care about you, even as much as I make fun of you. I hope you know that,” you responded, smiling. Your body moved on autopilot, one of your hands setting down the pencil and putting your hand over Spencer’s, which lie on top of the journal in your lap now. The skin was so soft on the back of his hand, but you knew it would be calloused underneath. “Don’t thank me for wanting you to be safe.”

Spencer loosened his seat belt enough to scoot closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and watching you continue the sketch. He didn’t say another word the rest of the drive, but his arm around you spoke more, and you continued to draw and add more details and even label the sketch with the artist and the date published. Once you were done, you handed Spencer back the journal, and he tucked your supplies back into the satchel he left near his feet. He didn’t put his arm back around you, but he still stayed close, your pinkies touching, until once you were five minutes away from the crime scene, your head got tired and you laid it upon his shoulder. You smiled once he let his head drop on top of yours, and his shoulders rose as he let out a deep breath. His muscles tensed on top of your head, and you looked into the rearview mirror to see him smiling so wide your heart almost stopped beating. You couldn’t wait for the jet ride.

 . . .

Once you arrive at the scene, Spencer immediately begins talking and profiling. “No sign of forced entry,” he states, glancing over your shoulder to the door in the entry way. He hands you a pair of gloves, absent mindedly letting his hands linger near yours for just a little longer. You find the body to the entry, a woman slumped in the chair, shot in the head execution style, all of which was noted by the doctor. Next to her, the male lay on the floor, shot three times.

“Bad timing, must’ve discovered the body and was then shot by the unsub,” you state, “two different M. O’s.”

The detective walks in just then, stating that they’ve got the surveillance camera footage. “Looks like a messenger of some kind wearing a motorcycle helmet. He’s unidentifiable.”

“Messenger? She’s an actress, definitely the first shot, she was waiting for something and answered the door, definitely a script of some kind, yeah?” you finished.

“There’s no sign of struggle between the girl and the unsub between the door and the couch, he most likely forced her at gunpoint,” said Reid.

Gideon raised his eyebrows, “he told her to trust him, ‘Do what I say, I won’t hurt you.’” You hummed, agreeing with the team as you moved throughout the house. “Agent [Name] was right, his killing is messier, the fiancé most likely found her and was then shot while the unsub was still in the house. He was unexpected.”

You looked up, walking back into the room to ask about any similar cases, and the detective nodded. “Same type of weapon, .22 caliber handgun, both shot in the head.” Reid and you made eye contact with furrowed brows before quickly looking back to the detective. “The first was an established film producer, Wally Melman, and the second was Chloe Harris, another young actress but not as well-known as Natalie.”

“All associated with the film industry, hmm? Unsub is probably involved or knows somebody inside the industry. I’m assuming you haven’t come up with any forensic evidence, these look like clean kills,” you concluded.

The detective nodded, “You’re right, the guy knows how to cover his tracks. My men have been here all morning and haven’t gotten anything.”

You could hear the rapid shuttering of cameras outside the uncovered windows, and you made eye contact with Reid before he turned to worriedly stare at the paparazzi outside. You smiled somberly, “Welcome to LA, Doc.”

Gideon glances outside the window, walking away without much deliberation. “.22s are small but efficient, bounce around inside the body like a pinball.”

Spencer walks back over to the body, glancing around, adding that .22s are preferred weapons of the mafia, and finally stating that there doesn’t seem to be a sexual component to the crimes, the body wasn’t mutilated and didn’t have any signs of sexual assault, dead or alive. You quickly add, “Sounds like a serial murder to me, so are we thinking a serial killer?”

The detective makes eye contact with you, a furrow in his brow that demonstrates worry. Gideon speaks up though, before he can ask questions. “Definitely a series of murders, but we don’t know enough yet to say the unsub is a serial killer.”

The detective looks down quickly, playing with his hands before glancing back up, clearly evaluating his options and letting out a quick breath. “Would you consider hanging out in LA a little while, let me lean on your expertise until we figure out what we’ve got?”

Both you and Spencer turned to look at Gideon, as he pursed his lips and nodded, “Yeah, just cancel the flights. We’ll have the rest of our team out here ASAP.” Spencer turned to you, eyes flicking between the door and your eyes, sighing. He was tired, and you were too, but you’ve got a job to do. He gestured towards the door, attempting to smile as he guided you out. Your hands grazed each other, and you swear his fingers twitched, urging to wrap his pinky around yours, just be close to you for a little while. You made eye contact again, and smiled genuinely, your cheeks warm from the LA sun.

 . . .

Detective Kim perched on his desk with his legs in his chair, overlooking several members of the team inside of his office. Hotch and Elle sat in the chairs in front of his desk, while Reid and Morgan leaned on the filing cabinet and you sat on top of the cabinet between them. Reid kept glancing back at you but remained focused on the case, Elle looked back at you occasionally and gave you a tiny smile, being able to read you and the doctor perfectly. He’d brought you a coffee, done exactly the way you liked it. You know Elle and the team knew you liked it that way too, because as soon as you took a sip, you hummed in approval.

“This guy is an assassin?” Detective Kim questioned in disbelief.

“When you look at the victimology, there’s no obvious links,” said Morgan.

You were quick to add, “All the kills are clean, except for Jeremy Collins, as he wasn’t supposed to find the victim when the unsub was there. No evidence left at the crime scene, no prints, no evidence of sexual assault, a quick execution.”

Elle nodded, “From what we can gather, this would be a type four assassin.”

“Type four?”

Reid quickly began his explanation, as usual, “Type one assassins are political assassins like John Wilkes Booth; Type twos are egocentrics looking for simple recognition.”

“Type threes are psychopaths, cold-blooded killers who leave far messier crimes, and type four, our unsub, suffers from a major mental disorder and is frequently delusional,” explained Hotch.

Reid spoke up again, “The closer we come to figuring out that delusion, the closer we’ll get to finding the unsub.”

You watch through the window as a man in a suit comes up to the office and asks for Detective Kim, and shows you all a note, a newspaper clipping about the murder of Natalie Ryan which had been given to his client. Natalie Ryan had been circled, a marker in red reading ‘you owe me’. Clearly, you knew that you had been right, and it was someone involved with the film industry, but not in the way you’d thought.

You and Reid make quick eye contact before you both get up, going out to greet the client. Your jaw nearly drops as you see Lila, the flirty woman from the art gallery sitting in the room. Spencer’s jaw does drop, and he takes a few moments to gather himself. “Lila . . . Hi.”

The two of you bring her out to the bullpen to be interviewed by everybody on the team, sitting at two desks that face each other, Spencer sitting in the chair opposite Lila, and you stand distant from the two of them, near the edge of the semi-circle that’s formed, as far away from the two of them as you can be while remaining conspicuous. It doesn’t work on Gideon, him having been in the art gallery and watching you sulk in your jealousy first-hand.

You introduce yourself to Lila, shaking her hand and moving away as everyone else greets her too. After that, Hotch is the first to speak up. “How well did you know Natalie Ryan?”

“We spoke when we saw each other in public, but we were never friends,” she responded quickly.

“What about Wally Melman?” you questioned, and as she glanced towards you, your stomach turned itself inside out. She really was that gorgeous, no wonder Reid had paid so much attention to her. You pushed all your feelings aside for now, listening to the girl intently as your brain simply catalogued everything you could.

“The-the paper said that was a robbery,” she stammered, looking between you and Reid as you shook your head simply, urging for her to go on. “We met a few times about a project, but I didn’t get the part. They went a different way.”

You quickly turned to Elle as she further questioned her, and you could tell Lila was thinking still, worried about this, you could see it in her eyes. “He cast another actor—oh my god.”

You swallowed harshly, stepping forward just a little bit, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Did they cast Natalie Ryan?” The manager nodded grimly at you while Lila sighed, placing her hand on top of yours and tilting her head forward. You could feel how tense she was underneath her fingertips, so you squeezed and murmured, “it’s not your fault, honey.”

There was chatter amongst the team, Spencer looking between you and Lila, with some sort adoration and sorrow in his eyes—for whom, you did not know. Gideon spoke up then, effectively quieting the team. “Have you ever had the sense that someone is watching you, following you?”

She tilts her head back up again, sliding her hand off yours, but she doesn’t shrug your hand off, she lets you leave it there as she looks to Gideon. “From the moment I get to work, I have hair and makeup and wardrobe people, producers, writers, my agent, my manager, my publicist, not to mention the photographers—"

“Everybody’s always watching you and following you, hmm?” you murmured, and she nodded, agreeing with you before connecting your hands again, tugging it off her shoulder and holding it, playing with your fingers instead, needing some sort of distraction, some warmth, some touch. Reid watched carefully, making eye contact with you before you shrugged with one shoulder, the one that wasn’t being held by Lila. “So, there’s nothing that seems odd, or out of the ordinary, happens on a regular basis?”

“Like what?” she asked immediately, clearly very stressed. You gave her hand a squeeze and allowed Reid to make suggestions. “I receive flowers on the seventh of each month. They just appear in my trailer. Never a note, just a plain glass bowl. Red anemones; my favorite.”

Elle asked her quickly, “And you don’t want to know who they’re from?”

“Celebrities get anonymous gifts all the time. She has fans, you know.”

“Lila,” you asked sweetly, “did anything significant happen on the seventh day of the month?” She shakes her head quickly, leaning on your arm now as she creases her brows. You move your arm to rest on her shoulder again, squeezing it still before letting go, making eye contact with the team.

“The unsub has to be an admirer, Hotch. Murdered the woman who got her part and the producer that cast somebody else, saying ‘you owe me’. Considers themselves responsible for her success because they’re murdering people that don’t, in their eyes, further her career. Knows her favorite flowers, so it’s most likely someone close that loves and cares for her deeply,” you stated.

“So, all these people are being killed because of me?” Lila asked, and you looked to Hotch, but he didn’t meet your eyes. You wanted to urge him not to tell her it was her fault, or that it even could be. It’s not her fault, and she can’t live with this on her conscience.

