@stautistically - Tumblr Blog

Jul 9, 2025

just for you, i let it happen

pairing: spencer reid x fem!bau!reader

summary: you and spencer spend long enough pining over each other, the team helps you along. or: 4 times the team tries to get you and spencer to acknowledge your feelings for each other +1 time it works.

word count: 7.1k

content: fluff, usual criminal minds talk (unsub, kidnapping, etc), probably bau-related inaccuracies, mutual pining (idiots!), team shenanigans, one fake date, and one real one <3

a/n: hill lovelies!! i know it's been so long since i've posted something but i hope u guys will enjoy <3 i had so much fun writing for my sweet boy spencer!! my first spencer longfic!!!

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It’s taken you a few trips to perfect your go bag. To figure out what’s really necessary and what isn’t. Today, lugging your duffel on your shoulder, you’re grateful to have left that second pair of shoes behind.

Your bags always feel a bit heavier after a case. You’re already weighed down by the events of the last few days, your body tired, feet heavy.

You’re glad to be the first one to board the plane, sinking into one of the seats and letting your bag drop at your feet. You’re glad that the case is over, glad to be going home, glad to get to sleep in your own bed tonight (though it'll most likely be morning by the time you get back to Quantico).

The rest of the team follows suit, sighing as they get into their own seats. Spencer and Hotch are the last to board, Hotch always waits until every member is inside before taking his turn, and Spencer often gets distracted telling him some statistic about planes or airports or anything really.

Today, for once, Hotch asks Spencer a follow up question and — delightedly surprised — Spencer keeps talking.

You’re sitting by the window in one of the front rows on the jet, facing away from the entrance and most of the team. You don’t see Spencer climb into the plane, but you hear the shuffling.

Spencer usually sits near the back, playing chess against himself or reading a book and then another since he finishes them so fast. Sometimes, he sits with JJ, even rarer he’ll find himself across from Morgan who likes to tease him enough that he’d rather not be there every single flight.

He wants to sit with you, but Spencer has found himself reverting back to his early BAU self where you’re concerned. Shy, fumbling, either rambling or having no clue what to say.

You’re his friend, you’re kind to him and ask about his mom often. You bring him back a coffee whenever you grab one for yourself (if he beats you to it, he does the same), and it’s always as sweet as he likes it to be. He lends you books he thinks you’ll like, and never pesters you for them back even though you know you take forever to return them.

He walks you to your car after work every day, even if he’s finished before you are. You don’t know that bit, but he waits until you’re leaving to pack up his stuff and follow you to the elevator.

All of that, and still, Spencer gets nervous around you. He can’t even bring himself to sit next to you on the jet even though you’re beside each other at the round table each time without fail.

This time, the team’s decided to help him along.

Initially, he goes for his usual seat in the back, and finds Emily sprawling files all over the small table despite the fact that she gets nauseous reading on the plane. Behind Spencer’s back, Hotch takes the seat across from her and shakes his head when she winks at him.

Then, it’s Rossi, who’s fake-arguing with his agent over the phone about his next book. JJ’s sprawled across the small couch near the snack bar, digging into a travel-sized bag of Cheetos.

Finally, there’s Derek, who kicks his feet up onto the seat across from him when Spencer heads toward him. “Sorry, pretty boy,” he says, though he doesn’t look (or sound) sorry at all, “looks like you’ll have to try your luck over there,” he nods towards where you sit across the aisle.

You, too distracted attempting to dig your thin fleece blanket from your bag, don’t notice anything until Spencer clears his throat lightly. You finally tug your blanket from your bag and sit up, looking over at Spencer standing in the aisle, rocking on his feet once.

“Do you mind if I..?” he gestures loosely to the seat next to you.

“Of course not,” you say.

You breathe in as he sits next to you, and he smells like cinnamon and the pages of a book. Warm, comforting. You try not to let it show on your face how pleased you are to have him beside you.

When you joined the team, you’d been the most anxious you’d ever been in your life, and you remember hesitating before walking into the bullpen, wiping your palms on your black pinstriped trousers.

And then, the first face to greet you was Reid’s, and he was so sweet, apologizing for not wanting to shake your hand, spewing a fact about germs and then folding his lips into his mouth like he was stopping himself from saying more. For those few seconds, you weren’t thinking about impressing everyone, weren’t focused on that pit in your stomach at the thought of so much newness.

