She/Her - On Earth since 1982 - Here's a blog for Criminal Minds, Xfiles and SVU related! MASTERLIST (Yeah! I write too! With a friendly reminder that English isn’t my first language)
Summary: The BAU is called to solve a case in New York. When you go to get a much-needed coffee with your boyfriend Spencer, you run into someone unexpected, sparking a conflict you never knew was possible.
Word count: 6.5k
Warnings: Angst with a semi-open ending. Reference to violence, kidnapping, killings, Maeve’s case, and CM stuff. Let me know if I forgot something.
A/N: What if Maeve made it alive and got to be Spencer's girlfriend?
---------------
New York at this time of year wouldn't seem so terrible if it weren't for the case the BAU is currently working on.
After all this time on the team, you can say you've seen a lot of awful things, and just when you think nothing can surprise you anymore, another psychopath shows up to prove you wrong.
This is one of those cases.
But despite the brutal setting, you trust your team and your shared commitment to working hard to catch the bad guys and make the world a little safer.
In that same spirit, you find yourself in the meeting room the NYPD set up for you two hours ago when you arrived at the precinct.
“Okay, so what do we know so far?” Emily, your unit chief asks, her eyes fixed on the board with photographs of the victims and the locations where their bodies were dumped.
“Six murders in less than two weeks,” says JJ, reading one of the files in her hands.
“The victimology isn't clear,” Spencer interjects, “there's no clear pattern of age, ethnicity, or social background.”
“Finances?” Rossi prompts, and that's when Luke pipes up.
“Nothing that places them in the same location or links them to a particular person.”
Everything seems too random, but if there's one thing you've learned after 5 years in this line of work, it's that randomness rarely prevails in these cases: there's always a connection, it's just sometimes hard to uncover.
"What about the abduction days?" you ask, having a hunch about some kind of unseen patterns.
“Monday, Wednesday, and Friday," Tara replies after checking another file open on the room table.
“What are you thinking?" Emily turns to look at you and listens to one of your possible theories.
"Nothing conclusive, but if the victimology doesn't fit, then there's something about his routine that could be interpreted as opportunity."
Spencer hums in agreement. "But even if there is an opportunity, something makes him choose them beyond being at some specific time and place."
“That’s exactly my point, Dr. Reid,” you smile at him, acknowledging the implicit sync Spencer tends to have with your train of thought.
Spencer smiles back, cheeks a bit pinker from your words.
Luke groans. “Oh, come on. If the lovebirds want to bounce theories to flirt with each other, get a room.”
JJ and Tara giggle, while Rossi looks more amused than pissed off. Emily glares at Luke with a clear message: don’t go there and focus on the case.
Hiding your smirk behind the rim of your coffee cup, you subtly wink at Spencer, who has to do everything in his power not to burst into laughter.
You and Spencer have been used to this dynamic for a while now. It wasn't long after you started at the BAU before you connected with the resident genius and became inseparable. First as colleagues, then as friends, and now as a couple.
Spencer has been your boyfriend for a year now. It was something the team said was 'meant to happen,' but neither of you was willing to admit it until denying it became ridiculous and futile.
And you couldn't have wanted it any other way. Spencer is the most attentive, loving, and caring boyfriend you've ever had. And, according to Spencer himself, you are all that and so much more to him.
One of the things you decided when you opened up about your feelings was to take things slowly, without pressure or rushing to take the next step. That's why, although you've talked about it, you haven't moved in together yet. Similarly, you both agreed not to mix your personal and professional lives. While you allow jokes and comments about yourselves from the team, personal problems and displays of affection stay outside the workplace.
And this case isn’t the exception. As soon as Emily assigns tasks to everyone, you focus on doing what you were asked to do.
Everyone was working against the clock, but the hours were passing without any clear leads. Without realizing it, you’ve been working nonstop for over a day, and although Emily had tried to ensure everyone got some rest from time to time, the exhaustion was starting to show.
-
An hour earlier, you were sent with JJ to interview witnesses at the last dumping site, but it didn't go as you'd hoped.
When you return to the station, Emily, Rossi, and Spencer are in the briefing room discussing the geographic profile.
Seeing you enter, Spencer immediately gives you a tired smile, indicating that there hasn't been much progress on this front either.
"We couldn't get much," JJ says.
"The geographic profile is also too vague," Rossi adds.
"Okay, but we can't stop there," Emily points out. "Lieutenant Ryan is already nervous about this, and the press will leak in any minute."
Emily now assigns JJ to help Tara with the medical examiner, while she and Rossi go to get more information from the victims' families. She leaves you with Spencer to continue reviewing the geographic profile.
Once you’re alone in the room, you point out the obvious. “Emily looks more frustrated than usual.” Spencer nods in agreement.
“Well, Lieutenant Ryan wasn’t much help when he came and questioned Emily for the lack of progress.”
“Asshole,” you mumbled under your breath. Spencer chuckles, knowing that’s exactly what you would say at that.
Spencer shrugs. “He is frustrated. Everyone is at this point.”
You hum in agreement, glancing at the whiteboard where the photos of the new victims are displayed. Spencer knows you're trying to focus, even though you look just as exhausted as he does.
"Hey," he calls your name. "How about a coffee and some fresh air before we continue?"
You turn to him, and your face lights up. That's exactly what you need before you keep going.
"I knew you were more than just a pretty face," you joke, and Spencer grins.
"Good thing we’re clear on that now. Let's go to the coffee shop on the corner; I don’t think I can stand another one from the vending machine here."
The trip is quick but lets you get some fresh air. Spencer, being the attentive boyfriend he always is, knows exactly which coffee you need. Meanwhile, you complain about the weather and how cold the police station is.
As you wait for your order, Spencer explains how old the buildings in downtown New York are and how their insulation systems work.
“Upgrading the system with the appropriate materials would take a long time and be quite expensive. And well, given the NYPD's infrastructure budget, it's not feasible in the short- or medium-term,” Spencer says.
“Or at all. And I get it. I don't want to be flippant and say it's a priority compared to other things, but I think about all the people working there all day, and, yeah, I feel like the damn privileged federal agent that I actually am. No wonder why they look at us with disdain,” you point out, grabbing the two coffees from the counter and handing one to Spencer.
“They don’t look at us that way,” he starts to argue, taking a sip of his beverage. “I mean, they sure are equally frustrated as we are due to this case.”
And probably he’s right, but you know the glances the local forces tend to give you everywhere you go across the country. The feds aren’t welcomed in most places, and you understand why.
“Well, more reason why we need to catch this bastard soon,” you add as you both walk out of the coffee shop. Spencer nods in agreement, following you on the sidewalk.
“And we will. We just need to refocus and-”
“Spencer? Is it you?”
His speech is suddenly interrupted by a voice calling his name from behind.
“Who’s-” Spencer begins to ask, but he stops himself once he turns and realizes who is the person calling his name. You do the same, only to find a smiling woman approaching. You don’t think you know her, but apparently, she knows Spencer, and judging by the way Spencer’s eyes widen, he knows her.
“Maeve? Wow.”
Two things immediately catch your attention. The first is that you're sure you've heard that name before. The second is that since you met Spencer Reid, you can count on one hand the number of times you've seen him speechless. This is one of those times.
“What a coincidence to find you here!” the brunette chirps. She looks very pleased with this encounter. And Spencer looks... starstruck?
That’s when it hits you. No. It can’t be, you think at first. But you can’t be mistaken, she is Maeve Donovan, Spencer’s ex.
“Yeah. I - I’m working on a case here in New York,” Spencer clarifies, fumbling with his coffee cup, and taking a step forward so he can talk easily to the woman. You stay frozen in place, watching as the interaction unfolds.
“Of course, I should have imagined something like that,” the woman chuckles. “It’s been a while, uh?”
“Six years, three months, and four days.”
Are-You-Fucking-Kidding-Me? You’re sure your brain short-circuits when you hear Spencer. Of course, everyone keeps track of how long it's been since they last saw their exes. You begin to feel discomfort in your stomach. You rationalize the fact that Spencer has an eidetic memory, but that's not enough to justify why the count came from his mouth.
“I’m not one bit surprised you know that,” Maeve concedes. “How have you been?”
Even though you never met Maeve, you do know the story. Spencer himself told you this even before you two started dating. And to say it left you speechless and incredibly frustrated by how badly Spencer got hurt is an understatement.
Spencer told you how he started suffering from severe migraines and how that led him to consult a prominent geneticist, Maeve Donovan. You also know how their conversations became increasingly frequent, leading to a relationship even though they had never met face-to-face.
You remember how he recounted that Maeve had a stalker and refused the BAU's help. Until it was too late, and she was kidnapped. Spencer's heart nearly broke at the thought that he would never be able to see her in person.
The BAU worked tirelessly until they located her. But upon entering the abandoned garage, they found Maeve being held at gunpoint. And if it weren't for Spencer, she would have died along with her stalker, who ultimately took her own life.
It was obvious that after that experience, Maeve and Spencer would take their relationship to the next level. And they did. Spencer accompanied every detail of Maeve's healing process after her near-death experience. And for her part, Maeve gave Spencer the love he so desperately craved.
Everything seemed to be going well between them—a happy couple after such adverse circumstances. But as the months passed, Maeve began to resent Spencer's constant work trips and questioned his devotion to the BAU, arguing that he could do better in academia.
Spencer wasn't sure if Maeve ever cheated on him while they were together, but the emotional and physical distance between them became increasingly evident. One day, after returning from a case, Spencer arrived at their shared apartment to find Maeve waiting with her suitcase already packed. Saying she couldn't take it anymore, she broke up with him and left without further explanation. And two weeks later, Spencer finds out she started a relationship with her ex-fiancé, Bobby.
It took Spencer months to recover from that. While he didn't give you details about that period, you know from JJ and Penelope that Spencer suffered from a major depression, which almost led him back to the addiction he had overcome years before.
When you joined the team, all of that was supposedly behind him, but it wasn't unusual for you to see Spencer be more withdrawn at times. After learning his story, you understood why he acted that way back then.
That’s something you’ll never forgive Maeve for. And it's itching your skin to see how polite Spencer is behaving with her right now.
“Good. Pretty good, actually. I didn't know you left DC?”
In addition to the grudge you held towards Maeve for what she did to Spencer, you now have the feeling of being totally forgotten by your boyfriend. Well, you suppose once the pleasantries end, he will introduce you as he should.
“Remember when I told you I wanted to apply for funding to do a neuroscience lab? Well, I got it two years ago and moved to New York. Now I have a whole team working with me.”
“Wow! That’s great. Really, really great.”
As the seconds and minutes tick by, you grow more impatient. Their conversation continues, and neither of them seems to notice you're there. Maeve is all smiles, and you're almost certain Spencer is blushing, his voice betraying his obvious nervousness.
Should you say something to stop her blatant flirting? It's completely inappropriate, considering the place and the situation. Sure, maybe if she knew who you were, she'd be less obvious. But your boyfriend is doing little to nothing to let her know.
You've never considered yourself a jealous woman. In your past relationships, you've always built them on trust. And with Spencer, it's been no exception. But right now? You're not sure you're immune to that feeling.
Perhaps you should make your presence known by introducing yourself. But two reasons hold you back: first, that would be unprofessional, and second, it's not your job to do so.
“Yeah. It is. And we've made some really significant progress in research, with several articles published. I'm sure you'd be interested in reading them.”
Rolling your eyes, you think the only thing missing is for her to tell Spencer she's already won the Nobel Prize in neuroscience.
“Oh, I definitely would.”
What’s wrong with Spencer? Is he feigning interest in the conversation, or is he genuinely absorbed in what she has to say? Either way, it feels bizarre to have to witness this rom-com-like reunion where your character seems to be nonexistent.
“And how has your life been these past few years? For what you said, I assume you're still working with the BAU.”
Okay, now's the time, you think. Come on, Spencer, tell her you've gotten over all the bad things she did to you, how much you've grown, and how your life is better than the one she gave you.
“Good. You know, work. Catching serial killers hasn’t changed much.”
You can't believe that's all he's going to say. It's practically saying that everything's the same, that his life isn't any different than it was when he was with her. You wonder if he really feels that way, and if he does, it makes you feel insignificant.
“So, isn't there a Ms. Reid waiting at home?”
At the question, your heart starts to beat faster. It's direct, and although inappropriate for a casual conversation between exes, it's the ultimate test of whether Spencer considers his relationship with you worth exposing.
“If I’m married? No, I’m not. Are you?”
You don't think you've felt such a profound disappointment in years. And while it's true you two aren't married, it was time to acknowledge that you, at least, existed. Now it's clear you don't even meet the ‘Maeve standard' to be shown off.
Maeve smiles flirtatiously. “No, I'm not married. Don't you think that's a nice coincidence?”
That's enough. You can't stay and listen to another word. You're not going to be the one crying in this sidewalk because your boyfriend doesn't even acknowledge you. You're better than that.
“I'll leave you two to catch up. I'm heading back to the station; Emily is asking where we are. See you there, Reid.”
Reid. For Spencer, it’s like a switch is flipped, and some kind of revelation hits him. For the first time since the whole encounter, he turns to look at you. To really look at you. You don’t ever call him Reid, and the tone? That’s enough to pop any bubble he was in.
You can’t tell if his eyes scream guilt, regret, confusion, fear, or all of them. But you’re enough pissed off to stay there to find out. That’s why, before he can open his mouth, you walk away, fishing your phone to text Emily you’re on your way. You don’t even dare to look back, walking as faster as you can.
You hear Spencer calling your name, asking you to wait for him, but you let it fade into the sound of New York traffic.
---------
When you enter the station, your chest feels tight. You don't know if it's partly from walking fast, from the cold burning your lungs, from the disappointment in your heart, or from the anger coursing through your veins. Whatever it is, you have neither the time nor the space to worry about it.
You head straight to the briefing room, where you see the whole team has already returned from their respective assignments.
Rossi frowns when he sees you. "Everything alright, bella?" You swallow hard to regain your composure.
"Yeah, just cold outside."
"And Spence?" JJ asks. And you act as if nothing that happened minutes ago actually happened. "He should be here any minute, I assume."
Emily frowns, but instead of saying something to you, she talks to all. “Okay, let’s get started. We have news.”
Five minutes later, Spencer rushes into the room, only to find the whole team - you included - listening to Emily talking, who stops when she sees him.
Great, he’s the last one arriving, and everybody notices.
“Ah, Reid. Good thing you’re here. We have enough for the profile now.”
Thanks to Luke and JJ's last findings and the new information Rossi got from the families, the pieces are finally falling into place. Emily continues her briefing, pointing out the key information they have and how it builds on what they had before. Once she’s done, the instructions come: "Okay, let's get everyone to deliver the profile.” The team already knows what to do.
Spencer's gaze travels directly to you, exiled in a corner, folder in hand, with an expression impossible to read.
As people are vacating the room, Spencer cautiously walks toward you. You’re organizing folders from the table and preparing to leave as well.
He clears his throat before speaking softly. “Can we talk about what happened?”
You don’t even look at him, like he didn’t say anything at all. At the lack of response, he calls your name.
You’re still focused on the files. “We have nothing to talk about.” Your tone is flat, trying to sound detached, but you’re burning inside. Spencer purses his lips. He knows what you are doing.
“Please, don’t do this.”
What the hell? You're literally trying to avoid a conflict in the middle of a police station, during an active case, and Spencer wants to chastise you for it?
“Excuse me? Don’t do what? Behaving professionally at work?”
Spencer sighs. You’re right, you shouldn’t be talking about this in the middle of the case, but he needs to say something. Anything. He can’t pretend to not acknowledge what he did, even if he doesn't know why or how to address it, for that matter.
Although starting with an ‘I’m sorry’ would have been an honest go, his mouth betrays him. “You know what I mean.” It’s a meek approach, Spencer knows it, but he can’t get the words out when he’s still assimilating the last hour.
Whatever the case may be, you’re not in the mood to make his life easier. “Actually, I don’t. And you know what? I don’t want to understand. You can go back and catch up with Maeve. I’ll keep doing my job.”
Before Spencer can even think of replying, you're already in the corridor, catching up with Luke to warn the rest of the police station about what's coming.
To say the next few hours are tense would be an understatement. You don't even bother to look at Spencer, while he looks like a kicked puppy. Of course, the team notices. Emily, at least, has had the decency not to put you two together on tasks.
You don't know if that makes things better or worse. Not talking to him has only made your insecurities fester. You don't understand if there's any logical explanation for what happened outside the coffee shop. Surely there is, but just because it makes sense doesn't mean it's good for your relationship. Maybe the idea that Spencer is over Maeve isn't true; maybe he's never stopped loving her, and that makes you feel like a replacement. And a bad one, at that.
How could you compete with someone as brilliant as her? With her beauty and the confidence of a woman who knows what she wants and who was such an important part of Spencer's life. No, you don't measure up to that.
---------
The case hasn't given you a moment's rest. So much so that you've barely had time to go to the bathroom. Just as you manage to slip away for that, you see JJ waiting for you on the way out. Her face is the one you know so well: maternal, worried, and conciliatory.
You frown. “What? Did something happen with the case?”
She shakes her head. "Not yet, but I wanted to ask you something."
You pinch the bridge of your nose, knowing exactly where the question is headed.
"JJ, I don't think this is the time or the place," you say, gesturing to the bathroom door. JJ nods.
"That's why I wanted to suggest we go outside for a bit. And I agree that maybe talking about this isn't exactly workplace stuff, but I think it would do you good, at least, to vent a little."
Perhaps it's not a bad idea after all because you've felt choked up for all these hours. So you accept JJ's offer. You both walk toward an indoor parking lot at the precinct, where there are a few cars and very few people. It seems to be the most private place available for now.
"What happened between you and Spencer?" JJ asks immediately. Okay, straight to the point, you think. Scratching the base of your neck, you make a face.
"We went to the coffee shop around the corner, and when we came out, a woman called Spencer’s name. And guess who it was? Maeve Donovan."
JJ listens intently, though she already thinks she understands the gravity of the situation.
You let out a humorless laugh. "It was like I didn't exist. They were talking like it was the nicest thing in the world, like she'd never hurt him. He knew—and said—exactly how long it had been since they'd last seen each other! And she was blatantly flirting with him. It wasn't until I opened my mouth to say I was going back to the station that he realized I was there."
"And has he tried to talk to you about this?" JJ asks.
"Yes, when we were about to present the profile, but I can't listen to him, JJ; I'm terrified of what he's going to say," you confess, voice small and frighten.
"Why? I bet he wants to explain why he was such an idiot and apologize."
"And is it worth it? What I saw there has made me think that Spencer hasn't gotten over Maeve, and maybe he never will. That means I'm not good enough for him, and I don't want to compete for the heart of someone who will never be completely mine."
JJ shakes her head. “Don’t say that. Spencer loves you. We can all see it. I've never seen him happier in his life, not even when he was with Maeve. And yes, I understand that what he did was stupid, whatever his reason may be, but just as you need to hear his explanation, he also needs to hear how much this is affecting you. Spencer Reid may be a certified genius, but let's face it, he's a man, and he's no better than the rest of his gender exponents at reading the room.”
You let out a deep sigh. “It's hard when I can't get that image of the two of them grinning like idiots on the sidewalk out of my head. And I also don't want to make a big deal out of it when we have a serial killer to catch. It's not the professionalism we promised Emily.”
“I understand,” JJ agrees. “But if not now, you have to talk about it later. Don't let your thoughts consume you without telling him directly. He needs to know and do something about it.”
From your conversation with JJ, you can take a few things: first, it helped you vent, and second, even though JJ has been friends with Spencer since before you met him, she was honest and didn't invalidate your feelings.
When you both return to the main area of the station, you can see there's a lot of activity. Police officers are moving around, while Emily calls the team to give instructions.
"Okay, we have an identity and a location. Get ready for the take-down. Rossi, you’re with Tara, Matt, and Reid. The rest are with me. Come on, let’s go.”
Everyone rushes to put on their bulletproof vests and check that their weapons are ready in case they need to be used. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Spencer doing the same, but he doesn't take his eyes off you. And although nothing between you has been discussed, much less resolved, knowing that a risky situation is devolving and that something bad could happen to one of you makes you see things from a different perspective.
Trying to keep your anger in check, you approach Spencer, who looks at you in surprise.
Cautiously but steady, your hands take one of the straps of his Kevlar, pull it taut, and secure it to his side. Spencer looks at you with rapt attention as you murmur, "Please, don't do anything stupid. I need you back, in one piece."
Spencer swallows hard and, with the same thoroughness, repeats your action, securing your Kevlar to your body. "I won't. Please, stay safe too. I promise I'll fix this."
You nod, taking in his words, before turning around and leaving with the group you were assigned to.
---------
Fortunately, the unsub’s arrest, Edgar Toller, was swift and without casualties. His latest victim was rescued with only minor injuries, which paramedics immediately treated.
Lieutenant Ryan was satisfied, and despite all the unpleasant things he'd said to Emily in past days, he thanked her profusely for the team’s help. Prentiss, ever the politically correct person, thanked the NYPD for their assistance, and Ryan left happy.
Since it was past midnight when everything was resolved, Emily decided it wasn't worth returning to Quantico and that it was better to go to the hotel and rest. You would leave New York the following morning.
Exhausted, no one wanted to argue, so you got into the SUVs and returned to the hotel.
You were the last to get out of the car, and before entering the lobby, you realize that Spencer is at the entrance, hands in his pockets, with a sheepish expression on his face, waiting for you.
When you frown at him, he hastens to speak. “I know you are tired, and maybe you only want to go upstairs to sleep, but I would really like to talk to you. But if you don’t want to, I understand. I’ll wait all the time you need.”
Spencer's voice is quiet but steady. He maintains eye contact throughout, trying to gauge your discomfort. It's clear he doesn't want to cross any boundaries you're not willing to go beyond today.
You could just skip it again and leave this conversation for when you get back to DC, because it's absolutely true that you're exhausted, but mostly scared about how it's going to turn out.
But prolonging the agony seems unnecessary, and it's not your style either. If the band-aid has to be ripped off, then it's better sooner rather than later.
You bite your lower lip in contemplation. Then decide to stop running from this. “Walk with me?” You ask. And Spencer nods immediately. He doesn't question why you don't go up to one of your rooms instead of staying out in the New York cold in the middle of the night.
This will be on your terms.
You walk for a couple of blocks in silence until you reach the entrance to a small park, where a mobile coffee stand with a couple of tables and chairs is set up. You order two hot chocolates and, once you have them in hand, you sit down at one of the tables, putting one cup in front of you and the other on the opposite side. Spencer takes his and sits in the chair in front of you.
“Okay, I’m ready to hear you,” you prompt, sipping your chocolate. Spencer nods, hands warming around the cup.
“I'd like to start by saying I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for how I behaved; I never meant to hurt you, and even though it might sound hollow now, if I could go back in time and do things differently, I would do it without a second thought.”
You can see the regret in his eyes, as if remembering what happened physically hurts him. And perhaps that's true, but it's not enough to understand, and not enough to know how to go from here.
“But why, Spencer? What was in your head at that moment?”
Spencer shrugs. “At first, I don’t know. It was kind of surreal. I never thought I would be facing Maeve after all these years.”
Crossing your arms over your chest, you lean back in the chair. “Never? I mean, never crossed your mind knowing you used to live in the same city?”
You have a point, Spencer thinks. But for him, it wasn’t a concern until today. “I know, the possibility was always there, but I always assumed that if it happened, we'd both ignore each other, play dumb, avoid the awkwardness. At least that's what I thought. But hearing her call my name, actively seeking my attention? That threw me off.”
“I can understand that, but why were you so thorough with her? After all she did? Spencer, you said the amount of time since you last saw her. It's like you were keeping count of your miserable life without her!”
Spencer sighs in defeat. He knows that specific slip hit you hard, and he can’t even phantom the extent of how deep it got you.
“I have an eidetic memory. I can’t help having a count of things. I know saying it aloud is a lot different, and this time came out wrong. I’m sorry, it wasn’t what I wanted. I was nervous, and nervous me uses my brain cabinets to fill the gaps.”
“Well, if you were nervous and didn't know what to do, why didn't you lean on me? I was right there, Spencer. Ready to jump at her throat if you wanted me to. I would have stood for you.”
Spencer nods in understanding. “I know you would have. And I will never forgive myself for not acknowledging you by my side at that moment. In my brain, I only wanted it to be over, and not give more importance to the encounter.”
You want to believe it's true, but if that were the case, why didn't he just turn around and leave? Why keep talking to her?
“Dismissing what you have accomplished, and letting her think you haven’t changed at all? I bet she thought you were still wretched without her. And honestly, I thought it too.”
Spencer's eyes widen in shock. This is not at all what he was trying to project. In an attempt to downplay the situation, he just wanted to be vague in his explanations, or at least that's what he tried to do, but it clearly wasn't understood that way. You didn't understand it that way either.
“What? No! That’s not true. I’m far from miserable without her. Come on, I have you, I’m happy with you. That’s enough to feel like I won the lottery.” Spencer's eyes soften, but he never breaks eye contact with you. If there's one thing he can't afford right now, it's for there to be any doubt that what he's saying is the whole truth, and for you not to see it.
You scoff. “Is it? I don’t know. I mean, she’s Maeve Donovan, a beautiful woman, prolific scientist, destined for a Nobel Prize. We can agree on the lottery being more close to her than me.”
You don't like that your words sound like you're pitying yourself for not being like Maeve, but it's clear that you're both different, and if Spencer had the choice, it seems more obvious to you that he'd choose her over you. And it bothers you to think that this situation is undermining your self-confidence.
Spencer leans forward to find your gaze, which instinctively shifts to the chocolate cup. “No, the way I see it is not like that. Why do you think I would ever consider that Maeve can be in my life again?”
Biting your lower lip, you huff. “You haven’t thought about the possibility? Not just once? Don’t lie to me, Spencer.”
The response comes as fast as the question is out. “Never since I met you. Not once since then. And - yeah, after today, you may not believe me. I know I froze and didn’t do what I should. There were options, and I took the worst. I’m sorry.”
You let out a deep sigh as you contemplate your next words. “I can understand that she was an important person in your life, Spencer. I'm not naive. I know the story; you told it to me yourself. And I know that kind of love doesn't just disappear. It leaves scars, and I know you have yours. And even though she made your life a living hell at the end of your relationship, you always loved her, despite that. And it's normal that you feel a second chance is possible. I don't—”
“No. Don’t. Stop right there,” Spencer cuts you off, bringing his chair closer to your side. One of his arms goes to rest on the back of your chair, and the other reaches out to place his hand on one of yours that is on the table. “Hey, look at me, please.”
You do as he says, and his gaze almost takes your breath away. It's intense, direct, pleading.
“I don't want a second chance with Maeve. I don't want anything to do with her, really. I don't need a successful scientist who broke my heart once. Not for affection, not for intellectual stimulation, not to relive past loves, not for anything. And you know why?”
You timidly shake your head. A fog drifts over your senses, and the only thing you can focus on is those hazel eyes that gaze intently at you.
“Because you're the one I want. You're the one who keeps me awake when I'm not by your side and brings me back to sleep when you're with me in my bed. You're the one who has made my heart beat with happiness again. You're the reason things make sense in this world full of senselessness. It's your love, your concern; it's the way you show that you care. It's the way you laugh when I tell a joke and the way you let me hold you when you're sad. It's the way you kiss me, taking my breath away every time.”
“Spencer—” you want to interrupt him. Not sure why, but the words are getting to you, and you don’t know what to do with them.
“Please, let me say it,” Spencer breaths. And despite the cold, your body feels warm after every word that comes out of Spencer's mouth.
“Despite the emotional barrier I tried to maintain with you when you joined the team, you managed to break it down. Not suddenly, nor with fanfare, but with time, patience, support, and love. And that love? It's something I cherish with all my heart, and I've tried to show you how much I love you, even if words fail me, even if my social awkwardness gets in the way. And I'm sorry if I've failed. I failed today, I know. But never because I don't love you. Because I doubt that will ever happen, even if I tried. I'm not asking you to forgive me right now, or tomorrow, or the day after. But I swear I'll wait patiently until you're ready. And if you're not, that won't stop me from loving you.”
You don't know when the tears started rolling down your cheek, but by the time Spencer finishes speaking, your vision blurs.
You stay quiet for a moment, fingers wrapped tight around the cup.
"Spencer." Your voice comes out steadier than you expected. "I need you to understand something. This was never just about Maeve."
He holds your gaze, listening.
"I know you didn't mean to hurt me. And I believe you when you say you don't want her back. But what broke me out there wasn't jealousy — it was that you looked right through me. I was standing beside you, and I didn't exist. And that's the part that's going to take me longer to shake off. To come back at feeling me like your person, the one you can lean on when you need it.”
Spencer exhales slowly, something in his expression shifting — not defensiveness, but recognition. The real kind. It’s about your feelings, about something he knows he can’t fix in one night.
"You're right," he says. Just that. No qualifier, no explanation. Just the weight of it.
You nod. You pick up your cup, and so does he, and for a while you just sit with that truth between you, letting the hot chocolate cool a little in your hands, recognizing that talking things through is an important starting point, but not the whole road.
When you finally stand to leave, Spencer reaches over and turns up the collar of your coat before you can do it yourself — a small, quiet thing, almost automatic. Like he's been doing it for years. Like he wants to do it for all the years to come.
You don't comment on it. You just start walking back to the hotel.
Spencer falls into step beside you, and somewhere in the second block, your hands find each other in the cold. You instinctively squeeze his, and he does the same with yours, acknowledging a silent agreement. A promise.
You don't say anything else. Neither does he.
Some things take longer than one night in New York.
spencer reid x super mega sweetheart reader who wouldn’t hurt a fly. but she meets one of spencer’s highschool bully’s (they can be on a case or just like out on a date, you pick!) and she just goes absolutely off on the bully that spencer has to literally hold her back
I love sweetheart reader x Spencer so much.
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Sweet girls bite
|| sweetheart reader protecting Spencer against one of his high school bullies.
༝༚༝༚
w.c 2k
Warnings: none
~~~~~
The first time Spencer Reid met you, he thought you were too soft for the BAU. Not weak. Never weak.
You smiled at everyone. You remembered Garcia’s complicated coffee order after hearing it once. You brought JJ’s boys little dinosaur stickers from airport gift shops. You cried over injured children in case files and apologized to bugs before scooping them into cups and releasing them outside Quantico.
Morgan once watched you spend 25 minutes trying to save a bunny trapped in a fence on a case.
And Spencer
Spencer had fallen in love with you so quietly he almost didn’t notice it himself.
It was in the small things.
The way you’d sit beside him during flights because you knew he hated turbulence more than he admitted. The way you listened when he rambled. Really listened. Not politely or patiently. Enthusiastically. Like every fact coming out of his mouth mattered.
You touched him carefully, too.
Never suddenly. Never in ways that made him tense. A hand on his sleeve. Fingers brushing his wrist. Your shoulder against his during late nights in the bullpen.
The team called you their sunshine.
Spencer privately thought that was inaccurate.
Sunshine could burn people.
You never did.
Until Cincinnati.
The case itself was awful enough already- a series of murders tied to a private high school where students were being targeted one by one. The unsub had a fixation on “punishing cruelty,” according to the profile.
Which was how they ended up interviewing the teachers of the victims.
Including Todd Mercer.
The moment the man walked into the police station conference room, Spencer went still beside you. Not visibly, maybe. Nobody else noticed.
But you did.
You always did.
His shoulders locked.
His breathing changed.
And when Todd laid his eyes on him, he grinned. Actually grinned.
Spencer looked down at the table like he was 15 again instead of a twenty something FBI agent with three PhDs.
Todd Mercer was broad-shouldered and expensive-looking in the sleazy way certain men were. Perfect teeth. Overwhelming cologne. The kind of guy who peaked at 17 and built an entire personality around it.
“Well, what do we have here,” Todd said, staring at Spencer. “Reid?”
Spencer adjusted his glasses. “Mr. Mercer.”
Todd barked out a laugh. “Still talking like a robot, huh?”
Morgan’s eyes narrowed instantly.
You looked between them carefully.
Todd leaned back in the chair officers had set up for him. “Damn. Haven’t seen you since high school. You look…” He paused dramatically. “Less pitiful.” Like it was a compliment.
Spencer smiled tightly.
The kind of smile that wasn’t a smile at all.
“We’re here to discuss the case.”
“Right, right.” Todd snorted. “You were always such a freakin’ narc.”
Heat prickled up your neck.
You glanced at Hotch, expecting him to intervene, but he was watching Spencer carefully- gauging whether Spencer wanted help or not.
Spencer kept his voice even. “Did you know the victims well?”
Todd shrugged. “Some of them.” Then he smirked again. “Funny though, it’s crazy seeing you act confident after spending four years terrified of eye contact.”
“Okay that's enough.” You cut him off “You’re here for a case, so please Mr Mercer, be focused”
Todd looked at you then.
His eyes lingered.
“Oh,” he said knowingly. “No way.”
You raised a brow.
He pointed between you and Spencer. “You two together?”
Spencer immediately said, “That’s irrelevant.”
Todd burst out laughing.
Actually laughing.
“Oh my God,” he wheezed. “Reid pulled a girl like that? Jesus Christ, miracles are real.”
Morgan physically shifted forward.
Emily muttered, “what a dick.”
But Todd wasn’t done.
He looked directly at you.
“You know this guy used to get shoved into lockers almost daily?”
Spencer went rigid beside you.
“Todd,” he warned quietly.
“No, seriously,” Todd continued. “Kid was weird as hell. Used to cry when people touched his books.” He laughed again. “Still does, don’t you Einstein?”
Your chest tightened painfully.
Spencer stared at the table.
Not speaking. Not even defending himself.
And something inside you cracked.
Because Spencer Reid- the kindest man you had ever known, the gentlest, brightest person in every room- was sitting there letting this man reduce him to a frightened teenager again.
Todd shook his head. “Can’t believe you bagged such a gorgeous girl. What’d you do, read her a dictionary?”
The room went silent.
Spencer inhaled softly beside you. Like he was preparing himself to endure this.
Endure.
Not fight back.
“Oh, shut the hell up.”
Everyone froze.
Including Spencer.
Todd blinked at you. “Excuse me?”
“No, actually, I’m serious,” you snapped. “Shut. Up.”
Morgan’s eyebrows shot up so fast they practically disappeared into his hairline.
Emily looked delighted.
Todd gave an incredulous laugh. “Whoa. Claws out.”
“You think tormenting a teenager makes you impressive?” you shot back. “You’re a grown man bragging about bullying someone in high school like it’s an achievement.”
Todd’s smile faltered slightly.
You stepped forward.
Spencer immediately grabbed your wrist gently.
“Hey,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay.”
Your voice shook with anger.
Not fear.
Pure fury.
“You made his life miserable for fun.”
Todd scoffed. “Oh my God, it was high school—”
“And?” you cut him off sharply. “Do you think that magically erases it?”
Spencer moved with you, trying to calm you. “Honey- ”
“No, Spencer, absolutely not.”
The entire team stared.
Because you didn’t get angry.
Ever.
Todd leaned back with a smug expression that made you want to throw the table at him.
“He survived, didn’t he?”
You lunged forward before you even realized you were moving.
“YOU- ”
Strong arms wrapped around your waist instantly. Spencer physically hauled you backward against his chest.
“Come on sweetheart-“ Spencer mumbled as he tried to calm you. You on the other hand were struggling against his grasp.
Not really trying to get free- just furious enough that your whole body vibrated.
“You think this is funny?” you snapped, struggling against Spencer’s grip as he held you against his chest. “You think treating people like garbage makes you important?”
Todd opened his mouth, but you didn’t let him speak.
“No, because let me tell you something.” Your voice shook now- not with fear, but fury so deep it hurt. “You don’t get to stand there and laugh about making someone’s life miserable like it was some stupid joke.”
Spencer’s arms slowly eased around you seeing you talk more calmly.
“Honey”
“You don’t get to act like it didn’t matter,” you continued, eyes locked on Todd’s. “Because maybe for you it was just high school. Maybe for you it was funny. But for him?” Your voice cracked slightly. “You made his life miserable just because you were an insecure little asshole.”
The room had gone completely silent.
Todd’s smug smile started slipping.
Good.
“You mocked him for being smart. For being quiet. For not fitting into whatever pathetic little box you thought people should fit into.” You took a sharp breath. “And now he spends every single day saving people who are terrified and grieving and broken, while you’re still acting like a 17 year old who thinks cruelty is a personality trait.”
“Dramatic?” you repeated incredulously. Your voice raising and stepping closer to him made Spencers arm back on your waist, pulling you backwards.
“You humiliated a kid for years and you’re calling me dramatic?”
Spencer looked genuinely alarmed now because your voice kept getting louder.
“You know what the worst part is?” you said. “He’s still polite to you. He still sat there and treated you with respect after everything you did to him, because that’s the kind of person he is.”
Todd looked away first.
“Coward” you muttered under your breath
“And you know what kind of person you are?” you whispered harshly. “The kind that only feels big when somebody else feels small.”
You lurched forward again before you could stop yourself.
Spencer physically hauled you backward this time, one arm locked around your waist.
“Honey,” he said weakly, somewhere between horrified and stunned, “please do not commit felony assault in front of the local police department.”
“He deserves it!”
“You are threatening a civilian.”
“He spent years taunting you!”
The words ripped out of you so fast your own eyes stung afterward.
Because that was the real issue.
Not the insults now.
The fact that Spencer had looked down at the table the second Todd walked in.
Like some part of him was still that lonely 16 year old boy expecting people to laugh at him.
Todd looked unsettled now. Actually unsettled.
Possibly because the sweetest person any of them had ever met looked genuinely ready to claw his eyes out for Spencer Reid
“You know what?” you snapped at Todd. “I hope every time you try to sleep at night you remember exactly the kind of person you were. A fucking scumbag.”
The room fell silent.
Todd looked away first.
Hotch finally stepped in smoothly. “I think this interview is over.”
Todd muttered something under his breath and stood quickly, escorted out by a uniformed officer.
The second the door shut behind him, the room exploded.
Morgan doubled over laughing.
JJ looked stunned. “I have never seen you yell before.”
“I didn’t know she could yell,” Rossi admitted.
You were still breathing hard, face burning with leftover anger while Spencer slowly loosened his grip around you.
Then realization hit.
Oh shit.
You had just nearly attacked someone in an interrogation room.
In front of your boss.
You turned toward Spencer immediately, horrified. “I’m so sorry.”
And somehow that made him look even more shocked.
“What?”
“I shouldn’t have- I just- he was awful to you and I- ”
Before you could finish, Spencer kissed you. The entire room went dead silent again.
Spencer Reid was not usually a public affection kind of man. But he cupped your face with both hands and kissed you like he couldn’t help himself.
Like he’d been wanting to do it since the moment you stood up for him.
The rest of the team slowly left the room to Continue asking Todd the questions, leaving you and Spencer alone.
When he pulled back, his cheeks were pink.
“You were going to attack him for me,” he said softly.
You frowned immediately. “Of course I was.”
Like it was obvious.
Because to you, it was.
Spencer stared at you for a long second with this unbearably tender expression.
“You’re insane,” he whispered.
“He was being a dick, I wasn’t just gonna stand there and let him” you said, still upset about it.
You looked appropriately ashamed for approximately three seconds.
Then you muttered, “He deserved worse.”
Spencer made a startled choking noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter.
Later, after the case wrapped and they finally made it back to the hotel, Spencer found you sitting cross-legged on the bed still stewing quietly.
The second he walked in, you said, “I hate him.”
