#we've got like 3 more tries before i give up completely and it gets shelved

[getyinyusedtoit]

today is attempt 6 at making it past page 50 of vol 1 of yuwu.

[differentkettleoffishalltogether]

I’m On Fire [Chapter 2]

With her sister’s wedding fast approaching and her Mom hounding her about finding a date, Y/N makes a terrible decision that lands her and her least favorite genius in a confusing situation.

Chapter Summary: Y/N and Spencer start to put a plan together.

A/N:  I’ve got a head cold at the mo’ but I had to get a covid test just in case so I’m not allowed leave my room till I get the results! So enjoy a bonus chapter while I wallow on my own for like 36 hours :( On a positive note, thank you guys all so much for the response to chapter 1 I really didn’t see that coming! I’ve tagged everyone who asked, let me know if you wanna be added

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Category: Fake Dating, Enemies to Lovers, (Eventual) Smut, Fluff, Angst, it’s a Slow Burn Baby

Warnings: Cursing, some NSFW language/themes

Word Count: 6.1k

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"Are you coming up or what?"

The question was still ringing in my ears. It caught me completely off guard. 'Up' as in up to Spencer's apartment? Where he lived? I knew he lived somewhere in theory, just like I knew deep down that he wasn't made in a test tube. 

Without noticing I've undone my seatbelt and I'm hopping out of the car, following him around to the front door. I guess I am coming up.

Spencer's apartment is more cosy than I thought it was going to be. It's warm and lived in. It's not big, but I think that might be what makes it homely. Something about the way he behaves had me thinking it would be fully decked out in stainless steel or glass or something. But it wasn't pristine, it was messy. 

There were books bursting from the shelves that lined the walls of the apartment, along with books laid open over nearly every surface in the place, it looked like he was in the middle of reading all of them, and honestly, I didn't doubt it. Maybe I'd misjudged him. He even had some photos of what looked like his family, and maybe friends, even some of the BAU, lining his walls or propped up on his mantle. He had little trinkets and souvenirs on his shelves too, evidence that he'd been around the country for reasons other than a case. I would never admit it to him but there was a real charm to the place.

Once we got inside he took off his bag and suit jacket, tossing them on the desk just inside of the door. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do, and he seemed to pick up on my awkward energy.

"You can make yourself at home" he said, his confident streak remaining. I had no idea what to do with that. What would even make me comfortable in Spencer Reid's apartment? I took a seat on his sofa and just sat with my hands resting in my lap. Really not even sure where I should look without feeling like I was invading his privacy. Even though I wanted to. I think it was morbid curiosity, looking for clues on who this man might actually be outside of the BAU. What I really wanted to do was stand up and walk around, soaking in every bit if this place as if it would help me decipher our messy relationship.

He returned to the living room a few moments later, two mismatched mugs in his hands. He places one in front of me on the coffee table. I pick it up and take a sip. It's lemon and ginger, how did he know what kind of tea I liked? I held the mug in my hands inhaling the steam in an effort to relax. When I look up he's watching me, arms folded across his chest.

"So, how does this thing work. What's the game plan?" I honestly have no real idea. This evening really got away from me, I was still expecting to snap out of it and wake up in my bed at any moment.

"Well I can't say I've ever been in a Sandra Bullock movie before either so this is uncharted territory for me too" I say with a chuckle, trying to ease the tension. Even a little. I can see him crack a small smile but hides it almost instantly, his face hardening again.

"My sister, Margot, she's getting married in like 4 months." I can feel myself tense and I shake out my shoulders, I have to remind myself that he's agreed to this already, "Fuck it, I'm just going to be honest with you. My Mom's mostly freaked out that I'm too attached to this job and that I'll just never find someone again." I shouldn't have said again, fuck. I hope he didn't pick up on that. Who am I kidding. "Even though, I'm not sure I care if I do or don't?" he doesn't say anything, like he's waiting for me to continue. I know I've shared a little too much already but I keep going.

"Margot's 2 years younger than me, I introduced her to her fiancé Philip, we met in college, he's a sweetheart. But since they've gotten engaged Mom's gotten exponentially weirder. I think she's convinced I'm fully going to die alone, as if that would be the worst thing that could ever happen? Anyway, she's been trying to auction me off to all these guys, using this wedding as an excuse. I'm not sure how much of that phone call you actually heard earlier but Mom was trying to sell me on this guy, David, and I just… snapped." I look up at Spencer and he unfolds his arms, leaning in ever so slightly coaxing the story out of me.

"David, he uh, he worked for my father for a while back in high school, filing documents and stuff, busy work mostly. He used to make out with me when he was at our house after school, but then he'd ignore me in the halls the next morning. I know it's because I was a pariah back then or something but I didn't want to think about it today and I just got worked up. I shouldn't have let on that you were my date, I was just going to ask if I could bring Garcia or something, and I'm sorry." I cover my face in my hands, "I'm insane, you can back out if you want to."

