Summary: In the aftermath of Afterlife, Y/N decides to leave SHIELD and aim for a job opening in the FBI.
Word Count: 1,278
Nightmares were to be expected before starting a new job. That’s what you told yourself, repeatedly, until you halfway believed it. Never mind that your new job was likely to be a cake walk considering the last year you’d been through. Rapists? Murderers? Dark stuff, but nothing compared to the webs of violence and espionage you’d finally left.
It was too early to be awake. It was too pointless to go back to sleep. The treadmill took a pounding from your feet, and then your shower ran as hot as you could bear. When you had first joined SHIELD, you had hated training, but now exercise was such a part of your routine that you struggled to rest without burning out the energy in your muscles. The shower that followed was even better. You could imagine that the water washed away more than just sweat and shampoo. On bad days, you unwillingly imagined tiny specks of stone being carried down the drain.
The clock read almost six once you were dressed in your robe, so you took your time making breakfast, hoping that some food would calm your stomach. After all, you had no idea what exactly you were walking into and being prepared could only serve you well. Coulson had said you were a shoo-in, but it was a competitive position and you still had to get the other foot through the door. That in mind, you had a sizeable meal and packed an equally sizable lunch.
Though there was enough time to fuss about your outfit, you didn’t see the need to bother. SHIELD agents dressed just like FBI agents. At the end of the day, a fed was a fed, and to make a good impression, you needed to show that you could fit in, play ball. You spent the rest of your extra time skimming recent news on your phone before heading out early in case of traffic. Driving was another thing you’d have to quickly get used to, right up there with staying in one place and cooking only for yourself.
The FBI had a parking garage that connected to their two buildings. One was their training center, while the other was headquarters. Both were heavily secured – not to the point that you didn’t think a sufficiently motivated terrorist could get in, but enough so that you felt fine leaving your emergency stash of cash in the glove compartment before taking out your gloves.
It was the first time you had opened the box, and you let out a deep breath as you saw them. Fitzsimmons had come through, as always. They were almost identical to the pair they had made for Skye – well, she went by Daisy now – except for that there was less texturing on the outside. Jemma had designed them that way to be less conspicuous. The gloves fit like gloves, to borrow a satisfyingly accurate phrase, but they felt airy enough to be comfortable.
After you had landed in her shoes, Daisy had been able to help you in a more efficient way than Lincoln had been able to help her, simply because she knew exactly how to train you. Once you had a handle on exercising your powers, targeting your abilities came more easily. The gauntlets weren’t supposed to be as necessary as they had been in the beginning for Daisy, but it was better to be safe than sorry – especially among people who knew the bare minimum about how the world was beginning to change. You curled your fingers into fists and inhaled deeply, practicing the mindful breathing that Dr. Garner preached to you. Between Fitz’s genius engineering and Dr. Garner’s coaching, you felt confident that you could control yourself enough to blend in and leave your strange “heritage” in the past.
Daisy ached to see you go and it pulled at your heart to leave her behind. She had become such an essential part of your life that it felt like betraying a sister, especially now that she could use your support more than ever. Her Secret Warriors project was on thin ice from the start, and a trusted right hand would go a long way to solidifying the tentative ground she rested on. But, as you looked down at your gloved hands, the power in them still made you wish you’d never set foot in Afterlife, and that was how you knew it was the right call to walk away.
The question that remained was whether you had walked to the right place in the aftermath. Leaving your lunch and your go-bag – which you had packed in the spirit of optimism – in your car, you headed for the doors to headquarters and fastened your new ID to your belt where you could easily reach it. Bobbi would have had a fit if she’d seen, scolding you about how easily a thief could steal it. Right now, a thief was the last thing on your mind. You had an interview to ace, and hopefully a new team to impress.
The directory told you where to go. There were two other people on the elevator when you entered, but only one of them got off with you on your floor. The big glass doors in front of the bullpen office space were more nerve-wracking than exciting, especially when you realized that if you failed to impress, the odds were slim that you would ever walk through them again.
You weren’t certain where to go but hoped that if you walked with confidence, no one would think you looked pathetic or suspicious. Your gut told you that the man in charge would have an office to himself, so you picked a path that went along the left side of the room towards the mezzanine stairs. You caught the attention of a brown-haired man at a desk facing the wall you walked past, and to pretend not to notice, you looked at the wall instead and realized it was a memorial to agents who had died in the line of service. It was sobering.
Maybe this wouldn’t be such a cake walk. SHIELD had put you through loads of convoluted worst-case-scenarios, some of them even involving aliens, but that didn’t mean that danger began and ended with what could be classed as science-fiction. Even with your added advantage – which you were determined to keep under wraps for as long as possible – you were fallible, just like Daisy, Sif, and SHIELD itself. Thinking otherwise would get you killed, and possibly some others alongside.
Breathe. You were perfectly qualified. This was still bound to be safer than your former position. And as a bonus, no one was going to know what your former position actually was. An old friend at the Triskelion had helped you make sure of that. The last thing you wanted was to quit before you even began, beaten to the punch by breaking news or bureaucratic red tape. You were even outsmarting the newborn Index by legally taking a new surname. Just so you didn’t forget all you were capable of, all you had survived, and all you could still lose, you picked one that reminded you of family.
The agent’s name was on a plaque centered on his ajar office door. You raised your left hand and knocked with your knuckles.
“Come in,” the man’s voice called, sounding busy but almost friendly.
With your wrist, you pushed the door open wider to step into the organized office and introduced yourself, politely but confidently. “Good morning, Agent Hotchner. My name is Y/N Johnson, and I’m here to interview for the open position in the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”
A/N: This crossover idea has been floating around in my head for a couple of weeks. I’m curious if anyone is interested, so I decided to write a quick little introduction. What do you guys think?
Summary: In the aftermath of Afterlife, Y/N decides to leave SHIELD and aim for a job opening in the FBI.
Word Count: 1,278
Nightmares were to be expected before starting a new job. That’s what you told yourself, repeatedly, until you halfway believed it. Never mind that your new job was likely to be a cake walk considering the last year you’d been through. Rapists? Murderers? Dark stuff, but nothing compared to the webs of violence and espionage you’d finally left.
It was too early to be awake. It was too pointless to go back to sleep. The treadmill took a pounding from your feet, and then your shower ran as hot as you could bear. When you had first joined SHIELD, you had hated training, but now exercise was such a part of your routine that you struggled to rest without burning out the energy in your muscles. The shower that followed was even better. You could imagine that the water washed away more than just sweat and shampoo. On bad days, you unwillingly imagined tiny specks of stone being carried down the drain.
The clock read almost six once you were dressed in your robe, so you took your time making breakfast, hoping that some food would calm your stomach. After all, you had no idea what exactly you were walking into and being prepared could only serve you well. Coulson had said you were a shoo-in, but it was a competitive position and you still had to get the other foot through the door. That in mind, you had a sizeable meal and packed an equally sizable lunch.
Though there was enough time to fuss about your outfit, you didn’t see the need to bother. SHIELD agents dressed just like FBI agents. At the end of the day, a fed was a fed, and to make a good impression, you needed to show that you could fit in, play ball. You spent the rest of your extra time skimming recent news on your phone before heading out early in case of traffic. Driving was another thing you’d have to quickly get used to, right up there with staying in one place and cooking only for yourself.
The FBI had a parking garage that connected to their two buildings. One was their training center, while the other was headquarters. Both were heavily secured – not to the point that you didn’t think a sufficiently motivated terrorist could get in, but enough so that you felt fine leaving your emergency stash of cash in the glove compartment before taking out your gloves.
It was the first time you had opened the box, and you let out a deep breath as you saw them. Fitzsimmons had come through, as always. They were almost identical to the pair they had made for Skye – well, she went by Daisy now – except for that there was less texturing on the outside. Jemma had designed them that way to be less conspicuous. The gloves fit like gloves, to borrow a satisfyingly accurate phrase, but they felt airy enough to be comfortable.
After you had landed in her shoes, Daisy had been able to help you in a more efficient way than Lincoln had been able to help her, simply because she knew exactly how to train you. Once you had a handle on exercising your powers, targeting your abilities came more easily. The gauntlets weren’t supposed to be as necessary as they had been in the beginning for Daisy, but it was better to be safe than sorry – especially among people who knew the bare minimum about how the world was beginning to change. You curled your fingers into fists and inhaled deeply, practicing the mindful breathing that Dr. Garner preached to you. Between Fitz’s genius engineering and Dr. Garner’s coaching, you felt confident that you could control yourself enough to blend in and leave your strange “heritage” in the past.
Daisy ached to see you go and it pulled at your heart to leave her behind. She had become such an essential part of your life that it felt like betraying a sister, especially now that she could use your support more than ever. Her Secret Warriors project was on thin ice from the start, and a trusted right hand would go a long way to solidifying the tentative ground she rested on. But, as you looked down at your gloved hands, the power in them still made you wish you’d never set foot in Afterlife, and that was how you knew it was the right call to walk away.