You liked him immediately, and his looks only made it all worse for you. His hair disheveled, his clothes neat, his hands waving around in front of him, and his voice, so lovely and focused as he sounded off statistics. You’ve been housing a crush on him ever since.

You’d heard Morgan call him pretty boy that day, and you couldn’t help but think of how fitting it was. Derek may have been teasing, but Spencer really is pretty.

And then you got to know him, got to become a part of the team and learned about his little quirks and the way that he still wouldn’t shake hands, but doesn’t mind a hug every now and then. You learned that he was pretty inside and out.

So, as he settles in next to you on the jet, you can’t help but hide a smile. You’re on the plane before him most of the time, and he’s never joined you until now.

“I have to warn you,” you say, “I might not be the best seat buddy. I almost always fall asleep after takeoff.”

Spencer shrugs, pushing his hair behind his ear and he pulls his book into his lap, “That’s alright. I like quiet.”

“What if I snore, Reid?”

“You don’t snore,” he tells you.

“Maybe I do. How would you know?”

Rather than admit that he pays attention to you during flights, that he sometimes catches himself staring at you all peaceful in your seat while he waits for his coffee to brew, that he knows you don’t snore because he’s seen you sleeping and all you do is bunch your blanket in your fists and scrunch your brow from time to time, like you’re dreaming, he says:

“Ambiance for my reading. Like white noise. You know, having an auditory background can actually support cognitive development and emotional health.”

You smile and shake your head at him. You don’t think you’ll ever be used to the way he knows something about everything, just like that. Before you can reply, the pilot alerts you all that you’ll be taking off shortly.

Spencer opens his book in his lap, and you sink into your seat and close your eyes, squeezing them shut until the jet is up in the air steadily.

Soon enough, you’re falling asleep as promised. For a while, your head’s leaning back against your seat; Spencer can’t help but think of how your neck will be sore from the position. Just as he has the thought, the jet jolts a little bit in turbulence, and your head lolls to the side and ends up on his shoulder.

He goes still for a second, afraid you’ll wake up from the movement, but you don’t. You shift the tiniest bit, almost nuzzling into him, and then you relax again. Your breathing remains steady, and Spencer tamps down a smile as the smell of your shampoo surrounds him.

Across the aisle, Morgan raises an eyebrow, shooting Reid a pointed look. Spencer simply goes back to reading his book.

He doesn’t get up to use the bathroom at all, turns pages slower than he usually would, keeps his shoulder and arm still even though he can feel them falling asleep a little. All so that he doesn’t disturb you.

Sleep is such a vulnerable state, and although he knows you nap on nearly every flight, he feels like he’s won something by having you resting on him. Like you’re comfortable, like you trust him.

Just for a second, Reid lets himself rest his head against yours.

It isn’t until you land that you wake up, the plane hitting the pavement jostling you enough that you blink your eyes open. The first thing you register is the feel of something soft beneath your cheek. When that something soft moves a little, you realize it’s Spencer’s sweater.

Still groggy, you lift your head, “Shit. Sorry, Spence. I didn’t mean to sleep on you.”

You’re a bit embarrassed, really. The one time he sits next to you on the jet and you wind up using him as a pillow without his permission.

Meanwhile Spencer doesn’t mind one bit. All he can focus on is the sleepy way you called him Spence just now. Usually, it’s Reid, occasionally, it’s Spencer, but this is the first time you’ve ever called him Spence. He wants to hear you say it again.

“Actually studies show that having weight against you can help to lower your heart rate and lessen anxiety,” he responds.

A smile ghosts across your face, because you know that’s his way of telling you not to be sorry. “So, I should be saying ‘you’re welcome,’ then?”

Yes, he thinks.

The team is headed to Portland this time around, and though you still don’t enjoy flying (you still need the help of a gravol-induced nap), you don’t dislike it as much.

Spencer sits with you more often than he doesn’t now. Even with you using him as a pillow half the time. He doesn’t seem to mind, which never fails to surprise you whenever you wake up.

It’s nice, though. Nice enough that you think about what it would be like to nap close to him in other ways.

You picture him on the other side of the bed in your studio apartment, picture yourself on the couch at his place (which you’ve only seen once). You imagine what he’d wear when he isn’t working, or whether he wears his glasses more often at home.