I can hear him move from his spot on the opposite side of the sofa, he takes my wrists and gently pulls my hands from my face. He looks into my eyes, "I'm in this now Y/N, what do you need me to do?" he asks, and there's a genuine earnest in his voice that I think I've only ever heard a handful of times. And it's never been directed at me.

"Okay, well we've got a few months before you ha–, wait, fuck!" I throw my head back, there's already a complication, "shit" I curse under my breath. His eyebrows knit together, sitting upright.

"What's the matter?" he asks.

"I forgot about my Mom's 50th, it's next month. They've got this whole huge party planned back home in upstate New York. I've gotta go and they'll probably want to meet you, or they're gonna have a load of questions for me at least. I can try and get you out of it I'm sure"

He gets that cocky look again, he shakes his head "I don't know, I've always liked a bit of competition" he reclines back into his corner of the sofa, taking a satisfied sip from his own mug before speaking again. "You know, if I've got to learn enough to pass as your boyfriend in a month, surely that means you've got to learn enough to pass as my girlfriend within the month, no?"

Oh god. What have I done, why didn't I think this far ahead. "I mean, yeah I guess you're right." I had to remember he was doing me a favor. I had to get over myself. "Okay, if you're sure you're up for that?" I ask, and he nods, and I think he looks excited, or maybe he just finds the whole situation funny.

"If anyone's up for the competition it's you" he says, and I'm not sure if that's a compliment or a dig but I nod in agreement.

He takes another sip of his tea, collected and relaxed. I can't help but notice how at ease he is when he's in his own surroundings. I'm so used to seeing him sitting at a desk surrounded by paperwork, or combing through file after file in the make-shift office in a small-town police station, usually flustered or anxious, or antagonizing me whenever he wasn’t. This was a different Spencer. Completely in control, at ease.

"Alright, shall we get started then, we can't really afford to waste any time can we?" he was actually sort of right, so I nodded. It was only now occurring to me that I'd have to share parts of my personal life with him if I wanted this plan to work. We already knew the basics about each other, I'd read his file when I started at the BAU, I'd read everyones. And I feel like it was safe to presume he'd done the same.

His eyes bore directly into mine as he leaned forward, I think he was enjoying how uncomfortable I must've looked.

"How about I ask you some rapid-fire questions and you have to answer 'em?" he asks, and it's as good of a plan as any, and I can't think of any other suggestions, so I nod.

"Okay, shoot." I say, unsure and nervous, so I brace myself. I'm just grateful that he's making my life easier rather than harder for what feels like the first time since I met him.

I really should've known better.

He leans in, "So Y/N, first question, when did you lose your virginity?"

I almost choke on the mouthful of tea I just took, that can't be what he just asked, and he looks like he's savoring my shocked expression.

"I uh, I don't think you need to know that?" is all I can get out.

"Really? You think that's something your boyfriend wouldn't know about you?" he's right, but I didn't want to admit it outright.

"I feel like I sort of already hinted. It was that same guy David, I was 18, he was 19. We had sex on the couch while my parents went out one evening. I kept my bra on the whole time, he came, I didn't. It was all very standard stuff." I wasn't sure what compelled me to add that last part. I think I was giving in to the open honestly thing. "So what about you Doc?" I challenged.

He didn't seem embarrassed, or even shy. "I must've bloomed little later than you" he admits with a soft chuckle, "Vivian Stewart, I was 21, she was too. It was the last semester of my last PhD and I figured I must be missing out on something. And I sure was" he smirks to himself. "I came, she did too, 3 times. I did a lot of research ahead of time" he mirrored my story and I rolled my eyes. It was hard not to feel a little impressed but I tried with everything I had to stifle it so he couldn't tell. I wish it didn't make me feel something but it did. I gulp down the mouthful of tea that's been sitting in my throat.

I have to shake myself back to reality. I can't give him the satisfaction of throwing me. "My turn." I command, "When was your last relationship Dr. Reid?" I ask, "I mean like, serious one, not like hook-up" I clarify before he can ask. He thinks on it for a moment.

"I'm not sure what you classify as fully serious, but I guess it was this girl, Rebecca, we dated for a while when I first joined the BAU but it didn't work out. What about you?" he flips it back.

"So that was what, like 6-ish years ago?" I ask, he just nods.

"Mine was like 3 years ago now I think. I met this guy Nathan on my first week of college, we dated for like 4 years. He moved here for me when I got accepted by the BAU." I had to stop myself from delving into the detail. It was a long time ago now but it still hurt. "Long story short, the hours were demanding and they got in the way more than I would've liked. We ended up splitting a couple months after I got the job." I tried to play it off like it wasn't one of the more devastating things to happen in my life. But something told me he’d registered that, so he didn't push.

His energy picks up and he looks at me with a grin, but there's something a little sinister behind it. "I've got a more fun question for you." he leans in closer to me, "Y/N, when was the last time you got laid?" I just looked at him in shock. 

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me, I can go first if you really need me to?" his voice didn't waver,

"Fuck you Reid, I know when it was!" I snapped back at him. I did have to think back a little farther than I'd like to pull up the memory.