The question that remained was whether you had walked to the right place in the aftermath. Leaving your lunch and your go-bag – which you had packed in the spirit of optimism – in your car, you headed for the doors to headquarters and fastened your new ID to your belt where you could easily reach it. Bobbi would have had a fit if she’d seen, scolding you about how easily a thief could steal it. Right now, a thief was the last thing on your mind. You had an interview to ace, and hopefully a new team to impress.
The directory told you where to go. There were two other people on the elevator when you entered, but only one of them got off with you on your floor. The big glass doors in front of the bullpen office space were more nerve-wracking than exciting, especially when you realized that if you failed to impress, the odds were slim that you would ever walk through them again.
You weren’t certain where to go but hoped that if you walked with confidence, no one would think you looked pathetic or suspicious. Your gut told you that the man in charge would have an office to himself, so you picked a path that went along the left side of the room towards the mezzanine stairs. You caught the attention of a brown-haired man at a desk facing the wall you walked past, and to pretend not to notice, you looked at the wall instead and realized it was a memorial to agents who had died in the line of service. It was sobering.
Maybe this wouldn’t be such a cake walk. SHIELD had put you through loads of convoluted worst-case-scenarios, some of them even involving aliens, but that didn’t mean that danger began and ended with what could be classed as science-fiction. Even with your added advantage – which you were determined to keep under wraps for as long as possible – you were fallible, just like Daisy, Sif, and SHIELD itself. Thinking otherwise would get you killed, and possibly some others alongside.
Breathe. You were perfectly qualified. This was still bound to be safer than your former position. And as a bonus, no one was going to know what your former position actually was. An old friend at the Triskelion had helped you make sure of that. The last thing you wanted was to quit before you even began, beaten to the punch by breaking news or bureaucratic red tape. You were even outsmarting the newborn Index by legally taking a new surname. Just so you didn’t forget all you were capable of, all you had survived, and all you could still lose, you picked one that reminded you of family.
The agent’s name was on a plaque centered on his ajar office door. You raised your left hand and knocked with your knuckles.
“Come in,” the man’s voice called, sounding busy but almost friendly.
With your wrist, you pushed the door open wider to step into the organized office and introduced yourself, politely but confidently. “Good morning, Agent Hotchner. My name is Y/N Johnson, and I’m here to interview for the open position in the Behavioral Analysis Unit.”
A/N: This crossover idea has been floating around in my head for a couple of weeks. I’m curious if anyone is interested, so I decided to write a quick little introduction. What do you guys think?
My Ko-Fi account is no longer active. I have decided to stop paying the monthly fee due to inactivity. The corresponding information page on this blog has been deleted. Any Ko-Fi notices on previously-published stories or updates should be ignored.
“The Intern” follows a graduate student through her internship with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Set during season one of Criminal Minds. Told as a series of connected imagines and oneshots which may also be read alone.
I am currently composing a collection of scenes and outlining the order in which they will be posted.
Summary: A murder at Halloween brings Y/N Hotchner into her father’s world.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Word Count: 7,660
The time had come. After years of being sheltered, you were finally going to enter the FBI offices as a full-fledged adult in need of full-fledged protective custody. You could’ve lived without the latter, but if anyone was going to hold your safety within their hands, you felt your dad and his team were the best possible choice. You followed behind him, taking advantage of his height to duck down and keep your eyes on the backs of his shoes while he led you out of the elevator and down a short hallway to the double doors in front of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. A visitor’s badge was clipped to your cardigan, a backpack was over one of your shoulders, and you held possessively to your phone in your left hand.
You were still wearing the black dress you had donned for her funeral.
It all started a week ago. Since the Reaper had killed Haley, you’d decided to take a gap year between high school and college so that you could stay home and help raise Jack, permitting Hotch to continue to take cases and stick killers behind bars. As much as you hated that you’d lost your mother, and as well as you knew how much she had grown to detest Hotch’s career, you also realized that the Reaper could have just as easily killed someone else to taunt Hotch and left that woman’s daughter in the same state that you’d been in. Hotch had an important cause to work for and you supported it, so in turn, he financially supported you while you worked a part-time job during Jack’s school days and played the role of his guardian the rest of the time. Just this year, you had decided that, since Hotch had Beth helping your small family out, you could afford to start taking a few classes at the nearby college. While there, you met Olivia. You hadn’t wanted to talk to anyone, but Liv refused to take your silence as an answer. The two of you could have been sisters; it was a little bit strange at first to look at her and first wonder what was wrong with the mirror. You had the same color of hair and eyes, the same thick hair and easy, slightly messy hairstyle, were only a fraction of an inch apart in height, and similar skin tones. There was ten pounds of a weight difference at most. What was crazier? She had a twin.
There were three people who looked like you on campus, and it drove the professors nuts in the two classes that you and Liv shared.
It was the Halloween party that probably sealed the fate. Everyone acted like a freak on Halloween, but someone had decided to take it a step two far. Twisting Dr. Seuss, you, Liv, and her sister had all gone dressed in skirts and red shirts as Things One, Two, and Three, wearing thick white face paint and heavy pink eyeshadow to further obscure the differences between you. When they’d picked you up from home, Jack had run to Marie and started excitedly telling his “sister” about his day at school, and Hotch had given Liv a list of chores that he wanted done by the end of the week. Then you’d come down the stairs, Jack and Marie had emerged from another room, and both males looked as though they’d seen ghosts.
“Too many of you,” Jack complained, tugging on Marie’s long red sleeve. She giggled and patted his hair and told you that your brother was cute.
You’d had more fun than you would have thought. The twins had taken you to a frat house and you’d become the center of attention of a handsome boy who came on way too strong. Luckily, he turned out not to be a complete jerk – once Liv saw you were in trouble and intervened, politely asking the young man to back off and informing him that you weren’t comfortable with all of the attention, he had apologized profusely, given you a crooked smile, and told you that he was around for help if you needed it. His name was Seth, and he was a sophomore. You didn’t see him again that night.
You didn’t see much of anything else that night, either, because the party was broken up by the police being called when Liv found her sister’s body in a huge puddle of blood in one of the bathrooms. She had screamed. You were normally uncomfortable talking to large groups of people, but adrenaline and concern had pushed you to power through, and you cited your father’s profession and shoved your way through. The few frat boys who had thought it was a prank hadn’t even bothered to check Marie’s pulse, just assuming she was having them on. You felt her throat and as soon as you felt the very real, and unfortunately very familiar texture of blood, you knew you weren’t going to find a heartbeat. If she wasn’t wearing face paint, you would have known she was dead instantly, the same way you had known when you saw Haley’s body on the floor of your old house.
A murder had transpired, and you did the first thing you could think of and called your dad. Why wouldn’t you? Beth was called to stay with Jack while Hotch came and got you, and after you gave your statement to the police, he took you to your favorite restaurant and didn’t comment when all you did was pick at your food, stomach rolling.
That morning, you were contacted immediately by the police and brought in for a series of questions. You weren’t a suspect, but they thought you might be in danger, because Liv’s parents had gotten back from a meeting with a funeral director and found Liv changed into her Halloween costume, murdered just like her sister, with her body splayed out over the kitchen table. The police thought that having forced her into the same outfit the previous victim had worn might be a little bit significant, and yeah, you agreed. Even you saw the danger in it, so as soon as you told Beth that you couldn’t pick up Jack from school, you called Hotch. The stress finally caught up with you and you told him through tears where you were and that you needed protection.
The BAU was on the case before it had even been sent up through the right government channels, and your father assured you that you would stay with only the agents he trusted most, and you would never be left alone. If you weren’t going to be in a secure room with the technical analyst he considered family, then you were going to be with Rossi, Reid, JJ, Blake, or Morgan (the names meant nothing to you), who were all armed and wouldn’t let anyone touch you.
Hotch glanced behind him to look at you and see your face. You were still nervous about meeting his coworkers. He assured you that they were all people he trusted with his very life, but you had always been timid about meeting new people. You’d been introverted for as long as you could remember, and only grown more so after Foyet.
“You’ll be okay,” he promised, reaching for you. Without moving, you let him hold his hand to your lower back and guide you in through doors that he held open with his other arm. Crossing your own over your chest, you rubbed your arms and kept your head down, looking around but careful not to make eye contact with anyone.
The bullpen didn’t seem like it was loud, but it became very hushed when you and your dad were noticed. Most of the agents towards the wall by the doors and mezzanine looked straight to Hotch before they checked you out, but no one seemed anything but sympathetic and curious, until a woman came up to you both, leaving the desk of a black man with a gun at his hip, which you noticed with a slight grimace. Guns were not your favorite. You’d like them for as long as they kept you safe, but after being threatened with one by the Reaper, you’d be happy if you never saw anyone with a firearm again. Yet, if Dad said that he trusted these people, then you supposed you would, too.