You’re snapped out of another daydream when the airport shuttle pulls over in front of the hotel you’re set to be staying at this time around. You’d landed too late to head to the police station, had left immediately after wrapping up another case, and Hotch determined at least a few hours of sleep would do you all some good.

He’s the one who goes up to the front desk when you walk inside, and comes back with only four room keys instead of seven and an apologetic Penelope on the phone.

“I’m so sorry my lovely crime fighters. They were pretty full for tonight, so you’ll have to double up, my loves.”

None of you can see her, but she’s smiling on her end of the line. She may have not booked enough rooms on purpose.

Immediately, Emily and JJ pair up and take a key from Hotch, heading to the elevators with their elbows looped together and heads bent like they’re laughing about something. Morgan snatches up another for himself saying something about needing space for “all of this.”

Rossi shrugs and pairs himself with Aaron (“for old time’s sake”), which leaves you and Spencer. Hotch hands you the room key with a simple “we’ll see you at the station at 8” before he leaves with Dave.

“Is this okay with you?” you ask Spencer. “I could always go to the desk and double check.”

“It’s okay,” he says. “We’d better go get some sleep while we can.”

And Spencer means it. He doesn’t mind sharing a room, it’s not like he’s never had to on a case before. It’s only that it’s you. He already doesn’t know how to act around you most of the time, and this feels like a whole new layer of intimacy and closeness he doesn’t know what to do with.

He wants it, of course he does. He would have preferred it in different circumstances, maybe where you weren’t pushed together by default, but still.

Spencer lets you lead the way to the elevators and then to the room. You open the door after fumbling with the key a couple of times and muttering about ‘stupid hotel doors.’

You’re glad (at least, you think you are) to see two beds when you step inside. Behind you, Spencer locks the door and slides the chain lock into place. Then, he slips past you and sets his things on the bed closest to the door. It’s safer for you that way, he thinks, if anything were to happen.

You try not to read into it, but you’re reminded of that time you’d been ranting to JJ about your date not taking the side of the sidewalk closest to the road and Spencer overheard.

It’s not the same thing, you tell yourself. It still makes you feel warm.

“Were you gonna have a shower before bed?” you ask, setting your go bag on your bed.

Spencer’s head flicks over to you “I don’t- uh. You go ahead.”

“Thanks.”

You grab your things quickly and head into the ensuite bathroom, shutting the door behind you and leaning your head against it. It isn’t until he hears the lock click shut that Spencer squeezes his eyes shut and lets his head fall forward.

All you’d said was the word ‘shower’ and he could barely manage a sentence.

He unpacks to keep himself busy as the sound of running water fills the room, grabbing his book from his bag and setting it onto the nightstand between beds along with his glasses and a water bottle.

He’s just finished folding his (few) clothes into a drawer of the dresser when the bathroom door opens and you walk out in nothing but a towel.

There are drops of water running down your neck and shoulders, your eyelashes still wet and thick where they frame your eyes. He tries not to, he really does, but Spencer can feel himself staring at you and he can’t seem to make himself stop.

You look beautiful. You always do, but seeing you this way — the way a boyfriend might — is making his heart thump heavier, his fingers twitching by his sides.

You clear your throat, nervous under his gaze that seems so focused and yet so soft. “Sorry. I forgot to grab my pajamas… so.”

It’s then that he realizes he’s blocking your path, and he quickly steps aside, bumping into the dresser clumsily. “Oh! Right, yeah. I’ll just-”

Spencer grabs his own change of clothes and closes himself into the bathroom. The mirror is still fogged up from the steam, but he starts up the shower again, hoping it’ll help clear his head. Snap him back into it.

When he emerges from the bathroom in a pair of plaid pants and a faded t-shirt, he sees you in bed, your own loose shirt on, legs covered by the blankets, and a book in your lap.

“What are you reading?”

“It’s silly,” you say, setting it face-down on the bed, a little embarrassed. “Just a romance. None of that smart stuff you read.”

“All reading is smart,” he tells you. “It’s not silly. It’s good for you.”

“I’m just saying it’s not, like, in Latin or anything.”

He huffs a laugh, settling into his own bed and sliding his glasses onto his face. So he does wear them more outside of work, you observe. He looks so lovely this way, too. His hair still damp and curling behind his ears, his cheeks rosy behind the frames. It feels like a privilege, getting to see him so.. unguarded.