“It’s . . . possible.” You pursed your lips and nearly wanted to smack the man, and you knew Reid could tell as he made eye contact with you. He looked like he watched someone kick his puppy, eyes full of apologizes yet to be spilled.

Lila buries her head in her hands, shrugging your hand off her shoulder this time, urging the team to let her go before getting out of the chair and leaving the station. You and Spencer meet eyes once again, and you can see the question on his face. You nodded, your heart dropping as you watch him run out of the bullpen and go after her. Gideon, Derek, and Elle all make quick eye contact with you, knowing exactly what you were feeling because of course they did. They were profilers, and they might be family, but if you don’t want them to know you have to stop letting your guard down.

You picked up Spencer’s empty disposable cup, along with yours, and threw it out before making two more coffees, one for you, one for Spencer. You felt so guilty, being protective and jealous like that, and you wanted to stop yourself. So, you promised yourself that whatever happened between Lila and Spencer, you would not come between it. He wasn’t yours, it was unfair to both Spencer and Lila, and it was unfair to you to hold onto him like that, to lead yourself on.

Minutes later, after you’d begun the hefty process of dumping 8 sugars into Reid’s coffee, you felt his presence behind you in the kitchen. You didn’t even look up before talking to him. “Is she doing alright?”

Spencer walked to stand beside you, watching as you dumped sugar into the coffee, seeing 5 packets left to empty, and he smiled, knowing you remembered his order, as always. “She’s doing okay, I think. As best as you can be when someone is stalking you and murdering people around you.”

You picked up another packet, tearing it and pouring it as you talked, “What about you, Spence? How’s the Doc feeling?”

He smiled at the nickname, blinking and thinking for a few moments, unaware that you had been counting how long he’s been staring at you, holding down your blush as best as you could while making his coffee. “I’m just tired, I didn’t sleep well last night. Not that I ever sleep well, but it was particularly hard last night. They’re delivering the profile in a few minutes,” he stated.

You had finished his coffee during his mini-speech and gave it to him. You slid yourself on top of the counter there, leaning your head back against the cabinets before going to take a sip of your coffee. “I wish I was on the jet right now, going back to Virginia and sleeping the whole flight while I can hear you and Gideon playing chess against each other, or listening to you play JJ and Hotch in rummy. That flight after cases is the only time I get decent sleep.”

“The flight, huh?” Spencer questions, but you know he knows the answer. “You don’t sleep well alone do you?”

You shake your head. “More than that. We’re on a plane, with people I know, trust, and respect. Nobody can get on, nobody can get off, and all that’s left is just people and a tiny little cabin. There are no maniacs, no serial killers, nothing. Getting on that plane after my first case here was the first time I’d felt safe since I was nine, and every moment between then and now, I’ve only felt safe on that plane. Not at home, not in the FBI building, only there.”

“What happened when you were nine?”

“Too long of a story for a coffee break, Doc. We should probably head back for the profile.”

You watched from the background as the team gave the profile, Gideon said he wanted you to just rest for a minute, and then after delivering the profile he would come talk to you. You weren’t sure about what specifically, but it was most definitely about Spencer. Reid, as usual, helped immensely giving the profile, and kept looking back to you, obviously curious about why you weren’t speaking as much as you normally would. You would normally be much more talkative, add details, not blend into the background of police officers and detectives taking notes.

After giving the profile, Gideon walked over to you to pull you aside, taking you back to Kim’s office for a moment and standing there, leaving the door open. You could feel Spencer’s eyes follow you into the room, watching curiously as Gideon began to talk. “Agent [Name], I know that there’s something going on between you and Spencer right now—”

You opened your mouth, attempting to interrupt him, but he held up his finger, signaling to you he wasn’t done. “I’m not going to ask you about it, or pry, because I already know what’s happening. We’re in the middle of a case, with someone who will be finding other victims. We’re on a time limit, so you and Spencer won’t have an opportunity to work it out until after the case is done.”

You nodded solemnly, letting out a breath, and glancing back up to him as he continued to talk. “I’ve considered switching you and Morgan, regarding teams, but I don’t want to jeopardize this case or drive the two of you further apart. I know that it’s painful right now, Agent, but the two of you make a good team, and Ms. Archer’s safety is in our hands; don’t screw it up over this.”

You nodded again, not looking back up from the ground until after Gideon left the room, patting your shoulder gently before going back out to the bullpen. Once you finally look outside the office, Spencer and you catch each other’s eyes, and he raises his eyebrows in question. In return, you gave him a small smile. I’m fine, you wanted to say, because you knew he would ask. Soon enough, Gideon talks to Spencer and gives him an assignment, talking about the next steps in the case. You walk back out to the bullpen, grabbing your coffee and downing the remainder of it in a single swig. It was going to be a long night.

 . . .

You and Morgan watched from the distance as Spencer approached Lila on the set of her show. Derek bumped your shoulder. “Jealous, [Name]?” You laughed, looking back to the pair of them, seeing Spencer take a sip of his coke before apologizing to her about the night before. You hummed sarcastically, smiling at Derek, and pretending to check him out instead.

You watched as Lila frowned at her coffee, reaching for Spencer’s. “You don’t mind sharing with me, do you?” You bumped Derek’s shoulder this time, giggling under your breath at the way Spencer smiled and tensed up at the question before nodding. This confused Derek, because he was so sure you were jealous, but the way you were acting right now was the complete opposite. You must’ve been really good at hiding your massive crush on Reid, in principle, at least.

After the set bell rang and Lila dropped her robe, wearing only a very skimpy bikini, Spencer drank out of his coke again and tried to avoid looking at her, watching as she walked away. You sauntered up to Reid, Morgan following closely behind you, before you put on your most sultry voice, attempting to mock Lila. “You don’t mind sharin’ with me, do ya?”

Spencer almost choked on the coke, and confusedly, he held out the coke to you as well. Derek laughed loudly while you grabbed the coke and took a swig before handing it back to him. “Well, lover boy, you’re really in for it now, huh?” you joked.

Spencer’s face reddened, glancing to Derek for a moment, “I’m strictly professional with Ms. Archer, and I intend to keep it that way.”

Morgan raised his eyebrow, smirking at Spencer, “Sure you do.”

You patted Reid’s arm before stealing his coke again, downing the whole thing and dropping it in the trash can beside Lila’s makeup stand. Spencer watched carefully, and you could feel Lila watching you too. Perhaps if you could hold up your sarcastic and flirty manner, the one you always had, you’d be able to get through this unscathed, visibly at least.

Maybe if you pushed down your feelings, watching Spencer’s crush on Lila grow and manifest wouldn’t hurt as much as it should’ve. You smirked at Spencer, “Good luck with Hollywood, Spence.” Turning your back quickly, you walked off the set, ready to call Gideon and see what he’s got so far, Derek following close behind you. Spencer’s eyes burned holes in the back of your head, standing in shock for a minute or two before he finally started following you.

Before you could get very far, you were stopped in the corner of the large set building. Your phone rang loudly, echoing and bouncing off the ceiling of the set room, and of course, it was Gideon. “Get Lila to a safe house.”

You swallowed, glancing at Morgan and Reid who was finally catching up to the two of you. “She’s still on set working, Gideon. What did her manager say?”

There was a silence for just a little too long before Gideon responded. “You and Reid should take her home and have her pack. We were too late, we found him in his office.”

Pursing your lips, you made heavy eye contact with Reid, hopefully saying enough about how grim the situation was looking right now. “What about the press?”

“JJ’s keeping it out of the press for now. Just get her home and to somewhere safe, don’t tell her for now. Have Morgan meet up with us, I’m sure you and Reid can handle yourselves and Lila just fine.”

“Thanks Gideon.” He hung up soon thereafter, and Morgan went out to go help them investigate while you let Reid talk to Lila, eventually getting in the backseat and letting her drive home while Reid talked on the phone.

Lila guided you inside, Reid discussed security measures, and you went around the house to check on any easy hiding spots for people to take pictures of her from, like the ones that were found in her manager’s office. You decided not to tell her about those, either. You watched from another room through the glass as Spencer and Lila observed a photo collage hung on a wall. Your stomach turned again, jealousy pumping through your veins like blood.

Soon enough, Derek called you, saving you from having to look at them flirting any longer. Spencer didn’t flirt back very much, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to see where you were but didn’t call out for you. Answering Derek’s call and listening carefully, you felt your blood run cold.

“Hey Doc?” you called out, Spencer quickly turning to you and allowing you to talk. “They went into Joe Martinez’ place, a paparazzo, found a ton of pictures of Lila, her call schedule, and um . . . some pictures of you.”

He raised his eyebrows quickly, “Am I a target?” You let out a breath, shrugging and looking around to see if Lila was there.

“Derek’s not sure, but he’s on his way. You and Lila better stay here, don’t leave at all, okay? I’m meeting up with Morgan to secure the perimeter, and so help me god, Reid, if you do something stupid and get yourself hurt, you’re never hearing the end of it from me.”

You walked outside, allowing Reid and Lila a moment of silence while you checked your phone, getting a call from Gideon that he and the team were on the way there. Detective Kim had been shot and the unsub was headed towards the house. You assured him that Reid and you were keeping her as safe as possible and that Reid had promised not to do anything stupid. For now, you were supposed to keep an eye out for the unsub, but since you didn’t have a FBI vest on, you were not supposed to approach the unsub and instead wait for backup, to ensure your safety.

As soon as Gideon told you that, you knew you wouldn’t follow those orders, especially if Reid or Lila was in danger. Sure, maybe you were jealous of Lila, but if Reid liked her, you’d protect her at all costs. Suddenly you heard splashing water, and your instinct was oh boy, they’re in the pool. You stealthily walked through her bushes, overlooking the pool, and seeing Spencer, fully clothed, in there with her. Great. He had done something stupid. You watched from afar, scanning the area for the unsub or a paparazzo taking pictures of them.

