Summary: A sleepless night and a beautiful sky lead you to Spencer, again.
Warnings: hurt/comfort, too much reliance on each other but who cares because it's sad
Word Count: 1k
A/n: This is set after Emily's "death", somewhere between season 6 and 7.
You lay in bed for hours, tossing back and forth, distributing the bedding everywhere. Your hair tangled and fell into your face. You couldn't sleep. Something was keeping you up.
Guilt.
Pain.
You pulled the covers back and swung your legs out of the bed, your bare feet stung slightly against the icy tiles. You stepped over to the window, pulling back the whispy half sheer curtains and gazing out the window. Stars lit up the sky like diamonds and somehow, staring into the little lights shining through the black darkness, you felt a sense of peace. Not fully, but enough to lift a feather of hurt from your shoulders.
You knew of someone else who could use that same feeling.
You knew it was a long shot, especially when you picked up your phone and noticed the bright 2:54 lighting up the screen, but you tried anyway. You sent a simple message, just a few words.
Hey, are you still up?
It only took a moment for a response, your phone buzzed in your hand as a call came in. You answered, voice soft as you hadn't used it in hours.
"Hey, I hope I didn't wake you"
"I was already up"
His voice cracked just a little, undetectable to most people, but most people didn't know Spencer Reid like you did.
"Can't sleep?" You offered, clearly knowing the answer.
"No. You?"
"No. I can't stop thinking about-" Your sentence stopped as your throat tightened, emotions closer to the surface than you thought.
"Me too"
You cleared your throat, changing the topic "Look out the window"
"At the stars?"
"Yeah" You let out a breath, almost a laugh.
"They're beautiful. Been looking at them for a while now"
The conversation lulled, both of you falling silent as you gazed at the same stars from miles away. You broke the silence, and so did he.
"Do you want me to come over?"
"Can you come over?"
You both laughed for a small moment.
"I'll be there in 20"
"Thanks"
You put your phone down as you changed quickly, just throwing on some comfortable clothes that weren't pajamas. You picked it back up along with your keys as you headed out the door, a soft smile on your lips.
At the same moment, Spencer wore the same smile.
You knew he had been having a hard time, you had to but it didn't hit you quite like it did him. He appeared at your door for weeks, crying. You brought him in every time and comforted him. The comfort you gave him helped you too, it let you know you weren't alone with your pain. At some point, you think you crossed some kind of a line, maybe. Comfort turned into reliance, reliance into addiction. It became that neither of you could get through a day without seeing each other. Working together made it seem more reasonable, weekends were spent indulging. Indulging in each other, for hours. Just sitting together, a quiet understanding of feelings and acceptance of codependency. You knew you were too dependent on him and he knew he was too dependent on you, but neither of you stopped.
That same smile still graced your lips as you walked through his building's lobby, up the stairs - his elevator was always broken for no reason - and down the hallway. You stood before his door, staring at the gold lettering, a familiar sight. Then you knocked, three gentle raps. He opened it immediately, as if he were standing there waiting - he was - and motioned for you to come in.
"Hey, um, thanks"
His voice was even softer than on the phone, slightly timid now that you were in front of him. His eyes darted between you and the floor, even after all these weeks doing…. whatever this was, he was still remarkably shy around you.
"It's okay. I um, I like coming here"
"I like it when you're here"
His answer came quicker than he intended but that didn't mean it was true. You followed him through to the living room. It was almost comical how awkward you both were, sitting on the couch as far apart as possible.
"I-I don't know what to do" He started.
"About what?"
"What I feel"
"I know. It feels like that for me too"
"How do you deal with it? You're always so much more put together than me"
You laughed breathily "I'm not that great. Normally I don't really deal with anything. Just move on to something else, work a case. But this isn't really normal"
"No, it's not"
"I haven't felt this way before. She was my friend, she was family. And now I'm talking about her in the past tense"
"I-I know, It's wrong. She should be here"
"She should"
You fell into silence again, shifting slightly closer.
"I know I feel a little better when you're here" He murmured softly, his head remained glued to his lap, staring at his fidgeting hands.
"So do I"
You reached across, your fingers brushing his knuckles, asking for permission with the slight touch. Spencer's palm opened, his hand slotting against yours just right.
"It's been two months and I still cry about her" He paused, taking in a deep breath, the words weighing heavy on his chest "Is that normal?"
You nodded your head, your voice getting thicker "Yeah" you breathed out "I still do"
You moved closer again.
You woke up to a heavy warmth on your body. Your eyes fluttered as they opened, looking down to see Spencer. The first thing you saw was his hair, thick brown locks curled around your fingers that you hadn't even noticed were there. His head was resting on your chest, raising and lowering with your breathing. His arms were wrapped around your torso, meeting behind your back as you lay on them, firm and steady.
You smiled, your fingers grazing gently against his scalp, soothing. His hands squeezed behind your back as he let out a small sound, something between a groan and a huff. His head burrowed further against your chest, constant in the warmth of you. You glanced up, noticing the time displayed on the kitchen clock.
You leant down, whispering softly in his ear "Spence, Spencer, wake up sweetie, we gotta go to work"
He heard you but didn't respond, pretending to still be asleep. He ignored your words, all but one, sweetie. It sounded so soft and positively domestic, he thought about how he could get used to it, this. He could easily get used to your gentle morning tone, you calling him sweetie, and him waking up in your arms.
He had always wondered what people meant when they said grief brings people together.
aaron… hotchner… you were always there for him, maybe one day he snaps? “listen, im sorry, but i don’t need you here.” and she’s like oh well girl shit okay, but she obliges of course and he just feels guilty and apologizes? (angst/comfort/fluff)
Night shift — Aaron Hotchner.
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader
Summary: Your husband was overworking himself, so you thought it would be a nice gesture to bake his favorite cookies and make him coffee to help relax him. Until that plan back fires and he snaps at you.
Word count: 602
Disclaimer/s: slight yelling, mentions of a child murder/abduction case, hurt to comfort. established relationship (married)
A/N: omg i haven’t written for cm since my emily fic hi!
Aaron was overdoing it, no doubt. He had only briefly explained some of the case details as he made his way towards his office. “Two kids abducted and murdered, now another body has been found.” That was all he said as the oak wood doors slammed behind him. Closing you off completely.
So, you’d decided making his favorite cookies and some coffee would help ease his spirits as it usually did. Throughout the few hours it took to make and prepare it all, you’d checked in on him every thirty minutes.
You simply received a few small, ‘i’m working’ or ‘not now’ every time you tried to talk. But you didn’t take it to heart, he got like this during particularly hard cases.
Once the cookies were finished, you grabbed his coffee in your free and and slowly made your way into his office with a warm smile.
“Hey, hon?” You say gently, trying to gain his attention. Placing the cookies down and holding out the coffee for him to take.
You’re only met with a, “hmm?” instead of actual words. Aaron doesn’t look up, he doesn’t do anything except for flip to the next page of the case file. His eyes scanning the paper trying so desperately to find a missed detail.
“Aaron.” You sigh, “I made you—“
“Listen, i’m sorry, but I don’t need your distractions right now.” His voice raises into his angry voice, his eyes only darting up to look at you for a second before looking back to the papers.
Flinching at his words, you nod shortly. “Oh. Okay.” Setting his coffee mug down on the desk, you take a few steps back. “Well, they are there is you want them.” And without another word, you make your way out of the office, shutting the door quietly behind you.