“I’ve read romances, you know,” he says.

“What?”

“Mostly the classics. Jane Austen, the Brontës.”

You’re not sure why it surprises you so much, but it does. You suppose you’ve always thought that Spencer’s idea of reading for enjoyment was beyond romance, more complicated, scientific. But you should’ve known he’s read just about everything by now.

“You, Doctor Spencer Reid, have read Pride and Prejudice?”

“‘You have bewitched me, body and soul,’” is his response.

“Oh my god.” A smile stretches onto your face, slowly mirrored on Spencer’s.

You end up staying awake later than you should talking about which movie adaptation you prefer (“2005. Obviously.”), about other books you’ve both read, and then about their adaptations, too. Over time you both sink deeper and deeper into bed until you’re laying down facing each other.

You’re not even sure when you fall asleep, all you know is that Spencer’s voice is the last thing you hear, all slow and soft with his own tiredness.

When you wake up, you’re still facing each other, laying on the sides of your beds as close to the other as possible. Spencer’s arm hangs loosely over the edge, like he’d been reaching across the gap for you in his sleep.

The next case is only a week later, but you don’t have to fly this time around.

It’s only a 15 minute drive from Quantico, and that’s without the sirens and Morgan behind the wheel. That means you get to set up in your usual office, sleep in your bed for a couple of hours when you can. You’re never happy to have a case, because people are getting hurt, but it’s a small victory to not have to go far.

Two abductions have happened at local parks, though no bodies have turned up yet. You’ve all been working as quickly as possible, trying to keep those people alive.

Hotch gathers you all in the conference room the morning of day three on the case, delivering roles as usual. JJ to stay in the office and field calls or answer questions, Emily and Morgan to dig deeper into the victims, retracing their steps, Rossi and Hotch to scout the abduction sites again for anything they’ve missed.

You’ve found a man that has been connected to both victims, but not enough to bring him in, which is why, when he gets to you and Spencer, he says:

“You two will be following our suspect today.”

You look at each other, then back to Hotch.

Reid speaks first. “But the geographical profile isn’t done, and-”

“We don’t have anything new for the geographical profile,” Hotch responds.

“Might be good for you to go outside, pretty boy,” Morgan says. “Could use some sunlight, probably.”

“Actually it’s extremely unlikely that anyone could die from prolonged darkness,” Spencer shoots back. “Plus, we have windows.”

“This is where I need you two,” Aaron looks between you and Spencer, “alright?”

“I’ll drive,” you say as your agreement.

It’s not unusual to do stakeouts, though you don’t do them often. What’s unusual is choosing you and Reid for the job that most often goes to Morgan. You can’t bring yourself to be bothered, not when it means you’ll get to spend more time with Spencer.

Despite his putting up a fight, Spencer doesn’t really mind either. Sure, he feels like he can be more helpful doing something else, but ever since sharing a room in Portland he’s wanted to be with you alone.

There was an ease then, a comfort that didn’t come when the rest of the team was around. You’d spoken to each other before bed each night, falling asleep to the sounds of each other’s voices, and Spencer hadn’t even wanted to pack up when the case was over.

If he could have stayed one more night with you there, caught the jet in the morning instead, he would have. Happily.

Ever since that case, he does feel a little less awkward around you, though, and sometimes he wonders if you feel a little bit closer to him, too.

As promised, you drive. Instead of taking a bureau vehicle, Hotch had asked you to take your own. He’d said you’d be less noticeable that way, and that backup would always be close enough if needed.

You unlock your car in the parking lot, watching Spencer climb into your passenger seat beside you. He shuts the door behind him, buckles his seatbelt, and flicks the air freshener you have hanging over your rear view mirror.

“I can take it down if the smell bothers you,” you say.

“It’s nice,” he tells you. Birthday cake, he notices, and he wonders quickly if that’s why you sometimes smell like vanilla when you walk into the bullpen.

“Okay. Feel free to snoop.”

He smiles gently, because he’d been trying to secretly do just that. Your car is mostly clean, a few gun wrappers in the doors and a half-full water bottle in the backseat, but that’s it. Your glovebox is pretty standard, though he does find a loose figurine in it.

You notice him holding it. “That’s my car buddy. Keeps me company when nobody else is in here.”