Spencer shut the door behind him carefully.
“I gathered.”
“He hurt you.”
The softness in your voice now nearly undid him more than the yelling had.
Spencer sat beside you slowly.
“I’m okay.”
“But you shouldn’t have had to be.”
God.
You looked genuinely heartbroken over something that had happened to him years ago.
Spencer touched your hand carefully. “You know, statistically speaking, most people wouldn’t threaten bodily harm over high school bullying.”
You glared at him instantly. “Don’t use statistics right now.”
He smiled.
A real one this time.
“I’ve spent most of my life being the person people protect last,” he admitted quietly.
Your expression softened immediately.
“And then there’s you.”
You leaned into him without hesitation, arms wrapping carefully around his waist.
“Always,” you mumbled against his chest.
Spencer closed his eyes.
He thought about high school him.
Awkward. isolated. hurting.
If someone had told that boy one day a girl this kind would love him so fiercely she’d nearly throw hands in an interrogation room for his sake?
He never would’ve believed it.
Spencer pressed a kiss into your hair.
“You know,” he murmured, “for someone who ‘wouldn’t hurt a fly,’ you’re terrifying when motivated.”
You pulled back just enough to look offended.
“I still wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
A pause.
“Todd Mercer, however-”
Spencer laughed so hard he had to hide his face in your shoulder.
summary: You are roused from a nap and are greeted with a burnt dinner, an innocent lecture on periods, and lots of snuggles. AKA the typical evening for first time parents with a toddler.
contents: 1.5k words, FLUFF, fem!reader, girl dad!Spencer, r wears glasses, dysmenorrhea, technically prof!reader but works as a standalone
a/n: making an AU of my own universe? more likely than you think! i can't get the idea out of my head and i don't want to make a whole other series with a diff reader lol. dedicated to my love @whoswitchybabyanyway and all the mothers in the world, happy Mother's Day!!!
comments and reblogs are muuuch appreciated!
You wake up to panicked sounds of distress. Spencer's voice, two octaves higher than usual, speaking so fast your foggy, sleep-addled brain cannot comprehend anything he's saying. The world looks like it's been wrapped in film as you blink awake.
You don't remember taking your glasses off. Matter of fact, you don't even remember falling asleep. But you're on your side, with a blanket—that you also don't remember using—tucked around your figure.
It must've been the meds kicking in, lulled you to a nap, blunted your senses to this syrupy haze. The pain in your lower belly has dulled to a tolerable, constant ache rather than something sharp and crippling. When you sit up, the crocheted blanket—handmade and gifted by Penelope a few years ago—slips from your shoulders and pools over your waist.
Meanwhile, pandemonium seems to happening in your kitchen.
You can hear your daughter giggling wildly. Spencer's groans are muffled, and a suffocating, smoky scent finally wafts to the living room and reaches you from your position on the couch.
You squint at the clock on the far end of the room and huff when it stays blurry. And then, footsteps, light and quick, followed by a delighted gasp.
"Mommy wakey!" she announces loudly—probably for her father's sake.
Beatrice.
Your daughter hurls herself on your lap before you even see her, but your arms band around her tiny form in reflex. A soft oof leaves your lips from the impact. Somehow, some part of you still expects her to weigh the same as she did when she was still a crawling baby. Like the way she's growing hasn't registered completely, or perhaps it's the speed at which she's growing that's throwing you off.
She used to be so tiny.
Now, you're convinced she would have knocked your glasses off, had you been wearing them.
"Hi, honeybee," you press your nose into her halo of rumbled curls, the exact same texture as Spencer's. She smells like smoke and baby powder, "What have you been up to?"
"Cooking!" she says proudly, her hands resting on your chest. Right over your heart, which feels close to bursting when her face scrunches seriously, an expression that doesn't seem to fit her chubby-cheeked loveliness. "Mommy feel better?"
"Yes, mommy feels better now, thank you."
"No more blood?"
You wince, remembering her panic earlier when you'd bled through your dress after lunch. Her only conscious experiences with blood have so far been limited to skinned knees, so Beatrice had thought you'd gotten a scrape on your butt somehow.
"Well, there's still some blood. But mommy's better."
"Daddy says you—you peeing blood."
You have to bite your lip to stifle a laugh. "Did he now?"
"Yes," your daughter nods gravely, settling herself on your lap. She places a sticky hand to your cheek in a vaguely reassuring way. It's a gesture she'd learned from watching Spencer. "Daddy says you peeing blood and I have to be good so you rest."
Maybe it's her matter-of-fact tone, or the way the words stumble from her lips in her clear, lightly lisping voice, but your mouth finally curls into a grin. You tuck her to your chest so you can have a moment to silently giggle without her thinking she's being laughed at, and reach forward for your glasses.
They're sitting neatly on the coffee table, folded and completely free of any stains. Spencer must have cleaned them when you fell asleep, just as he'd covered you in the blanket.
"What else has daddy said?" you ask, slipping your glasses on.
The world sharpens into focus. The bookshelves lining the sage walls, now home to multiple children's books and framed pictures—you and Spencer had moved your joint collection in the newly refurbished basement not long after Beatrice had been born. There's a TV that rarely gets used, and an open chest of toys.
In the heart of it all, you and your daughter, on the couch, perfectly content.
"It's every… every month. And it hurt." Beatrice says, brows furrowing in focus as she recalls her own version of Spencer's explanation.
"I pee blood every month, huh?"
"I did not say you pee blood!" comes Spencer's flustered voice. He pads from the kitchen with his own glasses so low on his nose you're afraid they'll slip right off. Sweat gleams from his forehead, beading down his temples.
"Did too!" Beatrice exclaims.
You laugh, reaching a hand out to him. "It's okay, it's a pretty close approximation."
Spencer is pink as he holds your outstretched palm, though you're not sure if it's from the stress or from embarrassment. He settles on the couch beside you, tucking your hand to his chest.
"I'm sorry, I didn't really expect her to start asking about that and had to improvise."
Of course, neither of you had anticipated it. Beatrice is a little too young to be having the talk, but she's also… Beatrice. Daughter of two professors who, at their core, have lived for the pursuit of knowledge their whole lives. If anything, it's naive on you and Spencer's part to have been unprepared for this.
You're still grinning, holding Beatrice to your chest with one arm, cheek resting on the crown of her head. "You didn't expect our daughter, with our combined genes, to start asking questions?"
"You're right," Spencer admits with a sheepish laugh, "She's got the curious instincts of researchers and scholars."
"Exactly. This won't be the first she pursues a topic through rigorous questioning, right Bea?"
Beatrice nods, even though she looks a little lost from the adult conversation.
You smile and kiss her brow. "You're a smart girl, Bea."
She giggles, tickled by the compliment. "Like you?"
Spencer's free hand ruffles her hair. "Exactly. Smart, just like mommy."
The words land somewhere unexpectedly tender. It would've been so easy to claim that for himself; he's the genius between the two of you, after all. But he doesn't. Didn't even insert himself and say like mommy and daddy, which would have been objectively true.
You look up with the softest exhale, eyes misting. He grins, lifts your hand to brush his lips over your knuckles. A soft, warm look settles on his face, as reassuring as it is loving.
"You're feeling better now? Do you need more meds?" he asks, casual and sweet and perfect, as if he hadn't just undone you only moments ago.
"No, no, I'm all right." you scoot closer to him. Spencer lets go of your hand to wrap an arm over your shoulder, tugging you gently until you're tucked to his side. On your lap, Beatrice yawns and blinks at the two of you.
For a moment, it's silent. A perfect snapshot of peace. Your chest tightens a little more, some invisible force strangling your throat.
"You could've woken me up, you know, to help with dinner." you murmur.
"I can handle it."
Your brows raise, head tilting up so you can pin him with an incredulous glare. "It still smells burnt in here, Spence."
"It's not that bad."
"Really? What are we having, then? Char with a side of chicken?"
"Daddy burn the oven." Beatrice supplies seriously.
Spencer shakes with laughter. "No, the chicken just burned inside the oven, honeybee."
Beatrice pouts as she considers, dimples on her cheeks deepening. She's got your coloring, but the most noticeable features are Spencer's—messy curls, massive hazel eyes, a collection of dimples exactly in the same spots as his.
"But dinner," you say with a groan, "I'll go see—"
"You don't have to cook, darling," he interrupts, his arm around you tightening to prevent you from moving, "I've already ordered takeout. Lo mein for you, of course."
You swear you've lost the ability to breathe. It never quite settles, this realization that he knows you to the bone. Well enough to anticipate your needs, to provide without being asked. That he'll keep doing them without expectation or prompting.
"And extra wontons!" Beatrice adds enthusiastically, "because mommy likes them, even when she says she don't."
Oh. Now there's two of them.
You don't think the twisting in your chest will ever stop, but at least now you know it's not a bad feeling. It never was, even in those early days, before Beatrice, before building a life together.
You recognize it for what it is now.
You laugh. It's a thin, watery sound. Spencer pulls you even closer, warm lips pressed to your temple.
"You stay right here," he whispers, nosing a line down your cheek, "With us."
"Only if we keep getting snuggles."
Spencer squeezes his arms around the two of you playfully in response, tight enough that Beatrice is overcome with giggles, not loosening until you wheeze a laugh yourself.
In his arms, with your daughter in your lap, the period cramps feel like a distant memory.
more of them here!
Thank you deeply for reading, please reblog if you enjoyed!
Baby Steps Are Better Than Losing It (Spencer Reid x GN!BAU!Reader)
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Author Masterlist
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Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!BAU!Reader.
Request: Post Prison!Reid trying to adjust to being intimate with a long-term partner again?
Summary: After returning from prison, Spencer is trying to readjust to his life, and that includes his relationship with you. But what happens when intimacy between you becomes almost taboo?
Word Count: 4.7k
Warnings: ANGST/SMUT/FLUFF (16+). One scene of male masturbation. Heavy make-out, leading to sex, but not happening. A lot of talk about sex and fears. Kind of fade-to-black smut. This is more emotional than smut (you have been warned).
A/N: This request was dormant in my inbox. So sorry for that.
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It's already late at night. The apartment is dimly lit by the soft glow of some candles and the reflection of an old movie playing on the TV. A movie that neither you nor Spencer is paying attention to now, more focused on the make-out session that's been going on for a while.
And although the scene might seem completely normal for a couple during a random Friday night, given the circumstances surrounding the last few months, it is not.
This precise week marks three months since Spencer was released from Milburn, after being incarcerated for a crime he didn't commit.
The story sounds like something out of a soap opera, but the truth is, it was much more like a horror movie. Spencer went through dreadful things inside, and although you and the team worked day and night to get him out, it wasn't possible until three months later.
You knew the man who came out of there wouldn't be the same one who went in. You could see it in the few visits you were allowed to pay to him while he was locked out. Spencer insisted you not come anymore because he didn't want to expose you to seeing him in that place and in that vulnerable state.
Although you tried to reason with him about it, you finally gave in because you didn't want to stress him out more than he already was, even though it would only increase your anxiety.
And it did.
You didn't have the heart to tell him that, though. You still don't.
He did write you letters. It was the only communication between you both until the day he was released.
By the way he recounted part of his time in there - because you knew he wouldn't tell you the gruesome details - you knew things would never be the same again.
Granted, you have been a consolidated couple for years now, but traumatic events like this can change everything, put things upside down. You weren't worried about you, though. You love Spencer, and what happened to him will never change that. Your concern was about him.
The day Emily asked you, JJ, and Luke to pick up Spencer was a collision of emotions. Excitement for seeing him again, happiness for the love of your life getting his freedom back, frustration for not doing this sooner, and worry. Worry because you didn't know exactly how he would react. Yeah, as a free man, you'd suppose he would be happy, but it's Spencer, a man consumed by his own brain, a brain that more usually than not tends to sabotage him.
The time dragged slowly as you waited outside Milburn Correctional. You told JJ to go for him, since she was one of the few people Spencer let see him while he was locked up. You probably should have felt bad about not being you. Yet, you were more concerned about Spencer's comfort than your own. People would say it wasn't fair to you, but you can deal with it.
The moment Spencer saw you waiting for him with Penelope, life regained its meaning again. Without a second thought, Spencer rushed towards you and enveloped you in his arms. A tight embrace overdue for months.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Spencer mumbled into the crook of your neck. Fresh tears running down and wetting your shirt.
You hugged him just as tightly, assuring him there was nothing to apologize for. Assuring him that things would be alright and that you weren't going anywhere. Leaning back a bit, he looked at you, eyes glazed and lips trembling.
"I love you," he mumbled before crushing his lips into yours.
You knew Spencer was going to have a difficult road to healing, but you vowed to be by his side throughout the entire process.
That night, after his release and having spent the rest of the afternoon at the BAU catching up on his case and the next steps, Spencer was truly exhausted. And so were you. You couldn't remember the last time you'd had a decent meal in weeks. While you whipped up something quick to eat, Spencer took a long shower.
Sitting on the couch, you ate in silence. You didn't want to overwhelm Spencer with questions he might not be ready to answer. He didn't say much either, only asking a few trivial questions about the BAU's recent cases while he was gone. 'Small talk,' he jokingly called it. Chukling, you nodded along, and the conversation didn't go beyond that.
When you finally decided to go to bed, you were unsure if he'd want to sleep in the same bed as you, so you gave him plenty of space to decide. Once you saw him under the covers, opening his arms to invite you to snuggle up next to him, you sighed with relief.
You cuddle with him like the little spoon, basking in his warm, something you'd missed for months. You didn't remember sleeping so well in such a long time.
-
Two things Spencer wasn't happy about, but that Emily wasn't going to let slide, were the mandatory leave and the therapy sessions. That meant Spencer should spend a lot of time at home while the rest of the team went out of town to solve cases—you included.
It wasn't your first choice. Indeed, you asked Emily for time off, and she granted it, but after a week, Spencer insisted you get back to work and not worry about him.
A little paranoia crept in. Did Spencer not want you around? You understood he was going through an adjustment period; did he feel suffocated by you?
The signs were confusing because, while you were away, Spencer was the one texting you to see how you were doing, and he was the first to hug you and tell you how much he missed you every time you came back.
But when you offered to skip a case to stay, he wouldn't let you.
Again, 'adjustment,' you thought.
So you didn't argue with him much about it. You preferred to cherish the time you could spend together when work didn't get in the way. And all that was fine, except that as the weeks went by, you began to notice how Spencer didn't go beyond tender hugs, stolen kisses, and cuddling on the sofa or in bed with you. The intimacy you had wasn't what it used to be, or rather, it was nonexistent except for the occasional displays of affection.
You understood that sex was perhaps the last thing on your boyfriend's list of priorities. You weren't going to force him into something he didn't want to do, although you also couldn't ignore the fact that you missed him and felt frustrated.
Despite that, you never brought it up and only tried to move things forward when he initiated something. Some nights, when the kisses went from tender to more passionate, and you thought it might take things to the next level, without warning, Spencer would hold back and casually remind himself that he had something to do, apologizing and leaving you there.
Okay, you thought, he's not ready yet. You'll be patient, although a nagging feeling started to settle: what if he is not attracted to you in that way now? Maybe he's being polite because he doesn't want to hurt your feelings by saying you're not desirable to him anymore.
That would hurt like hell, but it's a possibility.
But the mixed signals continue happening. Some days, Spencer would be the clingy one, having you in his arms, holding your hand, circling your waist, and giving you kisses that stole your breath. Others, he would be distant and barely acknowledge your presence.
You thought about talking to him, but what if doing so, he shuts down and pushes you away completely?
It was a high risk you weren't sure to take.
One night, you arrived home from a case early, and Spencer didn't hear you come in.
After the routine of peeling off your coat and shoes, you padded to find your boyfriend, but you froze when you passed by the ajar bathroom door and heard a grunt coming from inside. You peeked quietly to see what was happening. You saw Spencer standing in front of the toiled, slacks pooling at his ankles, a hand on the wall, bracing himself, and the other stroking his hard cock.
"So good. Just like that. Please. You're doing so good for me," he chants, over and over, fastening his pace. And when he moaned your name, it ignited a fire you haven't felt in a long time. He was pleasuring himself, thinking of you.
It was a bittersweet taste, to be honest. On one hand, Spencer was thinking about you while jerking off, but on the other, he didn't need you to pleasure him.
You quietly backed away and headed to the kitchen before you saw your boyfriend finish. You weren't sure if seeing him orgasming would only worsen your intrusive thoughts.
He got startled when he came out of the bathroom and saw you in the kitchen. A glass of water in your hand, and a gaze lost in the view from the window.
"Hey. I didn't hear you in. I thought the briefing would last longer."
You exhaled. Is it worth bringing this up? It's not a big deal. Everyone has the right to masturbate when they want. You did sometimes when Spencer was locked away. But the point he's avoiding you doesn't help your peace of mind.
"Emily thought we got enough from this case and sent us home," you muttered, sipping the water to cover the waver in your voice.
You shouldn't make a big deal out of it; after all, it's natural. But the insecurities that have been building up lately are making you uneasy, and you don't know how long you'll be able to keep them under control.
"Yeah. Just tired. I think I'm going to bed."
Spencer doesn't even question your answer or ask if you ate anything beforehand. It's as if he knows what's going on, but he doesn't bring it up.
"Okay".
That night, there's no goodnight kiss, no cuddling, no sleeping in each other's arms. Only silence, and a cold that not even the thick comforter can ward off.
-
It wasn't intentional, but in the days that followed, you kept your distance from Spencer. It's difficult when you live together, and even more so now that he's back at work at the BAU. Neither of you has wanted to address the elephant in the room, and that makes you glum. You feel it's selfish of you to point out the distance between you, but you don't know how to put it into words. You're afraid you might say something you'll regret.
You can feel Spencer watching you these past few days. He's tried to make physical contact with you, holding your hand, kissing your forehead, and tentatively kissing your lips. Still, he understands something's going on, and he knows exactly what it is. And he's decided to make it up to you.
In the afternoon, Spencer came to your desk to let you know he was leaving early because he had a therapy session. It didn't seem strange to you, since Emily had kept it as a requirement for him even after he returned to work.
"Okay," you acknowledged. "Do you want me to pick up dinner today?"
"No. I'll do it. I don't think it takes me long." Before he turned to leave, he planted a gentle kiss on your mouth. "I love you."
Your lips curled up slightly. "Love you, too."
Again, nothing seemed unusual, very typical of you guys lately.
It's not until two hours later that you finish your final report, drop it off at Emily's office, and head home. On the way, you think about Spencer and how to deal with the things you both know remain unspoken. Perhaps this is your new dynamic, and you'll have to decide whether you can accept it for your life together.
But when you open the door of your shared apartment, something feels different. The lights are dimmed, you can smell the freshly cooked food, and you see Spencer standing in the middle of the living room, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers.
"What is this?" You ask, confusion crossing your features. Spencer clears his throat and takes some steps to get closer.
"I know things have been strange between us lately. I mean, since I got out, it's been difficult to adapt to this new life. And I know I have failed in keeping the flame, if that is the right way to put it."
"Spence-" you want to argue.
"It's okay. You can say it. I would be equally frustrated if I were you. My point is, I love you, and I want you. That has never changed. Please, don't think you did something wrong because that's not true. The other day, when you heard me in the bathroom, I - I know you did, and I should have said something. I’m sorry.”
Spencer looks really apologetic, and you think it's unfair that you have been acting coldly toward him. On the other hand, though, the intrusive idea of not being enough for him anymore is still lingering there.
"I, uh—I don't know what to say. I don't want to sound selfish or make you feel guilty about what happened. I understand it's a lot, I really do." You try to explain. "The last thing I want is for you to feel obligated to do something just so you don't disappoint me."
Spencer shook his head. "No, my love. It's not like that. Let me make it up to you, please?"
He extends the flowers to you as an offer of real apology. Nodding, you take the bouquet, a smile forming on your lips.
"Thank you," you murmur.
"No, thank you," he counters, offering you his hand. "I want tonight to be just for the two of us. We deserve it."
You take his proposal and follow him to the kitchen, where he has everything settled for dinner: a delicious meal, wine, and candles. The whole nine yards.
Although you notice Spencer still seems nervous, after laughing throughout dinner about all the silly things that came up, he seems more at ease and more like himself. That’s a relief and allows you to enjoy the moment.
The good time continues when you decide to watch a movie, sprawled on the couch.
It only takes Spencer's arm around your shoulders five minutes into the movie to make you feel like you're melting. You turn your head to look at him, and his eyes are already fixed on you, hungry, pupils dilated. You close your eyes, and that's enough of a signal for Spencer to close the gap and kiss you with pent-up passion.
-
Wandering hands looking for something to hold on to. Spencer supports the back of your head with a hand, while the other roams your chest without breaking the kiss. The moan scaping your mouth is nasty, even muffled by Spencer’s lips. He doesn't do better, grunting when you swing a leg over his lap, putting a bit of friction in his hard cock.
“God, I missed you,” he mutters, lips traveling down your jaw. You feel like you could explode just from the heated making out, the shameless moans, and the desperation in Spencer's voice.
Enboldened by the moment, you shift to straddle Spencer’s lap, bracketing his legs with your thighs. Arms around his neck, you’re kissing him with equal desperation. Not even noticing when you start to bounce on him.
Spencer grunts, hands landing on your ass cheeks to control your humping.
But you need more, that’s why your hands leave Spencer’s neck and fly to the buttons of his shirt. The garment does nothing but create a barrier you don't want to have right now. Spencer is nibbling your collarbone when the first button pops open, but as fast as you’re working on the second button, you feel him freeze. Mouth still latched on to your skin, but going still. Suddenly, you can feel how his breath quickens, but it doesn't have to do with arousal; you’re sure of it.
Parting to lean back and look at him, he does the same, and you see him go all nervous.
"Spencer, baby, what is it?" He shakes his head.
"No. Nothing. It's okay. I'm okay," he leans forward to latch onto your neck, in hopes you can forget his lapsus. And while he's nipping that sweet spot, you almost do.
But when your hands come back to undo the buttons of his shirt, you feel how he tenses again.
No. This is not okay.
You stop your motions, putting some distance between you to get a better look at him. Spencer huffs in frustration.
"We don't have to go further if you don't want to, okay?" you gently assure him, stroking his cheek.
A bitter laugh escapes his lips. “Do we?” It's sarcastic and full of resentment. Resentment at you? You’re not sure. "How come you're not upset?”
“What are-” You don’t get to finish your question when Spencer holds you off his lap and rises from the couch, running his hands through his hair.
“I don't understand why, really. I'm upset with myself, damn it! Be mad at me!" He starts to pace in the middle of the living room.
Since he came back from his incarceration, you have never seen him like this. It's like he has reached the breaking point you were expecting, but aren’t prepared for.
"Mad at you? For not wanting to have sex with me?" you ask for clarification, and he nods. "Spencer, I can't be mad at you for that."
"Why not?" He hastens to ask back. His hands are trembling, and you’re not sure if touching him would push him further into his spiral.
"Ah, let me guess. It is because I'm a victim? Someone fragile that can be broken, isn’t it?”
There it is.
"W-what? No! Where do you get that from? That's not-" You try to explain, but Spencer is already cutting you off again.
"Come on! I have seen you. Since I got out. You have been walking on eggshells around me." His tone is accusative, and you feel it’s unfair after the months you have been looking only for his comfort.
"I just - For God’s sake! I have been doing it because I don't want to push you to do something you don't want to do! That’s a crime now?”
Spencer huffs like you’re talking nonsense.
"But I want to! Can't you see it? Fuck!" he grunts, still pacing around the room, hands fisting at his sides as if he’s physically restraining himself. "I do want to! God, I have wanted to for months!"
You scratch your neck trying to piece things together, so you can say something useful to this argument. However, you are only getting Spencer’s frustration, and it’s not helping.
"Spencer, you literally flinched when I touched you two minutes ago. What is supposed I must think?"
Spencer’s pace stops briefly. You have a point, he doesn't know how to explain, though.
"I - It's not because I don't want to touch you! I'm dying to do it. I miss you so much it hurts."
His voice wavers, as if it physically pains him to say the words.
A heavy ache settles in your heart when you hear him talking like that. You have only been trying to be understanding and patient, but you're literally blind right now.
"So why then? Why are we arguing about this? Why are you conflicted?"
Spencer takes a moment to collect his thoughts. His own fears surfacing over and over again. He sits at the edge of the coffee table, face buried in his hands.
"I'm scared, okay? I'm scared about what I can do to you. I don't want to hurt you," Spencer muffles the words hidden behind his hands.
You freeze. Does he really think that? Did you say or do anything to him that made him feel that way?
No, he can't think like that. You drop to your knees, prying his hands off so you can see his eyes.
"Spencer. Baby, please look at me."
"No. I can't,” he whines.
"Yes. Yes, you can. Please, do it for me?"
Spencer slowly obeys and removes his hands from covering his face. His eyes are glassy red, his cheeks flushed, and his jaw clenched.
“Talk to me, please. Why didn't you tell me sooner that you were feeling this way?”
A heavy exhale escapes Spencer’s lips.
“You didn't ask,” he whispers, eyes averting yours. Your jaw tightens, even if you know Spencer is only trying to deflect.
“I didn’t-? Okay, that’s not fair, and you know it. I didn't ask because I thought you trusted me and you would come to me when you were ready.”
An assumption that clearly didn't work this time.
“I know. I know. I just - I just thought I needed a bit of time. That things would get the same as they were, and we wouldn't have to have this conversation,” Spencer admits, and his words hit you harder than they should.
“Why not? You don’t trust me enough to tell me these things? I thought we were a couple, Spencer. One that already passed the trust issues.”
“It's not about trust issues,” he mutters as if saying that would be enough for you to believe him.
“Then what is it? Because I can’t think of another explanation. Unless-” you pause a bit because it scares you, telling what you are thinking aloud. “Unless you don’t think I deserve that position anymore?”
Spencer’s frown is immediate. “What? To deserve what position?”
“Of being your partner. And if you reached that conclusion in these months, I get it. Maybe I should have asked sooner or done something, I don't know. If I didn't do it, it wasn't for lack of love; I just thought I was giving you space.”
A treacherous tear falls from your eye and runs down your cheek. The mere sight of it makes Spencer sick to his stomach.
Spencer carefully grabs your wrists and helps you stand up with him, guiding you back to the couch and sitting down beside you.
“Please listen to me. I know I've avoided this topic and haven't told you everything that happened in there. But none of it is your fault, do you understand? None of it.”
You sniffle, although the effort you’re making not to.
“Understandably, you have questions. And the truth is, I've taken advantage of your patience and comprehension to avoid talking about my fears after everything that happened. I'm sorry for that. But please, if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that you're my partner, my person, the love of my life. You always have been, and you always will be.”
You are openly crying now, and Spencer, without thinking twice, wraps you in his arms to comfort you.
Muffling your voice against his chest.m, you murmur, “Why are you afraid then? Why do you think you can do harm to me?”
Spencer sighs, his lips on your hair, giving you a small kiss before pulling away to look at you.
“It's just—how do I put it? Whenever something bad happens in my life, it's like a part of me goes to a dark place, and I don't mean it like evil. It's more like it goes into hiding and becomes unpredictable. You've seen it: Hankel, Gideon, Maeve.”
You nod because you've been there for each of those moments.
“And being in that place, with the people we worked so hard to put there, made me question whether maybe that place took more of me than I think it actually did. That terrifies me, because it's a place of pure violence and survival. What if my unpredictable side gets mixed up with that and I end up losing control and becoming violent and unmindful with you? I’m afraid of losing control while we- you know-”
Spencer trails off, feeling he’s stumbling with his own thoughts and words. But you get it now. There's no need to say more when you already understand where his greatest fear lies.
A loving hand rests on his cheek. Your eyes fill with understanding and more love than you thought possible for him. Of course, Spencer Reid would put your well-being above his own needs and desires. But just as considerate as he is, so too is his lack of self-awareness, as the great person he is. Something you've witnessed over the years, and it's always a challenge.
"Hey,” you call him, so he can look at you. “First of all, you won't hurt me. And do you know why I'm so sure about that?" Spencer shakes his head no. "Because I know you. Because no matter what happened in there. No matter how much you feel that place has changed you right now. You are a good person, Spencer. And that is in your bones. No one can touch that, because it's what makes you who you are. Even when you feel losing control.”
"Are you not afraid that I can-?"
"I’m not. There is something I am afraid of, though, about you shutting me out. That scares me the most. You know why?”
Spencer shakes his head no.
“Because as long as we can talk about this, we can find a way to make it work. And that’s a lesson for me too. I kept things to myself and created my own mental hell instead of talking to you.”
“We have been messing this up, haven’t we?” Spencer mutters, a shade of pink adorning his cheeks as one hand caresses your arm. A light laugh escapes your lips.
“Definitely,” you say feaking seriousness.
“Crap,” he huffs, and you giggle. Spencer puts an arm around your shoulder and pulls you towards him.
Kissing the top of your head, he mutters, “I’m sorry. For everything, and because I ruined the night, too.”
“I wouldn’t say that. At least the meal was delicious,” you tease, trying to light the mood. Spencer rolls his eyes.
“You're being too lenient with this situation, don't you think?”
“And you think I won't get my revenge?” You say with a mischievous tone. Spencer chokes on his saliva.
“What?” You part from his embrace to see his flustered face. With a smile, your fingers intertwine with his.
“Tell you what. We’re going to get there, but we’ll start slow, okay. We don't have to do the whole thing right away.”
Spencer understands perfectly what you mean, and although he thanks all the deities of the universe for having someone so willing to take things slowly, that doesn't soothe his carnal desperation.
“Slow? Are you sure?”
“Don't say it like it’s only me who is desperate here,” you deadpan. Spencer chuckles. “But I think baby steps will make the journey more pleasurable for both of us,” you say, pumping up your eyebrows. A real laugh erupts from Spencer’s chest.
“You're amazing, you know that?”
“And that's why you love me,” you say cokily.
“And for more and beyond,” Spencer adds. “What’s your plan, though?”
A playful smirk appears on your face. You perch closer to Spencer, arms loosening around his neck, lips kissing his earlobe before whispering something into his ear, only for him to hear. As the words leave your mouth, Spencer’s cheeks redden, and his breathing picks up.
"Oh, Lord.” Spencer’s voice wavers, completely enchanted by your words.
"Is it okay with you?" You check, already knowing the answer.
"M- more than okay."
"Then relax, baby. I'm going to take care of you tonight."
Baby Steps Are Better Than Losing It (Spencer Reid x GN!BAU!Reader)
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Author Masterlist
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Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!BAU!Reader.
Request: Post Prison!Reid trying to adjust to being intimate with a long-term partner again?
Summary: After returning from prison, Spencer is trying to readjust to his life, and that includes his relationship with you. But what happens when intimacy between you becomes almost taboo?
Word Count: 4.7k
Warnings: ANGST/SMUT/FLUFF (16+). One scene of male masturbation. Heavy make-out, leading to sex, but not happening. A lot of talk about sex and fears. Kind of fade-to-black smut. This is more emotional than smut (you have been warned).
A/N: This request was dormant in my inbox. So sorry for that.
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It's already late at night. The apartment is dimly lit by the soft glow of some candles and the reflection of an old movie playing on the TV. A movie that neither you nor Spencer is paying attention to now, more focused on the make-out session that's been going on for a while.
And although the scene might seem completely normal for a couple during a random Friday night, given the circumstances surrounding the last few months, it is not.
This precise week marks three months since Spencer was released from Milburn, after being incarcerated for a crime he didn't commit.
The story sounds like something out of a soap opera, but the truth is, it was much more like a horror movie. Spencer went through dreadful things inside, and although you and the team worked day and night to get him out, it wasn't possible until three months later.
You knew the man who came out of there wouldn't be the same one who went in. You could see it in the few visits you were allowed to pay to him while he was locked out. Spencer insisted you not come anymore because he didn't want to expose you to seeing him in that place and in that vulnerable state.
Although you tried to reason with him about it, you finally gave in because you didn't want to stress him out more than he already was, even though it would only increase your anxiety.
And it did.
You didn't have the heart to tell him that, though. You still don't.
He did write you letters. It was the only communication between you both until the day he was released.
By the way he recounted part of his time in there - because you knew he wouldn't tell you the gruesome details - you knew things would never be the same again.
Granted, you have been a consolidated couple for years now, but traumatic events like this can change everything, put things upside down. You weren't worried about you, though. You love Spencer, and what happened to him will never change that. Your concern was about him.
The day Emily asked you, JJ, and Luke to pick up Spencer was a collision of emotions. Excitement for seeing him again, happiness for the love of your life getting his freedom back, frustration for not doing this sooner, and worry. Worry because you didn't know exactly how he would react. Yeah, as a free man, you'd suppose he would be happy, but it's Spencer, a man consumed by his own brain, a brain that more usually than not tends to sabotage him.
The time dragged slowly as you waited outside Milburn Correctional. You told JJ to go for him, since she was one of the few people Spencer let see him while he was locked up. You probably should have felt bad about not being you. Yet, you were more concerned about Spencer's comfort than your own. People would say it wasn't fair to you, but you can deal with it.
The moment Spencer saw you waiting for him with Penelope, life regained its meaning again. Without a second thought, Spencer rushed towards you and enveloped you in his arms. A tight embrace overdue for months.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Spencer mumbled into the crook of your neck. Fresh tears running down and wetting your shirt.
You hugged him just as tightly, assuring him there was nothing to apologize for. Assuring him that things would be alright and that you weren't going anywhere. Leaning back a bit, he looked at you, eyes glazed and lips trembling.
"I love you," he mumbled before crushing his lips into yours.
You knew Spencer was going to have a difficult road to healing, but you vowed to be by his side throughout the entire process.
That night, after his release and having spent the rest of the afternoon at the BAU catching up on his case and the next steps, Spencer was truly exhausted. And so were you. You couldn't remember the last time you'd had a decent meal in weeks. While you whipped up something quick to eat, Spencer took a long shower.
Sitting on the couch, you ate in silence. You didn't want to overwhelm Spencer with questions he might not be ready to answer. He didn't say much either, only asking a few trivial questions about the BAU's recent cases while he was gone. 'Small talk,' he jokingly called it. Chukling, you nodded along, and the conversation didn't go beyond that.
When you finally decided to go to bed, you were unsure if he'd want to sleep in the same bed as you, so you gave him plenty of space to decide. Once you saw him under the covers, opening his arms to invite you to snuggle up next to him, you sighed with relief.
You cuddle with him like the little spoon, basking in his warm, something you'd missed for months. You didn't remember sleeping so well in such a long time.
-
Two things Spencer wasn't happy about, but that Emily wasn't going to let slide, were the mandatory leave and the therapy sessions. That meant Spencer should spend a lot of time at home while the rest of the team went out of town to solve cases—you included.
It wasn't your first choice. Indeed, you asked Emily for time off, and she granted it, but after a week, Spencer insisted you get back to work and not worry about him.
A little paranoia crept in. Did Spencer not want you around? You understood he was going through an adjustment period; did he feel suffocated by you?
The signs were confusing because, while you were away, Spencer was the one texting you to see how you were doing, and he was the first to hug you and tell you how much he missed you every time you came back.
But when you offered to skip a case to stay, he wouldn't let you.
Again, 'adjustment,' you thought.
So you didn't argue with him much about it. You preferred to cherish the time you could spend together when work didn't get in the way. And all that was fine, except that as the weeks went by, you began to notice how Spencer didn't go beyond tender hugs, stolen kisses, and cuddling on the sofa or in bed with you. The intimacy you had wasn't what it used to be, or rather, it was nonexistent except for the occasional displays of affection.
You understood that sex was perhaps the last thing on your boyfriend's list of priorities. You weren't going to force him into something he didn't want to do, although you also couldn't ignore the fact that you missed him and felt frustrated.
Despite that, you never brought it up and only tried to move things forward when he initiated something. Some nights, when the kisses went from tender to more passionate, and you thought it might take things to the next level, without warning, Spencer would hold back and casually remind himself that he had something to do, apologizing and leaving you there.
Okay, you thought, he's not ready yet. You'll be patient, although a nagging feeling started to settle: what if he is not attracted to you in that way now? Maybe he's being polite because he doesn't want to hurt your feelings by saying you're not desirable to him anymore.
That would hurt like hell, but it's a possibility.
But the mixed signals continue happening. Some days, Spencer would be the clingy one, having you in his arms, holding your hand, circling your waist, and giving you kisses that stole your breath. Others, he would be distant and barely acknowledge your presence.
You thought about talking to him, but what if doing so, he shuts down and pushes you away completely?
It was a high risk you weren't sure to take.
One night, you arrived home from a case early, and Spencer didn't hear you come in.
After the routine of peeling off your coat and shoes, you padded to find your boyfriend, but you froze when you passed by the ajar bathroom door and heard a grunt coming from inside. You peeked quietly to see what was happening. You saw Spencer standing in front of the toiled, slacks pooling at his ankles, a hand on the wall, bracing himself, and the other stroking his hard cock.
"So good. Just like that. Please. You're doing so good for me," he chants, over and over, fastening his pace. And when he moaned your name, it ignited a fire you haven't felt in a long time. He was pleasuring himself, thinking of you.
It was a bittersweet taste, to be honest. On one hand, Spencer was thinking about you while jerking off, but on the other, he didn't need you to pleasure him.
You quietly backed away and headed to the kitchen before you saw your boyfriend finish. You weren't sure if seeing him orgasming would only worsen your intrusive thoughts.
He got startled when he came out of the bathroom and saw you in the kitchen. A glass of water in your hand, and a gaze lost in the view from the window.
"Hey. I didn't hear you in. I thought the briefing would last longer."
You exhaled. Is it worth bringing this up? It's not a big deal. Everyone has the right to masturbate when they want. You did sometimes when Spencer was locked away. But the point he's avoiding you doesn't help your peace of mind.
"Emily thought we got enough from this case and sent us home," you muttered, sipping the water to cover the waver in your voice.
You shouldn't make a big deal out of it; after all, it's natural. But the insecurities that have been building up lately are making you uneasy, and you don't know how long you'll be able to keep them under control.
"Yeah. Just tired. I think I'm going to bed."
Spencer doesn't even question your answer or ask if you ate anything beforehand. It's as if he knows what's going on, but he doesn't bring it up.
"Okay".
That night, there's no goodnight kiss, no cuddling, no sleeping in each other's arms. Only silence, and a cold that not even the thick comforter can ward off.
-
It wasn't intentional, but in the days that followed, you kept your distance from Spencer. It's difficult when you live together, and even more so now that he's back at work at the BAU. Neither of you has wanted to address the elephant in the room, and that makes you glum. You feel it's selfish of you to point out the distance between you, but you don't know how to put it into words. You're afraid you might say something you'll regret.
You can feel Spencer watching you these past few days. He's tried to make physical contact with you, holding your hand, kissing your forehead, and tentatively kissing your lips. Still, he understands something's going on, and he knows exactly what it is. And he's decided to make it up to you.
In the afternoon, Spencer came to your desk to let you know he was leaving early because he had a therapy session. It didn't seem strange to you, since Emily had kept it as a requirement for him even after he returned to work.
"Okay," you acknowledged. "Do you want me to pick up dinner today?"
"No. I'll do it. I don't think it takes me long." Before he turned to leave, he planted a gentle kiss on your mouth. "I love you."
Your lips curled up slightly. "Love you, too."
Again, nothing seemed unusual, very typical of you guys lately.
It's not until two hours later that you finish your final report, drop it off at Emily's office, and head home. On the way, you think about Spencer and how to deal with the things you both know remain unspoken. Perhaps this is your new dynamic, and you'll have to decide whether you can accept it for your life together.