You hated yourself for looking at them, and getting distracted, but you watched as they inched closer to each other, and kissed. Relief flooded your body when you saw him pull away, but eventually, it was a full on make-out and Spencer was kissing back. Everything inside of you twisted into knots, begging for you to look away, to get out of there. Finally, you snapped yourself out of it and scanned the area for the paparazzo, watching as he continued to take pictures of the two of them. You snuck up on him, finally standing behind him.

You pulled your gun out of your holster, aiming it at his head just as the rest of the team pulled up. “Why are you here, Martinez?” He immediately paused, putting the camera down and looking up at you. Derek caught up, taking him before you could as you walked down to greet Spencer who was wringing out his clothes.

“Hi there, Doc. Seems your evening went pretty well, huh?” He glanced up at you, but before he could speak you patted him on the back. “Don’t even deny it, Spence. I’m sure there’s photo evidence.” You gave him a wide smile, watching as he shrunk into himself. You gave him your gun, “Don’t get this one wet, please.”

He brushed his hair out of his face, and you hated yourself for allowing to think about how cute he looked when he was embarrassed. “You saw the whole thing?” You nodded, giving him a small smile, but it was much more somber now. Like his words had sobered you up, letting the adrenaline drain out of your system and all that was left was denial and envy. “I-I’ve never crossed a boundary like that before, I don’t know what came over me—”

You set your arm on his shoulder, looking at him for longer than was comfortable before you started speaking. “Spence, everyone gets caught up in their emotions sometimes. It’s just good to see that you’ve got ‘em, Mr. Walking Encyclopedia.”

He smiles, muttering a small thanks and going back to wringing out his clothes, and you smiled again, chuckling under your breath. “What?” he asked.

“Sorry, my dear, you just kinda look like a rat when you’re soaked.” Derek laughed loudly, not missing the way Spencer smiled because he felt—even after knowing that you saw him kiss someone else—like things were normal. That he could be stupid, and do stupid things, and still, you’d be there to make fun of him afterwards.

You were the first to get into the house after the whole ordeal, watching Lila stand in the kitchen and brew herself some tea, and Spencer some coffee. She began to pull out 2 sugar packets for him. “He likes 8 sugars,” you said, and she quickly looked back at you. Tears were streaming down her face, and you could tell she was going to talk to Spencer before you came in.

“Right,” she murmured, grabbing even more, and dumping them into his mug, looking back at you again. “Are you sure there’s nothing happening between you and Reid?”

You scoffed lightly, looking back at her with a wide smile on your face. “He’s all yours.” You walked back out quickly, making eye contact with Reid, silently communicating that yes, he should go talk to her. He did eventually, wandering into the kitchen a few minutes later when his coffee was all done, situated in front of the chair across from hers.

Reid pulled out the chair, sitting down across from her slowly before glancing at the cup. He knew there was no way she put enough sugar in there. He picked it up, taking a small sip before humming. “Eight sugars?” he questioned, and she looked up at him.

“Agent [Name] told me,” she answered, “I didn’t even ask. She came in and knew I was making coffee for you, and just told me. Knowing how you like your coffee, is that a coworker thing?”

Spencer swallowed harshly, knowing Lila was suspicious. “She doesn’t like me like that,” he murmured, glancing back down, and stirring his coffee with a spoon he found laying on her table. He watched it swirl around, a frown on his face.

 . . .

“Garcia, I need an emergency trace on a cell phone call to Lila Archer’s cell phone. The number is 323-555-0129,” you spoke into the phone, loud enough that Garcia could hear you, but the unsub couldn’t. Spencer and you made eye contact as Lila kept her long-time friend and the unsub talking so you could find out where she is and arrest her.

Spencer couldn’t stop glancing between the two of you. He urged Lila to keep her talking so Garcia could trace the call, and she did, biting her fingernails and pacing around the room.

“[Name]? Is Lila’s address 6028 Pike Street?” You hummed over the phone, letting out a deep breath. “She’s calling from inside the house. Tell Reid, I’ll get you two some back-up.”

You hung up, looking at Reid nervously. “She’s inside.” His eyes immediately went frantic, but the rest of his body had an eerie sense of calm. He pulled out his gun, looking for you to do the same, but the realization hit him quickly. Only one of you had one because he had gotten his gun wet earlier and you let him borrow yours.

“Reid, you don’t need a gun to kill someone. We both clear the house; Lila stays with you and you shout for help if you need it.” Spencer looked like he was about to object but didn’t, and lead Lila through the house, you behind him checking other rooms carefully. You took a study and a few other rooms further down the hall while Spencer and Lila investigated her bedroom.

“Spence,” you called out, hearing absolute silence after checking all the rooms you needed to. There was no response, so you walked back out into the hallway, opening the door to the bedroom when you heard a loud gunshot.

You briskly walked into the room, careful not to startle anyone as Reid pointed a gun at the unsub. He looked back at you for a quick moment, watching as you walked around the unsub to grab a gun. You aimed it at her too, using another hand to grab handcuffs. You wanted to be gentle, watching as she sobbed into her hands, begging Spencer to kill her. Putting the gun in your holster, you crouched down next to her. Murmuring reassurances in her ear, you asked her to cooperate while you put handcuffs on her. Reid moved to help Lila up and move her behind him while you escorted the unsub, now walking and leaning on you, still crying, into the main room.

“Got it?” You nodded at him, making eye contact, lingering there for a few seconds. You could only hope that he understood and felt the apology in your eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve got it. Well done, Spence.”

 . . .

You stood further away, watching Spencer and Lila talk from afar, Derek standing next to you. “You think pretty boy’s going to get her number?” Derek asked, and you chuckled.

“Oh, I’m sure. They already spent quite a while in the pool kissing, I’m sure he’ll fly out to LA on his break. Maybe get himself in a few celebrity gossip magazines along the way.”

Derek smirked, but he looked back at you. Despite the teasing smile on your face, he could see the envy plastered on your face, crawling around inside you. He nearly rolled his eyes, the two of you were blind if you didn’t see how good you would be together. So rather than doing as you’d done the whole case and idly standing by, Derek intervened. “Hey Reid, we gotta move.”

With a tug from Gideon and Lila’s manager, Reid finally began walking towards you guys. Not before he put his hand on Lila’s shoulder, allowing her to nuzzle into it for a small amount of time before walking over to you, wearing his satchel over your body this time. He swore his stomach did flips, seeing you wearing something that was so distinctly his.

He didn’t glance back at Lila. He didn’t need to. He had what he wanted right next to him as he walked away and got into the vehicle, ready to take the team to the airport and back to Virginia, Spencer’s home. Hotch tossed you the keys to one of the FBI vehicles you used for transport. “[Name], you’re driving; Greenway, Morgan, you’re with Reid and [Name]. Don’t crash the car, Agent.”

You nodded, and as if on instinct, Morgan and Greenway got into the back, knowing Spencer would want to be right next to you. “Sorry, Doc, don’t really feel like listening to classical right now. Put on some 80s’ please.” Reid began fidgeting with the radio until he got to the correct station. Greenway groaned, and you laughed loudly as you pulled off the side of the street and followed Gideon and Hotch’s vehicle all the way to the airport.

You sang along with Derek, Spencer not knowing the lyrics but enjoying the songs regardless. Spencer watched as you put on sunglasses, smiling at the peaceful moment you got with the team after a rough case and hours of boiling jealousy. Morgan and Greenway watched from the backseat, both singing along now, as Spencer stared at you and didn’t dare look away for a second. A tiny smile painted on his face; he finally looked content, finally happy.

 . . . 

You relaxed into the jet’s couch, pulling a blanket over you immediately and settling yourself, ready for a long nap. Before you could close your eyes, though, none other than Spencer Reid plopped down onto the couch beside you, far enough away from the prying eyes on the rest of the jet that the two of you could talk in peace.

“Only decent night sleep you can get, huh?” he asked, recalling your complaints from earlier in the station’s staff kitchen. You nodded, careful to hide the way you blushed when you shifted just a little bit because you could feel Reid’s thigh bumping against yours. “May I share the blanket with you?” he asked cordially, giving you his signature wide, closed-mouth smile and you flung the corner of the blanket at his face.

“The jet is so much colder than LA,” you commented, and Reid silently agreed with you. “Hey Spence?” He glanced over at you immediately. “Can you read me a story?”

“What kind of story?”

“Any story.”

“Midway along the journey of life, I came to myself, in a dark wood, where the direct way was lost. It is a hard thing to speak of, how wild, harsh and impenetrable that wood was, so that thinking of it recreates the fear. It is scarcely less bitter than death: but, in order to tell of the good that I found there, I must tell of the other things I saw there.”

You smiled, recognizing the first canto of Dante’s Inferno, listening as his soft-spoken voice carried through the rest of the jet, and after a long day, you felt you could rest. You closed your eyes, allowing every muscle in your body to relax, your body slowing slumping into the couch. Somewhere within the first half-hour of the jet ride home, you were fast asleep before Reid could finish the first canto. Your head was tucked into Reid’s shoulder, arm lazily slung over his lap.

Spencer wanted to sleep so badly, but his heart was beating out of his chest, and eventually the team came along to tease him, Morgan joking about him being the player of the team. Hotch eventually called everyone but Spencer over for a game of rummy, smiling about how he could finally win, with Reid being busy and all.

Once everyone was settled, Reid finally understood the peace of the jet. Your breath, warm on his neck while his peers’ laughter echoed off the cabin walls. He could swear he felt you smile against his shoulder during your slumber, and he prayed to every god he didn’t believe in that this wouldn’t be the last time. That you would end up flung over him, falling asleep to the sound of his voice just one more time. 

[wrinkledparchment]

the absence of everything (ii)

Summary: Based on 1x22 | The entirety of the BAU team is exhausted and ready for their two week break. Morgan and Greenway are heading to Jamaica, Gideon to a cabin, Hotch to his family, and you’re tagging along with Spencer on his flight to Vegas. You’re staying with him for a night before heading out to San Diego to visit an old friend, but you have so much fun with Spencer you want to stay. 