"Met this guy in a bar when I was out with Pen one night, we went back to his place and hooked up." I say as deadpan as I can make it.

"Well that's not very exciting is it?" he jokes, "Did you at least cum that time?" I know he's just trying to rile me up, but I answer anyway.

"As a matter of fact I did" I earn back a little of my confidence.

"I'm so happy for you, but you did manage to avoid my initial question" fuck "when was this exciting night of yours Y/N?" he probes, like I really, really wished he wouldn't. I could lie, but I'm sure he'd be able to tell. I cringe before I can say it.

"About 8 months ago" I mutter, just low enough for him to hear.

"Sorry, did you just say 8 months ago?" He nearly shouts in disbelief, he seems to find it funny.

"Hey fuck you Spencer!" I go on the defensive, "When was the last time you even got laid?"

"Like two and half weeks ago" he says, confident, and still laughing, "Wait wait, when was the last time you got yourself off? I know you're not waiting 8 months!" he giggles and I think I could kill him. I know I kept giving him outs but was it too late for me to just get up and leave?

"I'm not doing this with you if you're just gonna make fun of me Reid, I get enough of that at work" I get out, my voice is serious but I'm trying to hide how awkward all of this is making me feel, and I don't know that I'm doing a very good job.

I can tell that's gotten to him, he relaxes and eases up on the giggling. "Look okay wait Y/N. I'll stop, I'm not actually trying to make fun of you. I was being serious, I think stuff like this is important if we're gonna have to be comfortable around each other enough to seem like a real couple. Plus, it'll just help break the ice?" he shrugs. "But you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

I soften, because I agree, even thought I hate that he's right. "Fine" I collect my thoughts, "2 nights ago I'm pretty sure." I regret it almost instantly, but breaking the ice is supposed to feel awkward.

"Same here actually," he chuckles, "what'd you do?" I'm so startled by the question I almost forget how to answer.

"I, uh, my, my vibrator? I just felt like uh, I watched some..." I still can't force out a whole sentence. It's not like I was always awkward about sex or anything, I could talk to Garcia, or honestly probably any of the other team members about it. But with Spencer it didn't feel as comfortable. He still sat calmly, smiling just a little.

"Same here, 2 nights back, but with my hands I guess. I wonder if we were doing it at the same time?" he mutters the last part gently and my head goes a bit fuzzy. My eyes drift away from his face and settle on his hands, the mug he's holding looks so tiny with his fingers wrapped around it, I wondered how they'd look wrapped around my-

"Okay I think that's enough for one night, don't you think?" I jump up off the sofa and turn, mostly so that he doesn't catch the blush thats creeping from my neck up to my cheeks. And because I don't know what I'll say, or regret saying, if this conversations continues on its current trajectory.

"Sure," he says, standing up next to me, and I want to move further away instantly, "you're probably right, and it's getting a little late now anyway" he glances at his watch. Ushering me back towards his front door and opening it up. Before I can walk out he lightly touches my shoulder to turn me back to face him, and I wonder if he can feel the heat radiating from every part of me.

"So are you free next Friday after work?" he asks, and I'm so flustered I almost forget why, I just nod. "Perfect, how about we come here again and we can dive into preparing? You could also make a start on getting these onto a hard drive?" he gestures to the antique looking hardbacks adorning the shelves.

'Sounds great!" I perk up, feigning enthusiasm, "See you then!"

"Well, see you Monday morning actually Y/N" he smirks as I walk out the door. Fuck, he was right.

I really hadn't thought this through.

——

The weekend was a bit of a blur. I decided to try and put some useful information into a document for Spencer. It felt strange to try and condense my life into as few pages as possible. I knew Reid had an eidetic memory, and nothing would necessarily overwhelm him. But I also knew that he was someone that the team relied on to fill in a lot of the gaps in the rest of the our knowledge. So I felt bad about dumping a load of information on him, especially considering it was a favor he was doing for me.

I'd complied the majority of my life into a 15 page document and printed it out. Hopefully that would address most of what my family could guerrilla attack him with. There was also something unsettling about the imbalance. I was going to give him so many of the intricate details of my life in a little file, whereas all I really knew about Spencer was what I'd taken it upon myself to learn about him throughout the past few years.

I'd read all of his work while I was in college, given how he was the gold standard of getting into the BAU at a young age, I wanted to know who this guy was. I think I'd pictured something different. And I couldn't deny there was something enticing about finally getting to know him after all of these years of working together. Maybe this could actually be fun, or interesting at least.

----

I arrived early on Monday morning. I thought I was first into the office as usual but Garcia was sitting in my desk chair waiting for me. The second she saw me walk in she tensed, she must've known we were the only people in this early.

"What happened! You've been avoiding me all weekend?" she asked, and she was right. I'd drafted enough texts to her, trying to explain what the plan was, mostly without wanting to admit that she was right. Maybe I was stubborn.