But when you open the door of your shared apartment, something feels different. The lights are dimmed, you can smell the freshly cooked food, and you see Spencer standing in the middle of the living room, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers.
"What is this?" You ask, confusion crossing your features. Spencer clears his throat and takes some steps to get closer.
"I know things have been strange between us lately. I mean, since I got out, it's been difficult to adapt to this new life. And I know I have failed in keeping the flame, if that is the right way to put it."
"Spence-" you want to argue.
"It's okay. You can say it. I would be equally frustrated if I were you. My point is, I love you, and I want you. That has never changed. Please, don't think you did something wrong because that's not true. The other day, when you heard me in the bathroom, I - I know you did, and I should have said something. I’m sorry.”
Spencer looks really apologetic, and you think it's unfair that you have been acting coldly toward him. On the other hand, though, the intrusive idea of not being enough for him anymore is still lingering there.
"I, uh—I don't know what to say. I don't want to sound selfish or make you feel guilty about what happened. I understand it's a lot, I really do." You try to explain. "The last thing I want is for you to feel obligated to do something just so you don't disappoint me."
Spencer shook his head. "No, my love. It's not like that. Let me make it up to you, please?"
He extends the flowers to you as an offer of real apology. Nodding, you take the bouquet, a smile forming on your lips.
"Thank you," you murmur.
"No, thank you," he counters, offering you his hand. "I want tonight to be just for the two of us. We deserve it."
You take his proposal and follow him to the kitchen, where he has everything settled for dinner: a delicious meal, wine, and candles. The whole nine yards.
Although you notice Spencer still seems nervous, after laughing throughout dinner about all the silly things that came up, he seems more at ease and more like himself. That’s a relief and allows you to enjoy the moment.
The good time continues when you decide to watch a movie, sprawled on the couch.
It only takes Spencer's arm around your shoulders five minutes into the movie to make you feel like you're melting. You turn your head to look at him, and his eyes are already fixed on you, hungry, pupils dilated. You close your eyes, and that's enough of a signal for Spencer to close the gap and kiss you with pent-up passion.
-
Wandering hands looking for something to hold on to. Spencer supports the back of your head with a hand, while the other roams your chest without breaking the kiss. The moan scaping your mouth is nasty, even muffled by Spencer’s lips. He doesn't do better, grunting when you swing a leg over his lap, putting a bit of friction in his hard cock.
“God, I missed you,” he mutters, lips traveling down your jaw. You feel like you could explode just from the heated making out, the shameless moans, and the desperation in Spencer's voice.
Enboldened by the moment, you shift to straddle Spencer’s lap, bracketing his legs with your thighs. Arms around his neck, you’re kissing him with equal desperation. Not even noticing when you start to bounce on him.
Spencer grunts, hands landing on your ass cheeks to control your humping.
But you need more, that’s why your hands leave Spencer’s neck and fly to the buttons of his shirt. The garment does nothing but create a barrier you don't want to have right now. Spencer is nibbling your collarbone when the first button pops open, but as fast as you’re working on the second button, you feel him freeze. Mouth still latched on to your skin, but going still. Suddenly, you can feel how his breath quickens, but it doesn't have to do with arousal; you’re sure of it.
Parting to lean back and look at him, he does the same, and you see him go all nervous.
"Spencer, baby, what is it?" He shakes his head.
"No. Nothing. It's okay. I'm okay," he leans forward to latch onto your neck, in hopes you can forget his lapsus. And while he's nipping that sweet spot, you almost do.
But when your hands come back to undo the buttons of his shirt, you feel how he tenses again.
No. This is not okay.
You stop your motions, putting some distance between you to get a better look at him. Spencer huffs in frustration.
"We don't have to go further if you don't want to, okay?" you gently assure him, stroking his cheek.
A bitter laugh escapes his lips. “Do we?” It's sarcastic and full of resentment. Resentment at you? You’re not sure. "How come you're not upset?”
“What are-” You don’t get to finish your question when Spencer holds you off his lap and rises from the couch, running his hands through his hair.
“I don't understand why, really. I'm upset with myself, damn it! Be mad at me!" He starts to pace in the middle of the living room.
Since he came back from his incarceration, you have never seen him like this. It's like he has reached the breaking point you were expecting, but aren’t prepared for.
"Mad at you? For not wanting to have sex with me?" you ask for clarification, and he nods. "Spencer, I can't be mad at you for that."
"Why not?" He hastens to ask back. His hands are trembling, and you’re not sure if touching him would push him further into his spiral.
"Ah, let me guess. It is because I'm a victim? Someone fragile that can be broken, isn’t it?”
There it is.
"W-what? No! Where do you get that from? That's not-" You try to explain, but Spencer is already cutting you off again.
"Come on! I have seen you. Since I got out. You have been walking on eggshells around me." His tone is accusative, and you feel it’s unfair after the months you have been looking only for his comfort.
"I just - For God’s sake! I have been doing it because I don't want to push you to do something you don't want to do! That’s a crime now?”
Spencer huffs like you’re talking nonsense.
"But I want to! Can't you see it? Fuck!" he grunts, still pacing around the room, hands fisting at his sides as if he’s physically restraining himself. "I do want to! God, I have wanted to for months!"
You scratch your neck trying to piece things together, so you can say something useful to this argument. However, you are only getting Spencer’s frustration, and it’s not helping.
"Spencer, you literally flinched when I touched you two minutes ago. What is supposed I must think?"
Spencer’s pace stops briefly. You have a point, he doesn't know how to explain, though.
"I - It's not because I don't want to touch you! I'm dying to do it. I miss you so much it hurts."
His voice wavers, as if it physically pains him to say the words.
A heavy ache settles in your heart when you hear him talking like that. You have only been trying to be understanding and patient, but you're literally blind right now.
"So why then? Why are we arguing about this? Why are you conflicted?"
Spencer takes a moment to collect his thoughts. His own fears surfacing over and over again. He sits at the edge of the coffee table, face buried in his hands.
"I'm scared, okay? I'm scared about what I can do to you. I don't want to hurt you," Spencer muffles the words hidden behind his hands.
You freeze. Does he really think that? Did you say or do anything to him that made him feel that way?
No, he can't think like that. You drop to your knees, prying his hands off so you can see his eyes.
"Spencer. Baby, please look at me."
"No. I can't,” he whines.
"Yes. Yes, you can. Please, do it for me?"
Spencer slowly obeys and removes his hands from covering his face. His eyes are glassy red, his cheeks flushed, and his jaw clenched.
“Talk to me, please. Why didn't you tell me sooner that you were feeling this way?”
A heavy exhale escapes Spencer’s lips.
“You didn't ask,” he whispers, eyes averting yours. Your jaw tightens, even if you know Spencer is only trying to deflect.
“I didn’t-? Okay, that’s not fair, and you know it. I didn't ask because I thought you trusted me and you would come to me when you were ready.”
An assumption that clearly didn't work this time.
“I know. I know. I just - I just thought I needed a bit of time. That things would get the same as they were, and we wouldn't have to have this conversation,” Spencer admits, and his words hit you harder than they should.
“Why not? You don’t trust me enough to tell me these things? I thought we were a couple, Spencer. One that already passed the trust issues.”
“It's not about trust issues,” he mutters as if saying that would be enough for you to believe him.
“Then what is it? Because I can’t think of another explanation. Unless-” you pause a bit because it scares you, telling what you are thinking aloud. “Unless you don’t think I deserve that position anymore?”
Spencer’s frown is immediate. “What? To deserve what position?”
“Of being your partner. And if you reached that conclusion in these months, I get it. Maybe I should have asked sooner or done something, I don't know. If I didn't do it, it wasn't for lack of love; I just thought I was giving you space.”
A treacherous tear falls from your eye and runs down your cheek. The mere sight of it makes Spencer sick to his stomach.
Spencer carefully grabs your wrists and helps you stand up with him, guiding you back to the couch and sitting down beside you.
“Please listen to me. I know I've avoided this topic and haven't told you everything that happened in there. But none of it is your fault, do you understand? None of it.”
You sniffle, although the effort you’re making not to.
“Understandably, you have questions. And the truth is, I've taken advantage of your patience and comprehension to avoid talking about my fears after everything that happened. I'm sorry for that. But please, if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that you're my partner, my person, the love of my life. You always have been, and you always will be.”
You are openly crying now, and Spencer, without thinking twice, wraps you in his arms to comfort you.
Muffling your voice against his chest.m, you murmur, “Why are you afraid then? Why do you think you can do harm to me?”
Spencer sighs, his lips on your hair, giving you a small kiss before pulling away to look at you.
“It's just—how do I put it? Whenever something bad happens in my life, it's like a part of me goes to a dark place, and I don't mean it like evil. It's more like it goes into hiding and becomes unpredictable. You've seen it: Hankel, Gideon, Maeve.”
You nod because you've been there for each of those moments.
“And being in that place, with the people we worked so hard to put there, made me question whether maybe that place took more of me than I think it actually did. That terrifies me, because it's a place of pure violence and survival. What if my unpredictable side gets mixed up with that and I end up losing control and becoming violent and unmindful with you? I’m afraid of losing control while we- you know-”
Spencer trails off, feeling he’s stumbling with his own thoughts and words. But you get it now. There's no need to say more when you already understand where his greatest fear lies.
A loving hand rests on his cheek. Your eyes fill with understanding and more love than you thought possible for him. Of course, Spencer Reid would put your well-being above his own needs and desires. But just as considerate as he is, so too is his lack of self-awareness, as the great person he is. Something you've witnessed over the years, and it's always a challenge.
"Hey,” you call him, so he can look at you. “First of all, you won't hurt me. And do you know why I'm so sure about that?" Spencer shakes his head no. "Because I know you. Because no matter what happened in there. No matter how much you feel that place has changed you right now. You are a good person, Spencer. And that is in your bones. No one can touch that, because it's what makes you who you are. Even when you feel losing control.”
"Are you not afraid that I can-?"
"I’m not. There is something I am afraid of, though, about you shutting me out. That scares me the most. You know why?”
Spencer shakes his head no.
“Because as long as we can talk about this, we can find a way to make it work. And that’s a lesson for me too. I kept things to myself and created my own mental hell instead of talking to you.”
“We have been messing this up, haven’t we?” Spencer mutters, a shade of pink adorning his cheeks as one hand caresses your arm. A light laugh escapes your lips.
“Definitely,” you say feaking seriousness.
“Crap,” he huffs, and you giggle. Spencer puts an arm around your shoulder and pulls you towards him.
Kissing the top of your head, he mutters, “I’m sorry. For everything, and because I ruined the night, too.”
“I wouldn’t say that. At least the meal was delicious,” you tease, trying to light the mood. Spencer rolls his eyes.
“You're being too lenient with this situation, don't you think?”
“And you think I won't get my revenge?” You say with a mischievous tone. Spencer chokes on his saliva.
“What?” You part from his embrace to see his flustered face. With a smile, your fingers intertwine with his.
“Tell you what. We’re going to get there, but we’ll start slow, okay. We don't have to do the whole thing right away.”
Spencer understands perfectly what you mean, and although he thanks all the deities of the universe for having someone so willing to take things slowly, that doesn't soothe his carnal desperation.
“Slow? Are you sure?”
“Don't say it like it’s only me who is desperate here,” you deadpan. Spencer chuckles. “But I think baby steps will make the journey more pleasurable for both of us,” you say, pumping up your eyebrows. A real laugh erupts from Spencer’s chest.
“You're amazing, you know that?”
“And that's why you love me,” you say cokily.
“And for more and beyond,” Spencer adds. “What’s your plan, though?”
A playful smirk appears on your face. You perch closer to Spencer, arms loosening around his neck, lips kissing his earlobe before whispering something into his ear, only for him to hear. As the words leave your mouth, Spencer’s cheeks redden, and his breathing picks up.
"Oh, Lord.” Spencer’s voice wavers, completely enchanted by your words.
"Is it okay with you?" You check, already knowing the answer.
"M- more than okay."
"Then relax, baby. I'm going to take care of you tonight."
A Little Push - Part II (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)
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Author Masterlist | Part I
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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.
Summary: Despite Emily's efforts and the newfound Reader's confidence, things didn't go as expected with Spencer. Now, he's a mess of regret and guilt at how badly he handled the situation. Spencer walks down memory lane since he met Reader to recognize what has been in front of his eyes all this time.
Word Count: 7.1k (sorry, not sorry)
Warnings: Angst/Fluff/Happy ending. Age gap (Spencer is 38, and Reader is barely 30). They are still idiots in love. Spencer has been an asshole, but he makes amends. Part I here.
A/N: Part II is here, guys! Thanks a lot for your likes, reblogs, and kind words for my work. I apologize for taking so long to post again.
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Spencer's POV
A royal asshole. That's what I am.
I still don't know why I stood speechless and reacted the way I did. But that's not what I regret the most. It's the way I twisted everything and hurt her. Because even if I didn't say much, the little that came out of my mouth came out wrong.
I like her. I really do. I even started to think that it is an understatement. I have feelings for her, I've had them for a while now, but I never thought it was mutual.
I thought the jokes and banter were just her friendly nature, a part of her youth and expressive personality.
But I must confess that there have been moments when I pictured a different scenario, one in which we indulge in a romantic setting.
I need to be realistic, though. For her sake, I can't cross that line.
Emily asked me to be her mentor. Yeah, a weird thing coming from an FBI agent/traumatized ex-convict. And even if (Y/N) didn't need one, I swore to myself I would protect her from everything I could, even if that meant protecting her from me. Because, let's face it, I'm a heavy burden, one she doesn't deserve to carry.
And now she tells me she likes me, which leaves me speechless and with a million scenarios running through my head.
For a second, I was filled with joy, thinking it was what I'd dreamed of hearing, but then I panicked about what it could mean, and no, it's not fair to her.
I want to apologize, try to explain why I reacted the way I did, but I don't even know what words to use. Funny, coming from someone who speaks multiple languages.
I know I ruined something that could have been beautiful, but at the same time, it's inevitable: everything I touch ends up broken, and I can't stand the idea of doing that to (Y/N).
When Emily and Tara return to the room, I am still standing there, eyes fixed on the floor, as if I am about to find the solution I am so desperately looking for in my head.
"Everything okay?" Emily asks, and I'm dying to say that no, everything is a mess, I'm a stupid, I fucked up.
"Yeah. Everything is okay."
Emily asks for (Y/N), and I internally flinch. Trying to mask the pang in my chest, I explain that she got back to the hotel. Neither Emily nor Tara seems phased by it, even agreeing on the idea to call it a night and come back fresh in the morning.
It should have been a good idea. Maybe in the morning I'll have the nerve to talk to (Y/N) and explain myself.
Maybe.
Needless to say, I hardly slept at all. I tossed and turned, remembering (Y/N) 's hesitant look and how her face dulled when I didn't verbally reciprocate her feelings.
There was a moment during the night when I thought about going to her room to tell her how sorry I was. But I think it would have been worse. I know her, and she would have tried to downplay it even if she felt hurt. So I forced myself to stay put in my bed until I fell asleep at dawn.
Two hours later, we are all at the police station, attempting to make some progress on the case. I'm really trying to focus, but I can't help but notice that (Y/N) is avoiding me.
Garcia's calling finally distracts me from my predicament. There is a break in the case.
After some cross-referencing, there is information about who the unsub is and even possible names. While Garcia explains her findings, my gaze drifts again to (Y/N), but I never receive a glance in return. Positioned as far away from me as possible, she manages to evade exchanging a word with me.
I don't blame her for being upset, but my heart breaks every time I feel her intentionally ignoring me.
If the rest of the team notices, they don't say anything and focus on the case. Something I should be doing too.
After finishing the call with Garcia, Emily assigns new tasks to everyone.
"Tara and Luke check the last address our last victim visited before being kidnapped. Rossi, JJ, you go to the university where most of our suspects work. Spencer and (Y/N) go to the ME to check if something is connecting our guys with the bodies."
My heart races at the thought of how I'll handle the next hour, knowing I'll be spending some time alone with her now. But before I can spiral further, (Y/N) speaks.
"Emily, sorry. But I think I can be more useful if I talk to the university dean. I already talked to him before, and we don't want to alert anyone yet."
My head snaps, as does the rest of the team's.
Since (Y/N) joined the BAU, she'd never asked to switch when we were assigned a task together.
Emily professionally hides her surprise, though she gives me a brief, confused glance. Almost imperceptible. Almost.
"Okay. Then (Y/N) will go with Rossi. Reid, you with JJ. Everybody else, you know what to do."
Before I know it, (Y/N) hurries out of the room.
I try to make eye contact, but without luck.
"Is something wrong?" Emily asks once we're alone. That's when I realize I haven't moved from my spot.
I clear my throat to shake the haze in my head. "No. Everything's fine. Uh - JJ's probably waiting for me. See you later." I say, and quickly move to the exit, not waiting for a new question from Emily.
Well, if the team didn't grasp before that something happened between (Y/N) and me, surely they know now.
JJ is now driving us to the ME. I stay silent in the passenger seat, looking out the window, trying to avoid being questioned.
Maybe I'll have luck...
"Spence?"
...Or maybe not.
"Uhm?" I reply, glancing briefly at JJ, but focusing on the road ahead.
"Anything you want to talk about?"
It's vague, very JJ's fashion, but I'm not in the mood to confide what's going on in my mind.
"Not really. Should I?"
"I don't know. Maybe you want to talk about (Y/N)."
Shit.
"What about her?" It's a bit defensive, but not harsh.
"Did you guys fight? I mean, she never switches tasks when it comes to you."
I know she doesn't, but I can't say it, nor can I say why. I don't want to open a worm can right now.
"No. I don't think so. She wanted to go talk to the dean; it's understandable."
JJ hums, evidence that she doesn't believe me. After a brief silence, she speaks again. "You know, when Emily told us a new agent was coming to the team, I didn't like the idea. Over the years, I've become less forthcoming with new people. You can believe it or not, but it's true."
Not knowing where she is going with this piques my interest. Now I'm looking at JJ as she keeps driving. She glances at me from time to time.
"And when (Y/N) walked into the bullpen, the first thing I thought was 'Oh, she is so young.' I had my doubts, you know? But after the first case, I knew I shouldn't worry." JJ chuckles at the memory.
Yeah, that first case. I remember.
It was (Y/N)'s first case with the BAU—family annihilator in Tampa. We tracked the unsub for days before receiving an anonymous tip about an abandoned warehouse. I went with (Y/N) to the location, Emily and Luke trailing behind.
We should have waited for buckup, but (Y/N) insisted we were losing time. It was a bit reckless, but I agreed nonetheless.
Once we got inside, the place was oddly quiet. But as we walked upstairs, we saw the unsub with a new potential victim. When he noticed us, he immediately grabbed the girl by the waist and pointed his knife at her throat.
(Y/N) confessed to me earlier that day that she had never had to talk down to an unsub before, and that's why I rushed to talk to him.
The problem? The unsub didn't want me to speak. The profile said he hated men and would only talk to women who appreciated and complimented him.
I began to feel nervous, but (Y/N) took the lead, although I knew she was terrified inside.
Despite having no experience and never having done this before, (Y/N) managed to connect with the unsub and dissuade him by telling him a story about how she understood what it was like to not be appreciated and to struggle for approval. And even though she later told me it was a lie, her empathy level at the moment proved it was partly true.
After she de-escalated the situation, the unsub was apprehended, the hostage was released unharmed, and the case was closed. Nevertheless, Emily scolded her for not following protocol, for not waiting for backup, especially since it was her first case. I tried to help by telling Emily it was my idea, but she didn't buy it.
Despite everything, that case demonstrated that (Y/N) was in the right place working with the BAU, and it made me appreciate her as an agent and, especially, as a person.
A smile tugs at my lips. Since then, we have been paired together in almost every case. Emily insisted it was for me to mentor her, but in the end, I think she has mentored me more than me to her.
"She's good, isn't she?"
The words escape through my lips before I can even stop them. JJ hums in agreement.
"And she's good for you, too."
I snap my head up back to JJ. That was unexpected, and I don't know why she chose to say that right now.
"What?"
JJ's lips curve into a warm smile.
"I think you know what I mean. But at risk of crossing a line you don't want, I'm going to say what I see. You were in a dark place, Spence. And we were all worried about you. I know you hated that, but we couldn't help it."
I wince. JJ is right, I hate when people do that, and I know they mean well, but I don't like to be in the spotlight, worse if it is for something like being framed for murder and ending up locked in jail.
"The thing is, when (Y/N) came along, something changed in you. You started smiling and laughing more. Started to be less cautious about how to act and be more spontaneous. I can't tell if you fell in love with her-"
"JJ, please, that's not-" I groan. More because I feel flustered than because she's talking nonsense.
"Okay, okay. I don't know for sure what your real feelings are, but (Y/N) matters to you, and not just because she's a colleague or a good friend."
"She's my friend."
A weak attempt to conceal the truth.
"I don't doubt she is. But you can't deny it's more than platonic."
I huff and humorless laugh. The word 'platonic' has been haunting me since last night. I wish I had more self-control over my feelings for (Y/N). I'd love to be able to deny everything and continue as we have been, but my heart aches just knowing that something between us was a real possibility, and I'm the one who has to play the bad guy. I hate it.
"Is it so hard to believe we're just friends?"
JJ shrugs. "No. But that's not what's happening, isn't it? I don't know what happened between you two yesterday, but I just wanted to tell you not to give up on her. Things can actually be different. You, from all people, deserve a chance, Spence."
I don't know how to answer, so I don't, turning my gaze back to the road. JJ accepts my silence, but she surely knows she planted a seed.
After our car ride, we spoke with the ME, and several of our suspicions were confirmed, though not enough to definitively identify our unsub. But at least, given the evidence left post-mortem on the victims, we narrowed it down to two names: Andrew Bateman and Vincent Levine. And, honestly, I don't know who could be the worst. Bateman is a pediatrician and professor at the medical school of the university where the victims were students. On the other hand, Levine is the medical school dean and an obstetrician. Both could have had motives, whether related to the victims' orphaned children or directly to a problem with the young women giving birth at an early age.
"What do you think?" JJ asks me once we leave the morgue. I don't hold back in showing my displeasure with those two, especially knowing that (Y/N) and Rossi are probably talking to them right now. So, instinctively, I pull out my phone and call (Y/N), but she doesn't answer. Frowning, I look at JJ, who takes her phone to dial Rossi's number.
"Straight to voicemail," she says after a second attempt.
A pang in my gut tells me something's wrong.
Very wrong.
JJ calls Emily to tell her what we found at the morgue and that we can't get in touch with either Rossi or (Y/N).
I watch impatiently as JJ nods at whatever Emily is saying while we walk toward the car. While JJ is busy on the phone, I go directly to the driver's side. I'm not a man of intuition, but logic tells me we'll have to run to wherever Rossi and (Y/N) are, and I know I won't hesitate to push the gas until the car flies.
"Rossi called Emily and told her they only found Bateman; he said Levine would arrive soon, and they would wait for him in his office."
"So it doesn't make sense that they aren't answering their phones," I prompt, putting the key to turn on the engine.
"Emily asked Garcia to track their cell phones five minutes ago, because they haven't reported again. Rossi's still appears to be at the campus, but there's no signal from (Y/N)."
That's when it all starts to make sense, and I feel my chest tighten, and it's hard to breathe.
"Fuck! JJ, they are a team. Bateman and Levine work together. They've made us think it's just one person, but it's not. Bateman hunts, and Levine kills."
JJ's face drains of color, knowing what that means.
"And they have Rossi and (Y/N)."
As I speed off toward the campus, Emily calls to say she's already there, along with Luke, Tara, and the rest of the police, who are scanning the area. There's no sign of Bateman, Levine, Rossi, or (Y/N).
I rack my brain trying to figure out what the unsubs' next move could be. The ideas that come to me aren't encouraging. We don't know if a new girl was kidnapped, but if the timeline matches up, (Y/N) would be an excellent replacement.
I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. JJ knows I'm seconds away from exploding, but she tries to calm me down anyway.
"They're trained agents, Spence. They'll know what to do."
"Sorry, it's not enough for me. It's my fault (Y/N) had decided to go there."
"Don't say that. You can't blame yourself for it."
I know JJ's intentions are good, but I'm not having it.
"Yes. I do. And it will get worse if something happens to them."
JJ decides not to respond this time.
When we arrive, I immediately notice the commotion: police everywhere, Emily shouting orders, and Captain Roberts summoning his people around.
Approaching Emily, I see she has the look of a very annoyed boss, just enough to mask her real concern.
"What do we know?" I ask.
"It's unlikely they're here. We checked every office, classroom, and open area."
"So what the hell are we doing here?"
Emily gives me a 'calm you down' look before speaking. "We need to locate Rossi's cell phone to look for clues."
She barely finishes the sentence when Luke's voice from the radio says they have Rossi's cell phone.
With Garcia's help, we manage to access it, and one of the messages not sent to Emily says 'testing'.
"It doesn't make sense. We've already checked all the campus facilities, and there's nothing that suggests they are doing tests."
Tara, who's with us along with JJ, says, "I don't think he meant that. Maybe he's talking about being tested by the unsubs."
"Rossi isn't that cryptic either," I point out.
"He might have been in a hurry," JJ speculates.
That's when a conversation I had with (Y/N) a few months ago comes to mind.
I was talking about scientific experiments and how tests are always required at different levels. (Y/N) told me there is a new trend in behavioral analysis: to see unsubs as machine learning problem solvers. That implies training several models of behavior to adjust, then running the test phase on the source data or subject.
"It's (Y/N). She did write that," I blurt out. Everyone look a me confused. Emily asks me to elaborate. "They have the source of their rage right now. Testing is the endgame. And it will be in the middle of their comfort zone. Who crosses between Levine and Bateman even before they were colleagues?"
Garcia, who's listening to our conversation, types furiously on her keyboard.
"Oh. Oh! There is a girl named Samantha Rosental, but her real name is Samantha Fritz. There was no record because she changed her name after leaving medical school at 20."
"What is her relationship with Levine and Bateman?" I press so Garcia goes to the point.
"She was in a secret relationship with Levine when he was her professor. Oh, and this gets more complicated. She got pregnant, but she told Levine the baby wasn't his; it was of her boyfriend, Andrew Bateman. But Bateman didn't believe her. And before Levine and Bateman could do anything, she vanished."
"So they never knew the truth. Bateman thinks she cheated on him, and Levine thinks she deprived him of his baby," JJ concludes.
"Years after they found each other working together, filling the gaps and canalizing their rage over other women," Emily pipes up.
"And now they found Samantha," Luke adds.
"With two inconveniences: Rossi and (Y/N)," I bitterly remind them.
The situation is even worse than we imagined.
When Garcia calls us to point out a possible location, we all rush to the SUVs. I head to the driver's side, but Emily blocks my path and grabs the keys. "I'll drive," she says, without waiting for a response.
The place is in the middle of the city, but it feels like an oasis of abandonment amidst so many buildings. The perfect hideout for the horrible things Bateman and Levine do to their victims. My stomach churns at the thought.
Everything happens so fast. We enter the building and see Rossi on the ground, wounded in the leg, just a few feet from Bateman's lifeless body. Before we can even ask, Rossi yells that Levine has Samantha and that (Y/N) went after him. While JJ and Matt tend to Rossi, Emily, Luke, Tara, and I go upstairs to the roof, where we see Levine holding Samantha at gunpoint. We see (Y/N) trying to talk to him, her gun lying on the floor, presumably trying to convince Levine to let Samantha go. My suspicions are confirmed when I hear (Y/N)'s voice.
"You don't have to prove anything. Samantha already knows she made a mistake by not choosing you. Let her live with the guilt of losing the love of her life, with the truth of her irrelevant and unworthy self after her lose. It will be worse."
"What do you know about that! You know nothing!" Levine shouts. (Y/N) hands remain in the air, a surrender gesture to tell Levine he's in control.
"I do know. I do know what it's like to live like that, because I lost the love of my life for making a mistake, too. And I'll regret it to the end of my days."
My heart stops for a second. I can't see (Y/N)'s eyes because I'm at her back, but her voice- that voice sounds like truth to me.
"You're lying!"
"I wish I would."
Levine's eyes darken, and he's still holding Samantha, who hasn't stopped crying. "Is that so?" He mocks, and in a sudden movement, he aims to (Y/N). "I'll free you from your misery, then."
A gunshot rings out, followed by another. I see in slow motion (Y/N)'s body contort as Levine falls to the ground and Samantha screams. It's then that I realize Levine's shot hit (Y/N), who, after a groan, collapses to the ground, just as a bullet fired by Emily brings Levine down, lifeless.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I rush to (Y/N)'s side, kneeling to inspect her injuries. There is a pool of blood and a big stain covering his left side. The son of the bitch shot to her side, where the vest wasn't covering.
“(Y/N)? Look at me. Don't close your eyes, please."
She has half-lidded eyes already, a sharp groan leaving her lips when I put pressure on the wound. "I know it hurts, I'm sorry."
"Spencer-" she mumbles, squeezing my free hand.
"Yes. That's it. Keep squeezing."
Not long after, she faints, just as the paramedics arrive. Luke is the one who takes hold of my shoulders so the paramedics can get to (Y/N) and place her on a stretcher.
I am speechless, with a lump in my throat and not knowing what to do, as I watch her being taken straight to the ambulance.
"Come on, man. We need to go to the hospital," Luke prompts.
I nod on autopilot and follow him toward one of the SUVs. I don't even stop to check on Samantha or Rossi. All I can think about now is (Y/N).
When we arrived at the hospital, they told us we had to wait while (Y/N) was in surgery. Not a word saying 'she'll be okay,' just uncertainty. Only when Emily sat down next to me did I realize the rest of the team had arrived at the hospital as well. JJ is with Rossi, checking his injuries, as Luke is with Samantha, doing the same. That's when it hits me that I don't even know how they are after we found them in the abandoned building. Emily, who seems to read minds, anticipates my questions.
"Rossi only has a mid-concussion and a sprained ankle. Samantha is okay, with some shallow cuts and bruises on her wrists."
Clearly (Y/N) got it worse.
"We'll probably have to wait a while. Why don't you go clean up? Garcia brought you something to change into."
That's when I look at my bloody hands, as well as my shirt. Without saying much, I just nod and get up to go to the bathroom.
When I return to the waiting room, there's still no word from (Y/N), but I can see Rossi with a cane, sitting quietly in one of the chairs. I feel like asking what the hell happened, but it wouldn't change the current situation. JJ gives me a coffee while we continue waiting.
Not wanting to keep everyone worried in one place, Emily sends Rossi home, accompanied by JJ and Luke. Matt and Tara are meant to take Samantha home, as Penelope must return to Quantico. That left Emily and me.
Two hours later, the surgeon appears. We get up at once. He goes straight to Emily.
"How is SSA (Y/L/N)?" she hastens to ask. The surgeon nods, still with that neutral face that doesn't tell me anything.
"She'll be fine. The bullet passed through her abdomen without hitting any vital organs. We did recover the bullet. With enough rest and some medication, she'll be 100% recovered in a few weeks. She's lucky, though. A millimeter higher and we wouldn't be having the same conversation."
I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding in, as Emily thanks the doctor, who quickly disappears behind the doors of the restricted area.
I take a seat again, repeating to myself over and over that she'll be okay. It was just a scare. (Y/N) will be fine. I didn't lose her.
"What are you thinking?" Emily asks, sitting by my side, after she reports (Y/N)'s condition to the team by phone.
I shake my head, as if that would persuade her not to want an answer. Emily scrutinizes me for a few seconds, analyzing me in the way only she knows how. And I can tell she sees the affliction in my eyes.
"She told you, didn't she?"
I don't even ask her what she means; we both know exactly what it's about.
"I didn't want to believe her. But she was very clear about it, and I was an asshole enough not to tell her the truth."
"Why?"
I look at Emily in disbelief. "Isn't it obvious? We - I mean, I can't; that's not how it's supposed to be in the first place. We work together. We're friends. We are-" I trail off, knowing I'm throwing all the excuses I tell myself every day.
"Are you listening to yourself, aren't you?"
A scoff leaves my mouth before I can stop it. "Yeah, make it look pretend all you want, Spencer, but we both know that self-sabotage won't lead you anywhere."
"It's reality, Emily. Pure and simple reality." My voice is full of bitterness for what it's the story of my life.
"Is it so hard to believe someone like her can love you? Is it so bad to want to love someone the way you do with her? Stop thinking you don't deserve these things, Spencer. You, better than anyone, know the fragility of this life and this job. Don't let it pass you by just because you're afraid of the future. No one can ever be sure what will happen tomorrow, but that's no reason to miss the opportunity to live each day and let ourselves be loved, especially by someone who reciprocates that feeling."
"I don't want to hurt her," I meekly defend.
"You're precisely doing that, not telling her how you really feel."
I hate to say it, but Emily is right. I've already hurt her, thinking that by saying nothing, she would be safe from me.
"I just wanted to protect her," I muse, running my hands through my hair as if the gesture will clear my head.
"She doesn't need protection; she needs honesty from you."
'It sounds simple to say,' I want to argue, but I get Emily's point and, although it terrifies me, I owe that to (Y/N) even if nothing comes of it between us in the end.
I leave out a deep sigh as I take in Emily's words.
"Do you think something between us -?" I trail off, knowing that saying the words will make it a real possibility. I don't know if I can handle the hope right now.
"I'm sure it will, but even if it didn't, you'll never know if you don't try, Spencer."
I can try, but will she ever forgive me for what I did? For what I said and for what I didn't say? I scratch my head, trying to figure out what my next steps should be. I see Emily's sly smile out of the corner of my eye. "What?" I ask, frowning.
"Come on, Romeo: if you're going to make amends, you should at least bring flowers."
Without saying a word, I get up from the chair and leave the waiting room, determined to do things right this time.
I return an hour later. Emily sees me and is about to make a comment when a nurse approaches and tells us that (Y/N) is already in her room and can receive visitors.
Emily pats my back. "Good luck. Call us later to let us know how she's doing." I turn to the nurse, who smiles at me and leads me down the hall to (Y/N)'s room.
Slowly, I open the door, and there she is, mid-seated in the hospital bed. Head turned to the window. The glow of the rising sun reflects on her mussed hair. Left arm with a neatly cast, side visibly patched under the gown she's wearing.
Injured, but still the most beautiful woman in the world.
"Hey," I quietly mumble, enough for her to turn her head to me. Her eyes look tired, but a little smile graces her lips. And my heart starts racing in no time, just at that gesture.
"Hey." Her voice is raspy, unused for hours.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, taking cautious steps closer. I don't want to invade her personal space, but I need to be sure she's okay. I need to see it with my own eyes and feel it.
"Injured. Again." She exhales with a bit of difficulty, shifting to a more comfortable position. "I should seriously consider signing up for an extra medical benefits plan because of all the times I end up in a hospital."
Her eyes dart to my hands holding a bouquet.
"Am I dying?" She asks, a lazy frown forming.
"What?"
(Y/N) weakly chuckles. "Flowers? Dr. Reid hasn't bought me flowers before. Maybe I'm really dying."
It's a little disconcerting the way she's joking like that, especially after what happened.
"These - uh- these are actually for you. You said once you liked magnolias," I explain as I clumsily hand her the bouquet.
(Y/N)'s eyes soften. "Actually, I like them a lot." She takes a smell of its scent.
"My mom usually littered the house with them when I was young," she mumbles, still basking in their fragrance. It's a welcomed contrast inside the sterile hospital room.
"In some Native American traditions, magnolia trees are revered as sacred beings, embodying the essence of the natural world. Similarly, in Christian symbolism, the magnolia's evergreen leaves and fragrant blossoms are seen as reminders of eternal life and the promise of renewal."
(Y/N) smiles softly. "I didn't know that. Just my mom told me to have them near me every chance I get."
"It makes sense. Magnolias commonly symbolize purity, femininity, and nobility. Because they've existed for millions of years, they also represent perseverance."
(Y/N)'s brow arches. "Stubbornness isn't in the description?"
I chuckle at her remark. "I guess perseverance covers it."
"Not the recklessness, though. I bet Emily wants to end my health insurance."
I shrug nonchalantly. "After this one? Maybe she's considering it."
(Y/N) huffs a humorless laugh, immediately regretting doing it because I see the flinch in her eyes, and the pain crossing her features.
"Should I call someone? You're visibly in pain."
(Y/N) shakes her head. "Nah. I pulled some muscles a bit harder than I should have, but I'll be fine."
I don't know if it's a product of her youth or her sheer obstinacy, but I'm always surprised by her ability to make her condition seem like a mere inconvenience, something not to worry about.
"The doctor says you'll be discharged soon, as long as the stitches start to heal properly."
"Fine by me. I don't think this town wants me more days here, the same way I don't want to be here."
A fragile silence envelops us in that sterile hospital room. I want to say so many things, but I don't know how to start. (Y/N)'s words from the other night resonate in my brain, as well as the words she said to Levine hours prior.
"How pissed is Emily? And Rossi? He must be furious with me," she breaks the silence before I continue internally spiraling.
Funny how she asks that, when Emily was a nervous wreck since we knew Levine had (Y/N), and Rossi, who feels more than guilty for not protecting her in the field. Weird how the optics change from person to person.
"Emily isn't pissed off. Nobody is pissed off or furious for that matter, okay? Rossi is fine, and he knows you didn't have an option. I can bet he told you to leave him there to chase Levine."
"I left a team member behind, Spencer. That's against any protocol and common sense," she complains.
"And that's how you saved an innocent woman who was about to be killed by a lunatic. I would have been more careful about taking cover from the bullet, but we can't have everything in life, can we?"
(Y/N) puff, trying to cover a smile, before asking. "Is she okay?"
"Samantha? She's okay, reunited with her son, thanks to you."
"Good," she muses, eyes fixed on her lap, as if the stiff fabric of the blanket were the most interesting thing in the world.
Another silence settles, but this time it's me who breaks it.
"Why did you ever say that?" The words blurt out of me before I can stop them.
"What?" (Y/N)'s gaze snaps up to me, confused and brows furrowed.
I clear my throat before speaking.
"To Levine." The furrow softens a bit, but it's still there as she thinks about my question.
"I said a lot of things, Spencer."
I can sense she knows what I'm talking about, but she's cautious.
"Yeah. But you said you had lost the love of your life for a mistake. Did you mean it?"
(Y/N)'s eyes cast down again, her jaw tightening, but as quickly as that, she schools her demeanor, a tight smile plastered on her face.
"It was the job. I had to get to him somehow, you know that."
It's the safest response, but I know she's deflecting. Her eyes speak volumes, even if she tries to hide them. I hate to think I've been contributing to her feeling that way.
"But you meant it, didn't you?"
"Spencer, please, can we not-"
In a bold move, I get closer and sit at the edge of the bed. My hands are dying to touch her, but I refrain, resting them on my lap instead.
"I'm sorry for hurting you with what I said the other night." I manage to mumble.
(Y/N) exhales, her eyes avert mine. Cheeks flushed.
"Don't apologize. And you don't have to say anything at all. Really. I just want to forget even mentioning it, okay?"
I should respect her wishes. She doesn't want to talk, and that should be enough for me to keep my mouth shut. But, again, her eyes are telling me another story. There is sadness and nostalgia; it's like a bridge has been burned between us, and she feels responsible.
(Y/N) thinks I don't reciprocate her feelings, and although I have my own reservations about the topic, it's not fair to let her believe this is a one-way thing.
"But I don't."
Narrowing her eyes, (Y/N) tilts her head.
Here goes nothing.