Word Count: 9,589 words

Author’s Note: Wow this took me so long to finish,,, I’m so sorry about that. But uh yeah this is based on the first half of the first episode of the Fisher King, and you finally get soME explanation into the reader’s backstory!!

Content Warnings: Cursing, tiny description of death and murder, but mostly some cute vacation fluff with Spencer along with some Italian speaking, oh and tragic reader backstory mmm yumby

Series Taglist: @liviasaugusta​ @l0ve-0f-my-life​ @imsuperawkward​ @nxstalgicnxbxdy​ @marciscaspar​ @april-14-blog​ @sweetreid​ @essenceproxima​ @sammypotato67​ @vixengustin88 @slep-slop​

the abscence of everything: i | ... | iii

“Morgan, your friend’s resort better be as nice as you say it is,” Elle said, carefully pouring herself another mug of coffee from the freshly brewed pot. Everyone in the office was preparing for their two-week break, and Derek had been going around trying to convince his coworkers to join him at his friend’s resort. He’d been successful in convincing Elle, but everyone else had somewhere else to be. Not even you agreed to go with the pair.

“Hey, I never said it was his,” Derek defended, leaning on the counter next to Greenway and following her back to her desk. “He just manages the place. But trust me when I tell you, it is off the hook. Hot sunny days, cool breezes at night, never ending tropical drinks with little umbrellas,” he wrapped his around Elle’s shoulder, “and nothing but young, beautiful adults looking to make vacation memories.”

The two of them arrived at their respective desks, turning around when Reid briskly walked by them, grabbing things in and around his desk and stuffing them into his satchel. Derek walked up to him, trying just one more time to convince him to come with. “Oh, there he is!”

Spencer glanced up quickly, continuing to stuff things into his bag. He really did not want to be late to the airport this time. It happens every single time, and he was determined to make sure he wasn’t late, because, of course, it had consequences beyond himself now.

“Pretty boy, it’s your last chance! I can get my man to swing you a hotel room for practically nothing, even you might get a little lovin’ out there,” Derek attempted to persuade him, leaning on your empty desk.

You walked in, a black bag slung over your shoulder as you approached the three of them, knowing exactly what Derek was up to. “Hey Spence, you almost ready?”

Morgan’s eyes swept over to you, in shock and disbelief. Were you and Spencer going to Vegas together? He questioned you with his eyes, but you decided not to answer. Derek finally looked over to Spencer just as he nodded in response, humming and gathering the last of his things.

“You guys are visiting Spencer’s family together?” Elle asked, and her voice boomed throughout the office, but luckily Hotch hadn’t gotten out yet. It wasn’t like you were staying or anything.

“We’re both taking the plane to Vegas, I’m staying with Spencer for a night and then I’m driving out to San Diego. I intend not to pick up the phone under any circumstances, and if any one of you calls me excluding Spencer, I will personally beat your ass when I get back here.”

Reid tried to hide the smile blooming on his face as his cheeks turned a bright shade of red, realizing how terrible ‘I’m staying with Spencer for a night’ sounded to the rest of the team. The two of you were best friends, went out for lunch all the time together, and spent most of your cases beside one another. It wasn’t that big of a deal to be sharing a room for just one night, right?

All you would be doing was staying with him and maybe going out for some typical Vegas fun for a night, sharing a room, and then waking up, renting a car, and driving to San Diego, driving back and getting on another flight with Spencer back to Virginia. It wasn’t inappropriate, and both of you knew that nothing would happen. Nothing at all.

“Mmm, excluding Spencer, huh? If you two are trying to hide your relationship from the team, you’re doing a terrible job.”

You sighed loudly, sarcastically smiling at Morgan and waving at Greenway as you and Reid walked out of the building side by side, but unfortunately, Hotch caught up to the two of you in the elevator. He looked at the two of you standing closely, and immediately knew what was going on.

“You’re going to Vegas together?” he murmured, peeking up only a little from his cell phone. You let your head drop against the elevator wall, sighing again while Spencer explained to Hotch you were just taking the same plane headed out to Vegas. He decided not to tell him that you’d be sharing a room for a night though, figuring it would help your case.

Hotch nodded, still very suspicious, but he decided against saying anything further. All of you got out together, going in the same direction, and Spencer followed closely behind, getting in the passenger seat of your car and setting his satchel near his feet. You set your duffle bag next to your suitcase in the trunk before joining him in the car, turning the ignition key and backing out just after Hotch had.

You began driving to Spencer’s apartment, needing to get his suitcase. He immediately flips the radio to the classical station, and you laughed at him loudly. “Okay, I get it,” he groaned, but refused to change the station. “If I’ve made you listen to so much classical music, I’m sure you can name this song.”

You looked over at him quickly, smiling, listening for only a few seconds to the song. “Chopin’s Nocturne, Opus 9, No. 2. Easy.” You watched as he smiled, nodding and praising you for getting it right. “That one’s easy, I shouldn’t even get credit for that.”

The song continued playing in the background, Spencer giving you directions to his apartment. “You did some really nice work on the case with the double agent,” he commented.

“Oh god, don’t mention it. Seriously, do not mention it, we’re on vacation, and we’re not at the BAU,” you smiled, looking over before lightly patting his shoulder, quickly looking back to the road. “It’s just you and me now.”

Spencer’s heart fluttered inside his chest, and just as you put your hand back on the wheel, you pulled onto the side of the road near Spencer’s apartment. It was the first time you’d been here in a while, so you decided to come in with him. You both got out, and you followed him into the building and into his apartment.

It was cozy, medium-sized, perfect for one or two people. There were plants everywhere, a huge bookshelf, a comfy couch and a small dining table with even more books stacked on top. Right near the door was his suitcase, and he grabbed it quickly and began shuffling back outside. He tossed you the key, telling you to lock it while he brought the suitcase out to your car. You locked it tight, pushing on it a few times just to make sure. The little silver key felt so comfortable in your hands yet so foreign.

You took a minute, just standing there with the key to Spencer’s apartment and it felt so right. You loved that he could just give the key to you and trust you to lock his apartment for him before leaving for two weeks straight. Things felt exactly the way they should right now, you and Spencer heading out to Vegas together. You just wished that it would be longer than a night, but you already had everything planned and your rental convertible and beach house were already paid for.

You skipped back down the steps and over to your car just as he arrived, popping the trunk, and moving your luggage around so his would fit. He closed the trunk for you, both of you getting back into the car. You handed him his key with a wide smile, and immediately driving towards the airport so you’d be there in time for your flight.

You opted to turn the radio to a different station, wincing as you turned onto the Today’s Hits station to have your stereo blast a new Fall Out Boy song, and you turned it down remarkably, looking at Spencer as he massaged his temples, head aching from the loud volume.

He listened to song, trying to understand the lyrics but he was incredibly confused. “Did the singer just say, ‘freak shit in your cheese’?” Spencer asked incredulously. All he was met with was your raucous laughter before you turned and gave him a heart-wrenching smile. He knew he could not continue like this for much longer—watching you smile and laugh at nearly anything he says, watching your eyes light up when a song you like comes on—and not kiss you. He lost the last remaining bit of his sanity when he found out you knew every single lyric of Fergalicious, when you made eye contact at a stop light while singing along perfectly. He laughed so hard his throat was sore afterwards, and you promised to get him some tea at the airport in apology.

You played several more rounds of “Guess the Classical Song” and had a total win-lose ratio of 6-3, Spencer complimenting you every time you got one right. Eventually, you decided to make him guess 80s’ songs on the radio, and he utterly failed. You wondered if he’d ever listened to anything other than classical music in his life. You nearly cried when you found out that the only song he had recognized so far was Billie Joel’s Uptown Girl, apparently because his mom had been a very big fan of Billie.

Eventually, Don’t Stop Believin’ came on, and much to your delight, he knew every lyric. You swear you could feel the contentment radiating off of him as the two of you screamed the lyrics as loud as you could, the windows rolled all the way down while his shaggy hair was whipped around by the wind. You began driving through the airport parking lot towards the end of the song, searching for a spot you felt comfortable leaving your car in.

You rolled the windows up and kept the radio playing while you made sure nothing of value was visible in your car and Spencer took out the suitcases, keeping his satchel over his shoulder and attaching your black duffle bag to your suitcase, which he also planned on dragging around for you. Once you shut the trunk, your radio was shut off and everything went silent.

Spencer’s voice echoed throughout the parking lot, following you over to the gate and checking the time. Surprisingly, you were early for the flight scheduled, meaning you had plenty of time to get Spencer that tea you’d promised him. Your steps synced again, as usual, and you allowed the corner of your mouth that Spencer couldn’t see pull upwards into a half-smile. You could’ve easily been mistaken for a couple, granted how much you smiled at each other, softly speaking in the crowded room, eyes focused on the other.

Even knowing it was all an illusion, a faux love, you were comfortable. You allowed yourself to pretend for just this flight, just this tiny moment in time, that you and Spencer were in love. That you were soulmates, entwined together and inseparable. You let yourself sink into the dream that was loving him, all of him, every single bit.

The sun began setting just as you cleared security and arrived at your gate, parking your suitcases near the large glass windows that overlooked the plane you were about to get on for a non-stop flight of 5 hours. Spencer flopped down into the uncomfortable airport chair next to the suitcases, about to get up to go get some disgusting airport dinner, but you put your hand out in front of him.

“You stay here, Spence, I’ll get us some food and that tea I was going to get you,” you smiled, rummaging through your duffle bag to grab your wallet and the notebook with all of Spencer’s favorite foods in it. You may not have an eidetic memory but you do have a pen and some paper.

“Do you know what I want?” he challenged, raising his eyebrow at you with a wide smirk plastered on his face.

You met his glare, “You bet I do.”