"Alright okay, I drove Reid home." I admitted, dropping my bag by my desk. She rolls her eyes at me, dramatic as always.

"Well I knew that already Y/N damn! What happened next?"

"Fine, we went into his apartment and talked for a while. Trying to sort out the details, get a handle on things I guess?" I said, unsure of how much I should actually give away about our conversation.

"What things!?" She shouts, standing up from my desk,

"I don't know Pen, like logistics and stuff, I still haven't decided how I feel about that little stunt you pulled on Friday night!" I let my frustration get the better of me, and maybe that's why I haven't talked to her. It could also be because I know she's able to read me like a book and I'm not even sure how I feel about this whole situation.

"I call bullshit." She counters, "I know you were relived as hell when I sorted that whole thing out. You would've had anxiety tummy all weekend if I hadn't called Spencer!" I just go silent, she was right. I'd gotten so caught up in the whole, 'how to have a fake boyfriend' that I'd almost forgotten about how stressed I was about Spencer hearing my call in the first place.

"Okay, shit" I sigh. "Maybe you were right Pen. We're actually meeting up again this Friday after work to make a plan for the next while, so I guess that's progress?" I shrug, trying to play it off like this whole situation doesn't make my stomach flip.

"Ohhhhh! So like a date?" She probes, her enthusiasm rising drastically.

"Oh my God Pen no! Like an appointment at best" I diffuse the situation

"Ugh that's no fun" she says, not even trying to disguise her disappointment.

As if on cue Dr. Reid walks through the double doors into the bullpen. Both Garcia and I wave, overall awkwardly, but making an attempt pretend like things were completely normal and like nothing had changed since the last time we were all in the office together.

Penelope heads to her office as the bullpen starts to fill up quickly. Less than an hour later though Garcia's back at my desk and there's a new case that needs the teams attention in Boston. I follow her into the conference room and wait for the rest of the team to join. Spencer follows a moment later with 2 cups of coffee in his hands. I can see my mug in his hand and my automatic response is that he's messing with me. But he places my mug in front of me in the circular table before taking the seat next to me, listening to Garcia's briefing. I don't know if he's ever sat next to me in this conference room, at least not by choice.

I barely had any time to finish my coffee before I have to say goodbye to Garcia and hop on the jet to Boston.

----

The case was grueling. More so than usual. It was wrapped up late on Thursday night and the team decided to fly back home first thing on Friday morning. I was exhausted. Even if there was enough time to get sleep each night it wasn't like I got any. Whenever a case got on top of me like this it made it hard to rest, or get it off my mind at all until it was wrapped up. So even though it was over, that didn't mean I wasn't exhausted.

Hotch gave the team the rest of the day off, given that we have until submit our paperwork by Monday. I wasn't sure if Spencer's invitation from the following week still stood. I didn't want to ask, partly because I was so tired, but also because I was scared. I wasn't about to show up at his house in an effort to have a heart to heart, or hand him a condensed version of my life story on a manilla envelope if he was as drained as I was.

Standing by my desk I packed up everything I'd need to get my paperwork done over the weekend, I was just about finished when Spencer snuck up behind me, perching himself on the edge of my desk. "So, you almost ready to go?" he asks, like it's the most obvious question in the world. I couldn't really hide my surprise.

"Oh yeah. That's fine, I mean, if you're still cool with that?" I ask, and I hate how flustered I sound, like he makes me nervous.

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" He chuckles, standing up straight.

"Cool, gimme a sec and I'll be good to go."

I pack up the rest of my stuff quickly and we make our way out. There's something that feels a little eerie about the two of us being in an elevator together alone again. It was a different kind of awkward to how it felt a week before hand. It almost felt like a kind of tension rather than a hatred or a rivalry. Either way we rode down in silence.

Once we got to the basement Spencer walks out of the elevator and walks straight to my car without having to ask. I unlock it and he hops into the passenger seat. Like this is a natural interaction. Something we do all the time. And I don't hate it as much as I thought I would.

"So," he says, buckling up his seat belt and breaking the silence, "do you know how to get to my place from here or do you need directions again?"

"Well I've got to turn on the engine first" I tease, hoping he picks up on the reference to our last car ride, he chuckles like he does.

"Are you hungry?" he asks

"Starving."

The delivery guy get's to Spencer's apartment at almost the same time we do.

---

Once the food's been demolished the two of us finally sit on his sofa, the same sides as the week before. "So, shall we get back into this?" He asks, sitting forward slightly to pull a notebook out of his satchel on the floor. It's small and lavender, and it's got a pen clipped into the spine. He cracks it open and flips to a specific page.

"Sorry, what's that?" I ask, pointing to the book, he looks confused,

"They're my notes?" he says, like it should be obvious

"Your notes?" I ask,

"My notes on you." he smirks, again like I'm silly for even asking.

He had notes on me? He had a whole notebook on me? What was even in that thing?

"You've got notes on me?" I ask, my hands reaching out to grab it, but he retreats faster than I can catch him. "What have you got in there that's so serious?"