The second you leave, Aaron rubs his temples, guilt seeping into his every crevice. He was stressed and overworking himself, he didn’t have a right to take that out on you.
You were trying your best to make him feel better and all he did was snap at you. His eyes then flicker to the cookies at the end of the desk, then to the coffee, then to the door. Even in your anger and hurt, you’d still shut it gently.
Taking in a deep breath, the man stands from his seat and exits his office. You weren’t in the living room, and he had a clear view of the kitchen, which you also weren’t in.. next was the bedroom.
Walking down the hallway, past Jacks room, where he caught a peep of his sleeping son, then toward their bedroom. The second the door opened he caught sight of you sitting on the bed running a stressed hand through your hair, his eyes softened instantly.
“I’m sorry.” He sighs out, taking a few strides toward you. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice.” He finishes softly, the bed sinking down as he sits beside you.
“It’s fine.” You mumble, looking at your husband. His eyes were tired, his hair was a mess, his tie loosened around his neck. “You should get some rest.”
Aaron nodded, “okay. I will. Soon. I just need to—“
“No, Aaron. Now.” You say, this time more firmly. “Sleep, now.” Your hands reach forward to undo his tie, “I know child cases are hard on you, but you can’t do your job properly if you aren’t sleeping.”
The dark haired man’s lip turns upward ever so slightly, but you caught it. “Okay. Sleep it is.” He finally caves, leaning down to press a tender kiss to your lips. “I love you.”
Knockin' On Heaven's Door — Chapter One: Six Minutes
info: This story takes place in early 2007 and serves as a rewritten and reimagined aftermath of the events depicted in the mid-season two episodes "The Big Game" and "Revelations".
Available on AO3 and Wattpad under the username fallenamongstroses
DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT
Chapter One: Six Minutes
Six minutes.
That's what I would say to my mother every time she lit a cigarette, like I did as I leaned against a brick wall, one foot kicked up, leaning against it. I found it almost ironic that I didn't seem to care too much when those six minutes were taken off my life.
The chilly night air cut through my cardigan as I blew smoke up into the starry sky, the smoke hovering in the dim honey-hued glow of the streetlights looking almost like a sparkling cloud before it vanished like a ghost in the shadows. I always went on my smoke breaks when I needed to pop pills — stimulants for my newly-medicated ADHD, benzodiazepines for my anxiety. Vyvanse and Klonopin.
It had been a couple of months since vyvanse and klonopin were first prescribed to me after Gideon had insisted that I get a complete psychiatric evaluation and assessment after all that had transpired regarding Tobias Hankel. The psychiatric team evaluating me had diagnosed me with Autism, ADHD, PTSD and a form of severe Generalized Anxiety Disorder that caused extreme panic attacks that rarely (if ever) seemed to have any clear or specific origin or triggers causing them to happen in the first place, long before the recent trauma I'd endured which only seemed to worsen my unrelenting anxiety. Of course, I was not at all shocked when they added an additional diagnosis of moderate to severe insomnia. I had always had more nightmares than the average person, but in the last two months since my team had rescued me from that graveyard in the middle of nowhere in Georgia... Well, the nightmares had become inescapable and far too real. I had not slept consistently or soundly since the night I was saved.
But Tobias was in the past. Two months, nineteen days, three hours, and forty-nine minutes in the past, to be exact. An eidetic memory was never helpful when it came to processing trauma. It would be easier if I could forget small details like most people. But that does not happen for people like me. I chuckled dryly to myself. People like me — geniuses with exceptional memory and even more exceptional IQs. People like me should know better than to do something as stupid, unhealthy, and dangerous as chain-smoking cigarettes. Theoretically, the cork filters I favored over the average filter — a mess of cotton and shards of glass — offered decreased health consequences, yet I still knew better. I knew the statistics. Higher price points and superior filter types could only save you so much.
After all, it's the addictive nature of it all at the heart of what kills you in the end.
I crushed the dying embers of the cigarette filter under my foot, pulled the pack back out of my cardigan pocket along with a lighter. I flipped the lid of the pack open with my thumb, pulled a cigarette out by the filter with my teeth, sparked the lighter and held the flame to the cigarette, inhaling lightly before taking my thumb off the lighter and watching the flame disappear as I removed it from my mouth with my right index and middle fingers, exhaling, and then inhaling once more. There was something almost meditative about the routine. Something nearly hypnotizing about it all. It felt practically ritualistic — putting the cigarette between my lips with the taste of dissolving calmness under my tongue and the energy and focus that I had swallowed just moments ago.
The cigarettes steadied my breathing and shaking hands as my body slowly began to adjust to the medications entering my system. Vyvanse sharpened my mind and vision, making my movements feel more precise, pulling everything into clear focus. Klonopin melted away the overstimulation that coursed throughout my entire body like a live wire — the office lights had been too bright, and I had felt like I couldn't breathe. I had been doing nothing but reading and paperwork all day and could feel the panic creeping up the back of my throat. Maybe it had just been the stomach acid from the panic itself. Either way, I knew if I didn't make it out of the bullpen and out into the smoking area, I would have surely puked into the wastepaper basket at my desk right then and there, in front of my team. Thankfully, the team knew well enough by now that moments like that — moments of complete overstimulation or panic — were nothing to be taken lightly, nor to be joked about or teased over.
I took a long and thoughtful drag as I tried to do the impossible by forgetting what Hankel had forced me to endure. I was still bound to that chair for a fraction of a nanosecond. I could almost feel the high of dilaudid he'd forcibly injected me with. I knew what a flashback was from my studies and work experience, but it never failed to take the breath out of me faster than any cigarette ever could, and far more painfully. All the studying and intellect in the world couldn't prepare me for how unimaginably real every moment of even the briefest of flashbacks felt, let alone the onerous task of differentiating those flashbacks from the reality of whatever was happening at any given time over the past several weeks.
"Focus, Spencer!" My thoughts practically screamed at me, echoing and reverberating through my skull.
I needed to be focused tonight. I grabbed the water bottle I had placed next to me, opened it, opened the vyvanse bottle, and tapped out another pill into my hand. I swallowed the capsule and washed it down with the water before screwing the cap back onto the water bottle, returning the half-empty water bottle onto the cracked parking lot concrete next to where I stood. I looked towards my hand and saw that the cigarette was now just a long stick of ash. "Weird, I swear I lit that less than two minutes ago, and this brand takes at least seven to ten minutes to burn on average..." My thoughts trailed off. I shrugged and thought, "I'm sure it's just the side effects of the medications."
I lit another cigarette, making sure to focus on it this time. I needed to fully concentrate on whether I would be useful to the team tonight. I took a frustrated puff, exhaling with anxious stubbornness.
I wondered what would happen as the long night in the bullpen continued. Would there be a new case and briefing tonight, or would I be able to go home after finishing the endless pile of paperwork on my desk? Only time would tell. I nervously tapped the fingers of my free hand against the side of my leg, trying to get the leg to stop shaking. The doctors had explained to me that this was something called stimming, common in both Autism and ADHD — not at all uncommon for it to become more severe and noticeable after trauma as extreme as what I had gone through. I had always just assumed I was too fidgety. I had assumed a lot of things about me were simply something wrong with me that nobody else dealt with until the diagnoses made every empty part of the puzzle of my life finally be filled in so that I could see the full picture of who I had always been for the very first time all those weeks ago.