“Won’t be needing him today,” Spencer says, putting it back and shutting the compartment.

“No, I won’t.”

The man you’re set to be following is still home when you get there, so you drive around the block and wait by the corner until he leaves.

Luckily, you don’t have to wait very long.

“He’s getting into his car,” Spencer tells you.

“And the fun begins,” you say, turning the corner once the man has pulled out of his driveway.

It turns out not to be fun, actually. It’s all very routine and normal stuff. A grocery trip, dropped back at his house before heading out again. An overpriced drive-thru coffee where he actually pays for the car behind him, which happened to be you and Spencer.

“Either he’s onto us, or he’s actually just doing a nice thing,” you say once you’ve gotten your drinks. “I didn’t think people bought other people’s coffees anymore.”

“I would have bought yours,” is Spencer’s response. Quiet and sweet and almost disappointed, like he’d wanted to spend money on you.

Eventually, your target stops at a park, which has both you and Spencer back on high alert. Both abductions happened at parks. You look at each other and get out of your car to follow him.

You notice that the man is carrying a pair of binoculars and a camera, which raises your suspicions even further. He’s equipped to scope out victims.

Spencer works easily alongside you, falling into step without question, going where he needs to without needing to say a word.

The man walks up and joins a group, some wearing cargo vests and almost all of them wearing matching hats with the same logo on them.

You sigh and dial Hotch’s number.

“What do you have?”

“Hey, this isn’t our guy,” you tell him.

“Why’s that?”

“His big secret is…” you look back at the group, “bird watching. It’s why he’s been spotted at a lot of the parks.”

“You’re sure it’s not just a cover?”

“Hotch, there’s a group of at least twenty people with him. It’s a bird watching club.”

“Actually a lot of people, especially of younger generations, just call it birding now,” Spencer chimes in.

You smile. Always something to say.

“Okay, well, why don’t you two have lunch and meet us back here after?”

You scrunch your eyebrows. “You don’t want us back now?”

“We’re not any closer than we were before, and it might be good for you two to be at the park a little longer,” Hotch tells you. “Just in case.”

“Right, okay,” you say, though you’re still not convinced. “See you later.”

You hang up and turn to Spencer. He squints in the sunlight, hair blowing over his forehead. Your hand itches to reach out and push it back for him. Spencer does it himself just as you have the thought.

You clear your throat, “Hotch says to get lunch and then head back.”

“I saw a stand back there with chili cheese fries,” he says.

Spencer doesn’t know why, for once, Hotch is encouraging a break during a case, but he’s not about to fight him on it. Without a BAU-related task to do at the moment, he gets to simply be there with you. Just you and Spencer in a park, getting food.

If he thinks about it for long enough, he can almost see the both of you like this together in more natural circumstances. Maybe then, he’d be brave enough to hold your hand.

“Daydreaming about those fries, Spence?”

He looks over at you, the sun lighting you from behind, surrounding you like a halo. “No, just… thinking.”

There’s something about the way he says it, about the way his eyes are roaming your face and his voice has gone a little bit lower, scratchier, that makes your heart beat heavier.

Before you can respond, he’s leading the way to the food stand, you not far behind. He places your order and pays before you can object.

You’re stationed at one of the picnic tables in a few minutes, a splinter of wood poking the back of your thigh through your pants, but you don’t move. Not when Spencer’s shin is resting against yours beneath the table.

The platter of chili fries sits in the middle of the table, a fork in each of your hands.

“Don’t you have a statistic in there about the dangers of sharing food?” you ask.

“I do,” he says, “but I don’t particularly.. care about that right now.”

You get a longer break before you’re called in for the next case, which is nice. You get to be home earlier, sleep in your sheets and spend the weekend lazily.

There’s a minuscule shift between you and Spencer since the park. An ease that wasn’t there before, a string tied in neat little bows tethering the two of you together.

He’s at his desk before you every morning, and there’s always a coffee waiting for you with a small sticky note attached. Sometimes he’ll leave you a fun fact, sometimes a simple good morning.

The last note you’d gotten before this case was just a doodle of a lopsided smiley face, which you’d stuck to the corner of your computer.

You think about those notes, those coffees as you sit in the NYPD headquarters, twirling a paper cup between your hands. Not nearly as good as when Spencer makes it.

You’re sitting beside him in a conference room where Hotch has gathered the team, your ankle leaning against his.