This woman in particular looked out of place in the bureau. You looked at her clothes rather than her face and hoped that she wouldn’t take offense. Other than noticing the frames of glasses and streaks of a coral-pink color in her blonde hair, all you saw were gold bangles on her wrists, manicured fingernails, and bright-colored clothes, including pastel tights, purple pumps, and a dress with swirls and polka dots splashed with a rainbow.
“Is this her?” She asked Hotch with a note of wonder in her voice. Your dad nodded. You nodded a little bit, too, interested to know who she was. Hopefully, she would take it upon herself to explain so that you didn’t have to ask. “Oh, chica,” she sighed, holding her hands out. She reached halfway between you and stopped, giving you the power to decide whether or not she touched you. You lifted your hand to shake hers and she had a tight, motherly grip. “I’m so sorry, darling, but I promise you, you’re gonna be so safe here that if you get a papercut, we’ll arrest the printing machine.”
You giggled a little bit.
“Y/N, this is Penelope Garcia. She’s our technical analyst. If you have any homework for your computer programming class, she’s the person to ask,” Hotch chuckled warmly at both of you. “Garcia, this is my daughter, Y/N. She’s majoring in computer sciences.”
“Gosh, have you come to the right place!” The analyst was kind and worked herself into optimistic excitement, pulling you gently by the hand away from Hotch’s side. She started leading you away from the other desks. Over your shoulder, you looked at Hotch in alarm. “You’re gonna love my lair. Well, it’s not actually a lair, it’s an office, but I call it my lair because it’s not as drab. What’s the fun in going to an office? But a lair, no one says no to going to a lair.”
“Don’t you think she should meet the rest of the team first?” Dad called after you both, making Garcia halt in her tracks. One of her hands stayed on your wrist, which you didn’t mind too much. You didn’t not like people, you just weren’t a big fan of socializing. Having friends was fun. Making them was intimidating.
“Right! Yes!” Garcia gasped and pulled you back towards your father. Your head was going to spin if your entire stay consisted of being commandeered and driven around the FBI. You had a lot to deal with already, and you just hoped that this team was as good as you thought they were and could catch the killer. You wanted justice for your friends’ wrongful deaths. “Yes, Chickadee, come on. I’ll show you to your honor guard. I promise they won’t bite.”
My honor guard? Well, at least she was taking the “protective custody” thing seriously.
First, she took you to the desk that she had been at before she noticed your entrance. Several agents were all looking at you and watching the proceedings, but the one Garcia had been standing with rotated his chair around so his feet were out from under the desk and had covered up his sidearm with his jacket since you’d seen it. Maybe there was an advantage to being looked after by profilers; he must’ve noted your negative reaction. Other than appearing athletic and well-built, he seemed friendly and exuded warmth and hospitality.
Garcia was excited to introduce you to him. If you had to guess, you’d say she had a clear favorite. “Y/N, this is Special Agent Derek Morgan, and he will defend you heroically because he is my, and now your, knight in shining FBI-issue Kevlar.”
You smiled shyly at Agent Morgan, who didn’t reach for your hands, so you didn’t offer. “Hi,” you said quietly.
“Hey, sweetness,” Morgan returned kindly. Unlike the frat kids who would’ve sounded lecherous, drunk, or flirty, Morgan managed to make the endearment sound like an actual endearment, the same way that Beth sometimes called you “honey” or Hotch called you by your nickname. “This computer over here is Reid.” He pointed over his desk to the one behind it, to a young guy with dark brown hair and a lanky, tall figure, even when sitting down.
“Reid Dr.,” Reid told you, standing up hurriedly and rubbing his palms over his thighs. He realized what he’d said and frowned. “Dr. Reid,” he corrected himself, switching the words back around. Instead of relaxing, his frown just intensified. “Dr. Spencer Reid.” Finally, he seemed satisfied, smiled at you a little awkwardly, and sat back down, scratching the back of his neck.
Sure, the introduction was a little bit comedic, but you knew better than probably anyone else in the room how mean it could be to tease someone for a little difficulty with presenting themselves or mixing up their words, what with being sensitive to it yourself, so you ignored the mistakes and nodded, getting out a ‘nice to meet you.’ “Why did he call you a computer?” You asked. Garcia had let go of your hand, so you wrung your fingers in front of you to control the urge to shut up and go back to your father’s side. College wasn’t so bad when you were soft spoken, but the FBI was much more intimidating. Not only were they federal agents with guns, but you were there because of a killer, which made it ten times more stressful.
“Watch this,” Morgan grinned. “Reid, what’s thirty-six to the power of four divided by seventeen squared?”
Reid looked up to the ceiling, but only for a couple of seconds before he had done all of the mental math on his own. “Five thousand, eight hundred eleven, point eighty-two… when rounded to the nearest thousandth.”
“Wow,” you commented, blushing along with Reid, who seemed pleased but unused to being complimented. Both of you looked away from each other when Garcia cooed.
“And this is Alex Blake!” She turned around and indicated for you to come with her, going to the next row. On the outer desk was an older woman, maybe in her forties, with brunette hair and a black blazer over her long-sleeved shirt. Blake smiled at you and held out a hand. You shook her hand with a loose grip and ended it when she did. “She can scare off a bad guy in four languages,” Garcia cheerily bragged.
“I have a PhD in linguistics and I’m a licensed translator,” Blake supplied in explanation.
The next person that Garcia dragged you over to was your father again. “There’s also Rossi and JJ, but JJ’s not here right now and Rossi’s been locked in his office like a recluse for the last two hours,” the techie told you conversationally. She didn’t seem to mind being the one doing most of the talking, instead being compassionate to that you weren’t the most outgoing person in the world. “You can always meet them later. No, really, you definitely will. Rossi’s been bugging the G-Man about you ever since he told us he had a daughter, and JJ’s excited to meet you, too. Is that all you brought?”
It took you a minute to realize she’d changed topics and was now asking about your backpack. “Yes,” you answered, looking down to your hand as you fisted the strap over your front.
Garcia smiled. “That’s okay, sweetie, I’ve got lots we can do that can’t fit in a backpack and I’m sure we can convince someone to get you to a laundromat if you need one.” Personally, you’d been banking on the investigation being closed pretty quickly. You weren’t looking for something just a step short of Witness Protection; a day or two sleeping in the FBI, and then you could go back to your normal life before you got too far behind in your courses. Garcia moved on breezily. “On to the Batcave, Robin, where magical worlds of computer software await. If you’re a computer geek, you’re gonna do a backflip when you see everything I got. Would you believe the FBI gives me thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment when they only actually hired me so they could stop hunting me?”
It had been maybe five minutes, and your head was already spinning. You hoped Garcia elaborated on that last part.
~ ~ ~ Halloween ~ ~ ~
You had never taken to anyone as quickly as you took to Garcia. Maybe it was her kind and loving nature, or maybe it was just how she was so wild and outgoing that you didn’t feel like you could be judged for being your normal, quiet self. All you knew, or really cared to know about it, was that she made you feel comfortable, especially once you were a little bit more used to her. You started to speak a little bit more, didn’t worry about muffling your laughter when you were amused. With her huge monitors, Garcia pulled up your favorite movie franchise and the two of you watched as much as you could before you were yawning, even with the assistance of coffee.
The next morning, you changed clothes and took care of your hygiene in the bathroom. Garcia had fallen asleep after you had, so you didn’t know how long she’d actually been resting, and hadn’t wanted to wake her up. The FBI in general had to be a pretty safe place. Transferring your visitor’s badge onto your new outfit, you pushed back your hair and ventured back into the bureau. Your dad had had to go home – he did have another child to care for, after all – but maybe it was late enough in the morning for him to be back. You weren’t sure what you’d do if he wasn’t.
Six in the morning was not, as it turned out, late enough. No wonder you were so tired… if you’d thought to check the time before changing, you’d have just gone back to sleep. The bullpen was practically empty. But was that – yes! It was! There was a light on under the doorway of one of the offices up on the mezzanine. Your dad had told you that his office was up there. Being the unit chief, he had the seniority and the authority to have a specially-large office instead of just desks on the floor level.
Keeping your head down, you went up the mezzanine steps to the raised walkway along the wall and followed it past a dark office to the one with the light on it. You knocked to be courteous, but one of the few agents that was in was looking at you. Being up higher than the desks made you more noticeable. Eager to get into a smaller space where you didn’t feel like you’d be in trouble for no reason, you walked inside without being invited… and regretted it, because the man at the desk was not your father.
A tiny, anguished squeak made its way out of your mouth. How embarrassing…
“Um.”
“Well, hi,” the man said behind the desk, swiping reading glasses off of his face. He wasn’t that tall. Even sitting, he seemed less intimidating than your dad. He was European, maybe Italian or Spanish, and older than your dad, at least fifty, with the beginnings of a salt-and-peppered beard. He was dressed business casual, with a comfortable black blazer, and a piping mug of hot coffee with the steam still rising sat near his right hand. “I didn’t know I was expecting company.”