— — —
I had not seen any point in hiding any part of my diagnosis from the team and had discussed it privately and individually with each team member, met with slightly varying reactions. Still, all doing their best to be understanding and supportive in their own ways.
I smiled as smoke left my lips, remembering how Garcia had laughed at my diagnosis as she lightheartedly giggled and said, "The brilliant boy genius has Autism? I'm sorry, sweetheart, but that has got to be the least shocking diagnosis I've ever heard!" She had asked for permission to hug me and, after I allowed it, she wrapped her arms around me almost too tightly to breathe. "Don't worry, Doc. I won't see or treat you any differently than I always have unless you want me to."
I had tightened the hug and replied, "Thank you for understanding. I knew you wouldn't make me feel weird like the others might."
"Oh, sweetie... I'd never make you feel weird about anything. However, I do tend to weird people out. Your weird doesn't ever outweird me, okay? I pinky promise," she had held out her pinky finger, and I had humored her by intertwining it with mine. "If anybody treats you weird about anything, then you tell me. If they wanna mess with you, they'll have to deal with me, first!"
"Weird protects weird, I guess is what you're saying?" I had presumed.
"Yes- wait- but no! Not exactly. I mean, yes, of course, weird protects and looks out for weird... but being autistic, having ADHD, and all that other stuff doesn't make you weird. It's just part of who you are. Who you are is perfect, no matter what. Got it?"
"I think so."
"Good. Keep thinking that way, alright? Not weird, just different — just you. Just Reid. Smart and useful as you always have been. A diagnosis doesn't change who you always have been, it just gives it a name and an explanation." She had been entirely correct.
In response to the diagnosis, Gideon smiled slightly and said, "I always wondered why you were far more difficult and complex to profile than the rest of the team. People on the spectrum typically don't display the same behavioral mannerisms as what we're trained to read as profilers. But even still, I read you loud and clear now, Spencer. You aren't useless or broken like you think you are,"
"I never said that... did I?" I had asked, a bit unsure as the klonopin made my memory less reliable - something about how it impacted the brain to form new working memories.
"No, you're right — you didn't say you feel useless or broken. You also didn't say that you have felt unsure of your ability to be a good profiler since Hankel or since the diagnosis. You didn't say that you're worried about whether your autism makes your profiling skills more or less valid and accurate. You didn't have to say any of that out loud."
I stayed silent for a moment, taken aback by Gideon saying everything I had felt aloud, spoken for the first time. "How did you know-"
"I knew because I'm a profiler and I am damn good at my job and doing what I do. And so are you, kid. Don't ever let anything make you doubt yourself. I am sure someday you will be seen as the greatest profiler the BAU has ever had. You are already one of the best, if you ask me. You wouldn't be here where you are right now if you weren't, or if I thought even for a moment that you were not perfect for this job. I have faith in you, Spencer. And one more thing,"
"What's that?"
Gideon's eyes and face softened as he said ever-so-gently, "I'm proud of you, kid. I mean it."
"Thanks-"
"No. No need to thank me. I just needed you to know that."
I pulled out and lit my sixth cigarette since I got outside. Garcia had decided to gift me with an MP3 player recently because she hated the idea of me being left completely alone with my thoughts during my long smoke breaks and had explained that she had read that many people like me used music as a coping mechanism to stay grounded. It seemed to be accurate enough. The guitar strummed softly in my ears, a song I had been introduced to by my mother, who would often sing it to me as a lullaby of sorts, and the familiar lyrics began.
Mama take this badge from me
I can't use it anymore
I pulled out my flip-phone and quickly texted Garcia to check my mother's files and records for where I had her staying, asking her to make sure to notify me of any medication or behavioral changes, as well as anything else worth mentioning.
It's getting dark,
Too dark to see
I flipped the phone closed, dropped it back into my satchel, and took a much longer and deeper drag than usual off of my cigarette, exhaling, only noticing the nervous shaking in my hands as I brought it to my lips again. I wasn't sure if it was worry for my mother or the vyvanse kicking in that caused my hands to tremor. I tried and failed to not worry about it. I tried to think positively and hope that my mother was okay. I would write my daily letter to her once I got back to my desk. The paperwork of our old cases could wait that long. They'd have to. But before I could worry myself too much about that, I finished and extinguished my cigarette, lighting another.
Feels like I'm knockin' on Heaven's door
The music softly yet powerfully thrummed in my ears through the earbuds, slowly easing away the flashbacks that had threatened to blur the edges of reality, grounding me in my body and current surroundings.
Knock-knock-knockin' on Heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on Heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on Heaven's door
Knock-knock-knockin' on Heaven's door
My hands began to shake less as I blinked tears away from my eyes. I needed to pull myself together and make sure the meds kicked in before I was ready to head back inside and face reality, along with all the familiar faces awaiting my return inside the building behind me.
"Get it together, Spencer," I thought to myself. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on nothing but the next drag. Felt the heat, tasted the chemicals I had grown to find comforting, smelled the tobacco as I exhaled the smoke from my nostrils. "Just get it together," I thought silently once more.
Summary: Ever since you started dating Spencer, you hate sleeping alone. You always try to find a way to bring him into bed with you, even if he can't be there physically.
Square Filled: breaking a promise for @badthingshappenbingo
Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3
x
One thing you hate doing ever since meeting Spencer is sleeping alone. He has provided such a safe space in bed for you that it’s hard to sleep away from him. Thankfully, you have the same job so if he’s away on a case, so are you. Plus, he’s so warm which makes for comforting cuddles.
You startle awake with a gasp, disgusted at how dry your mouth is. You look to the right and see Spencer lying peacefully next to you. You have to get water. You’re known for sleeping with your mouth open so that’s why your throat is always so dry. You usually keep a water bottle by your bed but this time, you didn’t.
You carefully sneak out of bed so as not to wake him up. You walk through the darkened apartment expertly. If a robber ever broke in, you’d know how to escape easily with the lights off.
You get to the kitchen and open the fridge, squinting at the fridge light. You grab an ice-cold water bottle and close the fridge to drink in darkness. The ice-cold water does wonders for your dry throat and it cools your insides. You’re about halfway through the bottle when you feel arms around you.
“The bed isn’t the same without you,” Spencer mutters and kisses your neck lightly.
“I needed water,” you chuckle. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s okay. Come back to bed.”
You take the water bottle to bed and cuddle with Spencer until dawn.
Even when you’re on cases, you always find a way to make it into each other’s beds. Hotch has a rule where the men are separated from the women even though he knows that rule is broken most of the time.
Hotch has made it clear that the women were going to bunk with each other and the men were going to be on opposite sides of the hotel. You and JJ took up one room while Emily and Penelope had the other. Derek and Spencer shared one room while Rossi and Hotch were in another.
JJ went to bed nearly two hours ago but you can’t seem to sleep. Spencer isn’t next to you to provide that safe space, and you’re not sure if you’ll ever find sleep tonight. That is until you heard someone knocking softly on your door.
You smile knowing who it is.
You make sure to be quiet as you make your way to the door. You don’t even have to look through the peephole to check who it is. Spencer’s tired face smiles when you open the door.
“Hi,” you whisper with a smile.
“The bed isn’t the same without you in it.”
“Come in. Be quiet. JJ is a light sleeper.”