"I don't want to forget it. I can't forget it. Not when I wasn't honest with you. Not when-"
(Y/N) huffs a breath, shaking her head.
"Spencer, you don't need to be polite and say what you think is right for my sake. I'm a big girl, I'll be fine."
Did I say she is stubborn? I'm sure I mentioned it.
"Would you let me finish, please?" My voice rises an octave, the way it does when I'm nervous and desperate to spill my guts with words. (Y/N)'s eyes widen, mouth agape.
"Please?" I repeat, this time with more composure. (Y/N) slowly nods, giving me the clear.
"You're right. We do whatever's needed in this job. And it's one of the things that makes you so good at it. I mean, since your first case, we've all seen you're more than capable of doing this. Your commitment? The way you give your all? No wonder why Emily brought you to the team. But that's not the only thing that matters, you know?"
(Y/N)'s jaw tightens, and I know she wants to stop me. Compliments are something she's not used to receiving, though she deserves them all.
"You're more than an agent, (Y/N). I had the privilege of getting to know you, and believe me, you matter to me more than you can imagine. I'm sorry for not letting you know sooner."
"Spencer-" she starts, but I shake my head softly.
"I'm not done. Please."
She nods again, a strain tear running down her cheek.
"When I met you, I was in a bad place. I was just released from prison, and honestly? I didn't think it was possible to get back some of the man I used to be. But you proved me wrong. I was so wrong, (Y/N). You did it. You refloated me, awakening a better version of myself. And I should have thanked you sooner for it."
Tentatively, my hand reaches hers, still placed in her lap. She doesn't pull away.
"But I got scared. I thought it was just me who was harboring something more than a friendship between us. And I got scared, because I didn't want to hurt you with my own scars. You had already done so much for me. That's why that night I said it was complicated. Not because I didn't reciprocate your feelings, but because I do. More than you can imagine."
(Y/N)'s eyes broaden in confusion. "You- what?"
"I like you, too—a lot. But you know me, my brain gets stuck with logic and poor self-love. You will get tired of me, and the thought of losing you terrifies me."
“Why would you lose me? Where did you get that idea?” she asks, squeezing one of my hands in her lap. I shrug, defeated.
"Because I mess everything up. You know that; you've seen it. In fact, I just did it again the other night when you were brave enough to tell me how you felt, and I was the coward who said nothing."
A lump forms in my throat at the thought that my cowardice makes me unworthy of her.
She sighs, taking my words in. Absentmindedly, her fingers are gently caressing my knuckles.
"I won't deny that feeling this vulnerable in front of you was easy. You say it was bravery; I'd say it was more of an overflow." (Y/N) huffs softly, while I shake my head.
"The point is, if this scares you," she says, gesturing with a finger between us, "don't you think I'm terrified too? And not because I don't like you. God, at this point, I'm sure I love you. I'm terrified because I don't think I'm good enough for you, and I know you're going to tell me I shouldn't think this way, but look at me," she pauses a bit to take a breath. "You say you're damaged, that you've suffered, and I know that's true. But if you tell me you don't want to hurt me with it, then it's clear you think I'm not good enough, because I won't be able to handle it."
My mouth goes agape at her words. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought she wouldn't be enough for me. I've always thought it was the other way around, and hearing her say it breaks my heart. And I feel even worse when I see her eyes fill with tears.
I shake my head as one of my thumbs tries to wipe away her tears—a poor attempt to fix what I've caused.
"I've never believed, and I never will, that you're not enough for me. And I'm truly sorry for making you think that. I don't think you're incapable of handling it - or me; I just thought it was unfair to cut your wings with my burden."
"Do you really think it's so wrong to love you?" she asks, leaning into the touch of my hand on her cheek, eyes on me searching for the truth. I take a second to mull the question.
"I thought so," I say honestly. "But I'm willing to change my mind if you're the one who wants to love me." To prove it in some way, I take her hand and bring it to my lips to tenderly kiss her palm. A smile crept on her face.
"You mean it?" The question is timid, but hopeful.
"Absolutely." My response is clear, with no hesitation, full of the truth I didn't dare to share before.
She closes her eyes for a second; a shy laugh escapes her lips. When her gaze meets mine again, her eyes twinkle, and I swear I stop breathing for a second.
"What now?" She rests her head on the pillow, looking at me expectantly and biting her lower lip. That shouldn't affect me as much as it actually does. I clear my throat before speaking.
"Well, first of all, you need to be discharged and get a proper healing so I can take you on a date. We can start there."
A mischievous look takes hold of her. "Is Dr. Spencer Reid asking me on a date?"
I fake seriousness. "That's correct. If the miss is okay with it."
"More than okay, actually," she retorts. "You know? If you take me to that fancy Italian restaurant that opened recently, you could get a kiss at the end of the date. Just so you know."
I snort a laugh. "I'll think about it. Don't tell Rossi though," I warn.
"Never!" she promises, as we both burst out laughing, clasping our hands together. Relieved that everything that needed to be said has been said and that we are willing to give us a chance.
-------------------------------------------
Emily Prentiss is a wise woman. And although things got a little out of hand this time, she ultimately achieved the goal. Watching hidden behind the corner of your hospital room door as you and Spencer laugh - having finally come to terms with each other's truths - she picks up her phone and dials a number.
"David? Hi. I hope you're resting as the doctor told you to. I'm just calling to let you know you owe me $100. My job here is done."
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Taglist for this fic: @hereforfun-31 @cafters @chonkybonky @shiinata-library @desolatelyvastorchestra @iyskgd @mariposayl @fantastucbaby @theylovethesky @night-daily @obx-xoxo @who-ligan-or-who-vian @chaoticsunball @137ats
A Little Push - Part II (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)
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Author Masterlist | Part I
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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.
Summary: Despite Emily's efforts and the newfound Reader's confidence, things didn't go as expected with Spencer. Now, he's a mess of regret and guilt at how badly he handled the situation. Spencer walks down memory lane since he met Reader to recognize what has been in front of his eyes all this time.
Word Count: 7.1k (sorry, not sorry)
Warnings: Angst/Fluff/Happy ending. Age gap (Spencer is 38, and Reader is barely 30). They are still idiots in love. Spencer has been an asshole, but he makes amends. Part I here.
A/N: Part II is here, guys! Thanks a lot for your likes, reblogs, and kind words for my work. I apologize for taking so long to post again.
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Spencer's POV
A royal asshole. That's what I am.
I still don't know why I stood speechless and reacted the way I did. But that's not what I regret the most. It's the way I twisted everything and hurt her. Because even if I didn't say much, the little that came out of my mouth came out wrong.
I like her. I really do. I even started to think that it is an understatement. I have feelings for her, I've had them for a while now, but I never thought it was mutual.
I thought the jokes and banter were just her friendly nature, a part of her youth and expressive personality.
But I must confess that there have been moments when I pictured a different scenario, one in which we indulge in a romantic setting.
I need to be realistic, though. For her sake, I can't cross that line.
Emily asked me to be her mentor. Yeah, a weird thing coming from an FBI agent/traumatized ex-convict. And even if (Y/N) didn't need one, I swore to myself I would protect her from everything I could, even if that meant protecting her from me. Because, let's face it, I'm a heavy burden, one she doesn't deserve to carry.
And now she tells me she likes me, which leaves me speechless and with a million scenarios running through my head.
For a second, I was filled with joy, thinking it was what I'd dreamed of hearing, but then I panicked about what it could mean, and no, it's not fair to her.
I want to apologize, try to explain why I reacted the way I did, but I don't even know what words to use. Funny, coming from someone who speaks multiple languages.
I know I ruined something that could have been beautiful, but at the same time, it's inevitable: everything I touch ends up broken, and I can't stand the idea of doing that to (Y/N).
When Emily and Tara return to the room, I am still standing there, eyes fixed on the floor, as if I am about to find the solution I am so desperately looking for in my head.
"Everything okay?" Emily asks, and I'm dying to say that no, everything is a mess, I'm a stupid, I fucked up.
"Yeah. Everything is okay."
Emily asks for (Y/N), and I internally flinch. Trying to mask the pang in my chest, I explain that she got back to the hotel. Neither Emily nor Tara seems phased by it, even agreeing on the idea to call it a night and come back fresh in the morning.
It should have been a good idea. Maybe in the morning I'll have the nerve to talk to (Y/N) and explain myself.
Maybe.
Needless to say, I hardly slept at all. I tossed and turned, remembering (Y/N) 's hesitant look and how her face dulled when I didn't verbally reciprocate her feelings.
There was a moment during the night when I thought about going to her room to tell her how sorry I was. But I think it would have been worse. I know her, and she would have tried to downplay it even if she felt hurt. So I forced myself to stay put in my bed until I fell asleep at dawn.
Two hours later, we are all at the police station, attempting to make some progress on the case. I'm really trying to focus, but I can't help but notice that (Y/N) is avoiding me.
Garcia's calling finally distracts me from my predicament. There is a break in the case.
After some cross-referencing, there is information about who the unsub is and even possible names. While Garcia explains her findings, my gaze drifts again to (Y/N), but I never receive a glance in return. Positioned as far away from me as possible, she manages to evade exchanging a word with me.
I don't blame her for being upset, but my heart breaks every time I feel her intentionally ignoring me.
If the rest of the team notices, they don't say anything and focus on the case. Something I should be doing too.
After finishing the call with Garcia, Emily assigns new tasks to everyone.
"Tara and Luke check the last address our last victim visited before being kidnapped. Rossi, JJ, you go to the university where most of our suspects work. Spencer and (Y/N) go to the ME to check if something is connecting our guys with the bodies."
My heart races at the thought of how I'll handle the next hour, knowing I'll be spending some time alone with her now. But before I can spiral further, (Y/N) speaks.
"Emily, sorry. But I think I can be more useful if I talk to the university dean. I already talked to him before, and we don't want to alert anyone yet."
My head snaps, as does the rest of the team's.
Since (Y/N) joined the BAU, she'd never asked to switch when we were assigned a task together.
Emily professionally hides her surprise, though she gives me a brief, confused glance. Almost imperceptible. Almost.
"Okay. Then (Y/N) will go with Rossi. Reid, you with JJ. Everybody else, you know what to do."
Before I know it, (Y/N) hurries out of the room.
I try to make eye contact, but without luck.
"Is something wrong?" Emily asks once we're alone. That's when I realize I haven't moved from my spot.
I clear my throat to shake the haze in my head. "No. Everything's fine. Uh - JJ's probably waiting for me. See you later." I say, and quickly move to the exit, not waiting for a new question from Emily.
Well, if the team didn't grasp before that something happened between (Y/N) and me, surely they know now.
JJ is now driving us to the ME. I stay silent in the passenger seat, looking out the window, trying to avoid being questioned.
Maybe I'll have luck...
"Spence?"
...Or maybe not.
"Uhm?" I reply, glancing briefly at JJ, but focusing on the road ahead.
"Anything you want to talk about?"
It's vague, very JJ's fashion, but I'm not in the mood to confide what's going on in my mind.
"Not really. Should I?"
"I don't know. Maybe you want to talk about (Y/N)."
Shit.
"What about her?" It's a bit defensive, but not harsh.
"Did you guys fight? I mean, she never switches tasks when it comes to you."
I know she doesn't, but I can't say it, nor can I say why. I don't want to open a worm can right now.
"No. I don't think so. She wanted to go talk to the dean; it's understandable."
JJ hums, evidence that she doesn't believe me. After a brief silence, she speaks again. "You know, when Emily told us a new agent was coming to the team, I didn't like the idea. Over the years, I've become less forthcoming with new people. You can believe it or not, but it's true."
Not knowing where she is going with this piques my interest. Now I'm looking at JJ as she keeps driving. She glances at me from time to time.
"And when (Y/N) walked into the bullpen, the first thing I thought was 'Oh, she is so young.' I had my doubts, you know? But after the first case, I knew I shouldn't worry." JJ chuckles at the memory.
Yeah, that first case. I remember.
It was (Y/N)'s first case with the BAU—family annihilator in Tampa. We tracked the unsub for days before receiving an anonymous tip about an abandoned warehouse. I went with (Y/N) to the location, Emily and Luke trailing behind.
We should have waited for buckup, but (Y/N) insisted we were losing time. It was a bit reckless, but I agreed nonetheless.
Once we got inside, the place was oddly quiet. But as we walked upstairs, we saw the unsub with a new potential victim. When he noticed us, he immediately grabbed the girl by the waist and pointed his knife at her throat.
(Y/N) confessed to me earlier that day that she had never had to talk down to an unsub before, and that's why I rushed to talk to him.
The problem? The unsub didn't want me to speak. The profile said he hated men and would only talk to women who appreciated and complimented him.
I began to feel nervous, but (Y/N) took the lead, although I knew she was terrified inside.
Despite having no experience and never having done this before, (Y/N) managed to connect with the unsub and dissuade him by telling him a story about how she understood what it was like to not be appreciated and to struggle for approval. And even though she later told me it was a lie, her empathy level at the moment proved it was partly true.
After she de-escalated the situation, the unsub was apprehended, the hostage was released unharmed, and the case was closed. Nevertheless, Emily scolded her for not following protocol, for not waiting for backup, especially since it was her first case. I tried to help by telling Emily it was my idea, but she didn't buy it.
Despite everything, that case demonstrated that (Y/N) was in the right place working with the BAU, and it made me appreciate her as an agent and, especially, as a person.
A smile tugs at my lips. Since then, we have been paired together in almost every case. Emily insisted it was for me to mentor her, but in the end, I think she has mentored me more than me to her.
"She's good, isn't she?"
The words escape through my lips before I can even stop them. JJ hums in agreement.
"And she's good for you, too."
I snap my head up back to JJ. That was unexpected, and I don't know why she chose to say that right now.
"What?"
JJ's lips curve into a warm smile.
"I think you know what I mean. But at risk of crossing a line you don't want, I'm going to say what I see. You were in a dark place, Spence. And we were all worried about you. I know you hated that, but we couldn't help it."
I wince. JJ is right, I hate when people do that, and I know they mean well, but I don't like to be in the spotlight, worse if it is for something like being framed for murder and ending up locked in jail.
"The thing is, when (Y/N) came along, something changed in you. You started smiling and laughing more. Started to be less cautious about how to act and be more spontaneous. I can't tell if you fell in love with her-"
"JJ, please, that's not-" I groan. More because I feel flustered than because she's talking nonsense.
"Okay, okay. I don't know for sure what your real feelings are, but (Y/N) matters to you, and not just because she's a colleague or a good friend."
"She's my friend."
A weak attempt to conceal the truth.
"I don't doubt she is. But you can't deny it's more than platonic."
I huff and humorless laugh. The word 'platonic' has been haunting me since last night. I wish I had more self-control over my feelings for (Y/N). I'd love to be able to deny everything and continue as we have been, but my heart aches just knowing that something between us was a real possibility, and I'm the one who has to play the bad guy. I hate it.
"Is it so hard to believe we're just friends?"
JJ shrugs. "No. But that's not what's happening, isn't it? I don't know what happened between you two yesterday, but I just wanted to tell you not to give up on her. Things can actually be different. You, from all people, deserve a chance, Spence."
I don't know how to answer, so I don't, turning my gaze back to the road. JJ accepts my silence, but she surely knows she planted a seed.
After our car ride, we spoke with the ME, and several of our suspicions were confirmed, though not enough to definitively identify our unsub. But at least, given the evidence left post-mortem on the victims, we narrowed it down to two names: Andrew Bateman and Vincent Levine. And, honestly, I don't know who could be the worst. Bateman is a pediatrician and professor at the medical school of the university where the victims were students. On the other hand, Levine is the medical school dean and an obstetrician. Both could have had motives, whether related to the victims' orphaned children or directly to a problem with the young women giving birth at an early age.
"What do you think?" JJ asks me once we leave the morgue. I don't hold back in showing my displeasure with those two, especially knowing that (Y/N) and Rossi are probably talking to them right now. So, instinctively, I pull out my phone and call (Y/N), but she doesn't answer. Frowning, I look at JJ, who takes her phone to dial Rossi's number.
"Straight to voicemail," she says after a second attempt.
A pang in my gut tells me something's wrong.
Very wrong.
JJ calls Emily to tell her what we found at the morgue and that we can't get in touch with either Rossi or (Y/N).
I watch impatiently as JJ nods at whatever Emily is saying while we walk toward the car. While JJ is busy on the phone, I go directly to the driver's side. I'm not a man of intuition, but logic tells me we'll have to run to wherever Rossi and (Y/N) are, and I know I won't hesitate to push the gas until the car flies.
"Rossi called Emily and told her they only found Bateman; he said Levine would arrive soon, and they would wait for him in his office."
"So it doesn't make sense that they aren't answering their phones," I prompt, putting the key to turn on the engine.
"Emily asked Garcia to track their cell phones five minutes ago, because they haven't reported again. Rossi's still appears to be at the campus, but there's no signal from (Y/N)."
That's when it all starts to make sense, and I feel my chest tighten, and it's hard to breathe.
"Fuck! JJ, they are a team. Bateman and Levine work together. They've made us think it's just one person, but it's not. Bateman hunts, and Levine kills."
JJ's face drains of color, knowing what that means.
"And they have Rossi and (Y/N)."
As I speed off toward the campus, Emily calls to say she's already there, along with Luke, Tara, and the rest of the police, who are scanning the area. There's no sign of Bateman, Levine, Rossi, or (Y/N).
I rack my brain trying to figure out what the unsubs' next move could be. The ideas that come to me aren't encouraging. We don't know if a new girl was kidnapped, but if the timeline matches up, (Y/N) would be an excellent replacement.
I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. JJ knows I'm seconds away from exploding, but she tries to calm me down anyway.
"They're trained agents, Spence. They'll know what to do."
"Sorry, it's not enough for me. It's my fault (Y/N) had decided to go there."
"Don't say that. You can't blame yourself for it."
I know JJ's intentions are good, but I'm not having it.
"Yes. I do. And it will get worse if something happens to them."
JJ decides not to respond this time.
When we arrive, I immediately notice the commotion: police everywhere, Emily shouting orders, and Captain Roberts summoning his people around.
Approaching Emily, I see she has the look of a very annoyed boss, just enough to mask her real concern.
"What do we know?" I ask.
"It's unlikely they're here. We checked every office, classroom, and open area."
"So what the hell are we doing here?"
Emily gives me a 'calm you down' look before speaking. "We need to locate Rossi's cell phone to look for clues."
She barely finishes the sentence when Luke's voice from the radio says they have Rossi's cell phone.
With Garcia's help, we manage to access it, and one of the messages not sent to Emily says 'testing'.
"It doesn't make sense. We've already checked all the campus facilities, and there's nothing that suggests they are doing tests."
Tara, who's with us along with JJ, says, "I don't think he meant that. Maybe he's talking about being tested by the unsubs."
"Rossi isn't that cryptic either," I point out.
"He might have been in a hurry," JJ speculates.
That's when a conversation I had with (Y/N) a few months ago comes to mind.
I was talking about scientific experiments and how tests are always required at different levels. (Y/N) told me there is a new trend in behavioral analysis: to see unsubs as machine learning problem solvers. That implies training several models of behavior to adjust, then running the test phase on the source data or subject.
"It's (Y/N). She did write that," I blurt out. Everyone look a me confused. Emily asks me to elaborate. "They have the source of their rage right now. Testing is the endgame. And it will be in the middle of their comfort zone. Who crosses between Levine and Bateman even before they were colleagues?"
Garcia, who's listening to our conversation, types furiously on her keyboard.
"Oh. Oh! There is a girl named Samantha Rosental, but her real name is Samantha Fritz. There was no record because she changed her name after leaving medical school at 20."
"What is her relationship with Levine and Bateman?" I press so Garcia goes to the point.
"She was in a secret relationship with Levine when he was her professor. Oh, and this gets more complicated. She got pregnant, but she told Levine the baby wasn't his; it was of her boyfriend, Andrew Bateman. But Bateman didn't believe her. And before Levine and Bateman could do anything, she vanished."
"So they never knew the truth. Bateman thinks she cheated on him, and Levine thinks she deprived him of his baby," JJ concludes.
"Years after they found each other working together, filling the gaps and canalizing their rage over other women," Emily pipes up.
"And now they found Samantha," Luke adds.
"With two inconveniences: Rossi and (Y/N)," I bitterly remind them.
The situation is even worse than we imagined.
When Garcia calls us to point out a possible location, we all rush to the SUVs. I head to the driver's side, but Emily blocks my path and grabs the keys. "I'll drive," she says, without waiting for a response.
The place is in the middle of the city, but it feels like an oasis of abandonment amidst so many buildings. The perfect hideout for the horrible things Bateman and Levine do to their victims. My stomach churns at the thought.
Everything happens so fast. We enter the building and see Rossi on the ground, wounded in the leg, just a few feet from Bateman's lifeless body. Before we can even ask, Rossi yells that Levine has Samantha and that (Y/N) went after him. While JJ and Matt tend to Rossi, Emily, Luke, Tara, and I go upstairs to the roof, where we see Levine holding Samantha at gunpoint. We see (Y/N) trying to talk to him, her gun lying on the floor, presumably trying to convince Levine to let Samantha go. My suspicions are confirmed when I hear (Y/N)'s voice.
"You don't have to prove anything. Samantha already knows she made a mistake by not choosing you. Let her live with the guilt of losing the love of her life, with the truth of her irrelevant and unworthy self after her lose. It will be worse."
"What do you know about that! You know nothing!" Levine shouts. (Y/N) hands remain in the air, a surrender gesture to tell Levine he's in control.
"I do know. I do know what it's like to live like that, because I lost the love of my life for making a mistake, too. And I'll regret it to the end of my days."
My heart stops for a second. I can't see (Y/N)'s eyes because I'm at her back, but her voice- that voice sounds like truth to me.
"You're lying!"
"I wish I would."
Levine's eyes darken, and he's still holding Samantha, who hasn't stopped crying. "Is that so?" He mocks, and in a sudden movement, he aims to (Y/N). "I'll free you from your misery, then."
A gunshot rings out, followed by another. I see in slow motion (Y/N)'s body contort as Levine falls to the ground and Samantha screams. It's then that I realize Levine's shot hit (Y/N), who, after a groan, collapses to the ground, just as a bullet fired by Emily brings Levine down, lifeless.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I rush to (Y/N)'s side, kneeling to inspect her injuries. There is a pool of blood and a big stain covering his left side. The son of the bitch shot to her side, where the vest wasn't covering.
“(Y/N)? Look at me. Don't close your eyes, please."
She has half-lidded eyes already, a sharp groan leaving her lips when I put pressure on the wound. "I know it hurts, I'm sorry."
"Spencer-" she mumbles, squeezing my free hand.
"Yes. That's it. Keep squeezing."
Not long after, she faints, just as the paramedics arrive. Luke is the one who takes hold of my shoulders so the paramedics can get to (Y/N) and place her on a stretcher.
I am speechless, with a lump in my throat and not knowing what to do, as I watch her being taken straight to the ambulance.
"Come on, man. We need to go to the hospital," Luke prompts.
I nod on autopilot and follow him toward one of the SUVs. I don't even stop to check on Samantha or Rossi. All I can think about now is (Y/N).
When we arrived at the hospital, they told us we had to wait while (Y/N) was in surgery. Not a word saying 'she'll be okay,' just uncertainty. Only when Emily sat down next to me did I realize the rest of the team had arrived at the hospital as well. JJ is with Rossi, checking his injuries, as Luke is with Samantha, doing the same. That's when it hits me that I don't even know how they are after we found them in the abandoned building. Emily, who seems to read minds, anticipates my questions.
"Rossi only has a mid-concussion and a sprained ankle. Samantha is okay, with some shallow cuts and bruises on her wrists."
Clearly (Y/N) got it worse.
"We'll probably have to wait a while. Why don't you go clean up? Garcia brought you something to change into."
That's when I look at my bloody hands, as well as my shirt. Without saying much, I just nod and get up to go to the bathroom.
When I return to the waiting room, there's still no word from (Y/N), but I can see Rossi with a cane, sitting quietly in one of the chairs. I feel like asking what the hell happened, but it wouldn't change the current situation. JJ gives me a coffee while we continue waiting.
Not wanting to keep everyone worried in one place, Emily sends Rossi home, accompanied by JJ and Luke. Matt and Tara are meant to take Samantha home, as Penelope must return to Quantico. That left Emily and me.
Two hours later, the surgeon appears. We get up at once. He goes straight to Emily.
"How is SSA (Y/L/N)?" she hastens to ask. The surgeon nods, still with that neutral face that doesn't tell me anything.
"She'll be fine. The bullet passed through her abdomen without hitting any vital organs. We did recover the bullet. With enough rest and some medication, she'll be 100% recovered in a few weeks. She's lucky, though. A millimeter higher and we wouldn't be having the same conversation."
I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding in, as Emily thanks the doctor, who quickly disappears behind the doors of the restricted area.
I take a seat again, repeating to myself over and over that she'll be okay. It was just a scare. (Y/N) will be fine. I didn't lose her.
"What are you thinking?" Emily asks, sitting by my side, after she reports (Y/N)'s condition to the team by phone.
I shake my head, as if that would persuade her not to want an answer. Emily scrutinizes me for a few seconds, analyzing me in the way only she knows how. And I can tell she sees the affliction in my eyes.
"She told you, didn't she?"
I don't even ask her what she means; we both know exactly what it's about.
"I didn't want to believe her. But she was very clear about it, and I was an asshole enough not to tell her the truth."
"Why?"
I look at Emily in disbelief. "Isn't it obvious? We - I mean, I can't; that's not how it's supposed to be in the first place. We work together. We're friends. We are-" I trail off, knowing I'm throwing all the excuses I tell myself every day.
"Are you listening to yourself, aren't you?"
A scoff leaves my mouth before I can stop it. "Yeah, make it look pretend all you want, Spencer, but we both know that self-sabotage won't lead you anywhere."
"It's reality, Emily. Pure and simple reality." My voice is full of bitterness for what it's the story of my life.
"Is it so hard to believe someone like her can love you? Is it so bad to want to love someone the way you do with her? Stop thinking you don't deserve these things, Spencer. You, better than anyone, know the fragility of this life and this job. Don't let it pass you by just because you're afraid of the future. No one can ever be sure what will happen tomorrow, but that's no reason to miss the opportunity to live each day and let ourselves be loved, especially by someone who reciprocates that feeling."
"I don't want to hurt her," I meekly defend.
"You're precisely doing that, not telling her how you really feel."
I hate to say it, but Emily is right. I've already hurt her, thinking that by saying nothing, she would be safe from me.
"I just wanted to protect her," I muse, running my hands through my hair as if the gesture will clear my head.
"She doesn't need protection; she needs honesty from you."
'It sounds simple to say,' I want to argue, but I get Emily's point and, although it terrifies me, I owe that to (Y/N) even if nothing comes of it between us in the end.
I leave out a deep sigh as I take in Emily's words.
"Do you think something between us -?" I trail off, knowing that saying the words will make it a real possibility. I don't know if I can handle the hope right now.
"I'm sure it will, but even if it didn't, you'll never know if you don't try, Spencer."
I can try, but will she ever forgive me for what I did? For what I said and for what I didn't say? I scratch my head, trying to figure out what my next steps should be. I see Emily's sly smile out of the corner of my eye. "What?" I ask, frowning.
"Come on, Romeo: if you're going to make amends, you should at least bring flowers."
Without saying a word, I get up from the chair and leave the waiting room, determined to do things right this time.
I return an hour later. Emily sees me and is about to make a comment when a nurse approaches and tells us that (Y/N) is already in her room and can receive visitors.
Emily pats my back. "Good luck. Call us later to let us know how she's doing." I turn to the nurse, who smiles at me and leads me down the hall to (Y/N)'s room.
Slowly, I open the door, and there she is, mid-seated in the hospital bed. Head turned to the window. The glow of the rising sun reflects on her mussed hair. Left arm with a neatly cast, side visibly patched under the gown she's wearing.
Injured, but still the most beautiful woman in the world.
"Hey," I quietly mumble, enough for her to turn her head to me. Her eyes look tired, but a little smile graces her lips. And my heart starts racing in no time, just at that gesture.
"Hey." Her voice is raspy, unused for hours.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, taking cautious steps closer. I don't want to invade her personal space, but I need to be sure she's okay. I need to see it with my own eyes and feel it.
"Injured. Again." She exhales with a bit of difficulty, shifting to a more comfortable position. "I should seriously consider signing up for an extra medical benefits plan because of all the times I end up in a hospital."
Her eyes dart to my hands holding a bouquet.
"Am I dying?" She asks, a lazy frown forming.
"What?"
(Y/N) weakly chuckles. "Flowers? Dr. Reid hasn't bought me flowers before. Maybe I'm really dying."
It's a little disconcerting the way she's joking like that, especially after what happened.
"These - uh- these are actually for you. You said once you liked magnolias," I explain as I clumsily hand her the bouquet.
(Y/N)'s eyes soften. "Actually, I like them a lot." She takes a smell of its scent.
"My mom usually littered the house with them when I was young," she mumbles, still basking in their fragrance. It's a welcomed contrast inside the sterile hospital room.
"In some Native American traditions, magnolia trees are revered as sacred beings, embodying the essence of the natural world. Similarly, in Christian symbolism, the magnolia's evergreen leaves and fragrant blossoms are seen as reminders of eternal life and the promise of renewal."
(Y/N) smiles softly. "I didn't know that. Just my mom told me to have them near me every chance I get."
"It makes sense. Magnolias commonly symbolize purity, femininity, and nobility. Because they've existed for millions of years, they also represent perseverance."
(Y/N)'s brow arches. "Stubbornness isn't in the description?"
I chuckle at her remark. "I guess perseverance covers it."
"Not the recklessness, though. I bet Emily wants to end my health insurance."
I shrug nonchalantly. "After this one? Maybe she's considering it."
(Y/N) huffs a humorless laugh, immediately regretting doing it because I see the flinch in her eyes, and the pain crossing her features.
"Should I call someone? You're visibly in pain."
(Y/N) shakes her head. "Nah. I pulled some muscles a bit harder than I should have, but I'll be fine."
I don't know if it's a product of her youth or her sheer obstinacy, but I'm always surprised by her ability to make her condition seem like a mere inconvenience, something not to worry about.
"The doctor says you'll be discharged soon, as long as the stitches start to heal properly."
"Fine by me. I don't think this town wants me more days here, the same way I don't want to be here."
A fragile silence envelops us in that sterile hospital room. I want to say so many things, but I don't know how to start. (Y/N)'s words from the other night resonate in my brain, as well as the words she said to Levine hours prior.
"How pissed is Emily? And Rossi? He must be furious with me," she breaks the silence before I continue internally spiraling.
Funny how she asks that, when Emily was a nervous wreck since we knew Levine had (Y/N), and Rossi, who feels more than guilty for not protecting her in the field. Weird how the optics change from person to person.
"Emily isn't pissed off. Nobody is pissed off or furious for that matter, okay? Rossi is fine, and he knows you didn't have an option. I can bet he told you to leave him there to chase Levine."
"I left a team member behind, Spencer. That's against any protocol and common sense," she complains.
"And that's how you saved an innocent woman who was about to be killed by a lunatic. I would have been more careful about taking cover from the bullet, but we can't have everything in life, can we?"
(Y/N) puff, trying to cover a smile, before asking. "Is she okay?"
"Samantha? She's okay, reunited with her son, thanks to you."
"Good," she muses, eyes fixed on her lap, as if the stiff fabric of the blanket were the most interesting thing in the world.
Another silence settles, but this time it's me who breaks it.
"Why did you ever say that?" The words blurt out of me before I can stop them.
"What?" (Y/N)'s gaze snaps up to me, confused and brows furrowed.
I clear my throat before speaking.
"To Levine." The furrow softens a bit, but it's still there as she thinks about my question.
"I said a lot of things, Spencer."
I can sense she knows what I'm talking about, but she's cautious.
"Yeah. But you said you had lost the love of your life for a mistake. Did you mean it?"
(Y/N)'s eyes cast down again, her jaw tightening, but as quickly as that, she schools her demeanor, a tight smile plastered on her face.
"It was the job. I had to get to him somehow, you know that."
It's the safest response, but I know she's deflecting. Her eyes speak volumes, even if she tries to hide them. I hate to think I've been contributing to her feeling that way.
"But you meant it, didn't you?"
"Spencer, please, can we not-"
In a bold move, I get closer and sit at the edge of the bed. My hands are dying to touch her, but I refrain, resting them on my lap instead.
"I'm sorry for hurting you with what I said the other night." I manage to mumble.
(Y/N) exhales, her eyes avert mine. Cheeks flushed.
"Don't apologize. And you don't have to say anything at all. Really. I just want to forget even mentioning it, okay?"
I should respect her wishes. She doesn't want to talk, and that should be enough for me to keep my mouth shut. But, again, her eyes are telling me another story. There is sadness and nostalgia; it's like a bridge has been burned between us, and she feels responsible.
(Y/N) thinks I don't reciprocate her feelings, and although I have my own reservations about the topic, it's not fair to let her believe this is a one-way thing.
"But I don't."
Narrowing her eyes, (Y/N) tilts her head.
Here goes nothing.
"I don't want to forget it. I can't forget it. Not when I wasn't honest with you. Not when-"
(Y/N) huffs a breath, shaking her head.
"Spencer, you don't need to be polite and say what you think is right for my sake. I'm a big girl, I'll be fine."
Did I say she is stubborn? I'm sure I mentioned it.
"Would you let me finish, please?" My voice rises an octave, the way it does when I'm nervous and desperate to spill my guts with words. (Y/N)'s eyes widen, mouth agape.
"Please?" I repeat, this time with more composure. (Y/N) slowly nods, giving me the clear.
"You're right. We do whatever's needed in this job. And it's one of the things that makes you so good at it. I mean, since your first case, we've all seen you're more than capable of doing this. Your commitment? The way you give your all? No wonder why Emily brought you to the team. But that's not the only thing that matters, you know?"
(Y/N)'s jaw tightens, and I know she wants to stop me. Compliments are something she's not used to receiving, though she deserves them all.
"You're more than an agent, (Y/N). I had the privilege of getting to know you, and believe me, you matter to me more than you can imagine. I'm sorry for not letting you know sooner."
"Spencer-" she starts, but I shake my head softly.
"I'm not done. Please."
She nods again, a strain tear running down her cheek.
"When I met you, I was in a bad place. I was just released from prison, and honestly? I didn't think it was possible to get back some of the man I used to be. But you proved me wrong. I was so wrong, (Y/N). You did it. You refloated me, awakening a better version of myself. And I should have thanked you sooner for it."
Tentatively, my hand reaches hers, still placed in her lap. She doesn't pull away.
"But I got scared. I thought it was just me who was harboring something more than a friendship between us. And I got scared, because I didn't want to hurt you with my own scars. You had already done so much for me. That's why that night I said it was complicated. Not because I didn't reciprocate your feelings, but because I do. More than you can imagine."
(Y/N)'s eyes broaden in confusion. "You- what?"
"I like you, too—a lot. But you know me, my brain gets stuck with logic and poor self-love. You will get tired of me, and the thought of losing you terrifies me."
“Why would you lose me? Where did you get that idea?” she asks, squeezing one of my hands in her lap. I shrug, defeated.
"Because I mess everything up. You know that; you've seen it. In fact, I just did it again the other night when you were brave enough to tell me how you felt, and I was the coward who said nothing."
A lump forms in my throat at the thought that my cowardice makes me unworthy of her.
She sighs, taking my words in. Absentmindedly, her fingers are gently caressing my knuckles.
"I won't deny that feeling this vulnerable in front of you was easy. You say it was bravery; I'd say it was more of an overflow." (Y/N) huffs softly, while I shake my head.
"The point is, if this scares you," she says, gesturing with a finger between us, "don't you think I'm terrified too? And not because I don't like you. God, at this point, I'm sure I love you. I'm terrified because I don't think I'm good enough for you, and I know you're going to tell me I shouldn't think this way, but look at me," she pauses a bit to take a breath. "You say you're damaged, that you've suffered, and I know that's true. But if you tell me you don't want to hurt me with it, then it's clear you think I'm not good enough, because I won't be able to handle it."
My mouth goes agape at her words. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought she wouldn't be enough for me. I've always thought it was the other way around, and hearing her say it breaks my heart. And I feel even worse when I see her eyes fill with tears.
I shake my head as one of my thumbs tries to wipe away her tears—a poor attempt to fix what I've caused.
"I've never believed, and I never will, that you're not enough for me. And I'm truly sorry for making you think that. I don't think you're incapable of handling it - or me; I just thought it was unfair to cut your wings with my burden."
"Do you really think it's so wrong to love you?" she asks, leaning into the touch of my hand on her cheek, eyes on me searching for the truth. I take a second to mull the question.
"I thought so," I say honestly. "But I'm willing to change my mind if you're the one who wants to love me." To prove it in some way, I take her hand and bring it to my lips to tenderly kiss her palm. A smile crept on her face.
"You mean it?" The question is timid, but hopeful.
"Absolutely." My response is clear, with no hesitation, full of the truth I didn't dare to share before.
She closes her eyes for a second; a shy laugh escapes her lips. When her gaze meets mine again, her eyes twinkle, and I swear I stop breathing for a second.
"What now?" She rests her head on the pillow, looking at me expectantly and biting her lower lip. That shouldn't affect me as much as it actually does. I clear my throat before speaking.
"Well, first of all, you need to be discharged and get a proper healing so I can take you on a date. We can start there."
A mischievous look takes hold of her. "Is Dr. Spencer Reid asking me on a date?"
I fake seriousness. "That's correct. If the miss is okay with it."
"More than okay, actually," she retorts. "You know? If you take me to that fancy Italian restaurant that opened recently, you could get a kiss at the end of the date. Just so you know."
I snort a laugh. "I'll think about it. Don't tell Rossi though," I warn.
"Never!" she promises, as we both burst out laughing, clasping our hands together. Relieved that everything that needed to be said has been said and that we are willing to give us a chance.
-------------------------------------------
Emily Prentiss is a wise woman. And although things got a little out of hand this time, she ultimately achieved the goal. Watching hidden behind the corner of your hospital room door as you and Spencer laugh - having finally come to terms with each other's truths - she picks up her phone and dials a number.
"David? Hi. I hope you're resting as the doctor told you to. I'm just calling to let you know you owe me $100. My job here is done."
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Taglist for this fic: @hereforfun-31 @cafters @chonkybonky @shiinata-library @desolatelyvastorchestra @iyskgd @mariposayl @fantastucbaby @theylovethesky @night-daily @obx-xoxo @who-ligan-or-who-vian @chaoticsunball @137ats
A Little Push - Part II (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)
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Author Masterlist | Part I
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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.
Summary: Despite Emily's efforts and the newfound Reader's confidence, things didn't go as expected with Spencer. Now, he's a mess of regret and guilt at how badly he handled the situation. Spencer walks down memory lane since he met Reader to recognize what has been in front of his eyes all this time.
Word Count: 7.1k (sorry, not sorry)
Warnings: Angst/Fluff/Happy ending. Age gap (Spencer is 38, and Reader is barely 30). They are still idiots in love. Spencer has been an asshole, but he makes amends. Part I here.
A/N: Part II is here, guys! Thanks a lot for your likes, reblogs, and kind words for my work. I apologize for taking so long to post again.
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Spencer's POV
A royal asshole. That's what I am.
I still don't know why I stood speechless and reacted the way I did. But that's not what I regret the most. It's the way I twisted everything and hurt her. Because even if I didn't say much, the little that came out of my mouth came out wrong.