“Mmm, how much?” he asked, prepared to bet with you, and you negotiated that he had to buy you dinner in Vegas if you got him something he genuinely liked here.

You quickly wandered off, searching through the notebook and recognizing an affinity for Indian food, so you quickly bought some Indian for the both of you, and bought chai tea, one with extra honey for Reid’s sore throat. Walking over to him with a plain brown bag that concealed the meal you bought, you dared him internally to taunt you.

You were sure he could smell the Indian food, especially after you took out his meal tray and set it on his lap, chai tea right next to him. “Extra honey for the sore throat.” He looked at it, shock evident on his face, and he couldn’t believe that he felt . . . appreciated?

“How’d you know?” he asked, murmuring about knowing the best restaurant in all of Las Vegas, then quickly opening the lid and taking a bite. For airport food, it wasn’t half bad.

You shoved your notebook and wallet back into your duffle bag, reminding yourself to mark this dish as one of his favorites later. You looked back at him, sitting down and beginning to eat. “I pay attention.”

He nodded, humming while eating his food. The two of you tried to finish as quickly as possible, and you got up to throw away the garbage just in time for the boarding to be called. Spencer, ever the gentleman, let you go inside first, taking your suitcase and putting it in the cubby himself. You grabbed the window seat, thankful that there wasn’t another person in your row. He sat in the seat right next to you, leaving the arm rest down as he grabbed a book from his satchel. The translations of the Divine Comedy, all 100 cantos of them.

Spencer had been reading it to you every jet ride back from a case, and despite you actually enjoying—as best you could—the Divine Comedy the first time you’d read it, every time you fell asleep before Spencer could even get to the next canto. You were only about 4 cantos from where you’d left off before you nodded off again. Even with the arm rest between your seats, and the terrible quality of them, your head was rested comfortably on Reid’s shoulder as he held the book in front him despite not needing it.

Reid could almost feel the exact moment you fell asleep, every muscle in your body relaxing and the weight on his shoulder just a little heavier. You didn’t snore, thankfully, but he could hear you breathing. It was just as peaceful for him as it was for you, allowing himself to look over your head and out the window to see utter darkness. He could feel you trying to move into a more comfortable position in your sleep, so he raised the armrest in between you with his unoccupied arm and scooted himself closer to you. He loved how you trusted him this much.

You’d said you had trouble sleeping, especially with people you didn’t know or trust around you. This plane was full of strangers, and yet, you were sleeping soundly on his shoulder, like he was the only person on this plane or in the world in general. The warm breath fanning on his neck, the weight of you resting on his shoulder felt so right. As if everything that had happened to him previously was just to get him here, to this exact moment, miles high in the air and honey coating his throat from the tea you’d given him.

There was no question of if anymore, only a question of when, when will you be mine? When will your thoughts be filled with only Spencer, when will he be able to wake up and see you lying in his bed, sunrays shining down through the curtains he had forgotten to close before your day off? He knew now that he wanted you, but he just wasn’t sure if he’d get you.

He allowed himself to close his eyes, soak in the warmth of having you, even just for a fraction of a second. Bathe in the satisfaction that anyone who could see the two of you in this moment would know how much you loved each other. The lights on the plane slowly dimmed, the stewardess recognizing that most passengers were already asleep, and Spencer finally faded into sleep, his head slowly moving to lean against yours.

The plane landed in Vegas at about 1am local time. Even though you were both asleep for the majority of the flight, you were still exhausted after getting out of the airport. Neither of you had access to a car, so Spencer sleepily waved down a taxi for the two of you to take him to his hotel. Luckily, you got there just as graveyard hour check-ins were about to close. You were too tired to admire the hotel, this one free of a casino though it did have a bar and a rooftop pool.

Finally shoving the keycard into scanner and opening the door to the hotel Spencer would be staying at for the next two weeks, you gratefully smiled and left your suitcase near the door, toeing off your shoes and immediately flopping down onto the couch. Spencer noticed this, and he was sleepy as well, but he still didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.

“I will literally throw you onto the bed if I have to, you’re not sleeping on the couch. I can take it instead,” he negotiated, moving to grab some sweatpants and a loose t-shirt for himself to change into. You groaned, slowly standing up to get yourself ready for bed as well.

You continued to brush your teeth as you walked out of the bathroom to look out at the skyline, taking your time with exploring the moderately-sized hotel room that you’d be staying in for about another 36 hours. Given the fact most of those 36 hours would be spent sleeping, you’d have very minimal time with Spencer, so you needed to make it count. Going back to the sink and rinsing your mouth, you finally turned off the bathroom light when you asked if Spencer was done getting ready.

You immediately frowned, seeing him sleeping on the couch with nothing but a very thin blanket. “C’mon stupid, get up,” you said, lightly shoving him so he would move.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch.”

You rolled your eyes, forgetting that he couldn’t see it in the dark room. “Then we’re sharing the bed. It’s big enough for the both of us,” you pleaded, smiling in contentment when you could just barely make out him nodding. You only began to move towards the bed after he’d stood up, both of you bumping into tables or the dresser on the way, a string of curses leaving your mouths and soft, quiet giggles hanging in the air.

You finally crawled into the bed, loving how soft and clean the sheets felt. You faced Spencer, and he faced you too. Neither of you made a move to cuddle, too scared of the implications of that, so instead, he gave you a small smile. “Goodnight, [Name].”

Spencer woke up sometime around 8am, the bed around him warm and an unusual yet welcome weight on his chest and stomach. He knew by now that his hair was probably ruffled and unkempt from sleeping, he could feel his shirt being wrinkled and folded against his back in an odd way, and his eyes burned from the sun gleaming down directly onto his face. He was so tired, so exhausted, and he didn’t want to open his eyes. He just wanted to go back to sleep, and for a brief moment, he forgot about his job at the BAU, about the man he shot and killed, about bruises that Hotch’s shoe left on his stomach. He even forgot about the weeks old case in Hollywood, Lila, and her stalker.

“Goodnight, Spencer.”

. . .

All there was in his world right now was clean sheets, the Vegas hotel room, and you. He finally peeled his eyes open, remembering your whimpers and soft sobs during the night. Remembering how he woke up around 5am to see you writhing in your sleep, and how he just whispered assurances in your ear, bringing you close to him after you’d barely woken up. He was so tired, and he hated seeing you in distress, and hadn’t thought of the consequences or what would happen in the morning, until now.

His heart began racing, tilting his head just enough to see your face buried in his t-shirt covered chest, your arm slung over him just the way it had been on the jet ride back from LA. He scolded himself, how could he be so stupid? You were his coworker, his best friend, nothing more, nothing less.

He slid himself out from underneath you, hoping not to wake you up so you wouldn’t even know the two of you had been cuddling at all. It was shocking, to see you so peacefully idle, no worry at all. Even when going out to lunch with him, or at the BAU bar nights, you never looked as relaxed. Spencer tried to bite back his smile, hating himself for so creepily staring at you in your sleep.

Reid turned away, looking around the hotel room for something to occupy himself with until you woke up, and he spared a glance at the copy of The Divine Comedy, but looked away. It was your story, the two of you were reading it together, although he could read it without even opening the book. Eventually, he settled on reading the magazines set on the dresser about Las Vegas. He already knew all of the attractions, but you were here for just a day. The two of you were on vacation together, he had a finite amount of time with you, and he just wanted to have the best day he could before he wouldn’t see you for another 10 days.

He was flipping through the magazines, looking at coupons, restaurant menus, anything he could find. He only glanced up when he heard you groan, and the ruffling of sheets about 15 minutes later. You tossed and turned a bit, eventually settling and trying to stretch, feeling around the bed. It happened in just a matter of seconds, your hand touching the empty space where Reid was, and you shot up and out of bed, grabbing your cell phone and glancing around the room until you saw Reid.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me. I’m just reading a magazine, I woke up before you did,” he soothed. Soon, you sighed dramatically and fell sideways onto the bed, whining.

“You scared me, Reid!”

He chuckled softly, getting up and heading over to the bed where you lay, standing over you. “Would you like breakfast?”

The two of you walked down clad in your pajamas from the night before, the only difference is that your hair was brushed and you were wearing Spencer’s cardigan from the flight, him citing how cold the hotel room was compared to the Las Vegas air when he offered it to you. Of course, you didn’t need convincing, but he didn’t know that.

It was about 8:30am when you two arrived in the cafeteria of the hotel, and it was completely empty, surprisingly. You guessed that most people staying here were hungover and would sleep past noon, only going out after sunset. Luckily so, your socks provided shields against the cold tile floor as you danced around Reid, who was trying to put together a healthy breakfast for the two of you. There was even a make-your-own-pancake station, which you took advantage of, making Spencer a pancake with a smiley face made of chocolate chips and diced bananas. While you worked on the pancakes, he put together a fruit bowl for the two of you to share, full of berries and every fresh fruit they had.

The two of you took your “homemade” breakfast to the small table they had in the corner that overlooked the strip, looking out at just one bit of young Spencer’s world. You couldn’t imagine what he could’ve been like at that age, how proud he made his parents before his dead left and his mom was sent to the sanitarium.

You listened to Spencer talk a lot about his life before the BAU, how he grew up here in Vegas, and what his school experiences were like. While he was a child prodigy and you couldn’t necessarily relate, you’d been gifted and in an accelerated program when you were younger too. Spencer’s the youngest on the team, you second to him only because you’d worked hard and proved yourself, working at the right place during the right time and being extremely lucky to get offered the job at the BAU.

Eventually, you moved onto talking about what the rest of the day would look like. Spencer said he would go see his mother first, and spend the rest of the day with you, giving you the kind of tour day only a Vegas native could. Once you were done eating, you headed back up to the hotel room, putting on a swimsuit underneath your clothing and then meeting up with Spencer.