You bring Spencer inside and quietly lock the door. You make sure not to make too much noise as you two shuffle into bed. Spencer pulls you close and breathes in your scent by your hair. There, this is more like it. Exhaustion catches up to you now that your safety net has returned to you.
Spencer kisses your head and the two of you fall asleep with ease.
Even when you and Spencer can’t be together, like if you got sick or he had to stay back because his mom needed him, you two still find a way to sleep in the same bed.
You’re sick with either the stomach flu or bad food poisoning because you can’t leave the bed without vomiting everywhere. Spencer offered to stay back and take care of you but the team needs him more than you do. It sucks but it’s only for a couple of days, and you can handle being away from him for that long.
He and the team flew to California for a serial rapist who has yet to be caught while you’re stuck in bed trying not to puke up your insides.
It’s storming outside so the rain is pelting your window hard. It’s not the noise that is keeping you up, you quite like the sound of rain. No, it’s the fact that Spencer isn’t here to help you sleep. You two have become so dependent on each other that you can’t sleep without him next to you. If you can sleep, it’s because you’re sick and your body is forcing you to.
Your phone rings, illuminating the dark room. The sound almost makes you jump ten feet out of your body but you grab it and smile when you see Spencer is trying to FaceTime you.
“Hey,” you smile when you answer.
“The bed isn’t the same without you in it,” he mumbles against the pillows.
“I know.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Like shit but I’ll live,” you chuckle. “I’m so tired. Stay with me until I fall asleep?”
“Of course,” he smiles.
It’s not ideal but knowing he is right there next to you is enough to send you into a dreamless sleep.
No one ever told you how hard this part would be. No one gave you a rule book to study beforehand. You thought the worst part was over but you’re just now realizing the worst part has just barely begun.
It’s raining hard outside so the water is just smashing against the window as hard as it can. The curtains are open so you can see the rain fall from the clouds above with the occasional lightning storm that lights up the whole sky.
You turn away from the window and let the tears fall freely onto the pillow you’re clutching. You’ll never be able to sleep the same ever again knowing Spencer won't be there next to you to comfort you. He promised to come home. He promised he’d make it back to you but he never did.
An unsub got the better of him and now you’re left to pick up the pieces he left behind. You touch his side of the bed and refrain from screaming out in pain.
“The bed isn’t the same without you in it,” you cry.
x
Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)
summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her new friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid. (Baby Spence)
pairing: Fem!OC x Spencer
word count: 7.4k
content warnings: slight angst
A/N: Hi! AHH it's been so long! sincerely, I'm so sorry about that-- I've been thinking about this fic and honestly I got a bit stuck for a while and had to pull myself away to reconfigure my thoughts about it. but I'm back in it now and have been writing furiously lol. anyway, thank you for your patience on all of this. I see all of your sweet comments asking me to update and I HATE leaving y'all hanging so… this chapter is extra long (7.4k words? too much? probably!). I hope you're all living your best lives and thriving :) ok love you bye!
masterlist
despite working for the FBI, there is one crime I have committed.
I was never much of a partier in college, but when I started, it was nearly impossible to stop. like a snowball, my singular drink (which I'd initially decline) would morph into my fourth, fifth, and was complemented by a joint or two.
even before I had a job as serious as this one, I was high-strung and intense. everything was about making it to the top-- of my class, of my social group, whatever would get me to the point of success I craved.
but this also meant that slowing the momentum of my work at all was risking a complete spiral. I am, unfortunately, emotional when drunk. too many drinks and insecurity sets in, following me around with self-doubt and thoughts of grand failure. because what if all the work truly amounted to nothing?
I was anxious and self-medicating. this frequently resulted in my waking up in the fetal position on the floor of whatever apartment or house I was in, fists tightly clenched and memory foggy. smoking wasn't a stress reliever for me; it was sealing the fate on a terrible night. my brain chemistry seemed to reject the same drug that worked for so many others.
but I just kept doing it because those first few minutes felt deliciously worry-free.
one of these nights I was in a friend of a friend's apartment in college. I'd been drinking straight from the bottle because we'd just finished finals and every nerve in my body was fried.
I was aware of the slow nausea making its way through my stomach, the burn of alcohol in my throat. I was also aware of the twitching that often came with smoking too much. my fingers would clench and unclench, toes wiggle beyond my control. another reason not to keep doing it, and yet.
I barely knew anyone at the party. the friend of a friend was someone I had spoken to maybe once or twice. really, I had no relationship with anyone else there. but it hadn't seemed important at the start of the night.
despite the blur of the evening, I clearly remember having an existential crisis on their thrifted couch. everyone was talking and the music was loud, but the words were like sludge to my senses. I wanted to leave, but even through the haze I felt like maybe wandering the streets alone at night wasn't a good idea.
so I just wandered anywhere to get away from the noise. I tried several doors, a few of which were locked, until I pushed one open to someone's bedroom.
it was full of plants and smelled earthy, like dirt. it reminded me a little of home. although I shouldn't have gone into this person's personal space, I didn't have much sense of decorum at the moment. so I shut the door quickly behind me and walked over to a plant on the window sill. I sat next to it, pressed a large, healthy leaf to my nose and inhaled.
from my spot on the floor, I noticed a box under their dresser. it was old, like from their grandmother or something. polished wood with a gold clasp that held it shut.
my fingers raked over the carpet and grabbed it, pulling it towards me on the floor and, without a moment's hesitation, opened the box.
inside, there was a small collection of knives.
not kitchen utensils or huge murder-y serrated ones. they were lovely, delicate blades. the handles were perfectly molded to fit a person's hand, some of them carved with beautiful spirals and curls, some inlaid with silver.
I remember touching them with my fingertips and not worrying about them slicing my skin open; I was awed by how ornate they were. I wanted to slip them under my arm and leave.
I lifted one out of the box and handled it for a few seconds. it was a small knife-- the kind that's better for self-defense than anything else. the metal was cool in my palm, and the handle wooden and smooth with wear. the bottom was rounded and opalescent. the colors that refracted under the light mesmerized me, until I was tilting the weapon just to see each soft pink and blue and purple melt into the other. I was entranced like a child.
enough time passed there with my eyes glued to the shifting hues that my body stopped twitching and I felt more lucid. not sober, but not barreling into tearful realizations about my issues.
despite myself, I took the knife with me. I pulled off my hoodie and bundled it inside, carefully put the box back, and left the room without a backward glance. something cruelly sentimental inside me just needed to keep it. like a security blanket.
…
as I watch Spencer working through a chocolate-sprinkled donut, washing down each bite with a sip of coffee like clockwork, I wonder what he would say to my miniature crime. I suppose recreational cannabis use was also illegal, but that's far less interesting.
I remember Spencer's reaction when I pulled out the cute resin knife at the BAU Halloween party, and how I said there was no special reason I collected pretty blades. I still don't think it's that special of a reason. I just admire good craftsmanship and the illusion of safety.
Spencer catches me intently watching him eat and frowns at me mid-bite. there's a touch of chocolate at the corner of his mouth which brings a smile to my face.
JJ brought the pastries in for us from some famous LA donut shop, all wild flavors and frostings. she brought one normal one for Reid, though. he wouldn't have touched any of these other ones with a ten-foot pole.