"Nothing." and his tone's a bit too stern and I don't really want to push it when he's being so uncharacteristically nice to me.

"I've actually got this ready for you" I pull the file out of my own bag and toss it to him. "I'm not sure exactly what you need to know but that should be the majority of it at least."

He opens it up and glances over the the pages. It takes him all of 2 minutes to get through the whole thing. It feels unsettling that he's taking in a boiled down version of my life while I'm just sitting on the opposite side of the sofa. Trying to avoid the attention I pipe up.

"Um, hey, maybe it would be a good time for you to show me where to make a start digitizing your books over here?" I stand up and make my way to the shelf. He jumps up off the sofa and walks toward me, visibly excited.

"That's actually a great idea, I thought that the theses from my degrees could be a good place to start, since I'm pretty sure they're not backed up anywhere." he guides me to a section of the book case by the window. There's a series of leather bound hardbacks, the same gold font embossed on the spines. I recognize all of them, pulling out the first one.

"This is my favorite" I say without thinking about it and he does a double take, clearly thrown.

"You've, uh, you read my work?" he asks, completely puzzled. I'm sort of proud that I've managed to make him this awkward, and I nod.

"Mmhm, back before I joined the BAU actually. Before I really knew you" I regret saying the last part, it comes out a little meaner than I really wanted it to so I back track. "Spencer, I read all of your work while I was in college, you were like the gold standard. I don't think I slept more than 2 hours a night throughout my PHD because I was just trying to get as much done as you." and his face softens at the admission. But it takes him a moment before he responds. Leaving the two of us in silence a little too long.

"I had no idea" is all he says.

"I think this one was best" I say propping up the one in my hand, "you get a bit cockier as you move on” His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, "but I'll start with all of these I guess" I grab the matching books and stack them in my arms. Walking over to his desk and setting up. Glancing at the clock it was only 7pm so I decided to just make a start.

Spencer didn't contest. Letting me just get settled at his desk, I pull out my laptop and begin work on transcribing the first volume. After a few minutes he silently places a cup of tea down beside me and goes to sit on the sofa. The time rolls in quickly after that, each time I look up at Spencer he's carefully combing through the file I'd given him. Re-reading it and making little markings in his lavender notebook. I'm not really sure what I put in there that was worth making a note on but clearly he was reading between the lines on some things. That little notebook was like a profile of me.

When he seemed like he'd finished writing he pulls out his phone, scrolling through it aimlessly like I'd never seen him do before. It made him look so normal. His eyebrows knit together as he's looking at something on his screen and he stands up. Making his way over to me at the desk and shows me what he was looking at.

"Who's this?" he asks, "This guy you're with?"

I recognize the photo instantly. It's from a few years earlier, Nathan and I on the beach, my head resting on his chest. He'd taken it while we were on vacation celebrating our anniversary. That was about a month before I got into the BAU, I had no idea that was going to be our last anniversary. I gulp down the emotions that it stirs. I'm mostly over the whole thing by now, but looking at old photos like that, photos of happier times, it can still sting.

"That's uh, the boyfriend I was telling you about last week. Nathan, we broke up not long after I joined the BAU?" he nods, but he's smart, and I kind of figure he already knew that.

"Ah alright" he takes out the hardback and jots another note down. Maybe he's trying to get a read on me.

"What are you doing?" I gesture to the phone,

"It's research, do you not think that if you and I were really dating that stalking your social media profiles would be on my agenda?" he's smug, and he's right. But I guess I just didn't expect it from him.

"Well that's not really fair now is it? I can't reciprocate, you've got no social media presence whatsoever!" he finds that funny, letting out a deep chuckle and tucking his phone away in his back pocket.

"Maybe so, but that imbalance is hardly my fault. Besides, you've read all my dissertations apparently..."

"Bastard" I joke, slamming my laptop shut and throwing a pen from his desk at him so that it lightly bounces off the top of his head.

"Hey, there's no need for violence Y/N!" he rubs the spot beneath his curls, "Maybe it's time you took a break actually?" he says, sitting himself back down on the sofa.

I was reluctant to admit it but he was right. My eyes were starting to go a little fuzzy after looking at the screen for so long. I stand up and stretch my arms out above my head, feeling my spine stretch out after sitting for so long, letting out a low groan. Spencer waves me over to the sofa and I join him.

"How about we go back to basics?" Spencer asks with a small grin, and I can't help but let out a long sigh.

"I thought I was taking a break, no more questions" he just laughs at me,

"Relax, you're not that interesting, it's just a simple question." he states, and I'm not sure if I'm supposed to find it funny or offensive

"Ugh, fine, shoot"

"Well, actually it's two questions" he corrects, "what's your favorite movie, and what's your favorite snack?"

I'm confused mostly by the fact that it actually is a simple question, I was expecting something a lot more contentious, but also because he looks eager to know the answer.

"I'm not really sure what my favorite movie is to be honest, one of them is Night of the Living Dead?"

He nods to himself, and jots it down in the notebook again, "Alright, I can make that work" he stands up off the sofa before turning back to me, "and snack?"