There was no reassuring hand at your back or preppy analyst to help you out. Shifting to your other foot and swallowing hard, you took a deep breath. You were here in protective custody, not in interrogative custody. No one was going to hurt you, and the guy seemed amused, not angry. “Well, um, you weren’t… I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else.”
You held your breath then. Your wardrobe was pretty typical for a college student, and while you owned a few nice things for practical reasons, dressing professionally hadn’t been your biggest concern when you packed your things for your field trip to the BAU. So, while you tried to present yourself as an innocent and insignificant individual who made a mistake with no ill intent, you stood there in your jeans and t-shirt with the band name emblazoned on the front. You did not fit in.
“Don’t tell me,” he said dryly, picking up his coffee and taking a sip. Obediently, you shut your mouth and looked down. If he didn’t want you to tell him something, well, by God, you were not going to tell him something. “Hotch’s little girl, right? Though, I guess, you’re not all that little.” Grimacing, you nod. He put his mug down and leaned over the desk, rolling his shoulders and crossing his forearms on the table. “SSA David Rossi. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Thank you, Agent Rossi,” you murmured.
“Dave.”
“Okay.”
He studied you intently. “How is it that you escaped the clutches of the Good Witch?”
“Galinda’s asleep over her computer, so I popped on out of Oz via yellow bricks,” you quipped, leaping without thought onto the references. Then your eyes widened, blood rushed to your face, and you wished you could just disappear.
Rossi seemed to think you were funny, though, because he chuckled heartily. “I like you, kid,” he said in what was clearly supposed to be a praising way. “Have you had anything to eat?” You shook your head. He stood up. “Well, I’ve been staring at this one page for twenty minutes, so I could use a break. C’mon. It’s not DiGiorno, but there is a place downstairs where we can pilfer some food. What do you say?”
Dad wasn’t in, Garcia was unconscious, and none of the three agents she had introduced you to were around yet. Rossi was the only person you knew. As nervous as you were that you might do something wrong or make some horrible social faux pas that existed only between federal agents that you didn’t know about, you would prefer being with someone you barely knew to being completely alone… especially since two of your friends had died and the Halloween costume that you had all worn seemed to be pivotal to the murders.
~ ~ ~ Halloween ~ ~ ~
You spent nearly an entire forty minutes in the cafeteria with Rossi before his phone rang with a notification alert, and he announced that you both needed to go back to the BAU – yourself as proof of life and Rossi as brain trust to work the case. Hotch was a little aggravated that you weren’t within sight when he went to try to find you, but relaxed and gave you a hug when you said that you were fine and that Rossi had just been helping you. You hadn’t even realized you were hungry until the profiler had suggested it.
In the meantime, you went back to Garcia’s lair, expecting just to find the techie you’d grown to tentatively like. Only, when you got there, Garcia wasn’t alone. She was accompanied by a tall, slim blonde, who introduced herself as JJ, the media liaison-turned-profiler. She was beautiful and kind, and had a child at home with her husband. You were warmed to her before she’d even opened her mouth, and she quickly became one of the first people you went to talk to in the next few days.
You had to stay longer than you had thought. When the un-sub didn’t find his third victim – AKA, you – he seemed to go to ground for a while. You wanted to be optimistic and say he had never intended to target you, but Beth had taken Jack home after dinner two nights into your protective custody only to find that the house had been broken into, your bedroom door broken in, and a broken vase on the floor that you used to hold a bouquet of flowers in. When he hadn’t found you, he’d thrown a temper tantrum and made your bedroom look terrible. Dad didn’t let you see the pictures, but Garcia had wrapped you up in a short hug and promised that she would take you shopping for some new things.
Three days, and you were content with staying right where you were. If you had fought with Hotch on whether or not you needed protecting, you very well may have lost your life.
Four days, and you were starting to feel a little bit of cabin fever, but overall, you were still content with staying where your safety was ensured.
Six days going on a week, and all you wanted was to shoot the killer yourself so that you could go sleep in your own familiar bed, and maybe read your brother a bedtime story. You always read Jack a bedtime story, unfailingly, until someone had decided they wanted to plunge a knife through your back.
You played with the hem of your nightgown when you ventured out of the little cavern of Garcia’s office that you had been holed up in for the majority of most days. It was barely past one in the morning and most of the sane people had gone home, even Hotch. After the break-in, you felt immensely guilty that the un-sub might’ve encountered Jack or Beth, and believed it to be nothing short of dumb luck that they had decided to go out to a restaurant. Hotch refused to concede that you were in any way to blame, but, just to be safe, he and Beth had both agreed that it was better if the three of them stayed at a hotel until the case was solved.
If you wanted anything, you had a technical analyst who had all but cried several times just from trying to imagine how you felt and several agents in the building at any given time to respond to your distress call. However, you couldn’t remember a time you had felt more alone – isolated in a building full of people who didn’t really know you, with someone wanting to murder you in a Halloween costume you had swiftly grown to loathe, and without the chance to partake in any of the normal activities you enjoyed. Sure, you were learning a lot from Garcia, and your professors had been appraised of the bare necessities of the situation and had given you projects in lieu of classes, but you still had so much time to be lonely that it was hard to keep your chin up much longer.
Part of your assignment involved making your own website, so, with a sigh of your shoulders and a gentle roll of your head around on your neck, you took your laptop and travelled out to the kitchenette. Hotch usually locked his office door when he left, but he’d been leaving it open for you if you needed to be alone. You’d not really been given a chance to mourn for your friends before you got swept up in everything else. The logic you used was that you could get some of the cheap bureau coffee and get some homework done in his office. You felt terrible and your heart wouldn’t be in it, but you could always touch up on it later.
At this rate, it seemed like you wouldn’t be going back to school for weeks.
Your plan was derailed halfway through making your coffee. Someone cleared their throat and coughed, startling you, and with wide eyes, impulsively feeling guilty for using coffee that belonged to an organization you weren’t really a part of, you started to apologize.
Reid held up his hand, a mug in the other, and with a gentle smile, he quieted your apologies and calmed your nervousness. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that. I thought you would still be asleep.”
“Nightmares,” you mumbled, sinking back against the counter and out of the way. Reid slipped past you, going to make his own coffee refill, while you moved your filled mug out of the way and sought out the milk in the little fridge. You were acutely aware of his presence, but tried not to act like you were on edge by it. He didn’t make you feel threatened, just a little awkward. What were you supposed to talk about?
“I used to have those,” he responded empathetically while his coffee brewed.
You looked up to him curiously. You’d seen one of your friends’ corpses, touched her dead body while looking for a pulse that wasn’t there, felt her blood on your hands. “How did you make them go away?”
Reid’s smile became a little crooked. “I didn’t, not at first.” He, too, leaned against the counter, hands behind him and pressing on the edge. “And sometimes, they still come back. But I manage them, because I remember that I may have memories that my brain can scare me with, but I’ve also shored up a list of things that make me feel better, too. Safer. Less lonely.” He paused. “Gideon – an agent who used to work here – he helped me by giving me a photograph of a little girl we saved, not long after I joined the team. Maybe you could ask Hotch to bring you a photo of your brother.”
“I have plenty on my phone,” you replied.
He shook his head. “It’s not the same as having a physical picture to touch,” he disagreed, and you had to hand it to him – his calm tone was soothing you, his quiet voice making you feel like you weren’t quite as abandoned and hopeless as you had thought.
You swallowed. Most of the time, you didn’t want to talk. You still didn’t, but you thought maybe it would be worth speaking up a little if it meant that you got to have a little more of Reid’s time and his relaxing attention. “What are you still doing in? I thought everyone would have wanted to go home.”
Reid’s smile turned confused, yet remained polite. “I don’t think anyone would be going home if they could help it,” he told you earnestly. “But everyone has someone to go back home to. Even Rossi – one of his ex-wives is in town. Hotch has, well, Jack, and Garcia has a cat she has to feed. Blake’s husband is visiting, Morgan has a girlfriend, and JJ has a son. If they didn’t have responsibilities at home, I don’t think they would’ve left you here on your own.”
“So what about you?” You questioned, unable to let your curiosity rest. The notion that a bunch of adults who didn’t personally know you would give up the comforts of their homes for your sake if not for other personal obligations seemed weird and abstract when applied to anyone but your father, and maybe Beth. Why was Reid still there, talking with you, when he could’ve been with someone he cared about? “Why stay when you have someone else?”
“Well, my mom lives in Las Vegas, so I can’t really visit her every day,” he said, aiming to make a joke. You giggled a little bit and he smiled, pleased to have lessened some of the tension. The bumbling, awkward doctor you’d been introduced to seemed much more at ease when it was just the two of you. “And… I don’t know, Y/N. The thought of you being here on your own, when you might need to talk… when you apparently do need to talk,” he amended, looking at you meaningfully, because that was what you were doing right then. “I didn’t want that to happen if I could prevent it, so here I am.”