I indulge in a Thai tea donut while Hotch catches us up on the plan for the day. yesterday, after talking in Lila's trailer, it turned out that we were too late to check on Michael. they found him dead in his office, very obviously the stalker's latest victim. I feel awful for Lila; they were close, and he genuinely cared about her wellbeing.
it's for that reason that Hotch has told us not to tell her just yet. it could make her reckless, and that might ultimately make it more dangerous for her until we catch this guy. we've settled for telling her Michael's been wrapped up in questioning and has to keep his distance for his own safety. I don't like lying to her, but it would be so much worse for her to do something impulsive and get herself killed, too.
it's best for me to keep my own distance from Reid as possible so I can stay focused. I try to stand near Prentiss so that Hotch will assign us together for the day, careful not to be next to Reid or Morgan. if anything, Derek will catch on further and bother me about my emotions. which are confusing and also irrelevant.
"did you want some of my donut?" Reid appears out of thin air next to me, ready to break off an untouched part of his treat to share. it's clear he thought I was checking out his food earlier.
"huh?" my brows knit together as I look down at his fingers. I suppress the elation at his willingness to share food. "oh, no, it's okay. I'm full."
he shrugs and I'm about to duck away from him when Hotch speaks.
"Reid, I want you to stay near Lila as much as possible. she seems to have a rapport with you," he says casually. the muscles in my jaw jump with irritation.
of course, part of me tries to logic my way through the irrational: Lila is a television star. it's not that she's out of Spencer's league or anything, but he's certainly not the type of guy people like her would be dating. I thought celebrities only dated each other.
I cling to this thought until Hotch's deep frown lands on me.
"Williams, go with Reid."
"why?" the question escapes my lips before I can think better of questioning my boss's orders.
"she's been apprehensive to protection already. having another woman around might help." Prentiss answers for him, her arms crossed over her chest. Hotch nods and moves on. there's something lacking in the explanation, but when we're dismissed, Emily makes a quick comment in my ear.
"if she decides to break protocol, do you really think Reid is gonna be able to stop her?" she lets out a chuckle at the end. I try to reciprocate the expression as my chest squeezes.
…
Spencer puts on his sunglasses in the car while we drive through the Hills to Lila's house.
"I feel like a movie star here," I say, turning down the music as I navigate the narrow roads.
"I actually think being a producer would be better," he replies.
"less attention?"
"less than an A list celebrity in most cases."
"same fat paycheck, though."
"exactly."
I laugh. the song fades into a different one, a popular one that I've had stuck in my head for a few days, and Spencer turns it up.
"you like this song?" I turn to look at him. he's drumming his fingertips against his thigh along with the beat.
"it's good."
I just suppress a smile and keep driving, trying my best not to comment when I see his head nodding to the chorus. but it's so cute, I can't hold my tongue.
"you're dancing!" I laugh.
immediately, he stops. "no, I'm not."
"Spence, it's okay to like it." I roll my eyes.
he ignores me.
"come on," I urge, turning up the volume even more. I have a terrible voice, but I sing along quietly for a second. he only joins in after a moment of hesitation.
we aren't screaming the chorus or even being very loud, but it's comfortable and fun to share the moment with someone else. despite the reason for our presence here, we're driving through the Hollywood Hills and how often does that happen for us? I let myself enjoy these three minutes.
sunlight glares through the windshield and hits our faces, that chemical boost that comes from warming air. our voices blend into the music, every memorized lyric coming out of us on instinct.
there's something pure about it, like we're sharing a secret. because it's funny that two FBI agents know a pop song this well, even funnier that one of them is Spencer Reid, Nerdiest of Them All.
my fingers tap on the wheel with the beat. at the risk of shattering this delicate moment, I glance over at Spencer. I can't help it.
he's smiling, cheeks flushed. the free-spiritedness of it unfurls something within me.
I realize that I've been collecting these seconds like diamonds, stuffing them in darkened corners of my mind, papered over with larger memories. they'll always burn through, though, moments when my eyes seek him out, the fewer ones when his seek mine. I'm hungry for the sight of him in a way that can't be sated; every glimmer in his pupils, every clench and turn of his chin— they accumulate endlessly.
I could live on this stretch of road forever.
but then I see our exit ahead, and I think of Lila's starlet grin. I'm reminded of every sinking feeling that's made up our time here. the song fades out, swallowing the sensation whole.
"what did Emily say to you earlier?" Spencer asks out of nowhere, after we've fallen into a sort of silence. my mouth opens and closes as I try to think up something to say.
"I--" the words dry up as soon as he looks at me. "I don't remember. it wasn't important, though, I don't think."
he nods, gaze lingering. he doesn't believe me. but I don't know what to tell him. his hands fidget in his lap. I can imagine the gears in his head turning, combining rational possibilities with his own insecurities.
"what do you think of her?" I try to make my voice sound level.
"of Lila?"
"yeah."
"I think she's nice."
"nice?"
"yeah. I don't really know any celebrities, so I was surprised by that," he shrugs.
"she's beautiful."
I wait for him to concur, or to dare to disagree. but the pause he gives is heavy and I know he's trying to select his words carefully.
lucky for him, we pull onto Lila's street before he can make any definitive statement about her attractiveness. I drive slowly, pulling into the dusty driveway of a beautiful home. it's modern, settled on a clearing that I'm sure boasts a beautiful view of the city.
I turn off the engine and glance over at Spencer, whose spine is suddenly so rigid that I nearly question the reality of his singing a song a few minutes ago.
"you okay?" I ask.
"yeah," he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and looks at the dashboard. "yes," he repeats.
"great. let's get this over with." I get out of the car.
Lila is already standing in the threshold of her house, watching the two of us.
"hello." she gives me a half-hearted smile.
"hi," I sigh. "sorry to keep you here tonight."
"I know, it's just for my safety," she shrugs and lets the two of us in. "hi, Spencer."
he gives an awkward wave and grips the strap of his messenger bag with a nervous tightness.
"did you bring work with you?" she laughs at the heavy-looking bag.
"yes," he says with total seriousness.
I clear my throat. "we should probably get the layout of the house first, Reid."
he purses his lips and nods. I catch Lila staring at him for a nanosecond too long, try to run the possibilities in my head. it's completely feasible that she's just trying to understand his awkward tendencies, like many of the people we deal with. I don't trust myself to draw conclusions about this particular thing, given how laced with bias they might be.
it's something of a relief as she shows us around the place-- it's not as big as it looks from the outside, but there's a pool out back that overlooks the hills. there aren't many points of entry and she, predictably, has a security system. my concern with modern houses like these is that there's usually tons of glass, creating a perfect opportunity for Peeping Toms and overzealous paparazzi.
sure enough, a decent portion of the back of the house is glass. the openness of it makes my hair stand on end a bit.
when I turn around, Spencer and Lila are looking at an art piece she's got hanging on her wall. it's a photographic collage, vertical slashes of brightly colored scenes that have been pasted together onto a long canvas. it's not very attractive, but judging from the way Lila explains its significance, it must be sentimental for her.
"I like it because it's like life, you know? like, obscure and difficult…" she trails off. Spencer nods in a way that could be understanding or unimpressed, I can't tell. for a profiler, I'm remarkably confused watching his interactions today.
"you should get a dog," he replies instead. "like a guard dog of some sort."
"allergic," she shrugs.
"Lila, have you ever had any security issues at this house before?" I break in. she turns to me and shakes her head.