"Peanut butter cups I guess?" I respond and he grins ear to ear, which is a completely new sight, and I like it way more than I thought I would.

"Perfect, gimme 2 minutes!" he leaves the living room and wanders towards the kitchen.

Spencer returns a few minutes later with a DVD, a packet of peanut butter cups , and a thick knitted blanket gathered in his arms. He drapes the blanket over me and gently places the peanut butter cups on top of it before popping the DVD into the player and sitting down beside me. I'm not really sure how to process any of the situation. Am I about to watch a movie on Spencer Reid's sofa? Sitting next to Spencer Reid?

"I... I, uh, thought you were just asking for your notes?" I ask, pointing at the notebook resting in his lap. He picks it up and throws it onto the coffee table.

"Sometimes I find experience is the best teacher, don't you?" he asks before pressing play, “And besides, it should keep you quiet for a whole 96 minutes” of course.

I can only nod in agreement, I'm not really sure what I'll say if I try to speak. I get myself cosy under the warm blanket and we watch the movie in near silence.

Once the credits roll Spencer finally speaks up, "I actually went to see a screening of this last month downtown, there was this little old horror movie fest-" I cut him off without really realizing, I'm just strangely excited that we've genuinely got something in common.

"Holy shit, I was there!" I say, more enthusiastic than the situation calls for.

He laughs at my excitement, "Well, I guess we have more overlap than I thought, that should probably help with the whole charade." he stretches his arms up over his head and let's out a small, gentle yawn. I'd been enjoying myself more than I thought I would, or would ever tell Spencer, that I'd almost forgotten that we'd both been on a case for almost every waking moment of the past week. I really should feel a lot more drained than I do.

I was just after midnight when I suggested that I head back home. I offered to take some of the books home to work on throughout the weekend but Spencer insisted that I just work on them whenever I came over again. I sort of felt like I should thank him for the evening when I was on my way out the door, or give him a quick hug, no that felt wrong. In the end all I could really muster was a lousy, "goodnight" and a meek wave on my way out the door before I drove home. And couldn't get to sleep.

— —

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[dyker-farmer]

More bro fic.... angst fodder kind content.

Take that can away if you can

I never see Shane works that don't go all in for romance nor explore the more realistic ugly parts of recovery, and I kind of crave That TM. So let me have at it too with the self-insert whump mumbo jumbo; no romo version.

Set post-8 hearts event- not 10, jesus-, Farmer Uidelsib is two years or so in, full house built and married to Emily. They/them pronouns, same as me.

Diverges from then on, Shane-centric from an outside POV for the most part.

I also put it on Ao3.

[[MORE]]

A bitch bastard man and a bitch walk into a room... Chapter 1/2/3/4

"I think we should talk about this."

If the room was stifled before, this just causes the pin to drop, and the relative lull to shatter with it. I don't want a storm, but we can't pretend the sea's a slightly oversized pond if we want him not drowning in it- again, my mind supplies, unhelpful.

He's zoning out again, blurry eyes pointedly off me, preferring the turned-off TV.

Let's start easy. "Why did you come here, Shane?"

"I-I-" It sounds like an excuse building up and it bubbles out like a shaken can, "I don't- I shouldn't have-" he goes to up and leave, and we just can't have that.

I scrape my chair closer and grab his shoulder, same as before. Hopefully it's more placating than caging. "No, you should have. You did good. Seeking out, remember?"

He doesn't answer but stills.

"Like Dr.Campbell and Harvey said." I try again.

"Yeah… Yeah." Deep breathing. "I. Don't know." He searches for my face, not quite past the nose. I nod, ushering him on. "It's. Stupid." I frown and my eyebrow goes higher than before and he immediately doubles down. "I know- positiv' reinforchment and all that shit! But… It's hard." A tired hand wipes the most of moisture off his face, before it goes back to wriggle with the other on his lap. "It's so fuckin' hard. Didn't even last two seasons!-"

I cut him off. "Two seasons is a lot! One and a half too. Last time, you'd tried to go cold turkey on the spot. We know what that got us." Sea foam in the mouth and a shared cold in the early spring, on top of a Joja lawsuit. "Shit's hard, like you said. You lasted one and a half this time. Next time-"

"Why the fuck do you always think there's gonna be a next time."

This time, I still. My laidback demeanor mirror his, but so does the cold anger creeping in and tensing both our backs.

"Because. There is going to be a next time. And another after that. And another. Same way there's been next times before this one now."

What's left unsaid we don't touch.

All irritation floods from him like it's just pointless to keep it in anymore, and his forehead goes to thunk softly against the wooden surface he leaned on before. The table muffles his next words a little.

"I can't… keep doing that." I don't peep. "I can't keep rolling back down and then up and down, and up, and down. I- I just can't, Garcia- Uidel-"

"I'll drag you there." I shrug.