“We aren’t any closer to finding this unsub,” Hotch says. “We’re gonna have to draw him out.”

“Undercover, huh?” Emily asks, a subtle smirk on her face.

“Yes. We know how he hunts. He looks for couples in bars, waits for them to go outside, usually a couple that’s arguing,” Hotch says, though you all already know this. “He waits for them to split up, then takes the woman. He’s deluded himself into thinking he’s doing these women a favor. Like he’s saving them.”

“Probably because they remind him of his mother, who was abused by his father, and the unsub was too weak at the time to stop it,” Rossi adds.

“He’s been targeting the same three bars on rotation, so we know where he’ll be tonight,” Hotch tells the team.

“And you want a pair of us to go undercover.. as a couple?” you ask. It’s not like you’ve never gone undercover before, but pretending to be dating someone? You’re not the best actress.

“That’s correct.”

“I actually think you and Spencer should do it,” Emily says.

“What?” Reid speaks at the same time as you do.

“You are the unsub’s type,” Emily tells you.

“Ew,” is your response.

“And I think pretty boy over here is your best match, sweetheart,” Derek adds.

“I’m not-”

“I actually think that’s a good idea,” Hotch says.

And so, it’s been decided.

There’s a short silence, and then Spencer speaks. “Are we sure this is the best way to do this?”

“It’s okay, Spence,” you tell him, laying a hand over his forearm that lays on the table, his fingers tapping the wood. His cardigan is soft under your hand, and you give his arm a gentle squeeze.

He turns to you, speaking quietly this time, “What if something- I would rather I was the one being followed. Not you.”

Your eyes soften at his words, at the way he looks down when he says them. You run your thumb back and forth against the fabric of his sweater once, twice. “I’ll be okay. You’ll be there, and everyone else. We’ll get him.”

“I know. I just don’t want him to have time to hurt you.”

Your heart pinches. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so worried, especially not in front of other people. And he isn’t even worried about himself. His concern is you.

“He won’t,” you say.

You turn back to Hotch, and he gives you a nod, “Let’s catch him.”

“And pretty boy becomes lover boy,” Morgan says.

A few hours later you’re dressed in a black mini dress and a pair of knee-high boots, a (nonalcoholic) drink in your hand and Spencer by your side. Your entire side, from shoulder to thigh, is pressed against his where you stand at the bar, warmth sinking into you.

The unsub likes to observe the bar for a while, usually picking a couple and watching them for a couple hours before making his move. That means that you’ve spent a while being Spencer’s girlfriend.

Fake girlfriend, you remind yourself.

Still, if you let yourself forget, just for a second, that you’re on a case, it feels real enough. His hand on your lower back guiding you through the crowd, his chest brushing against your back on the dance floor.

And now, his arm wrapping itself around your waist, fingers toying with the fabric of your dress.

You both have earpieces in, where the team’s been communicating with you (a “nice moves, lover boy” from Derek, or “look at you two” from Emily, and even a “that dress is brilliant, pumpkin” from Penelope).

“I think we have eyes on our guy,” Hotch says now.

You’re almost disappointed when he gives you the signal to head outside. You like being with Spencer like this, and despite the fact that you’re undercover and pretending, you want to stay in it a bit longer.

You obey Hotch’s orders anyway, saying something to Spencer and then slipping out the back door that opens into an alley, Spencer on your heels.

It turns out that pretending to fight with him is the hardest part.

You end up making something up about his eyes wandering, even though you don’t think he looked at anyone else the entire night.

He plays along, defending himself and using words he knows will trigger the unsub. Spencer’s demeanor changes, making himself look more intimidating. He stands up straighter, walks you backwards until you land against the wall, his hands coming up and caging you in.

Your heart races, and not because you’re afraid. Because of how close he is, how you can smell him and feel how warm he is and see that despite his facade of anger his eyes are still unfailingly kind.

Finally, you shove him off of you and storm away. As expected, the unsub emerges out of the shadows, following you down the sidewalk and out of Spencer’s sight.

His stomach sinks. He’d been doing okay when you were beside him, when he knew he could protect you even when he’s well aware that you’re strong, one of the strongest people he knows. You don’t need him to protect you, but he wants to so badly.

Spencer can’t help himself, he speaks into the microphone attached to his cuff, “Guys, what's happening?”