I like her. I really do. I even started to think that it is an understatement. I have feelings for her, I've had them for a while now, but I never thought it was mutual.
I thought the jokes and banter were just her friendly nature, a part of her youth and expressive personality.
But I must confess that there have been moments when I pictured a different scenario, one in which we indulge in a romantic setting.
I need to be realistic, though. For her sake, I can't cross that line.
Emily asked me to be her mentor. Yeah, a weird thing coming from an FBI agent/traumatized ex-convict. And even if (Y/N) didn't need one, I swore to myself I would protect her from everything I could, even if that meant protecting her from me. Because, let's face it, I'm a heavy burden, one she doesn't deserve to carry.
And now she tells me she likes me, which leaves me speechless and with a million scenarios running through my head.
For a second, I was filled with joy, thinking it was what I'd dreamed of hearing, but then I panicked about what it could mean, and no, it's not fair to her.
I want to apologize, try to explain why I reacted the way I did, but I don't even know what words to use. Funny, coming from someone who speaks multiple languages.
I know I ruined something that could have been beautiful, but at the same time, it's inevitable: everything I touch ends up broken, and I can't stand the idea of doing that to (Y/N).
When Emily and Tara return to the room, I am still standing there, eyes fixed on the floor, as if I am about to find the solution I am so desperately looking for in my head.
"Everything okay?" Emily asks, and I'm dying to say that no, everything is a mess, I'm a stupid, I fucked up.
"Yeah. Everything is okay."
Emily asks for (Y/N), and I internally flinch. Trying to mask the pang in my chest, I explain that she got back to the hotel. Neither Emily nor Tara seems phased by it, even agreeing on the idea to call it a night and come back fresh in the morning.
It should have been a good idea. Maybe in the morning I'll have the nerve to talk to (Y/N) and explain myself.
Maybe.
Needless to say, I hardly slept at all. I tossed and turned, remembering (Y/N) 's hesitant look and how her face dulled when I didn't verbally reciprocate her feelings.
There was a moment during the night when I thought about going to her room to tell her how sorry I was. But I think it would have been worse. I know her, and she would have tried to downplay it even if she felt hurt. So I forced myself to stay put in my bed until I fell asleep at dawn.
Two hours later, we are all at the police station, attempting to make some progress on the case. I'm really trying to focus, but I can't help but notice that (Y/N) is avoiding me.
Garcia's calling finally distracts me from my predicament. There is a break in the case.
After some cross-referencing, there is information about who the unsub is and even possible names. While Garcia explains her findings, my gaze drifts again to (Y/N), but I never receive a glance in return. Positioned as far away from me as possible, she manages to evade exchanging a word with me.
I don't blame her for being upset, but my heart breaks every time I feel her intentionally ignoring me.
If the rest of the team notices, they don't say anything and focus on the case. Something I should be doing too.
After finishing the call with Garcia, Emily assigns new tasks to everyone.
"Tara and Luke check the last address our last victim visited before being kidnapped. Rossi, JJ, you go to the university where most of our suspects work. Spencer and (Y/N) go to the ME to check if something is connecting our guys with the bodies."
My heart races at the thought of how I'll handle the next hour, knowing I'll be spending some time alone with her now. But before I can spiral further, (Y/N) speaks.
"Emily, sorry. But I think I can be more useful if I talk to the university dean. I already talked to him before, and we don't want to alert anyone yet."
My head snaps, as does the rest of the team's.
Since (Y/N) joined the BAU, she'd never asked to switch when we were assigned a task together.
Emily professionally hides her surprise, though she gives me a brief, confused glance. Almost imperceptible. Almost.
"Okay. Then (Y/N) will go with Rossi. Reid, you with JJ. Everybody else, you know what to do."
Before I know it, (Y/N) hurries out of the room.
I try to make eye contact, but without luck.
"Is something wrong?" Emily asks once we're alone. That's when I realize I haven't moved from my spot.
I clear my throat to shake the haze in my head. "No. Everything's fine. Uh - JJ's probably waiting for me. See you later." I say, and quickly move to the exit, not waiting for a new question from Emily.
Well, if the team didn't grasp before that something happened between (Y/N) and me, surely they know now.
JJ is now driving us to the ME. I stay silent in the passenger seat, looking out the window, trying to avoid being questioned.
Maybe I'll have luck...
"Spence?"
...Or maybe not.
"Uhm?" I reply, glancing briefly at JJ, but focusing on the road ahead.
"Anything you want to talk about?"
It's vague, very JJ's fashion, but I'm not in the mood to confide what's going on in my mind.
"Not really. Should I?"
"I don't know. Maybe you want to talk about (Y/N)."
Shit.
"What about her?" It's a bit defensive, but not harsh.
"Did you guys fight? I mean, she never switches tasks when it comes to you."
I know she doesn't, but I can't say it, nor can I say why. I don't want to open a worm can right now.
"No. I don't think so. She wanted to go talk to the dean; it's understandable."
JJ hums, evidence that she doesn't believe me. After a brief silence, she speaks again. "You know, when Emily told us a new agent was coming to the team, I didn't like the idea. Over the years, I've become less forthcoming with new people. You can believe it or not, but it's true."
Not knowing where she is going with this piques my interest. Now I'm looking at JJ as she keeps driving. She glances at me from time to time.
"And when (Y/N) walked into the bullpen, the first thing I thought was 'Oh, she is so young.' I had my doubts, you know? But after the first case, I knew I shouldn't worry." JJ chuckles at the memory.
Yeah, that first case. I remember.
It was (Y/N)'s first case with the BAU—family annihilator in Tampa. We tracked the unsub for days before receiving an anonymous tip about an abandoned warehouse. I went with (Y/N) to the location, Emily and Luke trailing behind.
We should have waited for buckup, but (Y/N) insisted we were losing time. It was a bit reckless, but I agreed nonetheless.
Once we got inside, the place was oddly quiet. But as we walked upstairs, we saw the unsub with a new potential victim. When he noticed us, he immediately grabbed the girl by the waist and pointed his knife at her throat.
(Y/N) confessed to me earlier that day that she had never had to talk down to an unsub before, and that's why I rushed to talk to him.
The problem? The unsub didn't want me to speak. The profile said he hated men and would only talk to women who appreciated and complimented him.
I began to feel nervous, but (Y/N) took the lead, although I knew she was terrified inside.
Despite having no experience and never having done this before, (Y/N) managed to connect with the unsub and dissuade him by telling him a story about how she understood what it was like to not be appreciated and to struggle for approval. And even though she later told me it was a lie, her empathy level at the moment proved it was partly true.
After she de-escalated the situation, the unsub was apprehended, the hostage was released unharmed, and the case was closed. Nevertheless, Emily scolded her for not following protocol, for not waiting for backup, especially since it was her first case. I tried to help by telling Emily it was my idea, but she didn't buy it.
Despite everything, that case demonstrated that (Y/N) was in the right place working with the BAU, and it made me appreciate her as an agent and, especially, as a person.
A smile tugs at my lips. Since then, we have been paired together in almost every case. Emily insisted it was for me to mentor her, but in the end, I think she has mentored me more than me to her.
"She's good, isn't she?"
The words escape through my lips before I can even stop them. JJ hums in agreement.
"And she's good for you, too."
I snap my head up back to JJ. That was unexpected, and I don't know why she chose to say that right now.
"What?"
JJ's lips curve into a warm smile.
"I think you know what I mean. But at risk of crossing a line you don't want, I'm going to say what I see. You were in a dark place, Spence. And we were all worried about you. I know you hated that, but we couldn't help it."
I wince. JJ is right, I hate when people do that, and I know they mean well, but I don't like to be in the spotlight, worse if it is for something like being framed for murder and ending up locked in jail.
"The thing is, when (Y/N) came along, something changed in you. You started smiling and laughing more. Started to be less cautious about how to act and be more spontaneous. I can't tell if you fell in love with her-"
"JJ, please, that's not-" I groan. More because I feel flustered than because she's talking nonsense.
"Okay, okay. I don't know for sure what your real feelings are, but (Y/N) matters to you, and not just because she's a colleague or a good friend."
"She's my friend."
A weak attempt to conceal the truth.
"I don't doubt she is. But you can't deny it's more than platonic."
I huff and humorless laugh. The word 'platonic' has been haunting me since last night. I wish I had more self-control over my feelings for (Y/N). I'd love to be able to deny everything and continue as we have been, but my heart aches just knowing that something between us was a real possibility, and I'm the one who has to play the bad guy. I hate it.
"Is it so hard to believe we're just friends?"
JJ shrugs. "No. But that's not what's happening, isn't it? I don't know what happened between you two yesterday, but I just wanted to tell you not to give up on her. Things can actually be different. You, from all people, deserve a chance, Spence."
I don't know how to answer, so I don't, turning my gaze back to the road. JJ accepts my silence, but she surely knows she planted a seed.
After our car ride, we spoke with the ME, and several of our suspicions were confirmed, though not enough to definitively identify our unsub. But at least, given the evidence left post-mortem on the victims, we narrowed it down to two names: Andrew Bateman and Vincent Levine. And, honestly, I don't know who could be the worst. Bateman is a pediatrician and professor at the medical school of the university where the victims were students. On the other hand, Levine is the medical school dean and an obstetrician. Both could have had motives, whether related to the victims' orphaned children or directly to a problem with the young women giving birth at an early age.
"What do you think?" JJ asks me once we leave the morgue. I don't hold back in showing my displeasure with those two, especially knowing that (Y/N) and Rossi are probably talking to them right now. So, instinctively, I pull out my phone and call (Y/N), but she doesn't answer. Frowning, I look at JJ, who takes her phone to dial Rossi's number.
"Straight to voicemail," she says after a second attempt.
A pang in my gut tells me something's wrong.
Very wrong.
JJ calls Emily to tell her what we found at the morgue and that we can't get in touch with either Rossi or (Y/N).
I watch impatiently as JJ nods at whatever Emily is saying while we walk toward the car. While JJ is busy on the phone, I go directly to the driver's side. I'm not a man of intuition, but logic tells me we'll have to run to wherever Rossi and (Y/N) are, and I know I won't hesitate to push the gas until the car flies.
"Rossi called Emily and told her they only found Bateman; he said Levine would arrive soon, and they would wait for him in his office."
"So it doesn't make sense that they aren't answering their phones," I prompt, putting the key to turn on the engine.
"Emily asked Garcia to track their cell phones five minutes ago, because they haven't reported again. Rossi's still appears to be at the campus, but there's no signal from (Y/N)."
That's when it all starts to make sense, and I feel my chest tighten, and it's hard to breathe.
"Fuck! JJ, they are a team. Bateman and Levine work together. They've made us think it's just one person, but it's not. Bateman hunts, and Levine kills."
JJ's face drains of color, knowing what that means.
"And they have Rossi and (Y/N)."
As I speed off toward the campus, Emily calls to say she's already there, along with Luke, Tara, and the rest of the police, who are scanning the area. There's no sign of Bateman, Levine, Rossi, or (Y/N).
I rack my brain trying to figure out what the unsubs' next move could be. The ideas that come to me aren't encouraging. We don't know if a new girl was kidnapped, but if the timeline matches up, (Y/N) would be an excellent replacement.
I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. JJ knows I'm seconds away from exploding, but she tries to calm me down anyway.
"They're trained agents, Spence. They'll know what to do."
"Sorry, it's not enough for me. It's my fault (Y/N) had decided to go there."
"Don't say that. You can't blame yourself for it."
I know JJ's intentions are good, but I'm not having it.
"Yes. I do. And it will get worse if something happens to them."
JJ decides not to respond this time.
When we arrive, I immediately notice the commotion: police everywhere, Emily shouting orders, and Captain Roberts summoning his people around.
Approaching Emily, I see she has the look of a very annoyed boss, just enough to mask her real concern.
"What do we know?" I ask.
"It's unlikely they're here. We checked every office, classroom, and open area."
"So what the hell are we doing here?"
Emily gives me a 'calm you down' look before speaking. "We need to locate Rossi's cell phone to look for clues."
She barely finishes the sentence when Luke's voice from the radio says they have Rossi's cell phone.
With Garcia's help, we manage to access it, and one of the messages not sent to Emily says 'testing'.
"It doesn't make sense. We've already checked all the campus facilities, and there's nothing that suggests they are doing tests."
Tara, who's with us along with JJ, says, "I don't think he meant that. Maybe he's talking about being tested by the unsubs."
"Rossi isn't that cryptic either," I point out.
"He might have been in a hurry," JJ speculates.
That's when a conversation I had with (Y/N) a few months ago comes to mind.
I was talking about scientific experiments and how tests are always required at different levels. (Y/N) told me there is a new trend in behavioral analysis: to see unsubs as machine learning problem solvers. That implies training several models of behavior to adjust, then running the test phase on the source data or subject.
"It's (Y/N). She did write that," I blurt out. Everyone look a me confused. Emily asks me to elaborate. "They have the source of their rage right now. Testing is the endgame. And it will be in the middle of their comfort zone. Who crosses between Levine and Bateman even before they were colleagues?"
Garcia, who's listening to our conversation, types furiously on her keyboard.
"Oh. Oh! There is a girl named Samantha Rosental, but her real name is Samantha Fritz. There was no record because she changed her name after leaving medical school at 20."
"What is her relationship with Levine and Bateman?" I press so Garcia goes to the point.
"She was in a secret relationship with Levine when he was her professor. Oh, and this gets more complicated. She got pregnant, but she told Levine the baby wasn't his; it was of her boyfriend, Andrew Bateman. But Bateman didn't believe her. And before Levine and Bateman could do anything, she vanished."
"So they never knew the truth. Bateman thinks she cheated on him, and Levine thinks she deprived him of his baby," JJ concludes.
"Years after they found each other working together, filling the gaps and canalizing their rage over other women," Emily pipes up.
"And now they found Samantha," Luke adds.
"With two inconveniences: Rossi and (Y/N)," I bitterly remind them.
The situation is even worse than we imagined.
When Garcia calls us to point out a possible location, we all rush to the SUVs. I head to the driver's side, but Emily blocks my path and grabs the keys. "I'll drive," she says, without waiting for a response.
The place is in the middle of the city, but it feels like an oasis of abandonment amidst so many buildings. The perfect hideout for the horrible things Bateman and Levine do to their victims. My stomach churns at the thought.
Everything happens so fast. We enter the building and see Rossi on the ground, wounded in the leg, just a few feet from Bateman's lifeless body. Before we can even ask, Rossi yells that Levine has Samantha and that (Y/N) went after him. While JJ and Matt tend to Rossi, Emily, Luke, Tara, and I go upstairs to the roof, where we see Levine holding Samantha at gunpoint. We see (Y/N) trying to talk to him, her gun lying on the floor, presumably trying to convince Levine to let Samantha go. My suspicions are confirmed when I hear (Y/N)'s voice.
"You don't have to prove anything. Samantha already knows she made a mistake by not choosing you. Let her live with the guilt of losing the love of her life, with the truth of her irrelevant and unworthy self after her lose. It will be worse."
"What do you know about that! You know nothing!" Levine shouts. (Y/N) hands remain in the air, a surrender gesture to tell Levine he's in control.
"I do know. I do know what it's like to live like that, because I lost the love of my life for making a mistake, too. And I'll regret it to the end of my days."
My heart stops for a second. I can't see (Y/N)'s eyes because I'm at her back, but her voice- that voice sounds like truth to me.
"You're lying!"
"I wish I would."
Levine's eyes darken, and he's still holding Samantha, who hasn't stopped crying. "Is that so?" He mocks, and in a sudden movement, he aims to (Y/N). "I'll free you from your misery, then."
A gunshot rings out, followed by another. I see in slow motion (Y/N)'s body contort as Levine falls to the ground and Samantha screams. It's then that I realize Levine's shot hit (Y/N), who, after a groan, collapses to the ground, just as a bullet fired by Emily brings Levine down, lifeless.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I rush to (Y/N)'s side, kneeling to inspect her injuries. There is a pool of blood and a big stain covering his left side. The son of the bitch shot to her side, where the vest wasn't covering.
“(Y/N)? Look at me. Don't close your eyes, please."
She has half-lidded eyes already, a sharp groan leaving her lips when I put pressure on the wound. "I know it hurts, I'm sorry."
"Spencer-" she mumbles, squeezing my free hand.
"Yes. That's it. Keep squeezing."
Not long after, she faints, just as the paramedics arrive. Luke is the one who takes hold of my shoulders so the paramedics can get to (Y/N) and place her on a stretcher.
I am speechless, with a lump in my throat and not knowing what to do, as I watch her being taken straight to the ambulance.
"Come on, man. We need to go to the hospital," Luke prompts.
I nod on autopilot and follow him toward one of the SUVs. I don't even stop to check on Samantha or Rossi. All I can think about now is (Y/N).
When we arrived at the hospital, they told us we had to wait while (Y/N) was in surgery. Not a word saying 'she'll be okay,' just uncertainty. Only when Emily sat down next to me did I realize the rest of the team had arrived at the hospital as well. JJ is with Rossi, checking his injuries, as Luke is with Samantha, doing the same. That's when it hits me that I don't even know how they are after we found them in the abandoned building. Emily, who seems to read minds, anticipates my questions.
"Rossi only has a mid-concussion and a sprained ankle. Samantha is okay, with some shallow cuts and bruises on her wrists."
Clearly (Y/N) got it worse.
"We'll probably have to wait a while. Why don't you go clean up? Garcia brought you something to change into."
That's when I look at my bloody hands, as well as my shirt. Without saying much, I just nod and get up to go to the bathroom.
When I return to the waiting room, there's still no word from (Y/N), but I can see Rossi with a cane, sitting quietly in one of the chairs. I feel like asking what the hell happened, but it wouldn't change the current situation. JJ gives me a coffee while we continue waiting.
Not wanting to keep everyone worried in one place, Emily sends Rossi home, accompanied by JJ and Luke. Matt and Tara are meant to take Samantha home, as Penelope must return to Quantico. That left Emily and me.
Two hours later, the surgeon appears. We get up at once. He goes straight to Emily.
"How is SSA (Y/L/N)?" she hastens to ask. The surgeon nods, still with that neutral face that doesn't tell me anything.
"She'll be fine. The bullet passed through her abdomen without hitting any vital organs. We did recover the bullet. With enough rest and some medication, she'll be 100% recovered in a few weeks. She's lucky, though. A millimeter higher and we wouldn't be having the same conversation."
I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding in, as Emily thanks the doctor, who quickly disappears behind the doors of the restricted area.
I take a seat again, repeating to myself over and over that she'll be okay. It was just a scare. (Y/N) will be fine. I didn't lose her.
"What are you thinking?" Emily asks, sitting by my side, after she reports (Y/N)'s condition to the team by phone.
I shake my head, as if that would persuade her not to want an answer. Emily scrutinizes me for a few seconds, analyzing me in the way only she knows how. And I can tell she sees the affliction in my eyes.
"She told you, didn't she?"
I don't even ask her what she means; we both know exactly what it's about.
"I didn't want to believe her. But she was very clear about it, and I was an asshole enough not to tell her the truth."
"Why?"
I look at Emily in disbelief. "Isn't it obvious? We - I mean, I can't; that's not how it's supposed to be in the first place. We work together. We're friends. We are-" I trail off, knowing I'm throwing all the excuses I tell myself every day.
"Are you listening to yourself, aren't you?"
A scoff leaves my mouth before I can stop it. "Yeah, make it look pretend all you want, Spencer, but we both know that self-sabotage won't lead you anywhere."
"It's reality, Emily. Pure and simple reality." My voice is full of bitterness for what it's the story of my life.
"Is it so hard to believe someone like her can love you? Is it so bad to want to love someone the way you do with her? Stop thinking you don't deserve these things, Spencer. You, better than anyone, know the fragility of this life and this job. Don't let it pass you by just because you're afraid of the future. No one can ever be sure what will happen tomorrow, but that's no reason to miss the opportunity to live each day and let ourselves be loved, especially by someone who reciprocates that feeling."
"I don't want to hurt her," I meekly defend.
"You're precisely doing that, not telling her how you really feel."
I hate to say it, but Emily is right. I've already hurt her, thinking that by saying nothing, she would be safe from me.
"I just wanted to protect her," I muse, running my hands through my hair as if the gesture will clear my head.
"She doesn't need protection; she needs honesty from you."
'It sounds simple to say,' I want to argue, but I get Emily's point and, although it terrifies me, I owe that to (Y/N) even if nothing comes of it between us in the end.
I leave out a deep sigh as I take in Emily's words.
"Do you think something between us -?" I trail off, knowing that saying the words will make it a real possibility. I don't know if I can handle the hope right now.
"I'm sure it will, but even if it didn't, you'll never know if you don't try, Spencer."
I can try, but will she ever forgive me for what I did? For what I said and for what I didn't say? I scratch my head, trying to figure out what my next steps should be. I see Emily's sly smile out of the corner of my eye. "What?" I ask, frowning.
"Come on, Romeo: if you're going to make amends, you should at least bring flowers."
Without saying a word, I get up from the chair and leave the waiting room, determined to do things right this time.
I return an hour later. Emily sees me and is about to make a comment when a nurse approaches and tells us that (Y/N) is already in her room and can receive visitors.
Emily pats my back. "Good luck. Call us later to let us know how she's doing." I turn to the nurse, who smiles at me and leads me down the hall to (Y/N)'s room.
Slowly, I open the door, and there she is, mid-seated in the hospital bed. Head turned to the window. The glow of the rising sun reflects on her mussed hair. Left arm with a neatly cast, side visibly patched under the gown she's wearing.
Injured, but still the most beautiful woman in the world.
"Hey," I quietly mumble, enough for her to turn her head to me. Her eyes look tired, but a little smile graces her lips. And my heart starts racing in no time, just at that gesture.
"Hey." Her voice is raspy, unused for hours.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, taking cautious steps closer. I don't want to invade her personal space, but I need to be sure she's okay. I need to see it with my own eyes and feel it.
"Injured. Again." She exhales with a bit of difficulty, shifting to a more comfortable position. "I should seriously consider signing up for an extra medical benefits plan because of all the times I end up in a hospital."
Her eyes dart to my hands holding a bouquet.
"Am I dying?" She asks, a lazy frown forming.
"What?"
(Y/N) weakly chuckles. "Flowers? Dr. Reid hasn't bought me flowers before. Maybe I'm really dying."
It's a little disconcerting the way she's joking like that, especially after what happened.
"These - uh- these are actually for you. You said once you liked magnolias," I explain as I clumsily hand her the bouquet.
(Y/N)'s eyes soften. "Actually, I like them a lot." She takes a smell of its scent.
"My mom usually littered the house with them when I was young," she mumbles, still basking in their fragrance. It's a welcomed contrast inside the sterile hospital room.
"In some Native American traditions, magnolia trees are revered as sacred beings, embodying the essence of the natural world. Similarly, in Christian symbolism, the magnolia's evergreen leaves and fragrant blossoms are seen as reminders of eternal life and the promise of renewal."
(Y/N) smiles softly. "I didn't know that. Just my mom told me to have them near me every chance I get."
"It makes sense. Magnolias commonly symbolize purity, femininity, and nobility. Because they've existed for millions of years, they also represent perseverance."
(Y/N)'s brow arches. "Stubbornness isn't in the description?"
I chuckle at her remark. "I guess perseverance covers it."
"Not the recklessness, though. I bet Emily wants to end my health insurance."
I shrug nonchalantly. "After this one? Maybe she's considering it."
(Y/N) huffs a humorless laugh, immediately regretting doing it because I see the flinch in her eyes, and the pain crossing her features.
"Should I call someone? You're visibly in pain."
(Y/N) shakes her head. "Nah. I pulled some muscles a bit harder than I should have, but I'll be fine."
I don't know if it's a product of her youth or her sheer obstinacy, but I'm always surprised by her ability to make her condition seem like a mere inconvenience, something not to worry about.
"The doctor says you'll be discharged soon, as long as the stitches start to heal properly."
"Fine by me. I don't think this town wants me more days here, the same way I don't want to be here."
A fragile silence envelops us in that sterile hospital room. I want to say so many things, but I don't know how to start. (Y/N)'s words from the other night resonate in my brain, as well as the words she said to Levine hours prior.
"How pissed is Emily? And Rossi? He must be furious with me," she breaks the silence before I continue internally spiraling.
Funny how she asks that, when Emily was a nervous wreck since we knew Levine had (Y/N), and Rossi, who feels more than guilty for not protecting her in the field. Weird how the optics change from person to person.
"Emily isn't pissed off. Nobody is pissed off or furious for that matter, okay? Rossi is fine, and he knows you didn't have an option. I can bet he told you to leave him there to chase Levine."
"I left a team member behind, Spencer. That's against any protocol and common sense," she complains.
"And that's how you saved an innocent woman who was about to be killed by a lunatic. I would have been more careful about taking cover from the bullet, but we can't have everything in life, can we?"
(Y/N) puff, trying to cover a smile, before asking. "Is she okay?"
"Samantha? She's okay, reunited with her son, thanks to you."
"Good," she muses, eyes fixed on her lap, as if the stiff fabric of the blanket were the most interesting thing in the world.
Another silence settles, but this time it's me who breaks it.
"Why did you ever say that?" The words blurt out of me before I can stop them.
"What?" (Y/N)'s gaze snaps up to me, confused and brows furrowed.
I clear my throat before speaking.
"To Levine." The furrow softens a bit, but it's still there as she thinks about my question.
"I said a lot of things, Spencer."
I can sense she knows what I'm talking about, but she's cautious.
"Yeah. But you said you had lost the love of your life for a mistake. Did you mean it?"
(Y/N)'s eyes cast down again, her jaw tightening, but as quickly as that, she schools her demeanor, a tight smile plastered on her face.
"It was the job. I had to get to him somehow, you know that."
It's the safest response, but I know she's deflecting. Her eyes speak volumes, even if she tries to hide them. I hate to think I've been contributing to her feeling that way.
"But you meant it, didn't you?"
"Spencer, please, can we not-"
In a bold move, I get closer and sit at the edge of the bed. My hands are dying to touch her, but I refrain, resting them on my lap instead.
"I'm sorry for hurting you with what I said the other night." I manage to mumble.
(Y/N) exhales, her eyes avert mine. Cheeks flushed.
"Don't apologize. And you don't have to say anything at all. Really. I just want to forget even mentioning it, okay?"
I should respect her wishes. She doesn't want to talk, and that should be enough for me to keep my mouth shut. But, again, her eyes are telling me another story. There is sadness and nostalgia; it's like a bridge has been burned between us, and she feels responsible.
(Y/N) thinks I don't reciprocate her feelings, and although I have my own reservations about the topic, it's not fair to let her believe this is a one-way thing.
"But I don't."
Narrowing her eyes, (Y/N) tilts her head.
Here goes nothing.
"I don't want to forget it. I can't forget it. Not when I wasn't honest with you. Not when-"
(Y/N) huffs a breath, shaking her head.
"Spencer, you don't need to be polite and say what you think is right for my sake. I'm a big girl, I'll be fine."
Did I say she is stubborn? I'm sure I mentioned it.
"Would you let me finish, please?" My voice rises an octave, the way it does when I'm nervous and desperate to spill my guts with words. (Y/N)'s eyes widen, mouth agape.
"Please?" I repeat, this time with more composure. (Y/N) slowly nods, giving me the clear.
"You're right. We do whatever's needed in this job. And it's one of the things that makes you so good at it. I mean, since your first case, we've all seen you're more than capable of doing this. Your commitment? The way you give your all? No wonder why Emily brought you to the team. But that's not the only thing that matters, you know?"
(Y/N)'s jaw tightens, and I know she wants to stop me. Compliments are something she's not used to receiving, though she deserves them all.
"You're more than an agent, (Y/N). I had the privilege of getting to know you, and believe me, you matter to me more than you can imagine. I'm sorry for not letting you know sooner."
"Spencer-" she starts, but I shake my head softly.
"I'm not done. Please."
She nods again, a strain tear running down her cheek.
"When I met you, I was in a bad place. I was just released from prison, and honestly? I didn't think it was possible to get back some of the man I used to be. But you proved me wrong. I was so wrong, (Y/N). You did it. You refloated me, awakening a better version of myself. And I should have thanked you sooner for it."
Tentatively, my hand reaches hers, still placed in her lap. She doesn't pull away.
"But I got scared. I thought it was just me who was harboring something more than a friendship between us. And I got scared, because I didn't want to hurt you with my own scars. You had already done so much for me. That's why that night I said it was complicated. Not because I didn't reciprocate your feelings, but because I do. More than you can imagine."
(Y/N)'s eyes broaden in confusion. "You- what?"
"I like you, too—a lot. But you know me, my brain gets stuck with logic and poor self-love. You will get tired of me, and the thought of losing you terrifies me."
“Why would you lose me? Where did you get that idea?” she asks, squeezing one of my hands in her lap. I shrug, defeated.
"Because I mess everything up. You know that; you've seen it. In fact, I just did it again the other night when you were brave enough to tell me how you felt, and I was the coward who said nothing."
A lump forms in my throat at the thought that my cowardice makes me unworthy of her.
She sighs, taking my words in. Absentmindedly, her fingers are gently caressing my knuckles.
"I won't deny that feeling this vulnerable in front of you was easy. You say it was bravery; I'd say it was more of an overflow." (Y/N) huffs softly, while I shake my head.
"The point is, if this scares you," she says, gesturing with a finger between us, "don't you think I'm terrified too? And not because I don't like you. God, at this point, I'm sure I love you. I'm terrified because I don't think I'm good enough for you, and I know you're going to tell me I shouldn't think this way, but look at me," she pauses a bit to take a breath. "You say you're damaged, that you've suffered, and I know that's true. But if you tell me you don't want to hurt me with it, then it's clear you think I'm not good enough, because I won't be able to handle it."
My mouth goes agape at her words. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought she wouldn't be enough for me. I've always thought it was the other way around, and hearing her say it breaks my heart. And I feel even worse when I see her eyes fill with tears.
I shake my head as one of my thumbs tries to wipe away her tears—a poor attempt to fix what I've caused.
"I've never believed, and I never will, that you're not enough for me. And I'm truly sorry for making you think that. I don't think you're incapable of handling it - or me; I just thought it was unfair to cut your wings with my burden."
"Do you really think it's so wrong to love you?" she asks, leaning into the touch of my hand on her cheek, eyes on me searching for the truth. I take a second to mull the question.
"I thought so," I say honestly. "But I'm willing to change my mind if you're the one who wants to love me." To prove it in some way, I take her hand and bring it to my lips to tenderly kiss her palm. A smile crept on her face.
"You mean it?" The question is timid, but hopeful.
"Absolutely." My response is clear, with no hesitation, full of the truth I didn't dare to share before.
She closes her eyes for a second; a shy laugh escapes her lips. When her gaze meets mine again, her eyes twinkle, and I swear I stop breathing for a second.
"What now?" She rests her head on the pillow, looking at me expectantly and biting her lower lip. That shouldn't affect me as much as it actually does. I clear my throat before speaking.
"Well, first of all, you need to be discharged and get a proper healing so I can take you on a date. We can start there."
A mischievous look takes hold of her. "Is Dr. Spencer Reid asking me on a date?"
I fake seriousness. "That's correct. If the miss is okay with it."
"More than okay, actually," she retorts. "You know? If you take me to that fancy Italian restaurant that opened recently, you could get a kiss at the end of the date. Just so you know."
I snort a laugh. "I'll think about it. Don't tell Rossi though," I warn.
"Never!" she promises, as we both burst out laughing, clasping our hands together. Relieved that everything that needed to be said has been said and that we are willing to give us a chance.
-------------------------------------------
Emily Prentiss is a wise woman. And although things got a little out of hand this time, she ultimately achieved the goal. Watching hidden behind the corner of your hospital room door as you and Spencer laugh - having finally come to terms with each other's truths - she picks up her phone and dials a number.
"David? Hi. I hope you're resting as the doctor told you to. I'm just calling to let you know you owe me $100. My job here is done."
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Taglist for this fic: @hereforfun-31 @cafters @chonkybonky @shiinata-library @desolatelyvastorchestra @iyskgd @mariposayl @fantastucbaby @theylovethesky @night-daily @obx-xoxo @who-ligan-or-who-vian @chaoticsunball @137ats
A Little Push - Part II (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)
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Author Masterlist | Part I
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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.
Summary: Despite Emily's efforts and the newfound Reader's confidence, things didn't go as expected with Spencer. Now, he's a mess of regret and guilt at how badly he handled the situation. Spencer walks down memory lane since he met Reader to recognize what has been in front of his eyes all this time.
Word Count: 7.1k (sorry, not sorry)
Warnings: Angst/Fluff/Happy ending. Age gap (Spencer is 38, and Reader is barely 30). They are still idiots in love. Spencer has been an asshole, but he makes amends. Part I here.
A/N: Part II is here, guys! Thanks a lot for your likes, reblogs, and kind words for my work. I apologize for taking so long to post again.
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Spencer's POV
A royal asshole. That's what I am.
I still don't know why I stood speechless and reacted the way I did. But that's not what I regret the most. It's the way I twisted everything and hurt her. Because even if I didn't say much, the little that came out of my mouth came out wrong.
I like her. I really do. I even started to think that it is an understatement. I have feelings for her, I've had them for a while now, but I never thought it was mutual.
I thought the jokes and banter were just her friendly nature, a part of her youth and expressive personality.
But I must confess that there have been moments when I pictured a different scenario, one in which we indulge in a romantic setting.
I need to be realistic, though. For her sake, I can't cross that line.
Emily asked me to be her mentor. Yeah, a weird thing coming from an FBI agent/traumatized ex-convict. And even if (Y/N) didn't need one, I swore to myself I would protect her from everything I could, even if that meant protecting her from me. Because, let's face it, I'm a heavy burden, one she doesn't deserve to carry.
And now she tells me she likes me, which leaves me speechless and with a million scenarios running through my head.
For a second, I was filled with joy, thinking it was what I'd dreamed of hearing, but then I panicked about what it could mean, and no, it's not fair to her.
I want to apologize, try to explain why I reacted the way I did, but I don't even know what words to use. Funny, coming from someone who speaks multiple languages.
I know I ruined something that could have been beautiful, but at the same time, it's inevitable: everything I touch ends up broken, and I can't stand the idea of doing that to (Y/N).
When Emily and Tara return to the room, I am still standing there, eyes fixed on the floor, as if I am about to find the solution I am so desperately looking for in my head.
"Everything okay?" Emily asks, and I'm dying to say that no, everything is a mess, I'm a stupid, I fucked up.
"Yeah. Everything is okay."
Emily asks for (Y/N), and I internally flinch. Trying to mask the pang in my chest, I explain that she got back to the hotel. Neither Emily nor Tara seems phased by it, even agreeing on the idea to call it a night and come back fresh in the morning.
It should have been a good idea. Maybe in the morning I'll have the nerve to talk to (Y/N) and explain myself.
Maybe.
Needless to say, I hardly slept at all. I tossed and turned, remembering (Y/N) 's hesitant look and how her face dulled when I didn't verbally reciprocate her feelings.
There was a moment during the night when I thought about going to her room to tell her how sorry I was. But I think it would have been worse. I know her, and she would have tried to downplay it even if she felt hurt. So I forced myself to stay put in my bed until I fell asleep at dawn.
Two hours later, we are all at the police station, attempting to make some progress on the case. I'm really trying to focus, but I can't help but notice that (Y/N) is avoiding me.
Garcia's calling finally distracts me from my predicament. There is a break in the case.
After some cross-referencing, there is information about who the unsub is and even possible names. While Garcia explains her findings, my gaze drifts again to (Y/N), but I never receive a glance in return. Positioned as far away from me as possible, she manages to evade exchanging a word with me.
I don't blame her for being upset, but my heart breaks every time I feel her intentionally ignoring me.
If the rest of the team notices, they don't say anything and focus on the case. Something I should be doing too.
After finishing the call with Garcia, Emily assigns new tasks to everyone.
"Tara and Luke check the last address our last victim visited before being kidnapped. Rossi, JJ, you go to the university where most of our suspects work. Spencer and (Y/N) go to the ME to check if something is connecting our guys with the bodies."
My heart races at the thought of how I'll handle the next hour, knowing I'll be spending some time alone with her now. But before I can spiral further, (Y/N) speaks.
"Emily, sorry. But I think I can be more useful if I talk to the university dean. I already talked to him before, and we don't want to alert anyone yet."
My head snaps, as does the rest of the team's.
Since (Y/N) joined the BAU, she'd never asked to switch when we were assigned a task together.
Emily professionally hides her surprise, though she gives me a brief, confused glance. Almost imperceptible. Almost.
"Okay. Then (Y/N) will go with Rossi. Reid, you with JJ. Everybody else, you know what to do."
Before I know it, (Y/N) hurries out of the room.
I try to make eye contact, but without luck.
"Is something wrong?" Emily asks once we're alone. That's when I realize I haven't moved from my spot.
I clear my throat to shake the haze in my head. "No. Everything's fine. Uh - JJ's probably waiting for me. See you later." I say, and quickly move to the exit, not waiting for a new question from Emily.
Well, if the team didn't grasp before that something happened between (Y/N) and me, surely they know now.
JJ is now driving us to the ME. I stay silent in the passenger seat, looking out the window, trying to avoid being questioned.
Maybe I'll have luck...
"Spence?"
...Or maybe not.
"Uhm?" I reply, glancing briefly at JJ, but focusing on the road ahead.
"Anything you want to talk about?"
It's vague, very JJ's fashion, but I'm not in the mood to confide what's going on in my mind.
"Not really. Should I?"
"I don't know. Maybe you want to talk about (Y/N)."
Shit.
"What about her?" It's a bit defensive, but not harsh.
"Did you guys fight? I mean, she never switches tasks when it comes to you."
I know she doesn't, but I can't say it, nor can I say why. I don't want to open a worm can right now.
"No. I don't think so. She wanted to go talk to the dean; it's understandable."
JJ hums, evidence that she doesn't believe me. After a brief silence, she speaks again. "You know, when Emily told us a new agent was coming to the team, I didn't like the idea. Over the years, I've become less forthcoming with new people. You can believe it or not, but it's true."
Not knowing where she is going with this piques my interest. Now I'm looking at JJ as she keeps driving. She glances at me from time to time.
"And when (Y/N) walked into the bullpen, the first thing I thought was 'Oh, she is so young.' I had my doubts, you know? But after the first case, I knew I shouldn't worry." JJ chuckles at the memory.
Yeah, that first case. I remember.
It was (Y/N)'s first case with the BAU—family annihilator in Tampa. We tracked the unsub for days before receiving an anonymous tip about an abandoned warehouse. I went with (Y/N) to the location, Emily and Luke trailing behind.
We should have waited for buckup, but (Y/N) insisted we were losing time. It was a bit reckless, but I agreed nonetheless.
Once we got inside, the place was oddly quiet. But as we walked upstairs, we saw the unsub with a new potential victim. When he noticed us, he immediately grabbed the girl by the waist and pointed his knife at her throat.
(Y/N) confessed to me earlier that day that she had never had to talk down to an unsub before, and that's why I rushed to talk to him.
The problem? The unsub didn't want me to speak. The profile said he hated men and would only talk to women who appreciated and complimented him.
I began to feel nervous, but (Y/N) took the lead, although I knew she was terrified inside.
Despite having no experience and never having done this before, (Y/N) managed to connect with the unsub and dissuade him by telling him a story about how she understood what it was like to not be appreciated and to struggle for approval. And even though she later told me it was a lie, her empathy level at the moment proved it was partly true.