"no, never. it's usually pretty quiet up here." her body language is relaxed. normally someone with a stalker would be more nervous, even apprehensive, about staying in a house with so much visibility. I know I would be. but she doesn't seem bothered at all. I guess it isn't that surprising, given how she's acted up to this point: refusing to stop work or change her lifestyle in any way. I still can't tell if I find this admirable or just stubborn. maybe a bit of both.
"can I get you guys some tea or something?" she smiles.
"uh, sure," I agree. my body is overactive right now and I need something to hold. Spencer declines her offer and waits until she leaves the room to speak again.
"the glass is a bit worrying." he points to the sliding doors leading out to the pool in the back.
"that's what I was thinking, too. maybe we can do a quick sweep and see if there are any other vulnerable spots," I suggest.
he nods and Lila walks back in. "your tea is steeping. do you want me to show you guys that layout now?"
"that would be great." it comes out sounding a bit sarcastic, though I don't mean it to. I'm still thinking about the glass and how creepy it would be to just have people be able to watch inside-- security system or not, I don't like the risk.
she guides us down the hallway, the walls of which are accented with random contemporary art pieces. the only real photos I see are in her bedroom-- framed pictures of her with her family, with her best friend. it's the same woman who works on her set and handed her that envelope earlier today. I don't remember her name, but it's obvious they're close.
there are only two bedrooms: hers and a guest room, which is tidy and doesn't seem to be used very frequently. I try to think of a polite way to say what I'm thinking.
"it doesn't look like you've decorated much here. did you move in recently?" my fingertips brush the wooden doorframe of the guest room as we start to make our way back to the living area. the small space is turning out to be advantageous; there aren't many extra points of entry or big windows that could be broken into.
"no, I moved in last year. I'm just not home very often since I work a lot. I'm sure you guys are familiar with that."
Spencer lets out something like a laugh and I give a half-grin. "we definitely get it."
she briefly takes us outside to give a better overview of the security system, and then we return to the main part of the house. Lila brings me my tea and we sit down to talk in more depth.
"there aren't a lot of opportunities for someone to break and enter," Spencer assures her. he's leaning his elbows on his knees. "we just need to watch out for a few things."
"the wall of glass, for example," I point to her backyard. "and we'll need access to your security footage from the past few weeks."
Spencer stands up and pulls out his phone. "I'll have Garcia get on that."
"great. if you have stuff you need to do here, Lila, you're welcome to do that. we're just going to be around in case you hear or need anything."
Spencer has gone to the kitchen to talk to Garcia, so it's just me and Lila sitting across from each other. the sun has started to set, pouring pinkish light into the room and making her hair appear even more brilliantly blonde.
"I just have to run some lines, really. maybe one of you can help me with that," she raises a brow and for a moment I can't tell if she's joking or being earnest.
"I'm not really sure that's a good idea. the whole reason Dr. Reid and I are here is to monitor the house."
"and me, right? what better way to do that than running lines?" her tone is flirtatious and it becomes evident that she just has this kind of personality. naturally playful. it's charming and I can see why people find it appealing. but right now, when her life is being directly threatened, it must be a way to deflect the fear. her pupils tend to dart around and it gives her away.
I soften a bit. her refusal to adjust her life set off alarm bells for me before, but now it's obvious that it's her way of managing the panic; if she doesn't shift her routine, it's easier to pretend it's not even happening.
thankfully, I'm saved from responding to her request by Spencer returning to join us.
"Garcia is running through the footage for any suspicious activity around here, but so far everything looks normal," he says. Lila smiles at this, this one a bit less showy and more as though processing everything.
this must be jarring for someone who doesn't work in this field. and she's only going to have it even worse when she finds out about Michael.
it's like a punch to the stomach when I remember we'll have to tell her soon. the sooner, the better. hopefully we can find this person within the next day or so; drawing it out is just cruel.
"so, Spencer, I was just asking Agent Williams if either of you would be willing to run lines with me to pass the time," Lila recovers from her moment quickly, tossing her hair and glancing between the two of us. the difference between her calling him Spencer and me "Agent Williams" makes me want to cringe.
"you can just call me Clea," I correct her. she brightens at this.
"right. well, my question still stands."
"I don't think that's really appropriate--" I start, just as Spencer replies with a shaky, "Sure."
we lock eyes and I frown. he can do whatever he wants, I guess, but having two agents on high alert is better than one. Prentiss's words from earlier come back to me: do you really think Reid is gonna be able to stop her? and she's right.
"I'll be fine, don't worry. if you want, we can just do it here in the living room. so it's easy to watch over me," Lila grins.
when she runs out of the room to grab her script, I turn to Reid.
"really? running lines?" I can't keep the annoyance out of my voice.
"what? we're supposed to be keeping her in our sight," he defends himself, voice pitching up a bit.
"yeah, but you're gonna be distracted. this isn't the time to flirt." it comes out of my mouth before I have a chance to think, the frustration of him not following protocol and this other, indefinable thing welling up inside me.
Spencer's lips part like he wants to respond, brows furrowing together, but then Lila comes back in and peeks between us.
"everything okay?" she's trepidatious.
my gaze cuts quickly to Reid, who is still watching me, then right back to her. "yeah, everything's fine. I'm gonna do another outside sweep."
it's sort of unnecessary to do one, but honestly, I just need some fresh air.
as soon as I'm out the door, I take several deep breaths. regardless of whatever strange sensation keeps pulling at my gut, I don't enjoy being on a different page from my partner. it doesn't matter if it's Prentiss or Morgan or Reid-- we're supposed to be a team, and the way Spencer just gave into her worries me.
I have faith in him, but I like control. need it, really.
the California air is dry and much cooler at night. not uncomfortable, but breezy as I step around the perimeter of the house. at this point, the light has faded to a soft plum. the lights of Los Angeles start to sparkle down below, making me somewhat isolated. something about it causes my skin to crawl.
my gun is cool in my hand. the primal instinct that I usually get when someone is around isn't there, so I let myself breathe. when I make it to the back area, Spencer and Lila are visible through the glass doors. he sits across from her on the couch, holding a script. she's standing in the center of the living room and speaking animatedly. rehearsing.
I shove down the part of me that is guilty about Michael in the same way that Reid seems to do. it can be so hard to draw the line between what emotions are appropriate to indulge and the ones that are too dangerous. where my own moral boundaries stand. I hate lying, and letting her go on flirting while her close friend is in a morgue drawer nauseates me.
Lila laughs at something Spencer says-- though he doesn't appear to be making a joke, given his stoic expression-- and comes to sit next to him on the couch. when she touches his shoulder in an innocent way, I turn away and decide to go back inside.
about an hour later, Lila goes to her room to change into pajamas and I'm left alone with Spencer. he hasn't seem fazed at all by the constant doting from Lila, aside from the occasional stuttering and shifting when she gets too close or compliments him in any way. as soon as he and I are alone, he nods at the phone on the couch beside me.
"any word from Hotch?"
"uh, no," I clear my throat, unsure of what to say. "actually, I should probably just call and make sure."
if I needed to know anything, the team would have reached out, but I get up before Spencer can reply. instead, I excuse myself to the hallway and dial Morgan's number.
"what's up, Williams?" he answers on the second ring.
"hi. nothing, honestly. I'm just calling to check in-- I haven't heard from any of the team members for a bit."
"we've just been at the precinct. has Lila been asking about Michael?"