“She’s okay,” Emily says. “He’s definitely following her, but he hasn't tried anything yet.”

“We need to wait for him to make contact,” comes from Hotch.

“What if he-” Spencer stars.

“We have to make this stick, kid,” Morgan tells him.

Spencer knows he’s right. It still doesn’t sit well with him, the thought of a man’s hands on you when he can’t do anything about it.

Your boots click against the pavement, Hotch’s voice in your ears telling you to keep going, that the unsub is getting closer. Just as a warning sounds in your ear, there’s a hand on your wrist.

The grip is tight, pinching your skin enough to leave a mark, but you don’t show it. It’s only seconds until the team and police officers come out of hiding and arrest him, effectively pulling his hands off of you.

Your hand circles the wrist he’d grabbed, rubbing the skin. It isn’t even a minute before Spencer finds you standing by one of the cars on scene, your face lit up by red and blue. He can feel the relief wash over him like a wave. You’re okay, alive. And so, so pretty.

“Hey, Spence,” you say when you see him walk up.

“Are you alright?” he asks, gesturing to where you hold your wrist.

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just a tight grip. I’ve been through worse.”

He nods. “Let me see.”

You hold out your arm, and he gently grabs your wrist and pushes your sleeve out of the way, his fingertips running over your skin, his eyes scanning it. His hands are warm where they hold you, and his skin on yours makes your stomach swirl.

“I’m okay, really.”

“I know,” he says. His eyes lift to your face, soft. “I just- I don’t want you to ever have to do that again.”

You give him a tiny smile. “It’s part of the job, Spence. Besides, I thought we made a pretty good team.”

“I don’t want to have to worry about you being safe. I want to know you are.”

Oh, you think. And you know, can hear it in the sound of his voice, that it has absolutely nothing to do with your abilities, he just cares.

You shift your hand to tangle your fingers with his, and for once, Spencer doesn’t even think of his aversion to shaking hands.

“I’m safe now,” you tell him.

His thumb traces a circle against your palm.

The team tries to get together at least once a month. Sometimes trying different local restaurants, more often taking advantage of Rossi’s mansion and lovely backyard when the weather allows.

You’re all flexible, you have to be when you do what you do, so you’re used to rescheduling or switching things up last minute.

This time around, it’s a little too much switching.

A suspicious amount.

First, it’s JJ, saying that Henry is just being far too clingy tonight for her to be able to skip bedtime. “Will won’t be able to get him to sleep, he can be pretty stubborn,” she’d said.

And you understand, of course you do. You give her a quick hug when she leaves the office, and she tells you to ‘have fun tonight,’ with something shining in her eyes that you can’t quite place.

Then, it’s Morgan, who gives no explanation besides him holding up his phone saying he’s just received an ‘offer he can’t refuse’ and then strolling out with his jacket slung over his shoulder.

Weird, you think. Not entirely out of character for Morgan, but weird.

And ten minutes later, when Emily finishes up her paperwork, checks her phone, gasps dramatically, and says that she has to get back because Sergio was trapped in her curtains, or something, it’s even weirder.

“Curtains?” you ask as she collects her stuff.

“Can’t stay, Serg needs me!” is all she says and then she’s gone.

Another few minutes, and Penelope comes by, looking apologetic.

“Not you too,” you all but whine.

“Sorry, my pretty! Internet emergency. My friend’s boyfriend might be cheating, and I have to help a sister in need!”

“But-”

She smacks a kiss on your cheek and leaves, her heels clicking as she goes.

“Where’s she going?” Spencer asks, walking up to your desk, bag slung over his shoulder.

“Something about catching a cheater,” you say. “And JJ, Morgan, and Emily are all out.”

“What?” he asks, leaning against the edge of your desk. “That’s strange.”

“I know. It’s barely even a team dinner anymore. Just us and the fathers, I guess.”

“Actually, Rossi’s not coming. He said something about being on deadline, needing to finish a chapter.”

“Oh.”

“And Hotch said he’ll meet us there, so…”

“Just us and one father, then.”

Spencer leads you out of the bullpen, and you walk to the elevator, then outside. The restaurant isn’t too far from the office, and with spring settling in, the weather is nice enough to want to walk. So you do.