After she de-escalated the situation, the unsub was apprehended, the hostage was released unharmed, and the case was closed. Nevertheless, Emily scolded her for not following protocol, for not waiting for backup, especially since it was her first case. I tried to help by telling Emily it was my idea, but she didn't buy it.
Despite everything, that case demonstrated that (Y/N) was in the right place working with the BAU, and it made me appreciate her as an agent and, especially, as a person.
A smile tugs at my lips. Since then, we have been paired together in almost every case. Emily insisted it was for me to mentor her, but in the end, I think she has mentored me more than me to her.
"She's good, isn't she?"
The words escape through my lips before I can even stop them. JJ hums in agreement.
"And she's good for you, too."
I snap my head up back to JJ. That was unexpected, and I don't know why she chose to say that right now.
"What?"
JJ's lips curve into a warm smile.
"I think you know what I mean. But at risk of crossing a line you don't want, I'm going to say what I see. You were in a dark place, Spence. And we were all worried about you. I know you hated that, but we couldn't help it."
I wince. JJ is right, I hate when people do that, and I know they mean well, but I don't like to be in the spotlight, worse if it is for something like being framed for murder and ending up locked in jail.
"The thing is, when (Y/N) came along, something changed in you. You started smiling and laughing more. Started to be less cautious about how to act and be more spontaneous. I can't tell if you fell in love with her-"
"JJ, please, that's not-" I groan. More because I feel flustered than because she's talking nonsense.
"Okay, okay. I don't know for sure what your real feelings are, but (Y/N) matters to you, and not just because she's a colleague or a good friend."
"She's my friend."
A weak attempt to conceal the truth.
"I don't doubt she is. But you can't deny it's more than platonic."
I huff and humorless laugh. The word 'platonic' has been haunting me since last night. I wish I had more self-control over my feelings for (Y/N). I'd love to be able to deny everything and continue as we have been, but my heart aches just knowing that something between us was a real possibility, and I'm the one who has to play the bad guy. I hate it.
"Is it so hard to believe we're just friends?"
JJ shrugs. "No. But that's not what's happening, isn't it? I don't know what happened between you two yesterday, but I just wanted to tell you not to give up on her. Things can actually be different. You, from all people, deserve a chance, Spence."
I don't know how to answer, so I don't, turning my gaze back to the road. JJ accepts my silence, but she surely knows she planted a seed.
After our car ride, we spoke with the ME, and several of our suspicions were confirmed, though not enough to definitively identify our unsub. But at least, given the evidence left post-mortem on the victims, we narrowed it down to two names: Andrew Bateman and Vincent Levine. And, honestly, I don't know who could be the worst. Bateman is a pediatrician and professor at the medical school of the university where the victims were students. On the other hand, Levine is the medical school dean and an obstetrician. Both could have had motives, whether related to the victims' orphaned children or directly to a problem with the young women giving birth at an early age.
"What do you think?" JJ asks me once we leave the morgue. I don't hold back in showing my displeasure with those two, especially knowing that (Y/N) and Rossi are probably talking to them right now. So, instinctively, I pull out my phone and call (Y/N), but she doesn't answer. Frowning, I look at JJ, who takes her phone to dial Rossi's number.
"Straight to voicemail," she says after a second attempt.
A pang in my gut tells me something's wrong.
Very wrong.
JJ calls Emily to tell her what we found at the morgue and that we can't get in touch with either Rossi or (Y/N).
I watch impatiently as JJ nods at whatever Emily is saying while we walk toward the car. While JJ is busy on the phone, I go directly to the driver's side. I'm not a man of intuition, but logic tells me we'll have to run to wherever Rossi and (Y/N) are, and I know I won't hesitate to push the gas until the car flies.
"Rossi called Emily and told her they only found Bateman; he said Levine would arrive soon, and they would wait for him in his office."
"So it doesn't make sense that they aren't answering their phones," I prompt, putting the key to turn on the engine.
"Emily asked Garcia to track their cell phones five minutes ago, because they haven't reported again. Rossi's still appears to be at the campus, but there's no signal from (Y/N)."
That's when it all starts to make sense, and I feel my chest tighten, and it's hard to breathe.
"Fuck! JJ, they are a team. Bateman and Levine work together. They've made us think it's just one person, but it's not. Bateman hunts, and Levine kills."
JJ's face drains of color, knowing what that means.
"And they have Rossi and (Y/N)."
As I speed off toward the campus, Emily calls to say she's already there, along with Luke, Tara, and the rest of the police, who are scanning the area. There's no sign of Bateman, Levine, Rossi, or (Y/N).
I rack my brain trying to figure out what the unsubs' next move could be. The ideas that come to me aren't encouraging. We don't know if a new girl was kidnapped, but if the timeline matches up, (Y/N) would be an excellent replacement.
I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. JJ knows I'm seconds away from exploding, but she tries to calm me down anyway.
"They're trained agents, Spence. They'll know what to do."
"Sorry, it's not enough for me. It's my fault (Y/N) had decided to go there."
"Don't say that. You can't blame yourself for it."
I know JJ's intentions are good, but I'm not having it.
"Yes. I do. And it will get worse if something happens to them."
JJ decides not to respond this time.
When we arrive, I immediately notice the commotion: police everywhere, Emily shouting orders, and Captain Roberts summoning his people around.
Approaching Emily, I see she has the look of a very annoyed boss, just enough to mask her real concern.
"What do we know?" I ask.
"It's unlikely they're here. We checked every office, classroom, and open area."
"So what the hell are we doing here?"
Emily gives me a 'calm you down' look before speaking. "We need to locate Rossi's cell phone to look for clues."
She barely finishes the sentence when Luke's voice from the radio says they have Rossi's cell phone.
With Garcia's help, we manage to access it, and one of the messages not sent to Emily says 'testing'.
"It doesn't make sense. We've already checked all the campus facilities, and there's nothing that suggests they are doing tests."
Tara, who's with us along with JJ, says, "I don't think he meant that. Maybe he's talking about being tested by the unsubs."
"Rossi isn't that cryptic either," I point out.
"He might have been in a hurry," JJ speculates.
That's when a conversation I had with (Y/N) a few months ago comes to mind.
I was talking about scientific experiments and how tests are always required at different levels. (Y/N) told me there is a new trend in behavioral analysis: to see unsubs as machine learning problem solvers. That implies training several models of behavior to adjust, then running the test phase on the source data or subject.
"It's (Y/N). She did write that," I blurt out. Everyone look a me confused. Emily asks me to elaborate. "They have the source of their rage right now. Testing is the endgame. And it will be in the middle of their comfort zone. Who crosses between Levine and Bateman even before they were colleagues?"
Garcia, who's listening to our conversation, types furiously on her keyboard.
"Oh. Oh! There is a girl named Samantha Rosental, but her real name is Samantha Fritz. There was no record because she changed her name after leaving medical school at 20."
"What is her relationship with Levine and Bateman?" I press so Garcia goes to the point.
"She was in a secret relationship with Levine when he was her professor. Oh, and this gets more complicated. She got pregnant, but she told Levine the baby wasn't his; it was of her boyfriend, Andrew Bateman. But Bateman didn't believe her. And before Levine and Bateman could do anything, she vanished."
"So they never knew the truth. Bateman thinks she cheated on him, and Levine thinks she deprived him of his baby," JJ concludes.
"Years after they found each other working together, filling the gaps and canalizing their rage over other women," Emily pipes up.
"And now they found Samantha," Luke adds.
"With two inconveniences: Rossi and (Y/N)," I bitterly remind them.
The situation is even worse than we imagined.
When Garcia calls us to point out a possible location, we all rush to the SUVs. I head to the driver's side, but Emily blocks my path and grabs the keys. "I'll drive," she says, without waiting for a response.
The place is in the middle of the city, but it feels like an oasis of abandonment amidst so many buildings. The perfect hideout for the horrible things Bateman and Levine do to their victims. My stomach churns at the thought.
Everything happens so fast. We enter the building and see Rossi on the ground, wounded in the leg, just a few feet from Bateman's lifeless body. Before we can even ask, Rossi yells that Levine has Samantha and that (Y/N) went after him. While JJ and Matt tend to Rossi, Emily, Luke, Tara, and I go upstairs to the roof, where we see Levine holding Samantha at gunpoint. We see (Y/N) trying to talk to him, her gun lying on the floor, presumably trying to convince Levine to let Samantha go. My suspicions are confirmed when I hear (Y/N)'s voice.
"You don't have to prove anything. Samantha already knows she made a mistake by not choosing you. Let her live with the guilt of losing the love of her life, with the truth of her irrelevant and unworthy self after her lose. It will be worse."
"What do you know about that! You know nothing!" Levine shouts. (Y/N) hands remain in the air, a surrender gesture to tell Levine he's in control.
"I do know. I do know what it's like to live like that, because I lost the love of my life for making a mistake, too. And I'll regret it to the end of my days."
My heart stops for a second. I can't see (Y/N)'s eyes because I'm at her back, but her voice- that voice sounds like truth to me.
"You're lying!"
"I wish I would."
Levine's eyes darken, and he's still holding Samantha, who hasn't stopped crying. "Is that so?" He mocks, and in a sudden movement, he aims to (Y/N). "I'll free you from your misery, then."
A gunshot rings out, followed by another. I see in slow motion (Y/N)'s body contort as Levine falls to the ground and Samantha screams. It's then that I realize Levine's shot hit (Y/N), who, after a groan, collapses to the ground, just as a bullet fired by Emily brings Levine down, lifeless.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I rush to (Y/N)'s side, kneeling to inspect her injuries. There is a pool of blood and a big stain covering his left side. The son of the bitch shot to her side, where the vest wasn't covering.
“(Y/N)? Look at me. Don't close your eyes, please."
She has half-lidded eyes already, a sharp groan leaving her lips when I put pressure on the wound. "I know it hurts, I'm sorry."
"Spencer-" she mumbles, squeezing my free hand.
"Yes. That's it. Keep squeezing."
Not long after, she faints, just as the paramedics arrive. Luke is the one who takes hold of my shoulders so the paramedics can get to (Y/N) and place her on a stretcher.
I am speechless, with a lump in my throat and not knowing what to do, as I watch her being taken straight to the ambulance.
"Come on, man. We need to go to the hospital," Luke prompts.
I nod on autopilot and follow him toward one of the SUVs. I don't even stop to check on Samantha or Rossi. All I can think about now is (Y/N).
When we arrived at the hospital, they told us we had to wait while (Y/N) was in surgery. Not a word saying 'she'll be okay,' just uncertainty. Only when Emily sat down next to me did I realize the rest of the team had arrived at the hospital as well. JJ is with Rossi, checking his injuries, as Luke is with Samantha, doing the same. That's when it hits me that I don't even know how they are after we found them in the abandoned building. Emily, who seems to read minds, anticipates my questions.
"Rossi only has a mid-concussion and a sprained ankle. Samantha is okay, with some shallow cuts and bruises on her wrists."
Clearly (Y/N) got it worse.
"We'll probably have to wait a while. Why don't you go clean up? Garcia brought you something to change into."
That's when I look at my bloody hands, as well as my shirt. Without saying much, I just nod and get up to go to the bathroom.
When I return to the waiting room, there's still no word from (Y/N), but I can see Rossi with a cane, sitting quietly in one of the chairs. I feel like asking what the hell happened, but it wouldn't change the current situation. JJ gives me a coffee while we continue waiting.
Not wanting to keep everyone worried in one place, Emily sends Rossi home, accompanied by JJ and Luke. Matt and Tara are meant to take Samantha home, as Penelope must return to Quantico. That left Emily and me.
Two hours later, the surgeon appears. We get up at once. He goes straight to Emily.
"How is SSA (Y/L/N)?" she hastens to ask. The surgeon nods, still with that neutral face that doesn't tell me anything.
"She'll be fine. The bullet passed through her abdomen without hitting any vital organs. We did recover the bullet. With enough rest and some medication, she'll be 100% recovered in a few weeks. She's lucky, though. A millimeter higher and we wouldn't be having the same conversation."
I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding in, as Emily thanks the doctor, who quickly disappears behind the doors of the restricted area.
I take a seat again, repeating to myself over and over that she'll be okay. It was just a scare. (Y/N) will be fine. I didn't lose her.
"What are you thinking?" Emily asks, sitting by my side, after she reports (Y/N)'s condition to the team by phone.
I shake my head, as if that would persuade her not to want an answer. Emily scrutinizes me for a few seconds, analyzing me in the way only she knows how. And I can tell she sees the affliction in my eyes.
"She told you, didn't she?"
I don't even ask her what she means; we both know exactly what it's about.
"I didn't want to believe her. But she was very clear about it, and I was an asshole enough not to tell her the truth."
"Why?"
I look at Emily in disbelief. "Isn't it obvious? We - I mean, I can't; that's not how it's supposed to be in the first place. We work together. We're friends. We are-" I trail off, knowing I'm throwing all the excuses I tell myself every day.
"Are you listening to yourself, aren't you?"
A scoff leaves my mouth before I can stop it. "Yeah, make it look pretend all you want, Spencer, but we both know that self-sabotage won't lead you anywhere."
"It's reality, Emily. Pure and simple reality." My voice is full of bitterness for what it's the story of my life.
"Is it so hard to believe someone like her can love you? Is it so bad to want to love someone the way you do with her? Stop thinking you don't deserve these things, Spencer. You, better than anyone, know the fragility of this life and this job. Don't let it pass you by just because you're afraid of the future. No one can ever be sure what will happen tomorrow, but that's no reason to miss the opportunity to live each day and let ourselves be loved, especially by someone who reciprocates that feeling."
"I don't want to hurt her," I meekly defend.
"You're precisely doing that, not telling her how you really feel."
I hate to say it, but Emily is right. I've already hurt her, thinking that by saying nothing, she would be safe from me.
"I just wanted to protect her," I muse, running my hands through my hair as if the gesture will clear my head.
"She doesn't need protection; she needs honesty from you."
'It sounds simple to say,' I want to argue, but I get Emily's point and, although it terrifies me, I owe that to (Y/N) even if nothing comes of it between us in the end.
I leave out a deep sigh as I take in Emily's words.
"Do you think something between us -?" I trail off, knowing that saying the words will make it a real possibility. I don't know if I can handle the hope right now.
"I'm sure it will, but even if it didn't, you'll never know if you don't try, Spencer."
I can try, but will she ever forgive me for what I did? For what I said and for what I didn't say? I scratch my head, trying to figure out what my next steps should be. I see Emily's sly smile out of the corner of my eye. "What?" I ask, frowning.
"Come on, Romeo: if you're going to make amends, you should at least bring flowers."
Without saying a word, I get up from the chair and leave the waiting room, determined to do things right this time.
I return an hour later. Emily sees me and is about to make a comment when a nurse approaches and tells us that (Y/N) is already in her room and can receive visitors.
Emily pats my back. "Good luck. Call us later to let us know how she's doing." I turn to the nurse, who smiles at me and leads me down the hall to (Y/N)'s room.
Slowly, I open the door, and there she is, mid-seated in the hospital bed. Head turned to the window. The glow of the rising sun reflects on her mussed hair. Left arm with a neatly cast, side visibly patched under the gown she's wearing.
Injured, but still the most beautiful woman in the world.
"Hey," I quietly mumble, enough for her to turn her head to me. Her eyes look tired, but a little smile graces her lips. And my heart starts racing in no time, just at that gesture.
"Hey." Her voice is raspy, unused for hours.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, taking cautious steps closer. I don't want to invade her personal space, but I need to be sure she's okay. I need to see it with my own eyes and feel it.
"Injured. Again." She exhales with a bit of difficulty, shifting to a more comfortable position. "I should seriously consider signing up for an extra medical benefits plan because of all the times I end up in a hospital."
Her eyes dart to my hands holding a bouquet.
"Am I dying?" She asks, a lazy frown forming.
"What?"
(Y/N) weakly chuckles. "Flowers? Dr. Reid hasn't bought me flowers before. Maybe I'm really dying."
It's a little disconcerting the way she's joking like that, especially after what happened.
"These - uh- these are actually for you. You said once you liked magnolias," I explain as I clumsily hand her the bouquet.
(Y/N)'s eyes soften. "Actually, I like them a lot." She takes a smell of its scent.
"My mom usually littered the house with them when I was young," she mumbles, still basking in their fragrance. It's a welcomed contrast inside the sterile hospital room.
"In some Native American traditions, magnolia trees are revered as sacred beings, embodying the essence of the natural world. Similarly, in Christian symbolism, the magnolia's evergreen leaves and fragrant blossoms are seen as reminders of eternal life and the promise of renewal."
(Y/N) smiles softly. "I didn't know that. Just my mom told me to have them near me every chance I get."
"It makes sense. Magnolias commonly symbolize purity, femininity, and nobility. Because they've existed for millions of years, they also represent perseverance."
(Y/N)'s brow arches. "Stubbornness isn't in the description?"
I chuckle at her remark. "I guess perseverance covers it."
"Not the recklessness, though. I bet Emily wants to end my health insurance."
I shrug nonchalantly. "After this one? Maybe she's considering it."
(Y/N) huffs a humorless laugh, immediately regretting doing it because I see the flinch in her eyes, and the pain crossing her features.
"Should I call someone? You're visibly in pain."
(Y/N) shakes her head. "Nah. I pulled some muscles a bit harder than I should have, but I'll be fine."
I don't know if it's a product of her youth or her sheer obstinacy, but I'm always surprised by her ability to make her condition seem like a mere inconvenience, something not to worry about.
"The doctor says you'll be discharged soon, as long as the stitches start to heal properly."
"Fine by me. I don't think this town wants me more days here, the same way I don't want to be here."
A fragile silence envelops us in that sterile hospital room. I want to say so many things, but I don't know how to start. (Y/N)'s words from the other night resonate in my brain, as well as the words she said to Levine hours prior.
"How pissed is Emily? And Rossi? He must be furious with me," she breaks the silence before I continue internally spiraling.
Funny how she asks that, when Emily was a nervous wreck since we knew Levine had (Y/N), and Rossi, who feels more than guilty for not protecting her in the field. Weird how the optics change from person to person.
"Emily isn't pissed off. Nobody is pissed off or furious for that matter, okay? Rossi is fine, and he knows you didn't have an option. I can bet he told you to leave him there to chase Levine."
"I left a team member behind, Spencer. That's against any protocol and common sense," she complains.
"And that's how you saved an innocent woman who was about to be killed by a lunatic. I would have been more careful about taking cover from the bullet, but we can't have everything in life, can we?"
(Y/N) puff, trying to cover a smile, before asking. "Is she okay?"
"Samantha? She's okay, reunited with her son, thanks to you."
"Good," she muses, eyes fixed on her lap, as if the stiff fabric of the blanket were the most interesting thing in the world.
Another silence settles, but this time it's me who breaks it.
"Why did you ever say that?" The words blurt out of me before I can stop them.
"What?" (Y/N)'s gaze snaps up to me, confused and brows furrowed.
I clear my throat before speaking.
"To Levine." The furrow softens a bit, but it's still there as she thinks about my question.
"I said a lot of things, Spencer."
I can sense she knows what I'm talking about, but she's cautious.
"Yeah. But you said you had lost the love of your life for a mistake. Did you mean it?"
(Y/N)'s eyes cast down again, her jaw tightening, but as quickly as that, she schools her demeanor, a tight smile plastered on her face.
"It was the job. I had to get to him somehow, you know that."
It's the safest response, but I know she's deflecting. Her eyes speak volumes, even if she tries to hide them. I hate to think I've been contributing to her feeling that way.
"But you meant it, didn't you?"
"Spencer, please, can we not-"
In a bold move, I get closer and sit at the edge of the bed. My hands are dying to touch her, but I refrain, resting them on my lap instead.
"I'm sorry for hurting you with what I said the other night." I manage to mumble.
(Y/N) exhales, her eyes avert mine. Cheeks flushed.
"Don't apologize. And you don't have to say anything at all. Really. I just want to forget even mentioning it, okay?"
I should respect her wishes. She doesn't want to talk, and that should be enough for me to keep my mouth shut. But, again, her eyes are telling me another story. There is sadness and nostalgia; it's like a bridge has been burned between us, and she feels responsible.
(Y/N) thinks I don't reciprocate her feelings, and although I have my own reservations about the topic, it's not fair to let her believe this is a one-way thing.
"But I don't."
Narrowing her eyes, (Y/N) tilts her head.
Here goes nothing.
"I don't want to forget it. I can't forget it. Not when I wasn't honest with you. Not when-"
(Y/N) huffs a breath, shaking her head.
"Spencer, you don't need to be polite and say what you think is right for my sake. I'm a big girl, I'll be fine."
Did I say she is stubborn? I'm sure I mentioned it.
"Would you let me finish, please?" My voice rises an octave, the way it does when I'm nervous and desperate to spill my guts with words. (Y/N)'s eyes widen, mouth agape.
"Please?" I repeat, this time with more composure. (Y/N) slowly nods, giving me the clear.
"You're right. We do whatever's needed in this job. And it's one of the things that makes you so good at it. I mean, since your first case, we've all seen you're more than capable of doing this. Your commitment? The way you give your all? No wonder why Emily brought you to the team. But that's not the only thing that matters, you know?"
(Y/N)'s jaw tightens, and I know she wants to stop me. Compliments are something she's not used to receiving, though she deserves them all.
"You're more than an agent, (Y/N). I had the privilege of getting to know you, and believe me, you matter to me more than you can imagine. I'm sorry for not letting you know sooner."
"Spencer-" she starts, but I shake my head softly.
"I'm not done. Please."
She nods again, a strain tear running down her cheek.
"When I met you, I was in a bad place. I was just released from prison, and honestly? I didn't think it was possible to get back some of the man I used to be. But you proved me wrong. I was so wrong, (Y/N). You did it. You refloated me, awakening a better version of myself. And I should have thanked you sooner for it."
Tentatively, my hand reaches hers, still placed in her lap. She doesn't pull away.
"But I got scared. I thought it was just me who was harboring something more than a friendship between us. And I got scared, because I didn't want to hurt you with my own scars. You had already done so much for me. That's why that night I said it was complicated. Not because I didn't reciprocate your feelings, but because I do. More than you can imagine."
(Y/N)'s eyes broaden in confusion. "You- what?"
"I like you, too—a lot. But you know me, my brain gets stuck with logic and poor self-love. You will get tired of me, and the thought of losing you terrifies me."
“Why would you lose me? Where did you get that idea?” she asks, squeezing one of my hands in her lap. I shrug, defeated.
"Because I mess everything up. You know that; you've seen it. In fact, I just did it again the other night when you were brave enough to tell me how you felt, and I was the coward who said nothing."
A lump forms in my throat at the thought that my cowardice makes me unworthy of her.
She sighs, taking my words in. Absentmindedly, her fingers are gently caressing my knuckles.
"I won't deny that feeling this vulnerable in front of you was easy. You say it was bravery; I'd say it was more of an overflow." (Y/N) huffs softly, while I shake my head.
"The point is, if this scares you," she says, gesturing with a finger between us, "don't you think I'm terrified too? And not because I don't like you. God, at this point, I'm sure I love you. I'm terrified because I don't think I'm good enough for you, and I know you're going to tell me I shouldn't think this way, but look at me," she pauses a bit to take a breath. "You say you're damaged, that you've suffered, and I know that's true. But if you tell me you don't want to hurt me with it, then it's clear you think I'm not good enough, because I won't be able to handle it."
My mouth goes agape at her words. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought she wouldn't be enough for me. I've always thought it was the other way around, and hearing her say it breaks my heart. And I feel even worse when I see her eyes fill with tears.
I shake my head as one of my thumbs tries to wipe away her tears—a poor attempt to fix what I've caused.
"I've never believed, and I never will, that you're not enough for me. And I'm truly sorry for making you think that. I don't think you're incapable of handling it - or me; I just thought it was unfair to cut your wings with my burden."
"Do you really think it's so wrong to love you?" she asks, leaning into the touch of my hand on her cheek, eyes on me searching for the truth. I take a second to mull the question.
"I thought so," I say honestly. "But I'm willing to change my mind if you're the one who wants to love me." To prove it in some way, I take her hand and bring it to my lips to tenderly kiss her palm. A smile crept on her face.
"You mean it?" The question is timid, but hopeful.
"Absolutely." My response is clear, with no hesitation, full of the truth I didn't dare to share before.
She closes her eyes for a second; a shy laugh escapes her lips. When her gaze meets mine again, her eyes twinkle, and I swear I stop breathing for a second.
"What now?" She rests her head on the pillow, looking at me expectantly and biting her lower lip. That shouldn't affect me as much as it actually does. I clear my throat before speaking.
"Well, first of all, you need to be discharged and get a proper healing so I can take you on a date. We can start there."
A mischievous look takes hold of her. "Is Dr. Spencer Reid asking me on a date?"
I fake seriousness. "That's correct. If the miss is okay with it."
"More than okay, actually," she retorts. "You know? If you take me to that fancy Italian restaurant that opened recently, you could get a kiss at the end of the date. Just so you know."
I snort a laugh. "I'll think about it. Don't tell Rossi though," I warn.
"Never!" she promises, as we both burst out laughing, clasping our hands together. Relieved that everything that needed to be said has been said and that we are willing to give us a chance.
-------------------------------------------
Emily Prentiss is a wise woman. And although things got a little out of hand this time, she ultimately achieved the goal. Watching hidden behind the corner of your hospital room door as you and Spencer laugh - having finally come to terms with each other's truths - she picks up her phone and dials a number.
"David? Hi. I hope you're resting as the doctor told you to. I'm just calling to let you know you owe me $100. My job here is done."
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Taglist for this fic: @hereforfun-31 @cafters @chonkybonky @shiinata-library @desolatelyvastorchestra @iyskgd @mariposayl @fantastucbaby @theylovethesky @night-daily @obx-xoxo @who-ligan-or-who-vian @chaoticsunball @137ats
A Little Push - Part II (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)
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Author Masterlist | Part I
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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader.
Summary: Despite Emily's efforts and the newfound Reader's confidence, things didn't go as expected with Spencer. Now, he's a mess of regret and guilt at how badly he handled the situation. Spencer walks down memory lane since he met Reader to recognize what has been in front of his eyes all this time.
Word Count: 7.1k (sorry, not sorry)
Warnings: Angst/Fluff/Happy ending. Age gap (Spencer is 38, and Reader is barely 30). They are still idiots in love. Spencer has been an asshole, but he makes amends. Part I here.
A/N: Part II is here, guys! Thanks a lot for your likes, reblogs, and kind words for my work. I apologize for taking so long to post again.
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Spencer's POV
A royal asshole. That's what I am.
I still don't know why I stood speechless and reacted the way I did. But that's not what I regret the most. It's the way I twisted everything and hurt her. Because even if I didn't say much, the little that came out of my mouth came out wrong.
I like her. I really do. I even started to think that it is an understatement. I have feelings for her, I've had them for a while now, but I never thought it was mutual.
I thought the jokes and banter were just her friendly nature, a part of her youth and expressive personality.
But I must confess that there have been moments when I pictured a different scenario, one in which we indulge in a romantic setting.
I need to be realistic, though. For her sake, I can't cross that line.
Emily asked me to be her mentor. Yeah, a weird thing coming from an FBI agent/traumatized ex-convict. And even if (Y/N) didn't need one, I swore to myself I would protect her from everything I could, even if that meant protecting her from me. Because, let's face it, I'm a heavy burden, one she doesn't deserve to carry.
And now she tells me she likes me, which leaves me speechless and with a million scenarios running through my head.
For a second, I was filled with joy, thinking it was what I'd dreamed of hearing, but then I panicked about what it could mean, and no, it's not fair to her.
I want to apologize, try to explain why I reacted the way I did, but I don't even know what words to use. Funny, coming from someone who speaks multiple languages.
I know I ruined something that could have been beautiful, but at the same time, it's inevitable: everything I touch ends up broken, and I can't stand the idea of doing that to (Y/N).
When Emily and Tara return to the room, I am still standing there, eyes fixed on the floor, as if I am about to find the solution I am so desperately looking for in my head.
"Everything okay?" Emily asks, and I'm dying to say that no, everything is a mess, I'm a stupid, I fucked up.
"Yeah. Everything is okay."
Emily asks for (Y/N), and I internally flinch. Trying to mask the pang in my chest, I explain that she got back to the hotel. Neither Emily nor Tara seems phased by it, even agreeing on the idea to call it a night and come back fresh in the morning.
It should have been a good idea. Maybe in the morning I'll have the nerve to talk to (Y/N) and explain myself.
Maybe.
Needless to say, I hardly slept at all. I tossed and turned, remembering (Y/N) 's hesitant look and how her face dulled when I didn't verbally reciprocate her feelings.
There was a moment during the night when I thought about going to her room to tell her how sorry I was. But I think it would have been worse. I know her, and she would have tried to downplay it even if she felt hurt. So I forced myself to stay put in my bed until I fell asleep at dawn.
Two hours later, we are all at the police station, attempting to make some progress on the case. I'm really trying to focus, but I can't help but notice that (Y/N) is avoiding me.
Garcia's calling finally distracts me from my predicament. There is a break in the case.
After some cross-referencing, there is information about who the unsub is and even possible names. While Garcia explains her findings, my gaze drifts again to (Y/N), but I never receive a glance in return. Positioned as far away from me as possible, she manages to evade exchanging a word with me.
I don't blame her for being upset, but my heart breaks every time I feel her intentionally ignoring me.
If the rest of the team notices, they don't say anything and focus on the case. Something I should be doing too.
After finishing the call with Garcia, Emily assigns new tasks to everyone.
"Tara and Luke check the last address our last victim visited before being kidnapped. Rossi, JJ, you go to the university where most of our suspects work. Spencer and (Y/N) go to the ME to check if something is connecting our guys with the bodies."
My heart races at the thought of how I'll handle the next hour, knowing I'll be spending some time alone with her now. But before I can spiral further, (Y/N) speaks.
"Emily, sorry. But I think I can be more useful if I talk to the university dean. I already talked to him before, and we don't want to alert anyone yet."
My head snaps, as does the rest of the team's.
Since (Y/N) joined the BAU, she'd never asked to switch when we were assigned a task together.
Emily professionally hides her surprise, though she gives me a brief, confused glance. Almost imperceptible. Almost.
"Okay. Then (Y/N) will go with Rossi. Reid, you with JJ. Everybody else, you know what to do."
Before I know it, (Y/N) hurries out of the room.
I try to make eye contact, but without luck.
"Is something wrong?" Emily asks once we're alone. That's when I realize I haven't moved from my spot.
I clear my throat to shake the haze in my head. "No. Everything's fine. Uh - JJ's probably waiting for me. See you later." I say, and quickly move to the exit, not waiting for a new question from Emily.
Well, if the team didn't grasp before that something happened between (Y/N) and me, surely they know now.
JJ is now driving us to the ME. I stay silent in the passenger seat, looking out the window, trying to avoid being questioned.
Maybe I'll have luck...
"Spence?"
...Or maybe not.
"Uhm?" I reply, glancing briefly at JJ, but focusing on the road ahead.
"Anything you want to talk about?"
It's vague, very JJ's fashion, but I'm not in the mood to confide what's going on in my mind.
"Not really. Should I?"
"I don't know. Maybe you want to talk about (Y/N)."
Shit.
"What about her?" It's a bit defensive, but not harsh.
"Did you guys fight? I mean, she never switches tasks when it comes to you."
I know she doesn't, but I can't say it, nor can I say why. I don't want to open a worm can right now.
"No. I don't think so. She wanted to go talk to the dean; it's understandable."
JJ hums, evidence that she doesn't believe me. After a brief silence, she speaks again. "You know, when Emily told us a new agent was coming to the team, I didn't like the idea. Over the years, I've become less forthcoming with new people. You can believe it or not, but it's true."
Not knowing where she is going with this piques my interest. Now I'm looking at JJ as she keeps driving. She glances at me from time to time.
"And when (Y/N) walked into the bullpen, the first thing I thought was 'Oh, she is so young.' I had my doubts, you know? But after the first case, I knew I shouldn't worry." JJ chuckles at the memory.
Yeah, that first case. I remember.
It was (Y/N)'s first case with the BAU—family annihilator in Tampa. We tracked the unsub for days before receiving an anonymous tip about an abandoned warehouse. I went with (Y/N) to the location, Emily and Luke trailing behind.
We should have waited for buckup, but (Y/N) insisted we were losing time. It was a bit reckless, but I agreed nonetheless.
Once we got inside, the place was oddly quiet. But as we walked upstairs, we saw the unsub with a new potential victim. When he noticed us, he immediately grabbed the girl by the waist and pointed his knife at her throat.
(Y/N) confessed to me earlier that day that she had never had to talk down to an unsub before, and that's why I rushed to talk to him.
The problem? The unsub didn't want me to speak. The profile said he hated men and would only talk to women who appreciated and complimented him.
I began to feel nervous, but (Y/N) took the lead, although I knew she was terrified inside.
Despite having no experience and never having done this before, (Y/N) managed to connect with the unsub and dissuade him by telling him a story about how she understood what it was like to not be appreciated and to struggle for approval. And even though she later told me it was a lie, her empathy level at the moment proved it was partly true.
After she de-escalated the situation, the unsub was apprehended, the hostage was released unharmed, and the case was closed. Nevertheless, Emily scolded her for not following protocol, for not waiting for backup, especially since it was her first case. I tried to help by telling Emily it was my idea, but she didn't buy it.
Despite everything, that case demonstrated that (Y/N) was in the right place working with the BAU, and it made me appreciate her as an agent and, especially, as a person.
A smile tugs at my lips. Since then, we have been paired together in almost every case. Emily insisted it was for me to mentor her, but in the end, I think she has mentored me more than me to her.
"She's good, isn't she?"
The words escape through my lips before I can even stop them. JJ hums in agreement.
"And she's good for you, too."
I snap my head up back to JJ. That was unexpected, and I don't know why she chose to say that right now.
"What?"
JJ's lips curve into a warm smile.
"I think you know what I mean. But at risk of crossing a line you don't want, I'm going to say what I see. You were in a dark place, Spence. And we were all worried about you. I know you hated that, but we couldn't help it."
I wince. JJ is right, I hate when people do that, and I know they mean well, but I don't like to be in the spotlight, worse if it is for something like being framed for murder and ending up locked in jail.
"The thing is, when (Y/N) came along, something changed in you. You started smiling and laughing more. Started to be less cautious about how to act and be more spontaneous. I can't tell if you fell in love with her-"
"JJ, please, that's not-" I groan. More because I feel flustered than because she's talking nonsense.
"Okay, okay. I don't know for sure what your real feelings are, but (Y/N) matters to you, and not just because she's a colleague or a good friend."
"She's my friend."
A weak attempt to conceal the truth.
"I don't doubt she is. But you can't deny it's more than platonic."
I huff and humorless laugh. The word 'platonic' has been haunting me since last night. I wish I had more self-control over my feelings for (Y/N). I'd love to be able to deny everything and continue as we have been, but my heart aches just knowing that something between us was a real possibility, and I'm the one who has to play the bad guy. I hate it.
"Is it so hard to believe we're just friends?"
JJ shrugs. "No. But that's not what's happening, isn't it? I don't know what happened between you two yesterday, but I just wanted to tell you not to give up on her. Things can actually be different. You, from all people, deserve a chance, Spence."
I don't know how to answer, so I don't, turning my gaze back to the road. JJ accepts my silence, but she surely knows she planted a seed.
After our car ride, we spoke with the ME, and several of our suspicions were confirmed, though not enough to definitively identify our unsub. But at least, given the evidence left post-mortem on the victims, we narrowed it down to two names: Andrew Bateman and Vincent Levine. And, honestly, I don't know who could be the worst. Bateman is a pediatrician and professor at the medical school of the university where the victims were students. On the other hand, Levine is the medical school dean and an obstetrician. Both could have had motives, whether related to the victims' orphaned children or directly to a problem with the young women giving birth at an early age.
"What do you think?" JJ asks me once we leave the morgue. I don't hold back in showing my displeasure with those two, especially knowing that (Y/N) and Rossi are probably talking to them right now. So, instinctively, I pull out my phone and call (Y/N), but she doesn't answer. Frowning, I look at JJ, who takes her phone to dial Rossi's number.
"Straight to voicemail," she says after a second attempt.
A pang in my gut tells me something's wrong.
Very wrong.
JJ calls Emily to tell her what we found at the morgue and that we can't get in touch with either Rossi or (Y/N).
I watch impatiently as JJ nods at whatever Emily is saying while we walk toward the car. While JJ is busy on the phone, I go directly to the driver's side. I'm not a man of intuition, but logic tells me we'll have to run to wherever Rossi and (Y/N) are, and I know I won't hesitate to push the gas until the car flies.
"Rossi called Emily and told her they only found Bateman; he said Levine would arrive soon, and they would wait for him in his office."
"So it doesn't make sense that they aren't answering their phones," I prompt, putting the key to turn on the engine.
"Emily asked Garcia to track their cell phones five minutes ago, because they haven't reported again. Rossi's still appears to be at the campus, but there's no signal from (Y/N)."
That's when it all starts to make sense, and I feel my chest tighten, and it's hard to breathe.
"Fuck! JJ, they are a team. Bateman and Levine work together. They've made us think it's just one person, but it's not. Bateman hunts, and Levine kills."
JJ's face drains of color, knowing what that means.
"And they have Rossi and (Y/N)."
As I speed off toward the campus, Emily calls to say she's already there, along with Luke, Tara, and the rest of the police, who are scanning the area. There's no sign of Bateman, Levine, Rossi, or (Y/N).
I rack my brain trying to figure out what the unsubs' next move could be. The ideas that come to me aren't encouraging. We don't know if a new girl was kidnapped, but if the timeline matches up, (Y/N) would be an excellent replacement.
I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white. JJ knows I'm seconds away from exploding, but she tries to calm me down anyway.
"They're trained agents, Spence. They'll know what to do."
"Sorry, it's not enough for me. It's my fault (Y/N) had decided to go there."
"Don't say that. You can't blame yourself for it."
I know JJ's intentions are good, but I'm not having it.
"Yes. I do. And it will get worse if something happens to them."
JJ decides not to respond this time.
When we arrive, I immediately notice the commotion: police everywhere, Emily shouting orders, and Captain Roberts summoning his people around.
Approaching Emily, I see she has the look of a very annoyed boss, just enough to mask her real concern.
"What do we know?" I ask.
"It's unlikely they're here. We checked every office, classroom, and open area."
"So what the hell are we doing here?"
Emily gives me a 'calm you down' look before speaking. "We need to locate Rossi's cell phone to look for clues."
She barely finishes the sentence when Luke's voice from the radio says they have Rossi's cell phone.
With Garcia's help, we manage to access it, and one of the messages not sent to Emily says 'testing'.
"It doesn't make sense. We've already checked all the campus facilities, and there's nothing that suggests they are doing tests."
Tara, who's with us along with JJ, says, "I don't think he meant that. Maybe he's talking about being tested by the unsubs."
"Rossi isn't that cryptic either," I point out.
"He might have been in a hurry," JJ speculates.
That's when a conversation I had with (Y/N) a few months ago comes to mind.
I was talking about scientific experiments and how tests are always required at different levels. (Y/N) told me there is a new trend in behavioral analysis: to see unsubs as machine learning problem solvers. That implies training several models of behavior to adjust, then running the test phase on the source data or subject.
"It's (Y/N). She did write that," I blurt out. Everyone look a me confused. Emily asks me to elaborate. "They have the source of their rage right now. Testing is the endgame. And it will be in the middle of their comfort zone. Who crosses between Levine and Bateman even before they were colleagues?"