"no, no. I think she was satisfied with what we told her earlier," I curl my fingers into my palm, nails digging into the skin. "how are we gonna break it to her?"
"I don't know. maybe Spencer can after this whole thing is over. she seems to trust him, so maybe it'll be easier to process."
my breath catches, but I nod as if Morgan can see me. "sure. yeah."
"you alright?" his voice softens slightly, and it only reminds me that I need to clean up my behavior right now. it's hard to hide things from him, and the last thing I need is to have him needling me about my relationship with Spencer after we close the case.
"yeah, sorry," I smile, prepared to change the subject, when a sudden noise jolts me out of my thoughts.
a splash-- loud, from the other room.
the pool.
"shit, I gotta go." I hang up, running out to the living room area.
the doors are open, and there are two heads bobbing in the rippling water. Lila slicks her hair back and it's only then that I realize the other person in the water is Spencer.
Spencer, whose wet hair sticks to his face and who is still fully clothed.
my heart stops and restarts in my chest at the abruptness of the situation, but it starts hammering as I stand in the threshold. Spencer flips his head around to me, innocent, like he didn't mean for this to happen.
"she pulled me in!" he brushes the hair out of his eyes and seems to plead with me. Lila smirks at him, fully locked in on his expression.
I'm speechless. I believe him, but Lila's erratic behavior is starting to irritate me more and more. she's reckless and flirting with an FBI agent while he's on the job-- yanking him into the water when her own life could be at risk.
I know people cope with things in different ways, but there has to be a line.
"your gun." my voice comes out softly as I point to Reid's torso. the weapon is still submerged.
his face goes even paler than usual and he practically leaps to drop it on the cement by the edge of the pool. as he finds the underwater steps and trudges out, my gaze finds Lila's. if she realizes that I'm irritated with her, she makes no indication of it.
"sorry." her laugh is bubbly. she's wearing a bikini, I notice, as she slowly makes her way to the steps to come join us. the "pajamas" she went to change into earlier.
"you know, you've aged me ten years in the past 48 hours." Reid pulls the hem of his button-up out of his pants and wrings it out. his hair, dripping, hangs around his face.
I try not to notice the way the wet fabric clings to his body.
"I just thought you deserved to have five minutes of fun," Lila replies, as if we're supposed to be chatting over cocktails instead of keeping her safe.
"yeah, well, fun isn't part of our job description tonight." my tone is sharp, but at this point I don't care. she's frying my nerves, and Spencer isn't putting his foot down enough.
"do you have towels?" Reid is practically shaking in the cool evening air.
"use mine." Lila grabs the one she must have brought out with her and hands it to my coworker.
I spin on my heel and go back inside. I'll have to tell the girls about this when we're back in Quantico; they'll understand.
Morgan calls me as the two of them get changed into warm clothes-- Spencer's thin, lanky build apparently makes him the perfect fit for Lila's old sweats.
"what the hell happened?" he asks immediately.
"nothing. Lila pulled Reid into the pool, and it just made this big splash noise that startled me. everyone is fine."
"why'd she do that?"
"no idea. she's been acting like this whole night is prime time for flirting with Reid." it takes everything to keep the venom out of my voice.
"that's weird. maybe she's just trying to distract herself."
"maybe. I don't know, Reid should still be more strict with her. I feel like I'm insane."
"you're not insane. he's just awkward around people. but I get it-- I'll talk to him when we get back." Morgan's voice is soothing over the phone. my fists unclench a bit and the muscles in my back relax. he always has my back.
"thanks," I let out a long exhale. "I just wanna catch this guy so we can go home."
"we will. stay focused. Reid's a good partner-- I think he's just been thrown off his game by the added social factor here. victims aren't usually trying to get into his pants."
I try to let out a laugh, but my cringe causes it to come out strangled. even the thought of that makes me physically ill. "true."
Spencer wanders back into the living room with a hoodie and sweats on, hair still air-drying.
"I should go, Morgan. I'll call you if anything interesting happens."
"I'd hope so, pretty girl. stay safe."
"how's it going with him?" Spencer asks, plopping down.
"fine. I was just explaining Lila's little prank earlier."
"she didn't mean any harm by it." Spencer watches my features as though he can see right through me.
I dislike that, so I avert my gaze and straighten up in my seat. "just be careful. one wrong move and either of you could end up with a bullet in your head. this guy is obviously the jealous type."
Spencer winces at the harshness of the image, but nods as he leans his elbows on his knees and stares down at his clasped hands. "you're right."
"sorry. I guess that was extreme," I bite my lower lip. "I just don't want you to get hurt."
his eyes lift to mine for a moment. they're so pretty and dark, ringed by long lashes. his mouth is set in a soft but steady line. for the first time in the last few hours, I don't want to glance away. he doesn't seem to, either.
but then he catches sight of the artwork from earlier behind me, the one with the strips of different photographs arranged in a puzzle-like way.
his pupils flicker rapidly between the images and I turn to see what he's trying to piece together.
"Lila?" his voice resonates through the house and the woman in question emerges from the hallway. she's wearing a silk robe.
"yes?"
"you went to Julliard, right?"
"yeah, why?"
"and you lived on Houston Street."
"mhmm."
Reid stands and inches closer to the piece. with his brows furrowed, it's easy to see the gears turning in his mind. "I think I see images of you in this. I need to take it apart."
Lila keeps peeking between the agent and the photos, as if trying to discern exactly what it is he sees, but it's a waste of effort to try. his brain is beyond explanation.
"sure, yeah, I guess," she agrees.
before long, we're leaning over the counter as Reid rearranges every slice into a series of complete pictures. my chin rests on my fist as I try to make out what I can from the composite.
"it looks like someone's been stalking you for years, Lila," I say gently. "this is, like, your life story."
"movie theaters, theater playbills, everything since college," Reid continues. he points to the respective scenes, including several dramatic shots of the actress in different performances.
Lila's hand covers her mouth. she points to one of the pictures. "that's our country house."
"who gave this to you?" I frown.
"Parker Dunley. we met a while ago. he runs a gallery here in LA." she points to another person's face in the piece, a man in one of the corners.
I pull out my cell and call Garcia.
"at your service, madam," she answers.
"Garcia, I need a sheet on a guy named Parker Dunley. can you send it to Morgan and Prentiss and have them go to the address?"
"absolutely. new suspect?"
"yeah. he gave Lila some collage a while ago and it's literally full of pictures of her."
"oh, ew." she replies, then hangs up.
I push my phone into my pocket and try to give Lila a reassuring smile. for the first time, she seems truly shaken. with a face to attach to the monster, it must be more real.
"we'll get the guy. don't worry." I infuse my voice with as much certainty as I can muster.
she nods, stays silent. Reid glances at her, clearly not sure how to comfort the woman.
unfortunately, all we can do for the next few minutes is wait as the rest of the team goes to talk to Dunley. Reid and I continue to look over the art in case there's anything important we might have missed, but Lila just paces back and forth across the kitchen floor.
it takes maybe fifteen minutes before I get a call from Hotch.
"hello?" my voice wavers slightly.
"Williams. it's not Dunley. it's a woman named Maggie Lowe."
my heart falters. "wait, what?"
"Dunley lied. Maggie made the collage and told him to give it to her. she's a crew member on Lila's show."