"But you shouldn't have to!" His voice raises and make the boards vibrate where his skin's still pressed. "You shouldn't have to-to fuckin'-" he sniffles, the following words drowned out in held-back sobs. "Fuck damn it, you- I said I- I wouldn't be a burden anymore!"

He's crying out loud now, open sorrow and no walls left. Out of all the things you could stick on the not-so amiable man sulking straight from bed to Jojamart to Stardrop Saloon to bed, you probably wouldn't think of "extreme scare of bothering anyone". Yet it's all here in how he collapses silently in the mattress, wake without a sound, keep his head down the whole time he crosses town, tries to merge himself in the fake-nice blue of the shelves at work, then corners himself right between the chimney and the bar on Emily's side, stuck in-between two sources of warmth that can never touch him unless he swings one way or the other. And he doesn't a lot, still keeping to himself strictly. You probably wouldn't think either of how dreamy he gets, hidden in his alcove but seeing everything from there.

When Harvey nerds out about classical, jazz and electro swing music down the bar to me, trying to catch me up on my fuzzy memories of arts history and the implications of breaking codes in the tempo and the leisure of each instruments; of how each note gets a specific response from the brain if done right, and can make up for caffeine deprivation in miraculous ways, when there are no more chances to push back the dread of midterms season at doctor school.

When Elliott, boisterous and drunk, arm-on-arm with an equally inebriated Leah, calls out to the whole place to hear out his latest soliloquy, and drags on the words too much, but with a voice that carries it well, all flamboyance and no limits, as his hair floats around him in a crown and he reigns over the room like a kind lion- Description all intoxicated words from your chicken man truly, not mine. I always get too caught up in the pendulum of Leah's braid and her crooked smile to quite appreciate his theatrics. But the recital rings clear, and everyone applauds the performance- because hey, you applaud a drunk guy showing off the prowess of not tripping a single word in a ten minutes tirade, but also because it really is that good! Everyone, even Shane, whose hands zipped to under his armpits the moment our eyes crossed and I met his pink cheeks with a clairvoyant smile.

Hey, what can I say. Dude's a sapiosexual. Hence why we'll never and cannot bang. That, and, uh, the being lesbian thing.

But all this is closed off and not for anyone to see behind see-through fogged windows, like those kitchen cabinets, when you can make out the piled plates all resting against the cold surface precariously, bound to crash and shatter the moment you open them.

It took a good wrecking ball of a fake-oblivious polite faced stranger and my incessant, hot pepper poppers-powered pestering, to even just crackles the glass.

The rest was all done out of his own volition. He can't see that because alcohol is a depressant, and guzzling it down leads to blurry concepts made softer always and pretty much lush in brain, and when he's off the thing, and that's rare, he instantly goes from not there to thinking he's everywhere, soiling everything and giving nothing.

His sobbing doesn't relent, and he whimpers issues of "trustworthy sack of shit", "not being worth the fucking shrink's money", "not being worth his aunt's troubles", "not being worth Jas". At some point he goes to grapple with his hair, and tugs brusquely once, then twice, then I have to reach for his wrist to make him stop, which he snatches back as soon as I make contact. But he doesn't grab anything to pull or pinch or punch again, so that's good. I stay on standby beside him, but don't touch him. He rasps more condemnations, struggles to breathe enough through the phlegm spreading in his respiratory system, and I start reenacting the steps to stop a hyperventilation in my head, and the first aid for choking, when he begins to cough violently, his entire frame upset with the movement.

He takes the tissue box i nudge with insistence toward him, and ends up spitting mouthfuls of mucus mixed with some bile in the basin under his feet. Most of it is clear and smells of fruits, not beer, so I'm not too worried. When I go to stabilize him by taking his shoulders, he grasps at my wrists to stop me- but let them stay here, while he clings. The tremors get to me now, and I remind myself that this is good, this is before the cliffs and him finding refuge to burst open, not glassily stare at the weeping clouds as he blabbers on the meaninglessness of his life.

This is… very alive.

I ought to be glad.

I let him come down at his rhythm, counting the pulses of his wrists as I feel mine numb with the blood circulation slowed down under his hold.

When he's back with a mind, I count to three, then let go. His arms flop back down, on his lap and hands dangling between his tighs. He blows his nose again.

"I'm so pathetic…"

"Yeah sure, and I'm a serial prom queen."

Instead of jabbing back and forth, we get interrupted by a soft mewling. Both of us turn to the door, that's opened slightly to let in Eryza, the pitter-patter of her paws on the stone flooring the only sound for a moment…

As we both stare in revulsion at her jaw, a single line of vomit dripping of it.

Shane puts his head down in shame, not even having the strenght to hide further.

"Sorry."

"Nah, 's okay. She's already trash, anyway."

Eryza edges closer and rapidly tour around our legs- going back to Shane's feet twice, her whiskers tickling his exposed ankles. Purring loudly, she completely ignore my chastizing as I threaten to make her diet periwinkle-based to counter-act her literal potty mouth, and she scampers to do who-knows-what in the rooms.