You got a call from the rental car company, saying that it was ready, and you could pick it up a day early if you’d like. The both of you took a taxi, Spencer holding the book he would give his mom at the sanitarium. Spencer stood beside you as you signed paperwork at the counter, while he inspected the car. It was a sleek, black Cadillac, the top was already down. It was gorgeous, and for the price he’d heard, it was affordable, rental-wise.

Spencer had to take a minute, trying to stop those fleeting thoughts of the two of you driving along the Pacific Highway, the sun blinding Spencer while he tried to look over at you, wind ruffling your hair while you smiled so brightly. He needed to stop them, but he didn’t want to. The image of the two of you, careless in California while all troubles about the BAU were left behind.

He heard your footsteps come closer, turning around swiftly to make eye contact with you. You smiled mischievously, dangling the keys between your fingers in front of him. You pulled open the door, sliding in quickly, adjusting your seat and gesturing to the passenger’s seat next to you. “Tell me how to get there.”

Spencer glanced back to the spot the cab had been, seeing nothing but an empty road now. You explained that you’d paid him behind his back and told him to go ahead and leave, that you’d be taking Spencer the rest of the way. Spencer shook his head, muttering ‘thank you’s and ‘you didn’t have to’s.  

You left the top down, driving through the crowded roads of Vegas until you arrived at the Bennington Sanitarium, his mother’s current residence. The shift in mood was immediate; as soon as you pulled up, Spencer went stiff. “You don’t have to come in, if you don’t want to,” he said, playing with his hands in his lap, not once glancing up at you.

“What do you want me to do, Spence?”

He swallowed harshly, as if not expecting the question. It took a few minutes for him to give a half-response. “They’d need to authorize you to let you in since you’re not family, but even just staying in the waiting room would be . . . nice.”

You nodded, unbuckling yourself and raising the hood of the car once you made sure Spencer had everything he needed. You walked by him, side by side, each step in sync, just like normal. Even with the obvious tension, you still were joined by the hip. You watched him approach the front desk, and walk through the big, steely metal doors.

Once Spencer stepped through, seeing his mother rocking back and forth in the chair that looked out to the window, his heart sank. He barely came to visit her, and the first time he did in ages, he didn’t know if he could stomach it.

Even with your support, sitting right outside the doors that let him in, he didn’t think he could talk to her today. He wondered what you’d think of him, what he’d think of himself, if he stepped out too quickly. Would you understand? Do you know how hard it is to watch someone you love suffer so greatly? Spencer knew you would, hoped you could just direct his worries away. Even if it was just was just for a day.

“I heard a rumor you were here,” a woman spoke as she walked up to Reid. He turned towards her for a moment, before his eyes wandered back off to his mother. He asked the woman about how she was doing. “Schizophrenia is a lifetime illness. The meds stabilize the worst of her symptoms, but she still has bad days. What makes her most happy are her journals and your daily letters. She is exceptionally proud of you.”

Spencer smiled only for a second, “She is?”

The woman nodded, “She talks about you all the time to anyone who will listen, staff, other patients. Her journals are filled with the cases you write her about. Calls them your adventures.”

His guilt ran even deeper into the pit of his stomach. “Mom’s of the belief that you can find adventure all around you if you just look. That’s what happens if you’re a professor of 15th century literature.”

“She’s going to be so excited that you were finally able to get here in person.” Spencer’s heart nearly broke, knowing that he just couldn’t do it today. Whether it was how sad she looked, or the fact that whatever mood he was in after left, you would have to put up with for the rest of the day, he didn’t know. He didn’t grasp the emotion he was feeling, didn’t understand it. It was far deeper than guilt, or sadness, or pity. It was something way, way worse.

“Maybe it’s better if I just let her rest today.” The woman tried to convince him to stay and visit for a while, but instead, Spencer just handed her the book he was going to give her. “Can you give this to her? It’s, uh, Margery Kempe, her favorite.” With that, he quickly walked back out to the waiting room.

You sat there, writing in a journal when he came up to you. Immediately looking up, you realized something was wrong. You weren’t sure if you should ask, so instead, you got up and walked side by side back to the car, setting your things inside the console and beginning to back out. Spencer seemed to relax a little bit, his shoulders dropping down and his head leaning fully against the seat, taking a deep breath.

As you began to pull out of the parking lot, he quickly looked back at you, brows furrowed, “Do you know where we’re going?”

“No idea,” you replied, a grin on your face as you turned back to the road, unperturbed. The happiness that radiated off you, it was infectious, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile. “You were reading that Vegas magazine earlier, where should we go?”

“That depends, what do you like doing while you’re on vacation?” Spencer asked seriously, reaching into his satchel, and pulling out the tourist magazine from before.

Again, from the corner of his eyes, he could see the mischievous smile painted across your face, “Something stupid. I just want to do something terribly, incredibly, awfully stupid with you.”

Even the simplest things you did made everything in him coil up, tightening around his stomach and making him feel lovesick. The simple ‘with you’ was enough for him to explode. He laughed, carefree again, and smiled. “Well I guess we go where all the stupid things happen then—Downtown.”

With his expert directions, you managed to find a parking place inside the Fremont East Entertainment District, which he called ‘FEED’. It awfully confused you the first time he’d said it, but he clarified later with a smile. Somehow, time had passed by quick and it was already noon. You knew you were hungry, but the smell of Mexican food near the Fremont open-air mall made your stomach growl.

Spencer immediately began walking in the direction of the restaurant, buying you what he cited as ‘the best thing on the menu’, and getting one for himself too. You sat down at a table, eating, idly chatting, and watching the huge crowd outside the restaurant pass by. There were plenty of street performers outside, but the loudest by far was a group of musicians, one with an alto saxophone, another with a sousaphone, and finally someone else sitting on a lightweight cajon.

There was a set of cards tucked inside the individual table baskets, and after you had both finished, Spencer pulled out the cards and began shuffling them. You watched as the cards slowly began bending, even without the pressure of Spencer’s hands. He’d done that in a matter of minutes, and you could barely even overhand shuffle. “How are you doing that?”

Spencer glanced up at you, continuing to shuffle the cards before realizing what you were asking. As a Vegas native, he was incredibly confused. “Do you not know how to shuffle?” You pursed your lips in embarrassment, looking at the incredulous expression on his face. Slowly, you shook your head.

He hummed, but he didn’t make fun of you like you thought anybody else would, had they known you didn’t know how to shuffle. Suddenly, all the times you declined to shuffle the cards for the team on the jet and pawned it off on Spencer made sense. He gathered the cards in his hands again, giving you a pointed look as he separated them.

He separated the deck in half quickly, readjusting his hands and pointing out how his fingers were positioned, using his middle finger to bend the cards and his ring and pinky finger to hold the outer edge. Very slowly and carefully, he released the cards, letting them shuffle together and then, insanely quickly, did the cascade finish which just looked like nonsense to you.

He pushed the cards your way, and placed your fingers exactly how Spencer had, and released. Spencer had to suppress laughter because that was the worst shuffling job he’d ever seen. Instead of one card layering on top of another from the other half, you’d just released it in chunks, huge portions of the deck remaining un-shuffled.

You tried again, and again, and again until your thumb felt like it was going to get it’s skin ripped off if you did it one more time. You’d improved, but your shuffling was still mediocre, so by the time Spencer could sense your frustration at your lack of shuffling skills, he took over and began shuffling.

“What would you like to play?” he asked. “Kings in the Corner, Pinochle, Poker?” He watched you frown, contemplating. Spencer always won any card game that involved actual skill, being a Vegas native and a certifiable genius on top of that.

“Hmm, how about war? That’s the only thing I have a chance at winning,” you suggested, your smile growing uncontrollably when he laughed. After dealing you both half the deck, you immediately began flipping cards, going the whole round without going to war once. You were both evenly matched, each of you having two aces in your deck and a similar number of lettered cards.

“Good thing this is a game of pure luck, or I would have beaten you already,” Spencer smirked, and you smacked his hand across the table.

“I will have you know, luck is on my side today,” you smiled, and Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Actually, luck can’t choose sides—”

You laughed loudly, other patrons having to fight the urge to coo at how adorable the two of you were. You seemed so happy together, like a young couple still in the honeymoon phase of the relationship. Just as you were beginning to feel confident, Spencer took your king in a war, and you groaned loudly. He smiled triumphantly, continuing to demolish you in a game purely based on chance.

He looked so cute when he won. His face just filled with the type of pride you can only feel from winning something that didn’t matter at all, like a quick card game in a Mexican restaurant with the coworker you decided to vacation with. You wanted so desperately to kiss the smirk right off his face.

You pushed down those feelings quickly, Spencer pocketing the deck of cards and guiding you out of the restaurant, the scent of numerous fast food restaurants and cigarette smoke filling your lungs. You could barely hear anything by now, Fremont street was so crowded that Spencer had placed his hand on the small of your back, keeping you close to him so you wouldn’t get lost in the crowd. Time had passed so quickly; it was already around 2pm and you’d only visited one place so far.

You two got back in the car, Spencer directing you to get onto interstate 15. You didn’t bother putting the top down, but you left the windows open, wind still messing up Spencer’s hair regardless. He finally directed you off the interstate just before you passed the Bellagio, and you parked in the parking garage, letting Spencer guide you to the botanical gardens.

Once you stepped inside, you were hit with the refreshing scent of greenery and flowers. The massive glass ceiling allowed the mid-afternoon sunlight in. There were plenty of people circling around, but not so many that it was too crowded. A large cherry blossom tree hung over you, the entire garden floor being covered in fallen petals. And in front of you, Spencer, his hair seeming nearly golden in the light, eyes soft, shoulders relaxed. He looked stunning, everything about him disheveled from the car ride. You watched carefully as he straightened out his shirt under your gaze.

“Gorgeous, right?” Spencer confirmed, seemingly satisfied with your reaction. Perhaps never having been to Vegas was a blessing in disguise, getting shown around a new city with someone you were hopelessly crushing on. You got to see the places he wanted to show you, and furthermore, what he thought of you and felt you would like. “You can’t come to Las Vegas without doing or seeing something involving the Bellagio, it’s nearly impossible.”