Garcia, who's listening to our conversation, types furiously on her keyboard.
"Oh. Oh! There is a girl named Samantha Rosental, but her real name is Samantha Fritz. There was no record because she changed her name after leaving medical school at 20."
"What is her relationship with Levine and Bateman?" I press so Garcia goes to the point.
"She was in a secret relationship with Levine when he was her professor. Oh, and this gets more complicated. She got pregnant, but she told Levine the baby wasn't his; it was of her boyfriend, Andrew Bateman. But Bateman didn't believe her. And before Levine and Bateman could do anything, she vanished."
"So they never knew the truth. Bateman thinks she cheated on him, and Levine thinks she deprived him of his baby," JJ concludes.
"Years after they found each other working together, filling the gaps and canalizing their rage over other women," Emily pipes up.
"And now they found Samantha," Luke adds.
"With two inconveniences: Rossi and (Y/N)," I bitterly remind them.
The situation is even worse than we imagined.
When Garcia calls us to point out a possible location, we all rush to the SUVs. I head to the driver's side, but Emily blocks my path and grabs the keys. "I'll drive," she says, without waiting for a response.
The place is in the middle of the city, but it feels like an oasis of abandonment amidst so many buildings. The perfect hideout for the horrible things Bateman and Levine do to their victims. My stomach churns at the thought.
Everything happens so fast. We enter the building and see Rossi on the ground, wounded in the leg, just a few feet from Bateman's lifeless body. Before we can even ask, Rossi yells that Levine has Samantha and that (Y/N) went after him. While JJ and Matt tend to Rossi, Emily, Luke, Tara, and I go upstairs to the roof, where we see Levine holding Samantha at gunpoint. We see (Y/N) trying to talk to him, her gun lying on the floor, presumably trying to convince Levine to let Samantha go. My suspicions are confirmed when I hear (Y/N)'s voice.
"You don't have to prove anything. Samantha already knows she made a mistake by not choosing you. Let her live with the guilt of losing the love of her life, with the truth of her irrelevant and unworthy self after her lose. It will be worse."
"What do you know about that! You know nothing!" Levine shouts. (Y/N) hands remain in the air, a surrender gesture to tell Levine he's in control.
"I do know. I do know what it's like to live like that, because I lost the love of my life for making a mistake, too. And I'll regret it to the end of my days."
My heart stops for a second. I can't see (Y/N)'s eyes because I'm at her back, but her voice- that voice sounds like truth to me.
"You're lying!"
"I wish I would."
Levine's eyes darken, and he's still holding Samantha, who hasn't stopped crying. "Is that so?" He mocks, and in a sudden movement, he aims to (Y/N). "I'll free you from your misery, then."
A gunshot rings out, followed by another. I see in slow motion (Y/N)'s body contort as Levine falls to the ground and Samantha screams. It's then that I realize Levine's shot hit (Y/N), who, after a groan, collapses to the ground, just as a bullet fired by Emily brings Levine down, lifeless.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I rush to (Y/N)'s side, kneeling to inspect her injuries. There is a pool of blood and a big stain covering his left side. The son of the bitch shot to her side, where the vest wasn't covering.
“(Y/N)? Look at me. Don't close your eyes, please."
She has half-lidded eyes already, a sharp groan leaving her lips when I put pressure on the wound. "I know it hurts, I'm sorry."
"Spencer-" she mumbles, squeezing my free hand.
"Yes. That's it. Keep squeezing."
Not long after, she faints, just as the paramedics arrive. Luke is the one who takes hold of my shoulders so the paramedics can get to (Y/N) and place her on a stretcher.
I am speechless, with a lump in my throat and not knowing what to do, as I watch her being taken straight to the ambulance.
"Come on, man. We need to go to the hospital," Luke prompts.
I nod on autopilot and follow him toward one of the SUVs. I don't even stop to check on Samantha or Rossi. All I can think about now is (Y/N).
When we arrived at the hospital, they told us we had to wait while (Y/N) was in surgery. Not a word saying 'she'll be okay,' just uncertainty. Only when Emily sat down next to me did I realize the rest of the team had arrived at the hospital as well. JJ is with Rossi, checking his injuries, as Luke is with Samantha, doing the same. That's when it hits me that I don't even know how they are after we found them in the abandoned building. Emily, who seems to read minds, anticipates my questions.
"Rossi only has a mid-concussion and a sprained ankle. Samantha is okay, with some shallow cuts and bruises on her wrists."
Clearly (Y/N) got it worse.
"We'll probably have to wait a while. Why don't you go clean up? Garcia brought you something to change into."
That's when I look at my bloody hands, as well as my shirt. Without saying much, I just nod and get up to go to the bathroom.
When I return to the waiting room, there's still no word from (Y/N), but I can see Rossi with a cane, sitting quietly in one of the chairs. I feel like asking what the hell happened, but it wouldn't change the current situation. JJ gives me a coffee while we continue waiting.
Not wanting to keep everyone worried in one place, Emily sends Rossi home, accompanied by JJ and Luke. Matt and Tara are meant to take Samantha home, as Penelope must return to Quantico. That left Emily and me.
Two hours later, the surgeon appears. We get up at once. He goes straight to Emily.
"How is SSA (Y/L/N)?" she hastens to ask. The surgeon nods, still with that neutral face that doesn't tell me anything.
"She'll be fine. The bullet passed through her abdomen without hitting any vital organs. We did recover the bullet. With enough rest and some medication, she'll be 100% recovered in a few weeks. She's lucky, though. A millimeter higher and we wouldn't be having the same conversation."
I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding in, as Emily thanks the doctor, who quickly disappears behind the doors of the restricted area.
I take a seat again, repeating to myself over and over that she'll be okay. It was just a scare. (Y/N) will be fine. I didn't lose her.
"What are you thinking?" Emily asks, sitting by my side, after she reports (Y/N)'s condition to the team by phone.
I shake my head, as if that would persuade her not to want an answer. Emily scrutinizes me for a few seconds, analyzing me in the way only she knows how. And I can tell she sees the affliction in my eyes.
"She told you, didn't she?"
I don't even ask her what she means; we both know exactly what it's about.
"I didn't want to believe her. But she was very clear about it, and I was an asshole enough not to tell her the truth."
"Why?"
I look at Emily in disbelief. "Isn't it obvious? We - I mean, I can't; that's not how it's supposed to be in the first place. We work together. We're friends. We are-" I trail off, knowing I'm throwing all the excuses I tell myself every day.
"Are you listening to yourself, aren't you?"
A scoff leaves my mouth before I can stop it. "Yeah, make it look pretend all you want, Spencer, but we both know that self-sabotage won't lead you anywhere."
"It's reality, Emily. Pure and simple reality." My voice is full of bitterness for what it's the story of my life.
"Is it so hard to believe someone like her can love you? Is it so bad to want to love someone the way you do with her? Stop thinking you don't deserve these things, Spencer. You, better than anyone, know the fragility of this life and this job. Don't let it pass you by just because you're afraid of the future. No one can ever be sure what will happen tomorrow, but that's no reason to miss the opportunity to live each day and let ourselves be loved, especially by someone who reciprocates that feeling."
"I don't want to hurt her," I meekly defend.
"You're precisely doing that, not telling her how you really feel."
I hate to say it, but Emily is right. I've already hurt her, thinking that by saying nothing, she would be safe from me.
"I just wanted to protect her," I muse, running my hands through my hair as if the gesture will clear my head.
"She doesn't need protection; she needs honesty from you."
'It sounds simple to say,' I want to argue, but I get Emily's point and, although it terrifies me, I owe that to (Y/N) even if nothing comes of it between us in the end.
I leave out a deep sigh as I take in Emily's words.
"Do you think something between us -?" I trail off, knowing that saying the words will make it a real possibility. I don't know if I can handle the hope right now.
"I'm sure it will, but even if it didn't, you'll never know if you don't try, Spencer."
I can try, but will she ever forgive me for what I did? For what I said and for what I didn't say? I scratch my head, trying to figure out what my next steps should be. I see Emily's sly smile out of the corner of my eye. "What?" I ask, frowning.
"Come on, Romeo: if you're going to make amends, you should at least bring flowers."
Without saying a word, I get up from the chair and leave the waiting room, determined to do things right this time.
I return an hour later. Emily sees me and is about to make a comment when a nurse approaches and tells us that (Y/N) is already in her room and can receive visitors.
Emily pats my back. "Good luck. Call us later to let us know how she's doing." I turn to the nurse, who smiles at me and leads me down the hall to (Y/N)'s room.
Slowly, I open the door, and there she is, mid-seated in the hospital bed. Head turned to the window. The glow of the rising sun reflects on her mussed hair. Left arm with a neatly cast, side visibly patched under the gown she's wearing.
Injured, but still the most beautiful woman in the world.
"Hey," I quietly mumble, enough for her to turn her head to me. Her eyes look tired, but a little smile graces her lips. And my heart starts racing in no time, just at that gesture.
"Hey." Her voice is raspy, unused for hours.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, taking cautious steps closer. I don't want to invade her personal space, but I need to be sure she's okay. I need to see it with my own eyes and feel it.
"Injured. Again." She exhales with a bit of difficulty, shifting to a more comfortable position. "I should seriously consider signing up for an extra medical benefits plan because of all the times I end up in a hospital."
Her eyes dart to my hands holding a bouquet.
"Am I dying?" She asks, a lazy frown forming.
"What?"
(Y/N) weakly chuckles. "Flowers? Dr. Reid hasn't bought me flowers before. Maybe I'm really dying."
It's a little disconcerting the way she's joking like that, especially after what happened.
"These - uh- these are actually for you. You said once you liked magnolias," I explain as I clumsily hand her the bouquet.
(Y/N)'s eyes soften. "Actually, I like them a lot." She takes a smell of its scent.
"My mom usually littered the house with them when I was young," she mumbles, still basking in their fragrance. It's a welcomed contrast inside the sterile hospital room.
"In some Native American traditions, magnolia trees are revered as sacred beings, embodying the essence of the natural world. Similarly, in Christian symbolism, the magnolia's evergreen leaves and fragrant blossoms are seen as reminders of eternal life and the promise of renewal."
(Y/N) smiles softly. "I didn't know that. Just my mom told me to have them near me every chance I get."
"It makes sense. Magnolias commonly symbolize purity, femininity, and nobility. Because they've existed for millions of years, they also represent perseverance."
(Y/N)'s brow arches. "Stubbornness isn't in the description?"
I chuckle at her remark. "I guess perseverance covers it."
"Not the recklessness, though. I bet Emily wants to end my health insurance."
I shrug nonchalantly. "After this one? Maybe she's considering it."
(Y/N) huffs a humorless laugh, immediately regretting doing it because I see the flinch in her eyes, and the pain crossing her features.
"Should I call someone? You're visibly in pain."
(Y/N) shakes her head. "Nah. I pulled some muscles a bit harder than I should have, but I'll be fine."
I don't know if it's a product of her youth or her sheer obstinacy, but I'm always surprised by her ability to make her condition seem like a mere inconvenience, something not to worry about.
"The doctor says you'll be discharged soon, as long as the stitches start to heal properly."
"Fine by me. I don't think this town wants me more days here, the same way I don't want to be here."
A fragile silence envelops us in that sterile hospital room. I want to say so many things, but I don't know how to start. (Y/N)'s words from the other night resonate in my brain, as well as the words she said to Levine hours prior.
"How pissed is Emily? And Rossi? He must be furious with me," she breaks the silence before I continue internally spiraling.
Funny how she asks that, when Emily was a nervous wreck since we knew Levine had (Y/N), and Rossi, who feels more than guilty for not protecting her in the field. Weird how the optics change from person to person.
"Emily isn't pissed off. Nobody is pissed off or furious for that matter, okay? Rossi is fine, and he knows you didn't have an option. I can bet he told you to leave him there to chase Levine."
"I left a team member behind, Spencer. That's against any protocol and common sense," she complains.
"And that's how you saved an innocent woman who was about to be killed by a lunatic. I would have been more careful about taking cover from the bullet, but we can't have everything in life, can we?"
(Y/N) puff, trying to cover a smile, before asking. "Is she okay?"
"Samantha? She's okay, reunited with her son, thanks to you."
"Good," she muses, eyes fixed on her lap, as if the stiff fabric of the blanket were the most interesting thing in the world.
Another silence settles, but this time it's me who breaks it.
"Why did you ever say that?" The words blurt out of me before I can stop them.
"What?" (Y/N)'s gaze snaps up to me, confused and brows furrowed.
I clear my throat before speaking.
"To Levine." The furrow softens a bit, but it's still there as she thinks about my question.
"I said a lot of things, Spencer."
I can sense she knows what I'm talking about, but she's cautious.
"Yeah. But you said you had lost the love of your life for a mistake. Did you mean it?"
(Y/N)'s eyes cast down again, her jaw tightening, but as quickly as that, she schools her demeanor, a tight smile plastered on her face.
"It was the job. I had to get to him somehow, you know that."
It's the safest response, but I know she's deflecting. Her eyes speak volumes, even if she tries to hide them. I hate to think I've been contributing to her feeling that way.
"But you meant it, didn't you?"
"Spencer, please, can we not-"
In a bold move, I get closer and sit at the edge of the bed. My hands are dying to touch her, but I refrain, resting them on my lap instead.
"I'm sorry for hurting you with what I said the other night." I manage to mumble.
(Y/N) exhales, her eyes avert mine. Cheeks flushed.
"Don't apologize. And you don't have to say anything at all. Really. I just want to forget even mentioning it, okay?"
I should respect her wishes. She doesn't want to talk, and that should be enough for me to keep my mouth shut. But, again, her eyes are telling me another story. There is sadness and nostalgia; it's like a bridge has been burned between us, and she feels responsible.
(Y/N) thinks I don't reciprocate her feelings, and although I have my own reservations about the topic, it's not fair to let her believe this is a one-way thing.
"But I don't."
Narrowing her eyes, (Y/N) tilts her head.
Here goes nothing.
"I don't want to forget it. I can't forget it. Not when I wasn't honest with you. Not when-"
(Y/N) huffs a breath, shaking her head.
"Spencer, you don't need to be polite and say what you think is right for my sake. I'm a big girl, I'll be fine."
Did I say she is stubborn? I'm sure I mentioned it.
"Would you let me finish, please?" My voice rises an octave, the way it does when I'm nervous and desperate to spill my guts with words. (Y/N)'s eyes widen, mouth agape.
"Please?" I repeat, this time with more composure. (Y/N) slowly nods, giving me the clear.
"You're right. We do whatever's needed in this job. And it's one of the things that makes you so good at it. I mean, since your first case, we've all seen you're more than capable of doing this. Your commitment? The way you give your all? No wonder why Emily brought you to the team. But that's not the only thing that matters, you know?"
(Y/N)'s jaw tightens, and I know she wants to stop me. Compliments are something she's not used to receiving, though she deserves them all.
"You're more than an agent, (Y/N). I had the privilege of getting to know you, and believe me, you matter to me more than you can imagine. I'm sorry for not letting you know sooner."
"Spencer-" she starts, but I shake my head softly.
"I'm not done. Please."
She nods again, a strain tear running down her cheek.
"When I met you, I was in a bad place. I was just released from prison, and honestly? I didn't think it was possible to get back some of the man I used to be. But you proved me wrong. I was so wrong, (Y/N). You did it. You refloated me, awakening a better version of myself. And I should have thanked you sooner for it."
Tentatively, my hand reaches hers, still placed in her lap. She doesn't pull away.
"But I got scared. I thought it was just me who was harboring something more than a friendship between us. And I got scared, because I didn't want to hurt you with my own scars. You had already done so much for me. That's why that night I said it was complicated. Not because I didn't reciprocate your feelings, but because I do. More than you can imagine."
(Y/N)'s eyes broaden in confusion. "You- what?"
"I like you, too—a lot. But you know me, my brain gets stuck with logic and poor self-love. You will get tired of me, and the thought of losing you terrifies me."
“Why would you lose me? Where did you get that idea?” she asks, squeezing one of my hands in her lap. I shrug, defeated.
"Because I mess everything up. You know that; you've seen it. In fact, I just did it again the other night when you were brave enough to tell me how you felt, and I was the coward who said nothing."
A lump forms in my throat at the thought that my cowardice makes me unworthy of her.
She sighs, taking my words in. Absentmindedly, her fingers are gently caressing my knuckles.
"I won't deny that feeling this vulnerable in front of you was easy. You say it was bravery; I'd say it was more of an overflow." (Y/N) huffs softly, while I shake my head.
"The point is, if this scares you," she says, gesturing with a finger between us, "don't you think I'm terrified too? And not because I don't like you. God, at this point, I'm sure I love you. I'm terrified because I don't think I'm good enough for you, and I know you're going to tell me I shouldn't think this way, but look at me," she pauses a bit to take a breath. "You say you're damaged, that you've suffered, and I know that's true. But if you tell me you don't want to hurt me with it, then it's clear you think I'm not good enough, because I won't be able to handle it."
My mouth goes agape at her words. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought she wouldn't be enough for me. I've always thought it was the other way around, and hearing her say it breaks my heart. And I feel even worse when I see her eyes fill with tears.
I shake my head as one of my thumbs tries to wipe away her tears—a poor attempt to fix what I've caused.
"I've never believed, and I never will, that you're not enough for me. And I'm truly sorry for making you think that. I don't think you're incapable of handling it - or me; I just thought it was unfair to cut your wings with my burden."
"Do you really think it's so wrong to love you?" she asks, leaning into the touch of my hand on her cheek, eyes on me searching for the truth. I take a second to mull the question.
"I thought so," I say honestly. "But I'm willing to change my mind if you're the one who wants to love me." To prove it in some way, I take her hand and bring it to my lips to tenderly kiss her palm. A smile crept on her face.
"You mean it?" The question is timid, but hopeful.
"Absolutely." My response is clear, with no hesitation, full of the truth I didn't dare to share before.
She closes her eyes for a second; a shy laugh escapes her lips. When her gaze meets mine again, her eyes twinkle, and I swear I stop breathing for a second.
"What now?" She rests her head on the pillow, looking at me expectantly and biting her lower lip. That shouldn't affect me as much as it actually does. I clear my throat before speaking.
"Well, first of all, you need to be discharged and get a proper healing so I can take you on a date. We can start there."
A mischievous look takes hold of her. "Is Dr. Spencer Reid asking me on a date?"
I fake seriousness. "That's correct. If the miss is okay with it."
"More than okay, actually," she retorts. "You know? If you take me to that fancy Italian restaurant that opened recently, you could get a kiss at the end of the date. Just so you know."
I snort a laugh. "I'll think about it. Don't tell Rossi though," I warn.
"Never!" she promises, as we both burst out laughing, clasping our hands together. Relieved that everything that needed to be said has been said and that we are willing to give us a chance.
-------------------------------------------
Emily Prentiss is a wise woman. And although things got a little out of hand this time, she ultimately achieved the goal. Watching hidden behind the corner of your hospital room door as you and Spencer laugh - having finally come to terms with each other's truths - she picks up her phone and dials a number.
"David? Hi. I hope you're resting as the doctor told you to. I'm just calling to let you know you owe me $100. My job here is done."
-----------------
Taglist for this fic: @hereforfun-31 @cafters @chonkybonky @shiinata-library @desolatelyvastorchestra @iyskgd @mariposayl @fantastucbaby @theylovethesky @night-daily @obx-xoxo @who-ligan-or-who-vian @chaoticsunball @137ats
summary: you agree to girls’ night to celebrate your first week back at work and end up a little too drunk, a little too honest, and very much forced to confront how serious your relationship with spencer has gotten.
genre: fluff tags/warnings: reader is elle's sister, alcohol consumption, drunken girls’ night shenanigans with Penelope & Emily & JJ, and they are nosyyyyyy, knight in shining armor spencer reid, drunken attempt at seduction lmao but nothing explicit happens, deep relationship talk, tooth-rotting sweetness, no use of y/n. 6k words
a/n: GIF creds to @reidgif 🫶🏼
greenaway!reader masterlist 🥀
By the end of your first week back at Quantico, you’ve realized two things.
One: you are still very good at your job.
Two: being back at your job means everyone around you suddenly has opinions about what you should be doing with your Friday night.
You’re halfway through slowly packing up your things when Garcia appears at your desk with a mischievous grin on her face.
“No,” you say immediately.
She puts a hand to her chest. “That is so rude. I haven’t even spoken yet!”
“I can feel your schemes in the air, Penelope.”
JJ stands nearby, bag in hand, looking far too calm for someone participating in an ambush. “We’re going to O’Keefe’s.”
You finally glance up. “And?”
“And,” Garcia says slowly, as if speaking to a child, “you’re coming with us! It's girls’ night.”
This is not the first time, nor will it be the last, that your teammates have tried to force you out with them. You say yes more often now than you used to, because, against all odds, they’ve somehow weaseled their way into your life as genuine friends, but you’re not exactly what one would call a reliable attendee. Especially not on a night like tonight, when all you want to do after your long-awaited return to functional society is eat takeout on the couch with Spencer, take a long hot shower (also with Spencer), and pass out (again, with Spencer).
You stare at them. “Funny, I don’t remember agreeing to that.”
Emily, leaning against the edge of a neighboring desk with her arms folded, lifts one shoulder. “That’s because we didn’t ask. We’re telling.”
You grimace and lean back in your chair. “I just got through my first week back, you guys. I’m exhausted.”
Garcia softens. “Exactly. You got through your first week back! We need to celebrate, honey.”
You glance over toward Spencer on instinct, and he’s already looking at you. Garcia follows your line of sight and lights up.
“Oh, good idea. Reid! Tell your girlfriend she should come with us.”
You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t you dare.”
Spencer, who should most definitely understand the danger he’s in, simply pushes back from his desk and says, very calmly, “I think you should go.”
You blink at him, utterly betrayed. “Et tu, Reid?”
Morgan lets out a bark of laughter from across the room. Emily actually smiles. Garcia clutches her chest.
Spencer, to his credit, has the decency to look a little apologetic. “You made it through your first week back,” he says. “You should celebrate.”
Emily nods toward him like he’s finally said something useful. “See? Even Boy Wonder thinks you need a drink.”
“And fries,” Garcia adds. “And female companionship. And a chance to talk about something other than work or the deeply haunting state of Reid’s current hairstyle.”
You drag a hand down your face. “Why are you all like this?”
“Because,” JJ says, “you’re our friend, and you’re back, and we want to hang out with you.”
Garcia nods emphatically. “Exactly. You survived a gunshot, surgery, physical therapy, what I can only assume is the world’s clingiest boyfriend, and your first week back on the job. You can survive one night of dive bar drinks with the hottest women the FBI has to offer. Women who happen to adore you, I might add.”
You blink at her. “This is emotional terrorism,” you say with a deep sigh.
Garcia beams. “So that’s a yes!”
“It’s not a—” You stop. Exhale. “Fine. One drink.”
JJ smiles immediately. Emily looks pleased in the most annoying way possible. Garcia claps once like a Disney villain.
Emily reaches over and grabs your bag off the floor before you can change your mind. “Great. Let’s go, ladies, before Greenaway remembers she has free will.”
You stand with a huff that’s mostly for show and shrug into your jacket. Spencer is already there by the time you straighten, close enough that nobody else would clock the way his hand brushes your elbow.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
“No, Brutus.” You give him a look. “You betrayed me.”
He chuckles softly. “I’ll come pick you up later,” he says. “Whenever you want to leave.”
You glance up at him. “I can just take a cab home, Spence. You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to,” he says. “I want to.”
Garcia is already halfway out of the bullpen. “Greenaway! Move your brooding little booty. We’re leaving.”
You roll your eyes and sling your bag over your shoulder.
Spencer catches your wrist for one brief second, just enough to turn you back toward him.
“Have fun,” he says softly.
Then, before you can say something sarcastic and ruin it, he leans in and presses a quick kiss to your temple.
He steps back like he didn’t just do that in the middle of the office, and you stare at him.
“What?” he asks.
Morgan passes behind Spencer and lets out a low, entertained whistle.
“Shut up, Morgan,” you and Spencer shout at the same time, still looking at each other.
Morgan just grins wider and keeps walking.
Spencer nods toward the door. “Go. I’ll see you later.”
Emily appears at your side and pushes you out of the bullpen and toward the elevators with an arm around your shoulder. “That was disgusting.”
Garcia grins. “No, it was adorable. Big difference.”
JJ presses the down button and smirks. “I’m suddenly much more interested in our topics of conversation this evening.”
The elevator opens with a ding, and Garcia ushers everyone in with entirely too much enthusiasm. You step in last, turning just in time to catch one more glimpse of Spencer standing by the bullpen doors, hands in his pockets, watching you leave with that soft, wrecked look he never quite manages to hide anymore.
—
The familiarity of O’Keefe’s hits you all at once the second you push through the door.
Warmth. Noise. The sticky smell of beer and fried food. The hum of conversation layered over a game playing on one of the TVs in the corner and music from the jukebox near the bar.
“Oh, thank god,” Garcia sighs, pressing one hand dramatically to her chest as she leads the group towards a booth in the back. “A room full of alcohol and bad decisions. I’m home.”
You exhale through your nose at that and sit down, accepting your fate for the evening.
“Okay,” Garcia says, clapping once as the waitress appears. “We need mozzarella sticks, fries, and something colorful with lots of tequila in it.”
Emily glances at the drink menu. “No tequila for me tonight. Jack and coke, please.”
JJ laughs and hands the menus back in a neat stack. “I’ll just take a beer.”
You look down at your own menu without really reading it. “Whiskey, on the rocks.”
Garcia hands over the menus with a satisfied sigh. “Perfect. We’re off to an excellent start.”
Emily glances at you. “You still have time to fake a migraine and leave, you know.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
The drinks come, and feel your shoulders unclench by accident after your first sip.
You realize this feeling is another thing nobody tells you about getting injured badly enough to disrupt the whole architecture of your life. Everyone focuses on the obvious parts — surgeries, scars, whether you’ll be okay, whether you’ll be normal, whatever that means. What no one really prepares you for is how strange it feels to start participating in your own life again once the worst of it is over. How bizarre it is to sit in a bar on a Friday night, in jeans and boots and lipstick with your girlfriends around a wooden table, and realize the world kept spinning while you were busy focusing on surviving.
There’s also the more humiliating part, which is that you haven’t done this in what feels like forever. Drinking, or hanging out with friends, or just simply sitting still and talking and existing without a doctor asking whether your pain is sharp or dull or a man you love watching your face too closely every time you stand up. The whole thing feels weirdly high stakes for something as stupid and simple as greasy fries and cheap liquor.
Garcia raises her glass. “To Greenaway,” she says, voice softening in a way that makes you self-conscious, “being back at work and a semi-willing participant in girls’ night.”
Emily lifts her glass. “A triumph.”
JJ’s smile is warm when she reaches in with hers too. “To Greenaway.”
You look at all three of them over the rim of your glass. “This is disgusting,” you mutter, which is about as close to thank you as you’re willing to get.
You let your glass clink against theirs anyway.
For a while, the conversation behaves itself. Garcia launches into a story about a disastrous blind date with a man who described himself as “alpha-adjacent,” which makes Emily nearly choke on her drink. JJ talks about Henry’s current refusal to sleep unless one sock is missing, which Garcia insists is “actually very chic of him.” After a waitress drops off the fries and mozzarella sticks, Emily tells a story about a truly alarming hostel she once stayed at in Prague, and before you know it, you’re contributing your own horror story about a motel in Kansas that smelled like mildew and bad choices.
Penelope points at you with a fry. “See? This is nice. You’re socializing,” to which you roll your eyes in response.
By the time you’re halfway through your second whiskey, the room feels warmer, the edges softened just enough that you stop noticing how many people are around you and start noticing smaller things instead. The exact shade of Emily’s lipstick. The glitter worked into Garcia’s eyeliner. The way JJ laughs with her whole face when she actually lets herself. The fact that you’re here at all.
You’re halfway through a story about the world’s most idiotic suspect trying to outrun Morgan during a case in Vermont last year when your phone buzzes against the table.
You look down, and Spencer’s name glows up at you from the screen alongside a text preview:
How’s it going? I hope you’re having fun.
Your mouth twitches before you can stop it.
Emily clocks it instantly. “There it is.”
You look up. “There what is?”
“Your face,” Garcia says, delighted. “You have a face!”
You cock a brow suspiciously. “Everyone has a face, Penelope.”
Emily leans back, arms folded. “No, she means your Spencer face.”
You stare at them. “My what.”
“Your Spencer face! You get this, like, very specific look on your face when you talk to him, or hear other people talking about him, or anytime you even think about him. Sorta smug, sorta soft, very in love. It’s adorable,” Garcia explains.
You pick up your phone and groan, “I hate all of you,” before typing back under the table:
i’m… surviving. no rescue required yet but it’s minute-by-minute
Three dots appear almost immediately.
Glad to hear it. Love you.
“It’s undeniable,” Garcia says, catching your expression. “That is, without a doubt, your Spencer face.”
You slide your phone face-down onto the table. “Say that one more time and I’m leaving.”
Garcia leans both elbows on the table and gives you a look that’s far too bright to be trustworthy. “Okay. So. Since Reid has officially entered the chat—”
“No.”
“—we have questions.”
“Absolutely not.”
Emily lifts a shoulder. “You had to have known this was coming.”
Well, she has a point there.
Garcia starts firing off questions immediately. “How clingy is he? Are you moving in together? Who fell first? Who said I love you first? Did he cry when you said it? Did you cry? Was there background music? Candles? Rose petals? Should I be offended that I wasn’t invited as a witness?”
JJ snorts into her beer.
You put your glass down carefully. “You all need professional help.”
“Don’t worry, I have a therapist on speed dial,” Garcia says. “What I don’t have is information.”
Emily tilts her head. “C’mon, Greenaway. You can’t really expect us not to be curious about our two coworkers who are dating.”
The thing is, they’re not wrong to be curious. The Spencer they know isn’t the same Spencer you know. They know the version of Spencer with brains and facts and a perpetually crooked tie, the one who hides half his personality behind statistics and awkwardness until people make the mistake of thinking that’s all there is to him. But you, by some impossible stroke of luck or an undeserved & pre-determined string of fate, have been granted the privilege of knowing there’s so much more. And somewhere along the line, without asking permission, he stopped feeling like a part of your life and started feeling like the shape of it.
Maybe that’s why this line of questioning makes your skin feel too tight — because they aren’t asking about a silly little coworker crush like they had been at that margarita night Garcia hosted many months ago. Now they’re asking about your actual life. About something real enough that if you look at it directly for too long, the brightness and warmth nearly blinds you.
“You gave him a key to your place, didn’t you?” JJ asks, breaking you out of your trance.
The table goes quiet for half a second.
You look at her. “Who told you that?”
JJ shrugs. “No one had to. When he first came back to work after you got shot, he was so worried about leaving you alone all day, so I went with him to check on you at lunchtime. He let himself into your apartment with a key on his usual keyring, and he looked very comfortable doing it.”
You look down at your drink. “You people are so invasive.”
Garcia points at you triumphantly. “Aha! That’s not a denial!”
You take a long sip of whiskey that does absolutely nothing to save you.
“It was… practical,” you say, which immediately sounds like a lie, even to you. “I gave it to him when I was still stuck at the hospital so he could bring me things from my place. Then he didn’t want me to be alone while I was recovering, and…” You lift one shoulder. “He still has the key.”
Emily’s mouth curves. “Very practical.”
“Shut up.”
“So,” Emily says. “How serious is this thing, really?”
You could dodge. You should dodge. You should say something glib and slippery and let them all chase their own tails around it.
Instead, because your second glass of whiskey is now treacherously empty and because these women have somehow figured out how to disarm you with minimal effort, you hear yourself say, “Um. I guess it’s… pretty serious. Yeah.”
Garcia actually slaps a hand over her heart. “Define pretty, please. Pretty pretty please!”
“God, I don’t know, you guys,” you say with an exasperated sigh. “Serious enough that, yeah, he has a key to my apartment. Enough that I can’t remember the last time I spent more than, like, four hours without talking to him, outside of when we’re asleep. Enough that everyone in this room is apparently allowed to bully me about him.”
JJ leans forward slightly. “Do you see a future with him?”
You look at her, then at the table, then at your empty glass. The honest answer rises before you can kill it.
“Yeah,” you say quietly. “That’s kind of the problem.”
Garcia goes so still you’d think someone muted her with a remote. Emily’s brows lift. JJ just watches you.
You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Not, like, a problem-problem. Not in a bad way. Just… I think he got serious about it before I realized I was letting him get serious, and then I was already in it too, apparently, before I’d even noticed that was happening, and then one day I looked up and he was just…” You stop, irritated by the catch in your own voice. “Everywhere. In every corner of my life.”
You swirl your glass against the table and stare at the condensation gathered on the rim, trying very hard not to think about how exposed you feel right now.
Then, because the alcohol has successfully eliminated your usual filters, you add, “He’s annoyingly good at staying, through pretty much anything. And… I think he’s teaching me how to be good at staying too.”
Garcia makes a strangled noise and beams at you.
“Oh my god,” she whispers. “You are in love-love.”
You roll your eyes. “That’s not exactly breaking news.”
“It’s not,” JJ says gently. “Anyone with eyes can see it nowadays. But it’s still nice to hear you say it out loud.”
You stare at her — at all of them, really: Garcia glowing with vindication and affection, Emily pretending not to be touched, JJ looking so proud it hurts, and another thought arrives uninvited: they love you too. Not in the way Spencer does, obviously — not in the all-consuming, low-voiced, hand-at-your-waist way. But still, in a real way, in a way you don’t think you’ve ever been loved by friends before. In the show-up, drag-you-out, celebrate-your-first-week-back, make-fun-of-you-until-you-stop-deflecting way.
You laugh despite yourself, because what else are you supposed to do with this? These women, this bar, this absurd line of questioning, this life that somehow expanded around you while you were busy trying not to die?
Garcia pulls your focus back to the conversation at hand. “Now I need to know if he’s actually romantic or if this is all just the natural result of extreme pining and good bone structure.”
You shake your head and reach for another fry. “Yes. Fine. He can be romantic,” you admit.
Garcia leans so far across the table you’re worried she’s about to fall into the mozzarella sticks. “In what way?”
You hesitate, because how do you explain Spencer as a boyfriend? How do you explain that privately he’s still Spencer, still dorky and earnest and too smart for his own good, but also softer than anyone would guess, and sharper too? That he remembers everything you say and acts like that’s normal? That he takes every tiny thing he knows about you into consideration before planning dates? That even the physical things with him somehow feel impossibly specific, like he’s learned your body with the same frightening thoroughness he learns everything else? That he can be so maddeningly practical one second and then look at you like you’ve just hung the moon in the sky with your bare hands the next?
Eventually, you say: “He notices things.”
Emily’s expression shifts first, like she gets exactly how loaded that answer is.
Garcia, predictably, wants more. “Such as?”
“Everything,” you say. “If I’m cold. If I’m tired. If I’m trying to pretend I’m not either of those things. He remembers stupid little things I say and then acts on them weeks later like that’s normal behavior. Like, last week, he bought me this ridiculously expensive brand of coffee beans from a cafe on the other side of the city because I mentioned them once in passing. He keeps my favorite pens stocked at his desk and in his bag because he knows I chew on mine until they stop working.”
You grimace. “Yeah, well. Don’t encourage him. I can’t handle much more of it and still keep my dignity intact.”
Emily props her chin on her hand. “How bad?”
You look at her. “What does that mean.”
“On a scale from one to ten, how embarrassing is he as a boyfriend?” she asks with a shrug.
“Honestly?” you say. “Pretty bad.”
Garcia crows in triumph. “I knew it.”
You look away. “I mean, I’m sorta embarrassing too.”
That catches all three of them off guard. You feel your face warm and immediately regret opening your mouth. But it’s too late now, so you plow forward.
“I miss him when he’s in the next room,” you mumble. “Which is humiliating and codependent and probably very concerning.”
JJ gives you a look that is somehow both sympathetic and deeply entertained. “That doesn’t sound concerning. It sounds sweet.”
Garcia puts both hands over her heart. “You are so disgustingly gone. I love it.”
You lean back in the booth and look up at the ceiling like maybe some god out there in the universe will mercifully strike you down before this gets any worse.
The strike never comes.
—
At some point after their humiliating interrogation, the conversation drifted. Garcia got louder. JJ got funnier. Emily, somehow, got both meaner and more affectionate at the same time. Somebody put more money in the jukebox. A second basket of fries appeared and disappeared. Then another round showed up, and then maybe another one after that, and after a while, keeping count lost its appeal.
Garcia made a passionate argument about who from the BAU would last the longest in a zombie apocalypse (“Survival isn’t just about brute strength! It’s also about adaptability and vibes!”). JJ reached that dangerous stage of tipsy where everything struck her as deeply, genuinely hilarious, including your comparison between Rossi in reading glasses and the Tootsie Pop owl. Emily had one elbow on the table, chin in hand, and the sort of lazy, amused smile that meant she was enjoying everybody else’s nonsense immensely.
The whole room has gone pleasantly soft around the edges. Warmer. Louder. The lights above the bar blur into dull gold halos. Every time Garcia laughs, it seemed to set off the whole table half a second later. Your own body has gotten looser too, the good kind of loose — shoulders unclenched, thoughts less guarded, the usual sharp corners of you sanded down just enough.
But beneath all of it, quiet and constant, is the simple thought that if you asked, Spencer would come pick you up in a heartbeat.
You didn’t realize how much you were counting on that until the room tips one degree too warm and the thought of trying to get yourself home without him suddenly felt both very impossible and completely undesirable.
So you text him.
come get me?
And, because he’s Spencer, his reply comes almost immediately.
You got it. On my way.
The fuzziness only intensifies after that, but you’re at least mostly aware of what’s happening around you. Garcia has somehow moved on from zombies to explaining why she could absolutely win a bar fight if motivated by love. JJ is smiling into the rim of her drink. Emily has abandoned subtlety entirely and is now openly enjoying your slow descent into drunken sentimentality, which is rude but expected.
Then O’Keefe’s front door opens, and there he is.
Spencer pauses just inside the bar for half a second, scanning the room. His shoulders ease the second he spots you, that familiar little drop in tension so slight most people would miss it. You don’t. You never do.
He makes his way over, tie gone, coat on, hair a little wind-mussed from the cold outside. He looks tired in that way only he can: wrung out around the eyes but still put together, still handsome even under shitty bar lighting and the accumulated weight of a work week.
He stops beside the table and waves awkwardly to the entire group.
“Hello,” he says.
You tip your face up, far too happy to see him for someone with any pride left. “Hi, baby.”
The entire table goes silent.
Spencer’s brows lift the tiniest amount. Then his mouth softens into that look — that one that always makes your pulse jump.
“Hi,” he says softly, just to you.
Garcia clamps both hands over her mouth. Emily looks delighted. JJ’s expression has gone so calm it circles back around to dangerous.
You point a finger at all three of them. “Don’t.”
“No one said anything,” JJ says, holding both hands up defensively.
Garcia lowers hers from her mouth just enough to whisper, “Yet.”
Spencer, because he is either merciful or trying very hard to be, just asks, “You okay?”
You nod a little too emphatically. “M’great.”
Emily deadpans, “She’s drunk.”
“I’m not drunk,” you say, while reaching for Spencer’s hand and missing on the first attempt. “I’m just… friendlier than usual.”
Spencer takes your hand himself and laces your fingers together before you can fumble again. “Of course.”