~ ~ ~ Halloween ~ ~ ~
You and Reid quickly became friends, to the point where you interacted with him as much as you did with Garcia. Your late-night chats became the norm for the pair of you. Reid tended to come in later in the morning, but because Hotch knew that he was keeping you company long after the sun had gone down, he pretended not to notice. In your head, you stopped thinking of him as Reid and instead as Spencer, your friend, and although you hadn’t had enough time together to talk about everything, you did seem to talk about anything.
Your nightmares persisted, but you felt like you had more control over them. Spencer didn’t ask you to talk about them, but he didn’t say not to, either. Instead, you talked a little bit about his life growing up, and a bit about the funny misadventures he had when he and the team were off the clock. You were amazed by Spencer’s intelligence. Three PhD’s by the time he was twenty-one, and finishing up high school before he was even old enough to have a driver’s permit. Spencer tried to pick up some of your language skills from you, since you’d taken four years of a foreign language in high school, but you’d found out that he was great at memorization while terrible at pronunciation. You told him about a boy you’d dated during your senior year of high school, and added a detail you hadn’t even told Hotch: he had broken up with you because he thought you were spending more time with your family than with him, and this was while you were practically raising Jack, because your mother had been murdered. He had known what had happened, and he’d still cited your prioritizations of taking care of your baby brother as a reason to break up with you. You grew sullen while you talked about it, but it felt good to get it off your chest for the first time. Obviously you couldn’t tell Jack, and you hadn’t known Beth at the time, and you hadn’t wanted Hotch to feel bad about the responsibilities you were taking on as well as being a student, so you made up a lie about how you broke up with him peacefully so you’d both have more time to focus on school and SATs.
You talked about lighter things than your lives, too. The two of you bonded over shared interests in science fiction and “geek” movies. Spencer had developed a healthy appreciation for Marvel after you talked him into bringing a box of popcorn so that you could watch the Iron Man movies together one night. Your unofficial plan was to watch all of the movies with the individual superheroes and lead up to The Avengers. There was a convention coming up in the next few months that Spencer invited you to go to with him. He wanted to dress as Tom Baker’s incarnation of the Doctor, his personal favorite, and you theorized that maybe you could go as Tegan or Sarah Jane.
“If I even live that long…” You’d muttered under your breath, hit by a wave of pessimism. At nearing two weeks of bureau captivity, it was getting harder to believe that the un-sub would be caught. You’d seen enough horror movies to know that the minute your guard was let down, you’d be murdered in your bed. The problem was that not letting your guard down meant staying in the FBI for the foreseeable future.
Spencer had set down a mug of fresh coffee that he seemed to live off of and touched your knee with his hand, rubbing his thumb over your thigh and leaning forwards to meet your eyes. Spencer wasn’t much of one for a lot of touching, and he was rather conscientious of everyone’s personal space, so it was shocking enough that he’d touched you, much less when he locked eyes with you in an intensity that made your stomach flutter.
“We will catch him,” he stated simply, and then went on to tell you everything they’d gotten. Partial (unidentified) fingerprints from the house break. A profile (white male around your age, disorganized, with a fixation that revolved around the identical nature of your and your friends’ costumes). They had reason to believe that he lived nearby, and knew he’d been at the party to kill Marie, and suspected that he may even be one of the frat kids in order to commit the crime without standing out. “So, Y/N, I promise you, you won’t be here forever.”
~ ~ ~ Halloween ~ ~ ~
The next night, you came to Spencer reasonably early. You were sure that the rest of the team, Hotch included, had gone, because you wanted the privacy to be uninterrupted and the security that came with having someone you trusted to be honest yet sensitive leading you. Then you approached Spencer’s desk with a mug full of his favorite flavor of coffee and approximately four tablespoons of pure sugar dumped in, delivered it to his desk, and locked your hands behind your back.
“So, I was thinking about something, and I realize it may not be fun, but I’d rather be a little upset for a while than let this continue.”
The genius finished what he was doing on the computer in a few seconds, saved the document using the control shortcut, and then pushed the chair away from the desk, swiveling it around to face you. He planted both shoes on the floor and leaned over, hands in his lap, and met your eyes, giving you his full attention.
“You said that you think the killer was at the frat party,” you reminded, grimacing even as you said it. You couldn’t believe you’d been talked into going to a frat party. “And I picked up somewhere that serial killers like to see the results of their actions. So maybe it’s possible that he was there when Marie-“ You flinched, took a breath, and started again, trying to depersonalize. “-When the body was found?” Spencer nodded slowly, encouraging you to continue. “I want you to do a cognitive interview on me,” you announced, looking down to your toes. “When I heard Liv scream, I took over. I pushed everyone away and instructed someone to call the cops. I even blocked people from the bathroom to preserve the evidence. If there was someone trying to nose their way in, I probably would’ve seen them.”
~ ~ ~ Halloween ~ ~ ~
You breathed a little bit faster. Liv’s scream echoed in your ears, just as loud and heart-wrenching as it had been when you’d heard it for real. Although you kept your eyes screwed shut as Spencer had instructed, you had a hard time seeing the black of your eyelids when what you were thinking back to was full of colors and movement. The only grounding sensation you felt was Spencer’s larger hand in yours, gently squeezing your palm in reassurance.
“You’re doing so well,” he praised, half-cooing in comfort. “You have to push a group away from the door. What happened next? Do you recognize any of them?” His thumb brushed over your knuckles.
While you were reasonably sure you were supposed to be focusing on your memory, you instead paid more attention to his hand, swallowing hard and squeezing. You were sure your grip was too tight to be nice, and possibly a little sweaty from nervousness and apprehension, but Spencer didn’t move or comment, for which you were grateful.
“I recognize some of them,” you said, imagining yourself in the shoes you’d worn three weeks ago. Some of the colors were unclear, faces distorted, but the ones that stood out weren’t always the ones that had just been closest to you at the time. Flashes of features through the door of a frat boy you shared a calculus class with, although you’d only glimpsed the side of his face in passing over the shoulder of a blurry zombie costume. “Mostly from around campus, but a few are in sports teams. Oh, and Seth,” you added as an afterthought, scoring your eyes across the doorway, refusing to move your eyes to the right. You knew you’d see the blood-filled bathtub in your flashback if you did.
“Who’s Seth?” Spencer asked, pressing calmly for more details.
You didn’t think it was that important, but you went along with it. He was the profiler. “Just some guy that we met earlier that night. He came onto me, Liv asked him to back off, he said he was sorry for being too forward, and he left. I didn’t speak to him again.” In your recollection, you could vaguely place his voice, maybe saying something. Maybe saying your name. At the time all you could hear were Liv’s screeches, alternating between heartbroken and furious. “He’s taller than me. Shorter than you, though. I… he had a cup in his hand. Probably something alcoholic, because he didn’t look completely with it. Drinking messed with his red face paint.”
“What was he?” Spencer pushed his fingers into your palm, pressing on the back of your hand with his thumb, the pressure relaxing your grip. “Who did he dress as?”
“Tate Langdon,” you answered with a slight grin, remembering how you’d initially jumped when he’d come and tapped your shoulder. Then you’d hid behind a bottle of water and laughed, recognizing the cosmetics and the black hoodie.
“Who?”
“Oh. He was a character from American Horror Story,” you explained. “He wore the outfit from when Tate shot up his school. Um, dark black and oversized sweater with a hood up, and black, white, and grey paint to draw a skull on his face.” You faltered as you explained. That was right. When you’d recognized him from his face paint, he had been dressed just like Tate. And later, he’d had red face paint. “Oh…”
“Oh?” Spencer drew you out before you got too far wrapped up in your realization. You realized your hands were trembling. Spencer covered your hand in both of his and held on, silently promising that he wasn’t going anywhere. “What is it? What do you see?”
You swallowed. “He wasn’t supposed to be wearing red face paint,” you said dryly. “And it was on his hoodie, too.”
~ ~ ~ Halloween ~ ~ ~
October 31st. Your least favorite holiday.
“Are you okay by yourself, Chickadee?” Garcia, respectfully wearing a dull-colored outfit, touched your shoulder while you stared down at the two headstones side-by-side.
Wordless, you nodded, clutching a bouquet of black-painted roses in your hands, with a silk ribbon wrapped around the flowers in your murdered friends’ favorite color. Garcia left you alone in the cemetery, finding the path and going back to your car. It was the anniversary of Marie’s death. Soon it would be the anniversary of Liv’s. In mere days, you would be standing in the same spot, a bouquet of the same flowers in hand, the same dress on your body, the dress you’d worn to their funerals.
Seth was nailed on all charges – first-degree homicide, stalking (to find your and Liv’s addresses), breaking and entering, and trespassing with malicious intent. He would never get parole, but after several appeals by a lawyer his high-income father had hired onto his retainer, it seemed as though he might be declared mentally unfit and taken off of consideration for a life sentence. You personally hoped that would never happen, and in the upcoming weeks, you would be called into court to testify against the decision.