"Your vibes are rancid, do you hear me?? Rancid, girl!" I call after her. "I swear to Yoba, Shane, your aunt might as well have brought me a raccoon."

Turning back to him, I can see the short-lived humor of the situation was, well, short-lived. I sigh.

It's late. We're both tired. Tomorrow is sunday. It's cool. We've got time.

I don't sit back down right away. First, I put a hand down on the nape of his neck, that slides to the top of his scalp, right where he'd tug. My quota, remember?

He sniffles some, a few teardrops make their way to the planks, unheard. We stay like this for a moment.

He doesn't shake me off, but in the slow tandem his body takes, rocking lightly from back to forth, I can tell it's enough, for now.

I sit back down on my chair.

I lean on the hand I'd put in his dark purple strands before, smelling cedar wood and pine trees. I don't assume. My farm has plenty of those to stumble through. And even if he went back to the cliff, another time again. I do that too. With my own cliffs back at not-home, but close. There's a sense, in staring down what couldn't take you.

Like visiting a scene crime that you've narrowly escaped from. And pride too. And the thrill of asking- "what if again? What if this time?"- and okay, I can see why it'd be worrying to have him go there a thrice time on his own late in the evening.

But last time was fine, the one before was made fine, and he might need a bitch for a friend right now, but not a watchdog.

His forehead is back against the table.

Three fingers massage my temple. I don't know how much he'll even remember tomorrow, but it's worth the try, always.

"Shane, dude, look at me." He doesn't.

"Dude."

Still doesn't budge. I knock the wood lightly.

"Yo, punk, my eyes are up here." I joke.

He snorts, or maybe he sniffles, and his chin's now resting on the table, peering through the forgotten drinks to watch me. His hands are hidden, probably still clutching his midsection. If I went on a rollercoaster toasted, I'd probably look the exact same.

"I told you before that you literally couldn't be a burden."

He snorts for sure this time, derisive. I knock wood again. "Don't look away from me when I talk, young man. Rude ass punk."

"Bitch." He throws.

"Bitch bastard man." I send back. "Anyways, as I was saying. If I choose you're my dumb of ass to keep around, that's me, that's my decision. You can't burden me if I choose the hard mode package and roll with it. So stop it. I literally told you before, it's not about you not making efforts or burdening people, it's about people who want to deal with you, out of free will."

"Freaky."

"Oh shut up, you dramatic himbo wannabe."

"A what now?"

"Internet slang. Gotta admit you're closer to a dad bod type, but the energy's here, according to many."

He shuffles, self-conscious. "Y'don't need to remind me…"

"Oh hush you, you're perfectly fine. And Elliott would eat his dumb little lobster and pomegranate toasts off that belly if you'd grow out of your own shell and let him."

He sputters unintelligibly, red as a fecking pepper. Good. Flustered is better than self-depreciating.

But now he's pulled on his hood and the strings all the way out, and resumes to chanting me to fuck off, so that might be a good call for a break.

"I'm gonna change and clean up, you need anything? Do you think you'll go back to the ranch, or stay here for the night?" It's happened before, but you can count them on the fingers of one hand.

A long silence follows and I allow myself a quick look in the mirror. Yeah, we're skipping a shower tonight, but the simple hairbrush will not do. I look like a bird's nest that the birds fought in to know who'd keep the children when bird 2 takes off and bird 1 is left to mourn the empty space that'll never fill up the same again and the good times that won't be- wow, trauma lane much, not now, cowpal. First we buckle up our current rodeo. I walk back to the main room, now pajama-clad.

"I've got the beds for the possible kids up there, don't ask me why Robin put so many there, we're two people in a house, and I can lend you a Tee if you want."

He's anxious, chewing his thumb. "Emily won't mind?"

"She's out, sleeping at Haley's tonight. Girls' night and sisters catching up. It's important for her energy flow and karmic balance. Plus, you know she wouldn't mind, she likes you."

That makes him blush more, covering up the alcohol damage enough. I take note, but don't comment. Things for later. They pile up tonight.

"I- I can't go back to the ranch like this."

"You could. Marnie knows better than act as if you're doing this for fun, now. She'd have to understand. But you don't have to." I reassure him when agitated pupils jump up to me. Let's keep that ongoing panic attack at bay. "Either way, I won't mind."

I sit back. Stretch my arms between us. Catch his worrying hands into mine. Give him a squeeze. Tense appendages don't squeeze back, but don't pull back either. That's half a win. He stops torturing the poor things, and unfold with visible effort, like a crumpled up paper flower put on water. His head shakes, and I can't tell if it's conscious, him speaking with himself or trying to shake off a thought, or just a reflex. He visibly forces his shoulders to relax.

"I'm… not bothering you?" Righteous. Seeking vocal positive reinforcement, like a pro.

"Nope." I pop out the 'p'.

"... I think I'll, uh, stay for tonight."

My hands shoot into the air. "Woo! Sleepover, baby!"

I don't catch his hands curling back on themselves, trying to capture that leftover warmth in the late summer night.

--- to be continued.