He says it so gently that it almost makes you emotional, which is very much not helping the situation.
Garcia, meanwhile, has given up all restraint. “She told us things.”
“Penelope,” you warn.
Spencer’s gaze flicks from her to you, faintly alarmed now in the way of a man who knows there are degrees of terror in your mind and that drunken honesty ranks highly among them. “Things like…?”
Emily takes pity on him, sort of. “Nothing classified.”
JJ sets her glass down. “We mostly just confirmed what we already suspected.”
Spencer, still holding your hand, blinks once. “Which is?”
Garcia leans in, beaming. “That you’re absolutely, totally, completely obsessed with each other.”
You look at the tabletop. The wood grain is suddenly fascinating.
“Ah,” he replies with a soft chuckle.
JJ hands you your purse from where you abandoned it at the opposite end of the booth. “Text us tomorrow so we know you’re alive.”
Garcia points at Spencer. “Take care of her, loverboy.”
He nods. “Always.”
You wish, briefly, for the floor to open up and swallow you whole. But instead, Spencer helps you stand with such absurd care it’s almost offensive. His hand settles lightly at your waist as he steers you through the bar, and your body goes willingly.
—
The night air outside is cold enough to bite.
It hits your face sharply but clears none of the pleasant fuzz in your head. The city glows around you in smeared headlights and neon and streetlamp glow, and Spencer guides you toward the curb where his car’s parked, one hand still warm at your back.
He opens the passenger door and looks at you with that quiet, attentive expression that makes you feel both cherished and mildly threatened.
“You good?” he asks.
You lean against the car and squint at him. “They interrogated me.”
Spencer’s mouth twitches. “That does sound like them.”
You point at him. “It’s all your fault.”
“My fault?”
“You made me go!”
He waits while you lower yourself into the passenger seat and leans in just enough to buckle you, and the whole thing is so stupidly sweet that you have to look away and pretend the dashboard is wildly interesting. He closes the door once you’re settled and walks around to the driver’s side.
When he gets in, he glances over at you as he starts the engine. “I didn’t make you do anything. I just encouraged a night out with your friends.”
“Still Brutus,” you mutter, which is met by a low chuckle and shake of the head from Spencer.
The rest of the drive home is quiet in a good way. Spencer keeps one hand on the wheel and the other resting open between you, and somewhere around the second red light you lace your fingers through his.
He looks over.
“What did they ask about?”
The questions blur together in your whiskey-soaked brain. “Everything,” you say after thinking for a moment. “They were very nosy and a little deranged.”
You turn your head to look at him properly. His profile is too familiar now — the slope of his nose, the soft concentration in his mouth, the line between his brows that shows up when he’s listening carefully.
“They asked what you’re like as a boyfriend,” you add.
Spencer glances over, faintly amused. “And?”
“And I had to say things.”
His brows lift. “Tragic.”
You nod dramatically. “Exactly. It was.”
By the time he parks outside your building and gets you upstairs, your thoughts have all softened into a single, inconvenient ache.
He helps you out of your coat, sets your purse down on the table, gets you water without asking. You sit on the edge of the bed while he moves around the room, toeing off his shoes, unbuttoning his cuffs, setting his watch on the nightstand.
He’s tired. You can see it in the slope of his shoulders and the care he’s no longer even trying to hide. He’s always gentler with you when he’s exhausted, as if all the extra effort it usually takes to conceal the full force of how much he cares has finally burned off.
You watch him longer than you mean to, and he catches you.
“What’s up?”
You shake your head. “Nothing.”
Spencer’s expression shifts. He comes over and kneels in front of you, hands resting lightly on your knees.
“What is it?” he asks softly.
And there it is — that awful tenderness. That exact, patient attention that always seems to make honesty feel both easier and much, much worse.
You look at him and find, with some irritation, that the words do not want to come out in anything resembling order.
“They asked…” You stop, frown, start again. “Um. They asked if this is serious.”
Spencer’s face softens so visibly it’s almost unbearable.
“Oh,” he says.
You nod, suddenly more nervous than you were in the bar, which makes no sense because it’s just him. Just Spencer, the man who has a key to your apartment and alphabetizes your spices and picks you up without hesitation and tells you he loves you at least five times a day.
But that’s exactly why it’s so nerve wracking, maybe.
You look down at the front of his shirt instead of his face. “And I told them yes.”
A beat of silence.
Then, quietly: “Okay.”
You let out a breath that sounds more annoyed than relieved. “No, see, that’s not enough.”
Spencer’s left hand moves from your knee up to your chin, guiding your face up just enough that you have to meet his eyes.
“What do you need me to say?” he asks gently.
“I—” You stop. Try again. “I don’t know. Something normal. Or not normal. Just…” You gesture vaguely between the two of you because apparently language has abandoned you. “They asked and I said yes and now I’m in my head about it because we’ve never actually said so out loud in those words, and I know that’s stupid because, like, obviously we’re serious. Duh. We say I love you. You have a key to my freaking apartment and we haven’t spent a night apart by choice in months. I know what this is. But I just—”
You stop again, mortified.
“It’s not stupid,” he says.
You swallow. “It’s not?”
“Not at all.” His thumb brushes once across your cheek. “And yes. We’re serious.”
The simplicity of it makes your throat go tight.
Spencer gives the smallest, softest little playful shrug. “I mean, think about it. You have a key to my apartment too.”
You almost laugh. It comes out sounding too close to a sigh.
Spencer watches your face for a second, then adds, quieter, “I think about it all the time, you know. How serious this is for me. How serious you are to me.” He glances down for half a second, then back up. “But I didn’t know if saying that would make you feel pressured, so I was trying very hard to let you get there however you needed to.”
Something in your chest folds in on itself.
It’s not even the serious part that gets you, not really. You already knew that. It’s the rest of it — the fact that he’s been thinking about it too; the fact that he’s been intentionally careful not to crowd you into saying something before you were ready. It’s so unfairly him that, for a second, all you can do is stare.
You look at him for a little too long, then reach for the front of his shirt and tug. He comes without resistance, mouth brushing yours, soft and warm and patient.
The kiss deepens slowly. His hand slides to your waist and yours goes into his hair, because you like the little sound it pulls from him. You slide your other hand down his chest, mouth skimming his jaw, and in your softest, most shameless voice, you ask, “Are you going to fuck me now, or do I need to make a more persuasive argument?”
Spencer closes his eyes and laughs softly against your cheek. “No, angel, I’m not.”
You blink. “Rude.”
“You’re drunk,” he reminds you softly.
“I’m also charming.”
“You are,” he agrees.
“So—”
“So no.”
You grumble. “You hate joy, Spencer Reid.”
“I love joy,” he insists. “I’m a huge fan of joy. I’m less of a fan of taking advantage of you when you’ve had too much whiskey.”
You squint at him. “What if I said ‘make love’ instead? Does that move the needle at all?”
Spencer actually breaks at that, shoulders shaking with a laugh he tries and fails to suppress.
“No,” he says, still smiling, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck. “It doesn’t.”
You sigh dramatically. “This relationship is so one-sided.”
“That is an absurd statement and you know it,” he says with a laugh, and leans in again — one long, slow kiss that leaves your knees weak and your head warm. When he finally pulls back, he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. “Try again when you’re sober. I’ll do anything you ask.”
You smirk. “Anything? That’s a very dangerous offer.”
Spencer stands, mouth twisted in an exasperated grin. “Go brush your teeth, silly girl.”
You glare. He waits. You lose and grumble dramatically as you trudge into the bathroom.
Eventually, exhaustion starts to take hold. Spencer helps you out of your clothes, hands you one of his old shirts, gets you under the blankets. He climbs in beside you after turning off the lamp, and the room goes dark around the warm shape of him.
You roll toward him instinctively, your body finding his like a puzzle piece. His arm settles around you as you lay your head on his chest and tangle your legs with his. The two of you fit together too easily now, which is still a bit alarming if you think about it for too long.
For a minute, neither of you says anything.
Then you murmur, already half gone, “You liked when I called you baby.”
Spencer’s chest rises under your cheek with a silent laugh. “Maybe a little.”
You smile into his shirt. “Knew it.”
“You’re not going to start calling me that all the time now, are you?”
“God no. You know how I feel about using pet names.” You tilt your head just enough to look at him in the dark. “But… maybe sometimes.”
Spencer’s hand slides up your back, slow and warm. “I’ll take it.”
His breathing evens out under your ear. Yours follows a second later.
“Sweet dreams,” he whispers sleepily. “Love you.”
Your heart still flutters in that same embarrassing way it did the first time he said those words.
“Love you too,” you whisper back.
Tomorrow, you’ll wake up and remember enough of this to want to throw yourself violently into the Potomac. You’ll remember the bar and the interrogation and the pet name and the failed attempt at seduction and the deeply incriminating declarations of emotional seriousness.
But that’s a problem for tomorrow’s version of you. Tonight, Spencer’s body is warm against yours, his mouth is still soft from kissing you, and the awful, frightening shape of your future no longer feels quite so awful or frightening when it’s lying here breathing beside you.
Serious, you think, right before sleep pulls you under.
Yeah.
That sounds about right.
ᝰ.ᐟ
this fic is part of the greenaway!reader universe/series! you can read more about this pairing here ♥️
PSA: likes do very little for promoting posts on tumblr! if you'd like to support a fic, please reblog!
We Could Try (Part 9): Take Me Home (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)
(Not my gif. Credits to the creator!)
Author Masterlist / Clueless (prequel)
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9
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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader
Summary: Spencer stays with Reader all night in the hospital. Will she make it at the end? Will they make it too?
Word Count: 6.1k
Warnings: Hurt/Confort/Fluff. Talk about rough injuries, hospitals, and hostage situations. If I forgot something, let me know.
A/N: This is the last chapter, my loves. Thank you so much for the support you gave to this series. I love these two so much, and it's a bit sad to let them go, honestly.
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Spencer forgot the last time he had a nice dream. It was possibly months ago.
It was curious that, in these circumstances, he could dream of something nice again, but that's how it was.
-
He could see (Y/N) laughing as he tried to sing a song.
"You're so off-key," she complained, still laughing.
"But I'm your off-key guy. And you love me," Spencer told her, pecking her lips.
"You're right. But don't push it, pal," she teased him, playfully hitting his chest. Spencer chuckled as he pulled her to him.
"Come on, say it," Spencer requested.
"Say what?" (Y/N) asked as she didn't know what he was talking about.
"You know what!" Spencer pouted. (Y/N) grinned.
"Okay, okay. Don't get all fuzzy on me," (Y/N) said, holding Spencer's cheeks when he tried to avert her gaze. "Hey, look at me." Spencer's puppy eyes met hers.
"Spencer Walter Reid. I love you. I love you as I never loved anyone, and I will never do," she said, leaning forward to kiss him deeply. Spencer wanted that; he felt like the happiest man on earth.
-
His dream was disturbed by Emily, who had a coffee for him in hand, and a go-bag with - presumably - his clothes.
"You should sleep on the couch there," she pointed to the room corner. "That chair is anything but comfortable."
After rubbing his eyes, Spencer shook his head.
"I'm not leaving her side. Thanks though," Spencer stated, grabbing the coffee and sipping it. Emily understood.
"Okay. So for you to know, the case is officially closed. We found the connection we had missed between Turpin and his accomplishes. They are going to face trial now," she recounted.
"What about what he did to (Y/N)?"
"The guy is dead, Spencer. And due it was a legit defense, (Y/N) won't have to worry about protocol or anything."
Spencer let out a deep breath. They both kept staring at (Y/N), her breathing steady.
"Do you think she would make it?" He asked suddenly. Prentiss sighed, looking at (Y/N) lying in bed.
"She is the toughest girl I have known. That gives me enough hope." Spencer nodded. He would cling to that.
"Did you know she didn't want me to move in with her in Boston? I was so angry. I didn't see she still felt insecure about us. I thought everything was going okay. I'm so stupid," Spencer lamented. He should have known, and that made him feel guilty.
"No, you are not. But it's true that (Y/N) felt still vulnerable, and all the what-ifs lingering on her," Emily acknowledged, sipping her own coffee. Spencer turned to see her.
"She told you that?" Emily frowned, contemplating her answer.
"Not quite. But I know."
Spencer nodded, slumping on the chair.
"I love her, Emily. What can I do to make her come back?"
Spencer wasn't talking only about (Y/N) waking up. Things between them weren't on the highest note. Even if she could make it, what would it mean to them?
"The same you're doing since you got together again. With love, support, and communication. I don't know what else could work," Emily shrugged. "The wounds could still be there, but the constant reminder that you have each other will be helpful to heal. To both of you," she added.
And Prentiss was right. She had known Spencer and (Y/N) for years. She witnessed how they fell in love and the ups and downs throughout the past years. Their love wasn't something it could be underestimated.
Spencer spent that night by (Y/N)'s side. A doctor came the next morning to check on her. It was a good thing she didn't seize in the past hours. The danger wasn't entirely gone, but things were improving. A sense of relief washed over Spencer. Relief but anxiety, too, about what's coming next.
A whole day passed, and the team showed up to get updates on (Y/N). Some teammates from the Boston office came too. Spencer asked Emily to call (Y/N)'s sister, Sara. He didn't dare to do it himself.
That night Spencer didn't sleep again, even if his eyes were heavy and his body numb from the hours spent on that chair.
His mind wandered to the months at Milburn and how he was convinced (Y/N) would leave him. He thought about what Valerie told him days ago, about him making sure (Y/N) would never feel unworthy again. He didn't want (Y/N) to think like that.
It was almost dawn when the tiredness got Spencer. He closed his eyes, not leaving the grasp on (Y/N)'s hand as the slumber found him. His brain conjured a beautiful moment in his sleep: the time he proposed to her in Rossi's backyard.
-
'Are you okay?' (Y/N) asked Spencer when she noticed his leg bouncing under the table.
'Yeah. I'm okay,' Spencer lied. He was a nervous wreck. The velvet box was burning a hole in his jacket pocket. He tried to do it before dinner, but the words failed him. Why was it so difficult? He wanted to marry her. But if she says no? They have talked about it but never got serious before.
After dessert, the team was still at the table, laughing at Garcia's jokes. Spencer excused himself, got up, and walked to the backyard. He needed to do it now. He texted JJ and asked her to tell (Y/N) to go outside.
Worried that something was wrong with Spencer, (Y/N) showed up quickly and found him under dimmed lights that hung from the trees on Rossi's patio. When Spencer saw her, he reached out his hand to take hers and make her come closer.
'What's this?' She asked, confused.
'My poor attempt to make this proposal romantic,' he chuckled, pointing to the lights.
'What?'
‘(Y/N). I have been in love with you for ages. I told you that after I got shot, and I wasn't lying. This time we have been together proved to me that you are the love of my life. And I want to spend the rest of my days with you.' (Y/N)'s eyes widened when Spencer got down to one knee, revealing the velvet box with a ring inside.
'Will you marry me?'
The whole team watched from the glass doors and cheered when (Y/N) said yes, and Spencer put the ring on her finger. After all those years, it was happening at last.
Little did they know things wouldn't work like it was supposed to.
-
Still deep in sleep, Spencer had his body contorted with his head resting on (Y/N) 's mattress —an arm over her lap with his hand holding hers. Spencer's hair was a messy bird's nest, and his clothes were entirely wrinkled.
"You look like crap."
That voice brought Spencer to reality.
As he perked his head up, Spencer noticed a pair of half-lidded eyes looking at him. (Y/N) was awake. Tears began to stream from Spencer's eyes. They were happy tears but filled with pent-up stress from the last couple of days.
"Oh, God," he mumbled, kissing her hand and standing to give (Y/N) his full attention.
(Y/N) returned a weary smile. It was great to be alive, despite her aching body.
"How - how are you feeling?" Spencer stuttered, unsure if it was a good idea to ask but desperate to hear her voice again.
"Like someone beat the shit out of me, I guess?" (Y/N) paused to let out a deep sigh before continuing. "How bad is it?"
(Y/N) didn't know the extent of her injuries. She didn't figure out either how much time had passed since they found them in that basement.
"You will be okay. Everything will be okay. You need the rest, though. Your healing process depends on it," Spencer responded, not giving details about her wounds. The doctor would do that later.
(Y/N) nodded and cleared her throat, feeling her mouth dry. Spencer noticed and quickly grabbed a cup of water from the bedside table. He helped her to take a couple of sips.
"What happened after I-?" (Y/N) trailed off.
The memories from the days at Turpin's mercy were coming back in pieces. "How is Valerie?"
(Y/N) didn't know; she fainted before the SWAT team helped Valerie to remove her restraints. (Y/N) wasn't sure either how badly that psycho had beaten her.
"Valerie is fine; she was discharged yesterday," Spencer informed.
"And Turpin's body?"
(Y/N) wanted to get all the information she missed, but maybe it was too soon. Spencer thought that.
"Hey, take it easy. Let's talk about that later, okay?"
(Y/N) nodded. Spencer was right. Also, the pain medication surely was getting effect on her because her eyes were feeling heavy and her body weary.
"I feel dizzy," (Y/N) mumbled, half awake, half asleep.
"That's why you need to rest. I'll inform the doctor to check on you later, okay?" Spencer kissed her hand again. (Y/N) couldn't respond because she was already asleep.
It was reassuring to have seen her awake. Spencer felt like he could breathe again. He hoped things would go well from here, and the doctor could say everything was in order. Before going for her, Spencer stared at (Y/N) as she slept. To see her face all bruised and the wounds on her body hurt more than if he had been hit. If he could have protected her somehow. If only all this could have been avoided.
Slowly Spencer left the room, closing the door behind him. The silence was quickly replaced by someone angrily calling his name. When he looked up, he saw (Y/N)'s sister approaching swiftly, a nurse behind her.
"What the fuck are you doing here?!"
The question was quickly accompanied by a nudge towards Spencer's shoulder. Spencer's eyes broadened; he could see all the anger in Sara's eyes.
"Miss, you can't do that-" the nurse tried to stop Sara, but she wasn't listening. Spencer froze on the spot. What could he say? He was very aware Sara didn't like him, but seeing her in that state was something else.
"I asked you a fucking question! What are you doing here? It's me who needs to be here, not you," Sara interjected.
"Sara-" Spencer started, but she cut him off before he could say something.
"You are the one to blame. How is that my sister ends kidnapped with your mistress, uh? Wasn't everything you made her suffer in the past enough?"
"What? Sara, that's not what happened," Spencer tried to explain, but Sara was already too agitated to try to reason.
"No? Wasn't my sister who got the brunt for defending that bitch? Uh?"
Spencer's tongue got caught in his mouth. How the hell did Sara know all of that? Sara let out a sarcastic laugh.
"You weren't expecting me to know that, right? And no, Emily didn't tell me. She is your friend, after all. She wouldn't do it. But the police down there were kind enough to enlighten me."
Of course. There is always a way. How to explain to her the intricacy of the whole thing now? Spencer could try, but they needed a long talk to do that.
"It's not that way, Sara. I can explain what really happened, but not here. Can we talk in another place, please?" Spencer tried to guide Sara down the hall where the cafeteria was; they could have more privacy there.
"Don't touch me! And no, I don't need you to explain to me anything! I know enough. I can't believe you, really," she huffed, stepping back from him. "You are the worst thing that happened to her. I thought you were decent, but you're just another scumb."
"I love (Y/N)!" Spencer defended, and that was the last straw for Sara.
"Don't you dare to say that! You don't have the right!"
A security guard stepped between them before Sara could lunge at Spencer.
"Miss, stop! I said stop!" the guard said as he put Sara at a distance. "You need to come with me; you're not staying here," he added.
"What?!" Sara asked in disbelief. Spencer intervened before the guy could take Sara out.
"No, no. It's okay. She is right. She is the one who has to be here. It's Miss (Y/L/N)'s sister," he confirmed. "I'm leaving now. Please, let her see her sister," Spencer requested.
Not very convinced, the guard looked at the nurse, who nodded, confirming Spencer's information. Only then did Sara calm down, lowering her arms and taking a deep breath.
"Okay. But please, if you make another turmoil, I'll have to get you out of the hospital," the guard warned. Sara nodded, looking now at the nurse, who reacted quickly.
"This way, miss," she told her, leading Sara toward (Y/N)'s room. As they passed, she barely glanced at Spencer when she spoke, only for him to hear.
"I don't want you near to her. Leave her alone."
With (Y/N)'s sister and the nurse out of sight, the security guard turned to Spencer.
"Are you okay, sir?" he asked empathetically. Spencer nodded.
"Ye - Yeah. She's her family and has the right to be mad at me," he mumbled, stuffing his hands in his pockets. The guard gave him a tight slipped smile before excusing himself from continuing his job.
Spencer didn't notice his hands were shaking. It was more than Sara's outburst. The words coming from her mouth gave Spencer a sense of drowning. He was the one to blame.
-
When (Y/N) woke up again, she hoped to see Spencer by her side. But instead, she saw Sara sitting in the same chair Spencer had done before. She was reading a book.
"Sara?" she mumbled. Her sister looked at her, a smile creeping on her face.
"Hey, it's good to see you awake," she replied, placing the book beside her.
"How long have I been out?" (Y/N) asked, trying to shift into a comfortable position. Sara checked her watch.
"When I arrived, you were already asleep. Then the doctor came to check on you. So I would say twelve hours or so," Sara noted.
It didn't feel that long, according to (Y/N). Her body still felt numb, although she was more conscious of her movements and surroundings.
"What did she say?"
"The doctor? She said you are doing great, considering," Sara informed.
Should she ask for Spencer? (Y/N) already suspected why he wasn't there, though.
As (Y/N) didn't say anything, Sara felt the need to break the silence.
"Jeez (Y/N), what the hell happened? Emily called me, but she didn't mention any detail," her sister recounted. (Y/N) sighed. "I almost freaked out when the cops outside told me you were in this pavilion. Who did this, sis?"
For (Y/N), it was a semi-rhetorical question, but she felt the urge to answer.
"A misogynist son of the bitch," she murmured. "But it's okay. It's over," (Y/N) hastened to say, knowing Sara always hated her job, especially the fieldwork and its consequences. For (Y/N), it was evident Sara wanted to say something about it, but their conversation was cut off by a nurse who entered to check on her.
"Agent (Y/L/N). How are you feeling?"
The next hours were pretty much the same. (Y/N) still would dozen off quickly after waking up. From time to time, a nurse would come to take her vitals and fill her chart as her sister kept her company.
The following day, (Y/N)'s doctor did a new medical check. The results were good enough to allow her to be transferred to a new room in the non-critical patient ward.
(Y/N) was grateful for having her sister there but felt uneasy when the time passed and Spencer didn't show. She needed to talk to him but was afraid to ask.
The opportunity came when Prentiss visited her two days later.
"You look way better," Emily stated.
"Don't lie. I look like a fucking pushing ball," (Y/N) groaned.
"A pushing ball in a healing process," Emily corrected, chuckling. "What did the doctor say?"
"She says (Y/N) would be able to leave in a week or so," Sara - who was there too - responded.
"That's great!"
"Yeah. It will be a way long week, though," (Y/N) whined, sighing.
Emily sensed some of (Y/N) 's discomfort. And she suspected why too. Emily talked to Spencer, and he mentioned his no-friendly encounter with Sara. The question was if (Y/N) knew what had happened.
When silence settled in the room, (Y/N)'s sister realized maybe they needed some privacy.
"I'm going to grab a coffee. Want some?" She asked Prentiss.
"No, thank you. I'm fine."
Once Sara was out of sight, (Y/N) immediately shot the question.
"Okay. What happened? I know there is something with Spencer, but Sara won't tell me anything."
Emily shook her head, sitting on the bed's edge.
"Let's say Sara didn't take very well to seeing Spencer here under these circumstances."
"Where is he now?" (Y/N) asked worriedly. Emily chuckled.
"It's a little bizarre, to be honest. Spencer has spent the whole week here but hidden from Sara's sight. He talks to the nurses and your doctor as well, and they give him updates on your health state. The nurses love him because they find the whole situation like a modern version of Romeo and Juliet." (Y/N) chuckled. Bizarre asides, it was adorable.
"Emily, what should I do? Last time I checked, I wasn't a teenager." Prentiss nodded.
"I know. But Spencer doesn't want to be a problem for you knowing Sara is here. And, well, considering the things she said to him, he has been feeling very guilty."
(Y/N) frowned. She wasn't surprised about Sara's temper, but with her dislike for Spencer, the combination could be lethal.
"What did she say to him?"
"I don't think it's my position to tell you about it. It's your sister, (Y/N). You need to figure it out and ask her. And you have to decide how you want to get to terms in this matter."
Prentiss was right on that. Although the mess between Sara and Spencer, she was the one who needed to cut it off. (Y/N) loves her sister and appreciates her concern, but it was her life and her decisions, and she must know that.
Before Emily left, (Y/N) asked her a favor.
-
That night (Y/N) kept thinking about what she wanted to do. She decided to talk to Sara the next morning to clear things up. Sara should know what (Y/N) wanted for her life.
"Can we talk?" (Y/N) asked her sister when she peeked in that morning.
"Sure. What's it?" Sara grabbed a chair and sat close to (Y/N)'s bed.
"You already know," (Y/N) pointed. Sara huffed with discomfort, leaning back in the chair.
"It took you long enough."
"What happened, Sara?"
"What? Emily didn't tell you?"
"No, in fact, she didn't. And I want to hear it from you."
Sara nodded. After crossing her leg over her knee, she described what had happened when she saw Spencer in the hospital that afternoon.
"Was I too rough? Yes. Do I regret it? Not at all," Sara finished.
"It wasn't like that. That was my decision, Sara. And I know the outcome wasn't something pleasant to anyone, but Spencer doesn't have any blame for that," (Y/N) explained. Sara shook her head.
"You know I'm not only talking about you being kidnapped and tortured."
"About that, you know I decided to give it a try. I truly appreciate your concern and know you don't want me to get hurt again. But I love Spencer, Sara. And in the time we have been together, he earned my trust back. It's true I still had doubts, but they were because of my own insecurities. Valerie managed to get that to surface, and I never did o say anything to voice that feeling," (Y/N) chuckled to herself. "You know? It's the first time I admit it aloud, and I feel relieved."
"But Spencer was the one who brought Valerie into your life. Of course, he is responsible."
(Y/N) knew Sara was right in the facts, but her point was different.
"It could have been anyone at any time. Don't think I haven't thought about it," she tried to explain. Sara raised an eyebrow.
"And your conclusion?"
"I can't stay between four walls expecting not to be hurt again. Not if it means running away from the chance to be happy. Life is so fragile that I don't want to waste another minute running and hiding."
(Y/N)'s eyes filled with tears, and her heart with love for the man she knew was her forever. Her sister noticed. How couldn't she? It didn't matter if she disliked him; Spencer was de the man (Y/N) chose.
"He is a lucky bastard," Sara mumbled. (Y/N) chuckled.
"I know he'll agree with you," (Y/N) teased.
"If not, I'm going to kill him for real," Sara warned as (Y/N) shook her head. After some seconds of silence, (Y/N) spoke, giving puppy eyes to her sister.
"Can you call him, please?"
"What? I would prefer not to," she responded. (Y/N) pouted.
"Come on, it's what your beautiful sister wants. Please?"
Sara pressed her lips together, trying not to give in. (Y/N) narrowed her eyes to her.
"Sara, if you don't call him, I will get up from this bed and look for him myself," (Y/N) forewarned.
"What? You can't do that! You're injured, for God's sake," Sara shrieked.
"Sure I won't," (Y/N) defied, sitting in the bed, swinging her feet out of the covers.
"Hey, hey. Stop! Okay!"
(Y/N) halted her doing but looked at her sister with a raised eyebrow.
"I'll go to get him, okay? Just don't get up. I don't want to see you almost bare walking through the hospital corridors. Besides, maybe he is not here either."
"And whose fault would that be?" (Y/N) whined, and her sister rolled her eyes.
"I insist it's not a good idea, but who can change your mind anyway?" Sara huffed before leaving the room.
-
Emily wasn't joking when she told (Y/N) the nurses loved Spencer. They did check on him constantly in the corner of the waiting room where he spent most of the time. They warned him when (Y/N) 's sister was near, and in the past few days, they even allowed him to take naps in a room the doctors have on that floor for that very purpose.
He was doing precisely that when Ashley - one of the nurse's staff - woke him up.
"Doctor Reid? Someone wants to see you."
Thinking it could be Emily, he stood quickly and left the room, rubbing his eyes.
"Spencer?" Sara called. It wasn't a sweet tone but quiet enough not to make a fuss in the hospital corridor. Immediately Spencer opened his eyes and straightened his posture.
"Uh. Sara. Hey. I wasn't- I -" He stuttered, regaining consciousness. He wasn't expecting to see her, and considering her instructions to stay away, Spencer didn't want another fight.
"Don't. I don't want to hear it. I'm only here because she wants to see you," Sara cut him off.
"(Y/N) wants to-?" Spencer tried to follow Sara's words. She nodded, crossing her arms over her chest.
"That's what I said. And even if my better judgment still tells me I should kick your ass, I won't do something against my sister's wishes."
In that matter, Sara was right. She still didn't like Spencer and blamed him for many things that caused pain (Y/N). But despite that, she loves (Y/N) and respects her decisions.
Spencer nodded appreciatively in silence while straightening his clothes. Before Sara changed her opinion, he walked toward (Y/N)'s room.
(Y/N)'s lips formed into a smile when Spencer peeked through the door.
"Hey," he mumbled, closing the door behind him.
"Hey, Romeo," (Y/N) teased, shifting to a sitting position. Spencer chuckled, eyes to the floor, embarrassed.
"How are you feeling?" he asked shyly, not getting too close in case (Y/N) didn't want it. Sara's words still reverberated in his mind.
"Much better. The doctor said it would take some time, but I'm gonna be okay. But for what I was told, you already know that," (Y/N) commented. Spencer smiled, cheeks tinting in a red shade.
"Kind of. They told me you were getting better, but it's different when you say it."
A silence settled in the room. (Y/N) could see Spencer's reluctance to approach. With hands in his pockets, he stood there at a safe distance from her. (Y/N) knew why.
"Spencer, please, forgive Sara. She is having a hard time," (Y/N) tried to explain. Spencer bit his lower lip, nodding.
"I know. I know," he acknowledged. "She is not wrong, though," he added. (Y/N)'s eyes enlarged.
"What? No! In fact, she's wrong. You didn't kidnap me or beat me. It was Turpin," (Y/N) reasoned.
That was a fact, but (Y/N) already suspected it was more than that.
"That's the only thing we can blame another person for, but everything before? Sara hates me, and she is right," he voiced, averting his gaze from (Y/N)'s.
"Do you really think that?" She questioned, fearing the answer.
It was a conversation they needed to have. A conversation that was transpiring months way late and not in a better setting, but it has to be done.
"That your sister hates me, and she's right?" Spencer scoffed and posed like it was obvious.
"And you are the worst thing that could have happened to me. Because that's what she told you, isn't it?"
Spencer gulped hard. Those were Sara's words, indeed. Does he believe them, though? The most important thing: does (Y/N) believe them?
"Yeah. That. She is your sister; she must know and be right about that."
(Y/N)' s eyes softened. She recognized that look—the same look of self-deprecation and shrinking she had after Valerie's words that night at the bar.
"You can't really think that. And not because you cannot be able to sabotage yourself - a thing I know you do. You can't because it's not true."
Spencer downcasted his gaze. It was hard to believe he wasn't responsible for a brunch of (Y/N)'s painful moments.
"Damn it, Spencer! Some of the best days of my life have been with you!" (Y/N) blurted, trying to make her point. And in some way, she succeeded as Spencer's eyes met hers.
"But I hurt you. And I still do! I promised you not to. And I stupidly thought it was time to move forward when you weren't ready and still had doubts. What kind of boyfriend could I be if I can't notice that?"
His hands, previously tucked in his pockets, now ran through his hair. The gesture told (Y/N) how troubled he felt.
"Well. I didn't say anything, either," she indicated to erase some of the weight Spencer was putting on him.
"It doesn't matter, (Y/N). I should have known."
Spencer's arms slumped to his sides. He still wanted to torture himself because he felt he deserved it.
"And for that, you are going to give up?"
Those words made him frown in confusion. Give up what?
"Uh?"
(Y/N) sighed, reaching for his hand so he could come closer. Spencer hesitated for a second but then gave in, holding her hand and sitting beside her on the mattress. To feel her touch was strange and comforting at the same time.
"Spencer. We have been through a lot these months since we decided we could try this. And even if not everything has gone perfectly, God! I'm so glad we did!"
(Y/N)'s voice was filled with emotion. Recounting the past months, she felt nothing but happy about their time together.
"Me too! But I can't stop thinking I didn't do enough to fix what I broke when I pushed you away for Valerie."
(Y/N) shook her head, stroking Spencer's hand lovingly.
"Don't say that. You have done enough. The thing is, you can't expect to fix something like that on your own. Yeah, the reassurance helps, but it's not the only thing to be done. I mean, I always told you how therapy or talking to another person could help you confront what happened in jail. Still, it seems I didn't listen to my own advice," (Y/N) mused, bringing Spencer's hand to her lips to kiss it.
"What changed?" He asked, now playing with her fingers in his.
"When I was in that basement, at some point, I thought we wouldn't make it. And the fact I would never see you again almost broke me. I think that was an efficient wake-up call," (Y/N) explained, smiling sadly.
"I'm sorry. I should have been faster locating Turpin to save you from him," Spencer apologized, remembering the frustration during the hours they were in the dark on how to catch the unsub.
"You did save me, Spencer, even if you didn't pull the trigger."
Spencer tilted his head in confusion. How did he do that? (Y/N) noticed he didn't understand what she said.
"My mind focused on the most important moments we had shared. I conjured every memory that reminded me why I'm so in love with you. That kept me strong."
Spencer's eyes turned glassy. Jesus, the woman in front of him, went through hell in the past days and was there, alive and declaring her love for him. Did he deserve that?
"(Y/N), you're already the strongest woman I know. You did this by yourself," Spencer tried to refute as (Y/N) shook her head.
"Believe me. At some point, my inner strength wasn't enough. It's true when I tell you motivation is a powerful source. And you were mine. The chance to tell you 'I love you' and 'I trust you' encouraged me to survive," she meant.
"You do?" Spencer asked, almost choking with the tears he tried to keep at bay.
"Yes, my love. And I needed to tell you. I couldn't have died before that. I would never have forgiven myself if I didn't. I love you, and I trust you," (Y/N) declared, not breaking eye contact with Spencer. Now his tears ran free down his cheeks as he brought (Y/N) 's hand to his lips to kiss it. A gesture that told (Y/N) they were getting there.
"I love you, and I trust you, too," he murmured, lolling at the softness of her hand on his lips. "And I'm sorry if I made you think I didn't."
"It wasn't only about the possibility you could cheat or disrespect me. It was the idea you couldn't trust me about what you were feeling. Because we both know when things between us started to go down, and it was before Valerie," (Y/N) explained, and Spencer nodded in understanding.
"Jail," he filled in.
"Why didn't you tell me what was happening then? I asked myself that so many times, and my conclusion was you didn't trust me anymore. And that our love was dying. I feared it was the end. And then Valerie came into your life. Yeah, it could be easier to blame her for snatching you from me. But I kept silently blaming myself."
Spencer was about to say something, but (Y/N) didn't let him.
"Yes. We talked about it, and you explained why you pushed me away. But my mind kept lingering with the idea I wasn't enough for you. The box of all my insecurities exploded wide open. And that's why Valerie's words touched a nerve so deep in me."
Spencer's grasp of her hands tightened, trying to convey how badly he wanted to hold her and push away her insecurities.
"Valerie told me what she said to you that night. And it is the farthest from the truth. (Y/N), I wasn't tired of you. I wasn't expecting an excuse to leave you. I just wanted to keep you safe from the beast I thought I became. And I'm so sorry because now I can truly see how it hurt you," Spencer recognized.
"It's okay, Spencer. Things could be different now, or I least wish that," (Y/N) 's voice was hopeful. Spencer nodded eagerly.
"They could, and they will. I promise. I will do anything to spare you from feeling that again. Baby, I love you as I had never loved someone. You are the light of my life. My best friend, my lover, the person I want to be with for the rest of my life. And this time, love, it will be really at your pace," Spencer vowed.
(Y/N) grinned, feeling the butterflies erupting in her stomach. That was what she needed to take the leap of faith. No more running, no more hiding. Spencer mirrored her grin, rubbing her cheek lovingly. Their eyes were talking in silence and promising forever love.
"I would really love it if you kissed me now," (Y/N) whispered. Spencer chuckled.
"Yes, ma'am."
Slowly he leaned, tenderly cupping (Y/N)'s cheeks. She closed her eyes, breath picking up in anticipation. When their lips touched, every doubt and every insecurity melted away. And instead, the kiss made way for the fire that had always glowed between them. The flame that brought them together the first time has remained lit.
(Y/N)'s hands flew to grab Spencer's shirt. The sensation of his lips on her was so intense that she felt lightheaded.
They would have continued showing their love for each other if the need for breath hadn't been so strong. Several I love yous were blurted as they parted briefly before kept kissing.
At some point (Y/N) reluctantly ended the kiss to rest her forehead on his.
"I want to go home," (Y/N) mumbled, her eyes closed, basking in the feeling of Spencer's breath fanning her face.
Spencer leaned back a bit to look at her. His eyes softened. It was a fair wish, although that reminded him they were still in a long-distance relationship. But Spencer had already promised (Y/N) to go at her pace, so he didn't want to overwhelm her.
"You will, but you need to recover first," he pointed, caressing her cheek. (Y/N) sighed.
"Will you take me home?" she asked, looking at him hopefully. Spencer nodded.
"Of course. I will rent a car and drive us to Boston as soon as your doctor discharges you," he promised.
"No. Don't do that," (Y/N) requested. Spencer narrowed his eyes.
"Why not? The doctor will not allow you to fly yet," Spencer tried to reason.
"I know that," (Y/N) acknowledged. "I was talking about driving us to Boston," she clarified. Spencer was more confused now.
"(Y/N), you said you wanted to go home," he reminded her. (Y/N) smiled.
"Yeah. To go home, with you, in DC," (Y/N) explained. Spencer's eyes widened.
"What?! DC? You mean, as long as you can heal the injuries, right?" Spencer wanted to clarify. (Y/N) giggled, knowing Spencer wouldn't assume her real wish until she said it loud and clear.
"No, baby. I want to stay in DC as long as you'll have me. Spencer, I can't be away from you for another minute. I don't want to either. You're my home; our history and friends are in DC. That's my home."
"But- your life in Boston? Your job?" Spencer stuttered. (Y/N) grabbed his hands in hers and squeezed them.
"It doesn't matter. Believe me, none of that is something I want to keep. Not when my heart is with you," (Y/N) reassured. Spencer was still processing her words.
"Are- are you serious? We don't have to do this. I mean, I can be the one who could move to Boston," Spencer reminded her.
"I know. But there is no reason for me to stay there. Adrian was right; I went to Boston because I was running and hiding from what had happened. I don't have to do that anymore."
Spencer's confusion morphed into happiness.
"God, I love you," he blurted before trapping her lips in a sweet kiss. (Y/N) giggled into the kiss.
"I love you, too," (Y/N) responded once they parted. "And I really want this. Back then, we decided we could try, and against the odds, we made it. Now it's time to go home. Together. Please, take me home," she asked him with hopeful eyes. Spencer smiled and nodded.
"Let's go home then," he whispered before kissing her forehead.
They both were ready for the next chapter of their lives.