“I won’t let him walk from what he did to you both,” you whispered to their graves. A gentle rush of wind acted up and teased your hair, lifting it over your shoulders, strands curling against your cold cheeks. Kneeling down, you deposited the bouquet gently on Marie’s grave, the flower petals a gentle cushion against the granite headstone.
On your way out of the cemetery, you were met by Spencer, who took one look at your face and then reached for your hand. He held onto your hand and entwined your fingers loosely, pulling you to walk by his side as he led you to the car. Tiredly, you rocked your head onto his shoulder. “Thank you for coming with me,” you whispered to the man who had become your best friend in the last year, tying with Garcia in the role.
Halloween sucked for you, but Spencer loved it. You thought it was time you got some closure. The holiday was never going to be your favorite, but if Spencer adored it, then you would learn to be okay. You were determined not to see any real corpses that night. Spencer was going to go to the opening night of a horror film and follow it up by attending the Safe Treat event that you, JJ, and Garcia were all taking Jack and Henry to. The Safe Treat was hosted by your college, and it was the first annual event of its kind, founded in honor of the two students who had died the year before. Faculty and students alike were attending to game, candy, and pumpkin-carving booths, there were going to be photograph opportunities, a costume contest was arranged, and campus security had enlisted their full staff, as well as volunteers from the local police, to make sure that everyone was safe and secure while they had their spooky fun.
“Of course I came,” Spencer responded back to you softly, turning his head to rest his cheek over your hair. While you slowly walked together down the block towards your car, he pressed his lips against the top of your head. “I love you.”
~~~
~~~
A/N: Happy Halloween everyone! I wrote this a couple of years ago, took it down, and am now reposting it here.
If you liked this oneshot and how I write, please consider commissioning me through Ko-Fi! A oneshot of this length is about $14 ($1/500 words + 500 words FREE), but shorter stories start at only $4, and for just $1, I’ll take prompts for preferences, would-includes, and imagines. My Ko-Fi handle is /writingsofstardust . If you have any questions, please send me an ask or a message and I’ll reply as soon as I see it. :)
Summary: Following season one episodes (“Broken Mirror,” “What Fresh Hell?,” “Somebody’s Watching,” and “The Fisher King: Part 2”), the BAU’s newest and youngest agents fall in love.
Pairing: Spencer Reid/Reader
Word Count: 2,379
You literally ran into him. You smacked right into his chest and fell against the wall, which was luckily right there to break your fall. It was your fault, really; you’d had your nose so far into a Harry Potter book that you wouldn’t have seen a mob with pitchforks and torches stalking your way.
Your glasses were skewed on your face. You fixed them anxiously. “I- I’m so sorry,” you apologized profusely, blushing heavily with so much heat in your face you were amazed you weren’t on fire. “I’m not usually so clumsy, I swear-“
The man was tall, but all you saw of his head was his brown hair when he bent down to pick your book up for you. You turned an even brighter color as he looked at the cover. I’ve done it now, you’d thought, mortified. The newest agent’s literary interests are comparable to a twelve-year-old’s. How long would it take to get through the halls?
I’ve been trying for months now to get a job and still failing to get one. I’ve basically run out of places to apply to. So clearly I’ll be keeping my free time. Anyway, I was reviewing my commissions settings and decided to review them to make more sense. 500 words is now worth $1, with the exception of oneshots - because they are more expensive, there are 500 free words.
1. Preferences
$1 for four preferences.
2. Would-Includes
$1 for two would-includes (about 250 words each).
3. Imagines
$1 for one imagine (about 500 words).
4. Oneshots
$4 for a oneshot of at least 2,500 words. Add $1 for each 500 words (i.e., $5 for at least 3,000 words, $6 for at least 3,500, etc).
Note that “at least” means the word count won’t be under the commissioned length, but it does mean that it won’t be significantly longer. I won’t start cutting out words and sentences just to make everything fit, so a oneshot with a 2,500 minimum may end up with closer to 2,600 words.
Summary: It turns out that seeing you taking a couple beatings was what gave Derek the motivation to make a move on you.
Pairing: Derek Morgan/Reader
Word Count: 2,293
“Ow,” you mumbled after poking at the bandage over your shoulder.
You waited for a few seconds, glanced at the doorway, and then poked the bandaging again.
“Ow,” you announced, scowling at your shoulder for what you took as a personal attack.
A low voice chuckled, reverberating around the room and vibrating in your chest. You knew that voice, and it belonged to one of your favoritest people in the entire world. With wide eyes, you turned your head around to the other side of the hospital bed. Derek Morgan sat forward on the edge of his chair, eyes gleaming with pleasure as he reached for you.
You forgot entirely about your injured shoulder in favor of his attention. “Hey!” You muttered to him. He took your uninured arm and guided it back down to your side.
“Good to see you awake, baby,” Derek laughed at you, smoothing down the sleeve of your hospital gown over your upper arm. He patted your forearm. “You’ve had us all worried for a while.”
He didn’t say himself specifically, but you weren’t an idiot. You could read into it. And, in your mind – which was hazy with painkillers and anesthetics from your recent emergency surgical operation – that was practically a confession of love.
“I’m sorry,” you apologized fervently, already having to struggle to keep your eyes open.
Derek kept stroking his large hand down over your arm, squeezing your upper arm kindly and rubbing down your inner elbow, pushing your wrist to the mattress when you moved to take his hand. “You just pay us back by getting some rest, baby girl. You deserve it.”
Tiredly, you stretched your jaw in a yawn. “You be here later?” You asked, shifting back into the blankets with most of your weight transitioning to your right side, taking some of the pressure off of your bound and wrapped shoulder.
“I promise. And if I’m not right in this room, just tell Reid to run and come get me.” Derek soothingly vowed, continuing to stroke your arm while you quickly dropped back off into unconsciousness.
You thumped your head down on your pillows, but you didn’t get a concussion. Unfortunately. Disappearing into the dark abyss would’ve been greatly appreciated right about then, while your brother sat in the chair Derek had formerly occupied and chuckled at your predicament. The scrawny little pest found the situation hilarious. It had been a long time since you’d last wanted to pull his hair, but you were getting the urge again. Unfortunately, he had moved the chair over to the left side of the hospital bed, so you couldn’t reach, what with your arm being stitched up in a sling.
“This isn’t funny,” you grumbled, crossing your one good arm across your chest petulantly.
Spencer nodded wordlessly, giggling down to his lap. You rolled your eyes. At three years older than you, Spencer had been your caretaker for most of your life, since he’d been in middle school and you’d been somewhere between the third and fourth grade. The transition was gradual; as your mother gradually lost her mind to schizophrenia, and your father up and ditched you both, Spencer and you became each other’s best friends and raised each other.
“No, it’s not.” Spencer tried to say, but he was still grinning at you boyishly, fringe falling into his eyes. You scowled. His lie was about as transparent as the excuse he gave Hotch about being cleared to fly after being shot by “a doctor’s opinion,” said doctor being himself. He stopped even trying to master his poker face and outright laughed. “Yes, it is.”
Your painkillers had worn off and been replaced with medicine less potent. Things were a lot less funny to you, and Spencer seemed less like a lovable companion and more like a pest that needed a shoe chucked at his chest. Unfortunately, your shoes were on the floor, which seemed like an insurmountable distance away from either of your hands.
“Thanks for laughing, bro. I’m feeling more pain than I am love.”
Spencer always knew when you were trying to guilt trip him, so it rarely worked. Still, he had the decency to pretend to be humbled. “It’s not like it hurt anything,” he reasoned. You hated when he did that; sounded all calm and collected and made you feel like you were overreacting or reading too far into something. He never did it on purpose, but you just weren’t empirical like he was. “He’s still bringing you Ben and Jerry’s.”
“Yeah, and carnations,” a familiar voice piped up by the door, coming in through the ajar doorway, a plastic bag from the grocery store hanging from his arm while he carried a bouquet of get well flowers wrapped in plastic.
You and Spencer both appropriately cooed and admired the flowers at the right times, both to be polite and to save yourselves from having questions asked about the exchange Derek had walked in on.
The third FBI agent turned around with his hands in loose fists on his hips. “So, what didn’t hurt anything?”
You turned bright pink. You’d never been shy around Spencer. He’d been around your whole life, and you’d done so many embarrassing things around him – from falling up the stairs, to breaking your wrist trying to play Quidditch after he read you Harry Potter, to walking face-first into a telephone pole because a cute boy who lived next door talked to you – that it was hard to be less than comfortable around him. You doubted you’d reach a lower point than when you’d… well, that was in the past, and you’d rather not think about it. Everyone did dumb things in high school.
Derek, however, was another story. Not only had it taken you a long time to warm up to the warmly paternal Rossi and the sisterly and outgoing affection of Garcia, but you’d been intimidated by Derek when you met him. He looked like he could kill a guy with his bare hands. You soon learned that he was as gentle as anyone could be (unless you were an un-sub), and you became friends… albeit you remained soft-spoken and meek, considering that you had quickly gone over the moon for the profiler.