You nodded, eyes still focused on the scenery around you, desperately trying to look anywhere besides Spencer. You could feel how warm your cheeks were getting, and you just wanted to keep your flustered state under wraps. As if he sensed this and wanted to make it one-hundred times worse for you, he walked closer and set his hand on the small of your back, urging you to move forward.

He didn’t move it for the remainder of your exploration of the Bellagio, and you didn’t dare complain about it. The soft voices of guests echoed around the conservatory, and all you could do was absorb the somehow soothing atmosphere despite it holding tons of people.

You both walked around the Bellagio shopping area, brushing shoulders with other young people who’d come to get away. People kept smiling at you, others clearly checking out one of you, but the biggest shocker came during one of Spencer’s signature lectures, this time he was teaching you about the Las Vegas economy, more specifically the rich history behind the oldest hotel-casino in Vegas that was still running, the Golden Gate Hotel and Casino. Further, he began talking about the 50-cent shrimp cocktail which, as of now, was actually a 99-cent shrimp cocktail, and eventually talking about how much money hotels and businesses lost from having the price that low.

You, having aced every single econ exam you’ve ever taken, were incredibly interested in the specifics of the pros and cons of serving the shrimp cocktails, and you knew that if any of the BAU team were here, they would tease you endlessly after. You look like a lost puppy, you could nearly hear them saying. Of course, if anyone did say that, it would be accurate. You looked hopelessly in love with Spencer Reid.

You’d both stopped at a tiny ice-cream cart, Spencer ordering each of you a cone. He continued on the shrimp cocktail rant, both of you talking about the economics of it all, arguing what price it should be raised to and the hotel finances.

“Here’s your ice-cream, you two. I hope you guys decide to have your wedding at the chapel here, I could end up working it, maybe give a testimonial,” the worker joked, handing over your cones. Spencer’s cheeks immediately went bright red, unable to say any pleasantries. You waved it off, smiling and thanking the worker without correcting it and dragging Spencer’s frozen body away by his hand after he took the ice cream.

He set his hand right on the small of your back again, ice cream cone in the other hand, and his face the color of a tomato. The shade deepened once you’d walked far enough away and began incessantly laughing. And now, all that Spencer Reid could think about was you on your wedding day and how beautiful you looked when you smiled. He almost dropped his ice cream about five times, not daring to move his hand, fearing you would disappear.

You began walking back to the car while eating your ice cream, knowing it was nearly 4pm already and you were leaving tomorrow morning. Dear god, did you want to stay. You wanted to wake up every morning knowing that you would be spending the rest of your day with Spencer Reid. But San Diego was waiting for you, and you’d promised that you would visit.

By the time you both had reached your car and concluded discussions about shrimp cocktail economics, your ice cream cones were finished. You rolled the top down, deciding to drive along the Vegas strip before heading back to your hotel for a little while. Everywhere you went smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke, and you decided to ignore it and be thankful that you wouldn’t be around here for much longer.

Spencer Reid won’t be in San Diego with you, but you’ll still have sandy white beaches, the cool ocean breeze, and your small rental beach house. Speeding all the way back to the hotel, you smiled at how Spencer continued to fight the wind as it messed with his hair. You decided that this was yet another situation where he looked almost terrifyingly adorable.

Parking inside the hotel garage and rolling the top back up was a process, making sure that your car would be completely safe here while you and Spencer relaxed in the hotel for a little bit before spending your last night together on the Vegas strip. Spencer didn’t put his hand where he normally did, opting to keep it inside his pocket. Both of you didn’t stop at your room, instead going to the rooftop pool, where the 4pm sun was still smiling upon the water.

There were a few couples dotted along the edges of the pool, some loud pop music playing from the speakers. You immediately changed into only your bathing suit, diving straight into the deep end of the pool and smiling as the cold water cooled you off from the normal high temperatures of the Nevada desert.

Spencer was less enthusiastic, changing into his swimsuit but not getting in, instead just staring at you from the pool’s edge. You paddled over to him, preparing yourself for all the disgusting facts he was about to tell you about public pools. Instead, he just dipped his foot in and kicked the water directly at your face. You rubbed at your eyes, shaking the water off your head and peeking out of one eye to look at Spencer, who had a giant grin plastered on his face.

“Get in here, idiot,” you challenged, “If you can get into a pool fully clothed with your gun still in your holster, I think you can join me.”

He immediately surrendered, clearly caught off guard by your reference to his fling with Lila just a few weeks ago. Sure, most of the BAU team still made fun of him for it occasionally, but you almost never brought it up. “You know, the CDC—”

“Shut up and get in, Spencer,” you interrupted him, tugging on his hand so he would come in. He joined you, still wearing a white t-shirt. You assumed he was just uncomfortable with being shirtless, probably afraid of some girls hitting on him. The t-shirt clung to him in the pool, revealing his muscles which you desperately tried to avoid looking at.

As soon as he was submerged up to his neck, you splashed him in the face as payback, his wet hair sticking to his forehead and making him look like a rat that had just taken a shower. “You still look like a rat when you’re wet,” you joked. He splashed you back in the face, which you quickly dodged, sticking your tongue out at him.

“Did you just—did you just stick your tongue out at me?” he questioned, chuckling underneath his breath and you shrugged. You watched him brush his hair back with both hands, just like you’d seen him do while making out with Lila in the pool back in LA. Your stomach twisted in jealousy, and you tried your best to ignore it. You didn’t have much time with Spencer, and he wasn’t yours, so there was no point.

You were sure that he could sense the shift in mood regardless. “So, you’re leaving tomorrow morning?” Spencer asked, and you nodded solemnly.

“Probably closer to the afternoon, but yeah. So, I can be at the beach house by about 7pm.”

Spencer tried to smile, tiptoeing around the fact that he’d miss you so much. “What’s waiting for you in San Diego?”

“I’m visiting an old friend,” you said. “She owns a bookstore down there, her father and my dad used to operate it. When I was in high school the store got robbed while my dad was working an overnight shift repairing old books. I came in the next morning and found him, shot in the head over the work table with a rectangle area that had zero blood spatter right in front of him. The goddamn robber stole the first edition book my dad was rebinding, and they never caught him.”

“Is that why you joined the BAU?”

You chuckled, “Yeah, as cliché as it sounds. I was an early hire on the police force there after I graduated high school two years early and was going to UCSD. All I did was look over his case files and I had enough and applied to the FBI Academy, Hotch found me and after I was done, they hired me here, I didn’t transfer or anything. Right place, right time; as much as I wish I could say I worked hard to be here, it was all luck.”

“Well you had to be special to get here as early as you did,” Spencer commented, and you shrugged.

“Nepotism, probably. Hotch knew someone who knew me, Hotch visited the academy and found me, and decided I was good enough. He took me under his wing, and I had to work to prove to Strauss I deserved to stay, and I’ve had to keep doing that as long as I’ve been at the BAU.”

Spencer hated how close to home that hit him. Working endlessly and bending over backwards to prove to all the higher-ups and people that had never worked with you that you deserved to stay, despite glowing recommendations from your bosses and peers. “We’re in the same boat then.”

You smiled, “Yeah, that’s probably why I immediately liked you the best when I first got here. I didn’t need to prove myself to you, and we make a great team.”

Immediately, his face lit up at the compliment, and you swore that your heart melted right then and there. “We do,” he grinned, and immediately, the warm, cozy, friendly atmosphere was back. The two of you sat underneath the artificial waterfall, and you let the water wash over your whole body. You stayed there, chatting with Spencer, people watching, and profiling other people for fun until around 6pm.

After you both got out of the pool, you guys both went to shower and prepare yourselves for dinner and a tour around the strip, since it was always it’s prettiest, brightest, most eccentric self at night. Both of you got into the convertible again, not bothering to roll the top down this time but instead rolling down the windows.

Spencer’s hair didn’t get as messed up, and you secretly made a note to never make that mistake again. His hair was so much cuter when it wasn’t gelled back. You parked on the side of the street near a casual, homey Italian restaurant on the main strip, and it was possibly the most endearing and welcoming place you’d ever been. Spencer opened the door for you, and immediately you were hit with the scent of fresh-baked bread and pasta sauce. The inside felt and looked just like a small family restaurant in Florence.

You were immediately greeted by a friendly hostess, who guided you to your table, quickly turning and speaking Italian to someone at a different table before turning and smiling at you. Now was as good a time as any to impress Spencer Reid by speaking Italian with the waitress.

“Scusa, so soltanto un po’ di italiano. Come ti chiami?” you spoke quickly, showcasing your familiarity with the language. She looked taken aback for a minute before smiling and introducing herself, making polite conversation with you before you told her you both needed to look at the menu.

“Lascio decider a te e al tuo ragazzo,” she said, gesturing across the table to Spencer. Oh dear god, she just called Spencer my boyfriend, you thought. You chuckled a little, telling her in Italian that he wasn’t your boyfriend. She nodded, “Sarà presto il tuo ragazzo." You kept translating over and over in your head, watching dumbly as she walked away.

“What did she say?” Spencer asked, “You guys were talking too fast for me to even begin translating.”

You grinned at him, “She called you my boyfriend.”

His cheeks went red again, your own cheeks beginning to heat up, and neither of you discussed the topic further, instead opting to look over the menu, him telling you which dishes he’d had here before, which he recommended, those he didn’t like. Eventually, she was back, and you told her both of your orders in English, thanking her in Italian. She just winked at you, turned to Spencer and told him that everything would be ready soon.

“You know Italian?” Spencer eventually asked after deciding the topic was safe again.

You nodded, “Yeah, I originally read The Divine Comedy in Italian, a 20th century version my dad got when traveling in Tuscany. It was one of the first books he let me rebind after he taught me.”