He walks on the side the closest to the road, one hand wrapped around the strap of his bag, the other swinging between you. Your knuckles brush every few steps, and Spencer seems to be slowing his strides just a little bit to stay right next to you.

It makes you feel warm despite the wind biting at your cheeks.

Just as you walk up to the restaurant, both you and Spencer’s phones buzz.

You pull it out of your back pocket and find a message from Hotch: ‘Jack’s not feeling well. See you tomorrow.’

“So, just us,” you say.

“Just us,” Spencer echoes.

“Do you still want to.. I’d get it if you’d rather reschedule it to be an actual team dinner.”

“I don’t want to reschedule,” he tells you.

Before you can respond or think too hard about the soft way he’d spoken, Spencer is walking up to the door and holding it for you, the bell jingling as he tugs it open.

You blink at him, and then take the hint and walk inside. “I didn’t even know Hotch knew how to make a group chat.”

“What’s a group chat?” Spencer asks.

You sigh out a little laugh. “It’s comforting to know that there are at least some things you don’t know, Dr. Reid.”

“It’s actually pretty much impossible to know everything.”

“To know I’m better than you at something, then.”

“You’re better than me at a lot of things,” he says.

And then the hostess is greeting you, leading you to a small table pressed up against one of the windows, and depositing some menus for you to look over.

Rossi had picked the place this time, a small, family-owned Italian restaurant with classic red and white tablecloths and candles sitting atop each table lighting the place in a soft glow.

It’s funny, you think, that he’d pick a place just to not show up. Even funnier that he’d choose somewhere so… romantic. With a single rose in a vase on every table, dim lighting, mostly small tables.

The thought slips out before you can really stop it, “You know, this almost feels like a date. With just the two of us here.”

Spencer looks up from the menu when you say it, his heart thumping. You look beautiful, he thinks. You do every day, even tired or with a split lip. Beautiful whenever he sees you, but it hits him harder now.

The way the candlelight flickers across your face, your eyes sparkling in it, the strap of your top slipping slowly off your shoulder. He wants to reach out and fix it for you. To let his fingers linger.

He’d thought about being brave with you that day in the park, and maybe he still isn’t as brave as he’d like to be, but he’s brave enough to say, “Would that be such a bad thing? Us on a date, I mean.”

You search his face, almost as if you don’t believe him. Like you’d imagined it, but he’s searching your face, too. Waiting for you to respond. The toe of your shoe skims his shin.

“No, Spence. Not bad at all.”

He smiles, so gently, spreading over his face slowly, flickering like he’d been trying to suppress it and failed.

“Good. That’s— that’s good. I’d like it to be one. A date.”

“Really?”

“I know it’s customary to ask before you’re already sitting at the restaurant, but-”

You find his hand on the table, laying your palm over the back of it, cutting him off. “I’d like that, too.”

He turns his hand around and links his fingers with yours.

And just like that, you’re on a date with Spencer Reid. It feels almost natural, like this is how you’ve always been with each other, with only a small layer of nerves at the newness of it all.

You’ve been so used to keeping your crush on him to yourself that it seems like a dream to be sitting here, but it isn’t. You talk about the food, Spencer easily telling you every dish's origins. You laugh and he asks about what book you’re reading now, and you tell him and he listens.

He points out different Italian musicians playing throughout the night, you eat your food and split a dessert. He traps your ankle between his calves when your leg wanders, and you let him keep it there.

Spencer pays and you slap his wrist lightly for not letting you chip in. Then you’re walking back to the parking lot. Admittedly, you walk a lot slower this time, like you’re both dragging the evening out. This time, when your hands brush, Spencer grabs yours, and puts your joined hands in his jacket pocket.

Back at your car, you lean your back against the driver’s side door, Spencer stands not far from you.

“So we agree that they ditched us on purpose, right?” you ask him, your hand still in his now swinging between your bodies.

“Oh, absolutely.” Spencer smiles. “Though I’m not sure if we should be thanking them or getting them back for it.”

“Mmm, let ‘em sweat. I think this would have happened either way,” you say.

“Me too.” And suddenly Spencer’s face is closer to yours, only a breath away, his free hand coming up to prop himself up against your car, framing you in.

Your eyes flicker between his, and you shift a little bit closer, tugging his tie between the fingers of the hand that isn’t holding his.

“Can I?” he asks, and you simply give his tie a gentle yank and his lips are on yours.

ᯓ★

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