“Nothing,” both Reid siblings chimed simultaneously, giving Derek equally wide-eyed looks of innocence. He narrowed his eyes at you both and pointed between you, slowly shaking his head. He wasn’t buying it.
“Eeeeeek!”
Well, you reflected while you braced yourself for impact, holding up your right shoulder and covering your sling with your right arm, protectively moving it to the side so that Garcia wouldn’t send you right back to the hospital, you knew at least one person whom had missed you during your medical leave.
“Careful!” Spencer squeaked indignantly, fielding away Garcia’s deceptively strong arms from your sling while she squeezed with an arm around your throat. You giggled.
“My baby’s back,” Garcia breathlessly cheered, taking a step back and looking you up and down. “Oh, my baby’s back! Yes!” You smiled tiredly. It was hard to comfortably sleep with a still-healing bullet wound in your shoulder, but you were ready to come back to work. Hopefully the cases would exhaust you into a good night’s rest. “Jayje!” Garcia leaned back to yell across the bullpen. “The baby’s back!”
“Just because I’m the youngest, doesn’t mean you have to call me the baby,” you complained halfheartedly. Garcia was going to call you whatever she wanted, and you all knew it.
“There she is!” Derek and Hotch both had to look over the railing of the mezzanine at the techie’s cry. Hotch smiled welcomingly at you while they spoke outside of his private office, and Derek gave you a wide, handsome smile, blowing you a flirty kiss.
Spencer wrapped a long arm around you carefully while you looked down and studied your shoes, your face flaming red, and led you over to the kitchenette to collect some coffee. No one got between the Reids and their coffee. In fact, Anderson even made you your usual brew as a welcoming present.
“It’s no fair, Kate,” you sighed mournfully, sitting at the female profiler’s kitchen counter after a sleepover with her and Meg. Despite being over ten years younger than you, Kate’s niece was a neat girl, and you spent a lot of time with Meg so that Kate could socialize without leaving her adopted child unattended for long hours.
“Neither was that card game. I swear that girl cheated,” Kate confided.
From the next room, the TV quieted into a lull. “I didn’t cheat!” Meg called back loudly before she returned the volume to its original strength. You and Kate both chuckled.
“I know he cares about me, but he treats me differently than the girls we meet out of town.” You stirred a spoon in your coffee, mixing in the sugar and cream to the piping hot mug. A chubby, distorted reflection of your face looked up at you from your drink. “He flirts with them and then with me he just… he kind of… calls me pretty and winks a lot.”
“Well, Y/N/N, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he cares about Garcia, JJ, and me too, but he doesn’t make a habit of winking at us.” The brunette pulled up a chair and sipped at her coffee contemplatively.
Your shoulders fell. Your sling had come off just under a month ago, and yet Spencer still insisted on sneaking a bottle of OTC painkillers into your handbag whenever you went somewhere. For the most part, you were healed up. Your only restrictions were that you weren’t supposed to use that arm to lift things that were more than twenty pounds until your next appointment at the orthopedic clinic.
“You see how he likes to prank Spence,” you said his name affectionately, even as you reminisced on how annoying it sometimes was to have to doubt your crush’s actions because of your older brother. “And I did tell you about what Spence did when my prom date ditched me. Maybe he’s just doing it to bother Reid the First.” Having been working with the BAU longer than you, Spencer had earned the title “the First” while you got to lay claim to “the Second.”
“Come on,” Kate chided, putting her coffee down. “You know him better than that. You know them both better than that.” Kate stared at your eyes, scolding and friendly in equal measure. She really had the parenting thing down. “But if you’re really that unsure, maybe you should just… ask him?” She suggested delicately, rolling her eyes even as she proposed the idea.
She knew you would balk, and balk you did, pushing away your coffee and crossing your arms carefully. Your head shook fervently. “Nuh-uh. Nope. Not happening.”
Kate dropped her head, stared at her countertop for a few seconds, and took a deep breath. You sat a little straighter, sensing some serious advice coming your way, when you were interrupted.
“Kate!” Meg yelled from the living room. “Y/N! Can someone help me with my trig homework?”
“I’ve got it,” you sighed when Kate looked at you, apologetic for her niece interrupting your conversation. “As many hours as I spent with Spencer helping me, I ought to be passable at trig by now.”
“Yikes,” you gasped, panting, as you and Derek both looked towards the pool. The surface rippled and sloshed, and you held your formerly injured shoulder tightly out of paranoia. Slowly, you rolled it back. Being surprise tackled by the un-sub you were pursuing hadn’t done any damage, thankfully. Spencer would’ve probably put you on bedrest.
“Hotch!” Derek shouted as loudly as he could to be heard around in the front yard of the residential home. The un-sub, a ginger-haired man whose hair had been turned dark brown by water, gasped and choked on chlorine as he broke the surface. The glint of a knife was down at the bottom of the pool. The ten-foot-deep ground pool was large enough for you to feel reasonably secure with the killer floundering.
The other agents that had come with you came rushing from both sides of the house. The un-sub spat out water and cursed colorfully as JJ started to Mirandize him while he doggy paddled towards the edge of the pool. Derek took you by the elbow and led you away from the scene.
“You okay, baby?” He asked in concern, looking deeply into your eyes. You felt blood rushing to your cheeks and choked down a squeaky voice. He’s looking for concussion, you scolded your hopeful thoughts.
“’m fine,” you answered, apparently unable to speak completely normally to him. You averted your eyes.
Derek took both of your shoulders and turned you back to face him. “You’re sure?” He double-checked insistently, stubbornness and fury blazing in his eyes, enraged that someone had dared to attack you.
You nodded, your breath catching.
“Good.” The anger left his face and he yanked you in. You lost your footing and stumbled, falling right into your chest. Derek closed his arms around your back and held you tightly. You stabilized yourself with your hands hesitantly against his chest, cheek to his shoulder, and he rubbed a hand firmly up your back. “Because I’ve been meaning to take you out on an actual date for a while now, and a hospital seems like a lame place to do it.”
If at all you were going to choke, it should’ve been when you had a serial killer body checking you, but no – you were so badass that you were spluttering when you were asked out on a date by the guy you liked.
Smooth, Y/N. Very smooth.
~~~
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A/N: Welcome to my new side blog! This used to be posted on my main but I took it down here and moved it to this blog, which is dedicated to Criminal Minds. If you liked this, please consider commissioning a preference, imagine, or oneshot through my Ko-Fi.
Summary: Following season one episodes (“Broken Mirror,” “What Fresh Hell?,” “Somebody’s Watching,” and “The Fisher King: Part 2”), the BAU’s newest and youngest agents fall in love.
Pairing: Spencer Reid/Reader
Word Count: 2,379
You literally ran into him. You smacked right into his chest and fell against the wall, which was luckily right there to break your fall. It was your fault, really; you’d had your nose so far into a Harry Potter book that you wouldn’t have seen a mob with pitchforks and torches stalking your way.
Your glasses were skewed on your face. You fixed them anxiously. “I- I’m so sorry,” you apologized profusely, blushing heavily with so much heat in your face you were amazed you weren’t on fire. “I’m not usually so clumsy, I swear-“
The man was tall, but all you saw of his head was his brown hair when he bent down to pick your book up for you. You turned an even brighter color as he looked at the cover. I’ve done it now, you’d thought, mortified. The newest agent’s literary interests are comparable to a twelve-year-old’s. How long would it take to get through the halls?
Instead of picking on you, he broke into a wide smile and beamed, brushing his hair back behind his ears and looking up to grin. His sweater vest made him look skinny and his lack of a gun made him look unthreatening. He looked more like a student from the college you’d just left than a suited agent prepared to take on killers, so you relaxed slightly. Maybe he wasn’t as rigid in the status quo you assumed existed.
“I loved this one,” he told you with a big grin, turning it so the cover faced you as he handed it back over. “Let me know when you get to page 286. That one has some important foreshadowing; I hope you notice.” His face flushed, and suddenly he was just as embarrassed as you. “Well, I mean, not that you wouldn’t have on your own; although now that I’ve pointed it out and you know it’s there, it’s not like you’re reading it on your own-“
“It’s okay,” you interrupted him, smiling nervously. Your heart still beat in your chest. “I’ve read them all at least a dozen times.” Your hands felt clammy and you held your book tightly. The man was cute, and nice, and you already shared an interest.
You were quiet and soft-spoken. Spencer was… well, not always loud, but he certainly seemed to have trouble shutting up at times! That was okay, though. You were patient, and you liked when someone else would talk with you, even when you weren’t the most engaging partner. Spencer more than made up for your shyness, and you bonded quickly. He was adept at reading when you were having a particular bout of timidity and was always happy to help you out, whether it meant relaying a message to someone from the local department for you or asking what he assumed you were questioning.