“Binding Italian classics, and then reading them? And you say you aren’t special,” Spencer commented, saying the last bit underneath his breath, but you still felt flattered nevertheless.

“My dad was very familiar with the Tuscan dialect of Italian, and thus loved reading some of the Italian classics. La Divina Commedia was written in the Tuscan dialect of the time, and my dad loved it. It’s interesting that the book you just so happened to read me that night on the plane was La Divina Commedia, isn’t it?”

He smiled, understanding what you were getting at. “You keep a canto written on an old piece of parchment paper on your desk, I assumed you were a fan. Can you recite it just as well as I can?”

You chuckled, hearing the footsteps of the waitress behind you. “No, but I can translate it.”

She set your food down, quickly walking away, the clatter of the plates on the table making Spencer’s statement of ‘fair enough’ sound like just a whisper. You continued chatting with Spencer, this time both of you sharing a few things about your early childhood. Spencer talked about his rival in school, Ethan, meanwhile you talked about your best friend and coworker, the one you’d be visiting tomorrow in San Diego.

You’d managed to convince Spencer to share a bottle of fine wine with you, both of you only slightly tipsy by the time you left the restaurant. Spencer hated alcohol for this exact reason, but in the flaxen light of his favorite restaurant in Vegas, he couldn’t say no to you.

You cruised, top down, slowly along the strip, you staring at all the bright lights. Spencer could see the reflection of the neon signs in your eyes, the bright Vegas lights making your skin almost shine, and he swore he’d never seen anything prettier. With the sun already set, the late-night air chilling you both to the bone, he wished that you would be here longer. That you both would drive around his hometown in the sleek black convertible you’d rented for the remainder of the vacation, falling asleep in his arms after a long night of staring at the Vegas casinos he hadn’t been banned from yet.

By the time you were both at the hotel and ready for bed, the alcohol had finally completely kicked in, making you laugh loudly when you stubbed your toe on the bedframe. Spencer was still brushing his teeth, quickly finishing up when he heard the commotion. When he saw you, you were laying on your back, eyes squeezed shut, your lungs struggling to keep you breathing when you were wheezing so much.

In perfectly tipsy Spencer Reid fashion, he decided, right then and there, that he loved you. Even when you had wrinkled the bedsheets and your oversized t-shirt wasn’t ironed properly, and especially then. When you were drunk on wine and your eyes were still full of pictures of Vegas lights. Spencer Reid didn’t think he could love you more than after he’d just found out you speak Italian, after you’d driven him back to the hotel while barely listening to the blasting radio and ignoring the cigarette smoke in the air.

God, you were so beautiful laying on his hotel bed late at night, cackling so hard you had to hold your stomach. So, he crawled into bed after you, waiting for you to move upwards. He didn’t say anything when you cuddled into his arms, and in fact, he let his arm drape over you and draw circles on your arm. He let you nuzzle into his neck, feeling the warmth of your breath and the patterns your fingers drew on the side of his stomach. The pure bliss the both of you felt in the warm, hotel bed quickly faded into slumber, and your last lingering thought was ‘I hope I never forget this’.

. . . 

You woke up, the bed now cold and without Spencer. There was a note in his place, citing that he wanted to visit his mother at the Sanitarium today as soon as he could so he could see you off. It seemed he’d left a while ago to get to the weekend visiting hours that began at 7am, but the door was left slightly ajar, a large manila envelope sitting just outside it. You decided to get up, and you rubbed your eyes free of sleep.

The package had no address, simply your name. You grabbed it and moved to the couch, opening it quickly and easily. Spencer barged in through the slightly open door, looking worriedly at you and then down to the envelope in your hands. He didn’t say anything, just moving to sit down next to you. You pulled out two bound wrinkled pages of a book with the title and page numbers scribbled out. Dried blood was splattered on it, and it smelled remarkably old.

Your heart sank down to your stomach, insides curling with realization. Oh.

It was the opened pages of the book your dad was murdered over.

Spencer must’ve realized a few seconds later, him pulling a package with a key out of his pocket, along with a note reading She will die unless you save her, Doctor Reid. Call Gideon. He knows.

You swallowed hard, looking at Spencer, the paper clutched in your hand. It wasn’t La Divina Commedia, it wasn’t a book you’d even read at all. But if you recognized the size and proportions from all those months you spent pouring over your father’s case files, this was the book he was working on the night he died.

“This son of a bitch killed my father.”

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spencer reid x reader slow burn anyone?? 

Update: i’m using the hashtag #spencer reid slow burn best friends to lovers au 20k to document it, it’s tagged in this post and will be in other posts about the au as well as the actual chapters of the fic when i post it,,,, good luck i’ve already lost my mind writing it

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Did you say Spencer Reid slow burn????? I am THERE

the rEACTION here though?? i love how i haven’t posted in forever and I say 4 words and immediately get asked about it i love you guys so much

also uh--- it’s a slow burn, several chapters from spencer-centric episodes/big episodes and i-- i’m only 9 minutes into the first episode i’m basing it off of and i-- it’s already 3.6k what is WRONG with me 

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spencer x reader slow burn first chapter is coming out tomorrow and it do be 9k of pining,,, it’s called ‘the absence of everything’ and is based on 1x18,,, i spent way too long pausing the show and typing nearly exact dialogue. this series is mostly just going to be a lot of episode rewrites with extra scenes in between, good luck lmao

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UR SO TALENTED!!! loved the latest part of aof will there potentially be a part 3?

There will absolutely be more than just 3 parts, and I’m still working my way through criminal minds. I’m still working on the fisher king storyline from 1x22 and 2x1, which will most likely take up the next two chapters, and after that, 2x11, and even further after that, 2x14 and 2x15. I’m sure that the series will continue to go on for even longer, so yes,, you’ll absolutely be getting a part 3!

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when is the next part of absence of everything coming out? 🥺

in the absence of everything (ii) is coming out tomorrow! It’ll be linked in absence of everything one and if you want me to make a masterlist of every chapter, i’m happy to do so :)

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CANT WAIT TO HEAR WHAT HAPPENED TO HER AT 9 it’s probs gonna be angsty but I’m READY

oh it’s SO angsty and kinda pertains to my actual childhood experiences with PTSD,,, it’s going to be a yikes from me luv

i should have another episode out around Sunday-Monday ish? My friend and I are going to a George Floyd protest, so i’m not going to be able to write for the majority of the day tomorrow (depending on what happens and if i have to throw hands with some people) I wILL be safe, so don’t worry about that, and i love yall so much but i gotta do my part as an ally babey

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This line: “He pretended it was your eyes he was looking into, that you were standing next to him, that you were staring at him from across the room or hitting on him at the bar,” just, ugh. Art. I love you and I’m so excited to more!!!!

AHHHHHH i love you so much this is gon make me CRY!!!!

when writers get compliments on specific lines or techniques 🥺,,, literally makes my heart melt. again, i’m going to be busy for quite a bit because of the protests, but i’m working on the next part right now and it’s tooth-rotting, sugary fluff with the obvious mutual pining,,  we been knew,, and i’m so glad everybody is liking it so much, every ask i get like this makes my DAY!

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in the absence of everything was !!! incredible! mutual pining + not communication = perfection! for some reason tho i thought lila was pulling moves on both spencer AND reader?? my bisexual brain jumped out

GOD, I missed an opportunity!!!! God Lila is so fuckin----- PRETTY i would kill just for her to look at me!!!! imagine if-- imagine if i did just a series of small blurbs for minor characters 0_0

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Hello friend so~~~ 1. “Bathe in the satisfaction that anyone who could see the two of you in this moment would know how much you loved each other.” I am SOFT. Beautiful. Amazing. Incredible. Show stopping. Never been done before. 2. You got me wanting to explore Vegas with Spencer Reid as if I don’t live in Vegas 3. Very accurate depiction of Vegas natives being able to just shuffle cards for no reason. We are really just Like That

Okay one HOLY CRAP THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! I’m glad you liked that line!!! Two,, I WANT TO EXPLORE VEGAS WITH SPENCER REID TOO!!! I spent way too much time trying to plot out a semi-realistic timeline for the day because I’ve only been to Vegas twice. AND YEAH!! I actually did not know how to properly shuffle cards until this year when I finally had free periods with my friends, so I was like hey let’s throw in a little,, spice shall we?? I literally had to look up the names of shuffling styles on wikihow, but I watched my dad, who lived in Vegas for a bit, like do literal magic with his hands and i was like ???? 

I’m really grateful to have everybody’s feedback and honestly, anon dearest, you seem incredibly cool and I’d love to talk to you more, so drop me an ask whenever you feel like it, honestly!

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You are such a talented writer! I don’t know how you’re able to write almost 10k so quickly and make it so perfect!! I can’t even fathom it. Thank you for blessing us with your skill 💕

I--- WHY IS EVERYONE IN THE WRINKLED OLD LADY CLUB SO WONDERFULLY KIND?? I’m so grateful for you guys, actually, because you’re the true blessing here! I’m glad everybody is liking the absence of everything series because I love writing it! I couldn’t ask for better readers!

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this doesn’t pertain to your latest story but I am curious as to how you got into criminal minds 💆🏽‍♀️ such a woman of culture!!

AHhh thanks for asking Angel!!! Okay so I was over at a friend’s house for the weekend and the infamous pig episode with all the shoes in a box is on the TV and she’s like come watch criminal minds spencer reid is babey and I’m like Who Is That so I watch and I’m like wow,,, spencer reid really DO be babey!! So I started watching it and i stg no spoilers please i’m only halfway through season 2 so i’m an actual criminal minds newbie,, but i immediately took a liking to spencer (and Prentiss, but that’s a different story lmao) and decided to look him up on tumblr and here we are!!!

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did someone say A SLOW BURN?!?!?!? ONLY THE BEST TYPE OF FICS EVER!! I need it so bad

bruh it is coming AS SOON as I can get it out,,, i took a break to lay down in the rain but I’m back to writing and responding,,, should be out this week babey!!