Elle and Derek took the two of you to restaurant to celebrate the successful capture of an unsub who’d been tormenting two twin sisters, going as far as to capture one and attack Derek to get to the other. Derek kept rubbing his chest where he’d been hit with a taser, but he insisted he was okay.
Your handsome waiter came back over after you’d finished up your entrees. He looked like he could’ve stepped right out of a men’s health magazine. The shirt he wore was tucked into his pants, but pulled so tight to his body that you could see the defined tones of his abdomen. When he came over to ask for dessert, he took the orders from Elle and Derek, and when he looked to your side of the table, he winked.
“And for you, gorgeous?” He flirted. He wasn’t lewd, but you’d become the center of attention, just like that, even from the people at the table across from you, who started to giggle at your deer-in-headlights expression.
Spencer had come to your rescue. “She’d like the crème silk pie,” he said politely, setting his hand down near yours on the table. You quickly moved yours to hover over his and looked like you were holding his hand, staring down at the table in front of you and waiting for the waiter to go away. “And a refill of water,” Spencer added for himself as an afterthought.
A little girl was kidnapped and your leads of finding her looked like they were all going nowhere. You’d broken into the suspect’s house, and couldn’t find her. Where were you supposed to look next? Everyone else had checked out with firm alibis, and the one person who didn’t had been excluded by the profile.
You went and stood on the porch, wrapped your arms around yourself, and shivered. When you’d been recruited, the pitch had been that you’d work to bring justice for the families of victims, save lives and rescue the next victims – ‘when you stop a killer, you save their next victim.’ It had sounded nice, until now you were facing down a bleak prospect of telling a heartbroken mother and a father slowly falling to cancer that their daughter was nowhere to be found. You couldn’t even imagine how terrified the little soccer player must have been, if she was even still alive.
“Are you okay?” Spencer’s voice made you look up. He stepped over the threshold and into the open air with you, hands in his pockets. He looked like the shy one for once, worried about approaching.
You contemplated nodding. You had to be able to do the job. Everyone else seemed like they could handle it, even Hotch, who had his own child and could relate to the family more than you could. Then again, you’d known Spencer for six months and not once had he ever invalidated your feelings or treated you like he expected you to be tough. He had shown you his sensitive side the month before, confiding in you that he’d been having trouble sleeping from nightmares.
You shook your head and covered your mouth before you could start crying. Spencer frowned, shuffling his feet, unsure what to do.
“This always happens,” he told you quietly, looking up and scanning down the street of the residential neighborhood. “Something like this, I mean. We always do our best, but sometimes… we just can’t.” His voice broke. “But we won’t give up until we find who took her, even if we have to stay and work on our own time.”
That was when you heard the most beautiful sound you thought you had ever bore witness to. “I’ve got her!” Gideon shouted from inside the house. “Hotch, she’s alive!”
“A group of employees in a hospital in Las Vegas were actually fired because they had a betting pool on when certain patients with terminal illnesses would die,” Spencer told Elle, who listened intently, nodding her head. You suspected she was thinking about something else and just indulging him. “That was in 1981, but since then-“
“1980,” you corrected quietly, and then froze.
Elle, Spencer, and Hotch all turned to look at you.
For a second, you couldn’t breathe. “I – I’m sorry,” you stammered, trying to look at Spencer’s eyes but unable to make contact. You flushed and looked down, feeling your stomach twist. “I shouldn’t’ve interrupted…”
“It’s okay,” Spencer promised. You chanced a peek back up. He was beaming at you proudly. “You’re absolutely right, Y/N. I was distracted.”
“By what?” Elle snorted, not believing that the boy genius was distracted by anything when it came to his trivia.
“It’s possible,” he said defensively, sending her a betrayed look. “And I’m not the only traditionally-labeled genius on the team anymore.” The smile he sent you was encouraging and warm, and you looked down with a slight smile.
You realized you liked Spencer when you saw the magazine cover that was printed the morning after you closed a case in Hollywood. It was of Spencer swimming in a pool with Lila Archer, a gorgeous, up-and-coming TV actress. He was holding his head up away from hers, while she tugged on his tie.
It was a slow realization that took you a while to come to. After all, Spencer was just your friend, right? Sure, you liked spending time with him, and he helped you out when you were uncomfortable in social situations, and he comforted you when you were upset, but those were all things your best friend had done in college. Except – you’d never wanted to hug your best friend as frequently as you wanted to hug Spencer. You’d never wanted to kiss them before. It was just the scarily clever doctor whom made you want that romantic companionship. You’d fallen, and it was possibly you’d been falling since you bumped into him and fell into the wall.
You showed him the magazine before you got on the jet to go back to Quantico, smirking shyly behind the safety of the paper. “You made a friend,” you said, disguising your subtle question behind an observation.
For once, you weren’t the one turning scarlet. Spencer took the magazine from you with wide eyes and stared at the cover, cheeks going all rosy. “She wanted to kiss me,” he explained, justifying why he was in her backyard pool with all of his clothes on, gun holster included. “She dragged me into the pool and-“
“Why didn’t you kiss her?” You couldn’t help your curiosity, although you thought you might have blown your secret.
Spencer paused, tilted his head, and frowned thoughtfully down at the high-definition photograph. “I guess I had someone else on my mind,” he admitted to you, his voice small and quiet. You bit your lip and nodded, taking the diversion of Derek calling for you to hurry up.
So Spencer liked someone. That was… it was fine. He was a coworker, and it was a crush. You would get over it.
Except you didn’t get over it, and a few months later, after Rebecca Bryant had been rescued from her insane and apparently suicidal father, you stayed late to finish up your statements on the case so you could sleep in the next morning. You were getting ready to leave when you noticed the light in the kitchenette turning on. Investigative, you crept over to see who was in at the late hour.
“Spence,” you said quietly. He jumped skittishly and “accidentally” dumped some more sugar into his coffee. “What are you doing here? You should be with your mom.”
His mother had come to the FBI to help, and that was how you’d met her, offering to help the woman who looked lost without realizing that she was your best friend’s mother. Spencer had taken you aside and carefully explained to you with a frightened expression that his mom was schizophrenic. You’d smiled sadly at him and said that you were there for him if he ever needed help, or even just to talk, and then had kindly excused yourself to let him talk to his parent.
Spencer turned around to lean back against the counter, leaving his coffee mug on the table. “She’s at the hotel,” he said, matching your low volume. You felt a little bit of a thrill, like you were being secretive by being so quiet. “I wanted… I wanted to see if you were still in.”
Sympathetically, you smiled at him and held your hands behind your back unobtrusively. “I’m here. What do you need?”
Spencer held his arms out, sucking on his lower lip. He was nervous and tentative. He wasn’t a very touchy person, so you knew it was special… you reached out for his waist, putting your hands on his sides, and slid your hands around to your back as he leaned over, tugging you to his slim form and holding you carefully, like you would change your mind and scamper away if he was too firm.
“This always happens,” you told him softly, standing on your toes to rest your chin gingerly on his shoulder. His hair tickled your nose. You breathed in his shampoo and soap and shut your eyes, feeling him shaking slightly in your arms. “Something like this, I mean. We always do our best, but sometimes… we just can’t.”
Spencer stilled as he recognized the words you were reciting to him.
“But we won’t give up until we find who took her, even if we have to stay and work on our own time. … This time we don’t have to. We already found her. Her father chose to end his own life, but we saved her. This was a victory, Spence.”
He sniffled. “I told you that.”
“Yeah.”
“You know… the reason I didn’t want to kiss Lila…”
“The girl you have a thing for?” You asked, disappointed that the conversation was going back to the mystery girl you were definitely jealous of. Still, you couldn’t be too upset. He’d come back to you while he was upset, instead of going to her. That had to mean something.
Spencer nodded against you while you embraced, his cheek rubbing against yours. “I want to tell her how I feel,” he whispered nervously, his long fingers dancing nervously as he loosely held onto the back of your shirt.
“So tell her,” you gently urged, putting him before yourself. You were a genius, sure. According to every IQ measurement test you’d ever taken, at least. The one thing you weren’t able to do, though… the one problem you weren’t able to solve… was to tell him how you felt.
Spencer pulled back from you. You sank back onto your feet and looked up at him tiredly. There were dark shadows under his eyes, just like there were under yours. He held your waist in his hands, reluctant to let go, and leaned down. You held your breath, internally panicking, as he closed the distance and touched his forehead to yours, the warm heat of his breath rushing gently over your face.
“I am,” he answered, just as carefully.
For once in your life, you did the bold thing and confronted your shyness head-on, reaching up to the back of his neck and pulling him down to kiss his lips, feeling the last year of friendship finally come to full fruition.
~~~
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A/N: Welcome! This is my new side blog dedicated to Criminal Minds fanfic. This is a repost from my main blog because I want to show that I write pretty well. If you want to commission specific content, please consider buying me a low-priced Ko-Fi.