"oh. okay, thanks," I say stupidly, then hang up to address Lila. "do you know someone named Maggie Lowe?"
"Mags?" Lila pauses in his pacing and frowns at me. "yeah, of course I know her. I've known her for years. I got her a job on my show."
my mouth opens as I prepare to tell her that her close friend is, in fact, her stalker, when her own phone rings.
Spencer glances between the two of us. "what is it?"
"that's her calling right now." Lila's eyes drift from her screen up to us and my stomach knots up.
"is she calling from a cell?" Spencer asks.
"yeah."
"Lila, we think Maggie's the unsub," I break in.
"the what?"
"the stalker."
"what? no way." she shakes her head.
"answer the phone." I gesture to the device, which is still ringing.
"that's crazy. she wouldn't do that." Lila ignores me, coming over to the counter.
"answer the phone. act completely natural," Spencer approaches her earnestly. "keep her on the phone as long as you can. the longer she's on, the more likely we'll be able to trace the call."
she gives him a disbelieving look. the ringtone continues to blare, and I watch as Spencer puts his hand on her arm. it's kind. "trust me."
as she brings the receiver up to her ear, I walk away to call Garcia.
"oracle of Quantico," she answers. "speak if you deign to hear truth."
"Garcia, I need an emergency trace on a call to Lila Archer's phone."
"sure, go ahead."
Spencer grabs my phone and rattles off Lila's number-- which I've, of course, forgotten-- and hands it back to me.
"okay, just keep her talking," Garcia instructs over the sound of her fingers on the keyboard.
I turn to Lila, who has a concerned expression as she walks around the living room and speaks to Maggie.
"you're tired?" she asks softly over the line. "Mags, I saw you today."
there's a pause, and then she continues. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Spencer leans against the counter and gives me a worried look.
"Maggie," Lila sounds hurt and confused. "that was only for a weekend."
"Williams," Garcia speaks again, full of dread. "is Lila's address 6028 Pike Street?"
my stomach twists. "yeah." the word drags out of my slowly. there's only one reason she'd bring that up right now; I know what she's going to say next.
"she's calling from inside the house. I must have missed her on the security cams while I was talking to Hotch-- I'll get you some backup."
"thanks, Garcia."
my body is still slack for a second before I get Reid's attention, who seems to understand me without a word. we both turn to the actress.
"Lila," I whisper.
she raises her brows at me.
"Maggie is in the house."
"how did she get in?" Reid asks her.
"she has keys," Lila swallows, now off the phone. her stalker must have dropped the call.
Reid and I both reach for our guns.
"Lila, just stay with us," I instruct, trying to figure out where to search first.
she must have snuck in when we were out by the pool and just waited inside. maybe she's in the bedroom?
we start to move into the hallway, Lila between Reid and me so that she's covered on either side. I can hear our collective breaths, Lila's shaking. for a second, I feel crushing pity for her. the only paternal figure in her life and her own best friend, both gone in different ways.
this flies out of my mind, however, as we make our way into the bedroom. it seems undisturbed, a large space with a balcony that looks out over LA.
we're nearing one of the hidden corners of the room, where her walk-in closet resides, when there's a rush of air behind me. I spin around just in time for Maggie to smack my gun out of my hand.
it all happens so fast, I barely have time to register the movement. instead, I watch uselessly as the weapon thuds to the ground just a few feet away. but I can't go grab it, because her own gun is pointed right at me.
"why'd you have to bring these people here?" Maggie sneers, eyes shining with tears. she's disheveled, blonde hair wild as she scrutinizes us.
we're silent, Lila too shocked to speak first.
"put the gun down, Maggie," Spencer uses a gentle tone with her, but I know what he's doing without even looking. setting his gun on the ground; with a barrel pointed at all three of us, it's too much of a risk to have some kind of stand-off.
"don't call me Maggie," she scoffs. "you don't know me."
I want to speak, but I don't know what will defuse the situation. she's got the weapon leveled right at my face, and she's obviously impulsive. the wrong thing might just make her lose it.
"you shouldn't have brought them here. we have to get out, now, baby," Maggie continues instead, for a second twitching the gun at her intended victim. "come on."
"Maggie, don't hurt her," I raise my hands and move just enough to step in front of Lila. "you don't need to hurt her."
"you don't know anything," she replies with exasperation. when she walks over to Lila and pushes a piece of hair behind her ear, my spine goes rigid. the difference between how she speaks to use and how she speaks to the object of her desire is like two different people speaking from one body. "I would never hurt you. I created you."
"no, you didn't." Lila keeps her attention on Reid as Maggie brushes a hand over her locks, down her back.
"yes, I did." her tongue pokes the inside of her cheek, holding back her own rage. "I know I did. you stupid, ungrateful--"
with her laser-focused on Lila, I realize that she's completely forgotten about me. it would be easy to grab my gun, but I really don't want to shoot her. especially not in front of Lila; she's lost enough. I wrack my brain for another option.
"I can't believe that I loved you." Maggie's voice is breathless as she pulls away to aim the gun at Lila. she's shaking with anger.
I have no idea if she'll actually go through with it and shoot, but I can't risk it. my body lurches forward and I use one hand to grab her gun, the other to grab her wrist, and shove my shoulder into her body.
we topple to the ground, the gun easily falling into my possession. her grip was so weak; too anguished to be effective.
Reid pushes Lila behind him as he leaps to my side, grabbing the gun from me and putting it in his waistband. Maggie tries to wrestle with me, screeching like a banshee, but I weigh more than her and I've already got her wrists pinned to the ground.
mascara stains her cheeks. "kill me," she begs with the desperation of a cornered animal. "fucking kill me. please. I'll be so much happier."
I can't find the words to reply. the entirety of my short time in the BAU, nobody has ever asked me to kill them after being caught. it's awful, the sensation it causes deep in my chest.
for a second, I'm almost overwhelmed with the sadness and nausea that wrestle within me. I would never kill her like this, but part of me wishes I could take her out of her misery in some other way. I wouldn't want to live if I was haunted by this, either.
instead of giving her an answer, I bite down hard on my bottom lip until it bleeds inside my mouth. she tries to wrench herself away and I have to press my nails into her skin, breaking it. despite being small and weak, she's scrappy.
I'm not sure how long we're there, our gazes digging into each other, before I hear sirens and the team enters the bedroom. Reid pulls me off of Maggie. I'm slightly limp, so he pulls me into his chest to steady me.
my knees are like jelly, but I watch them take her out of the room in handcuffs. Lila is standing in silence by the balcony door, blankly staring as Morgan tries to help her regain herself. the fabric of Spencer's sweatshirt is soft against my cheek. I have no idea why this is affecting me so much; I can't relate to her in any real way, yet I can still feel the tiny amount of blood that I drew from her wrists under my nails. it makes me feel dirty.
"are you alright?" he asks quietly. his hands move to my arms, wrapping around them, and I realize how pathetic I must appear right now.
"yes. yeah, sorry, I think my arms and legs fell asleep from holding her there." I force out a laugh and pull away as if it's easy. he's so warm.
"oh, sure." his features are contorted with worry as he looks down at me.
I can't deal with the intensity of it, so I shift my body and he drops his hands from my body. a shiver runs down my spine that I also can't identify. the world is moving slow and fast all at once, nearly blurring the edges of my vision.
"let's go home, yeah?" I plaster on a smile and give his shoulder a short, friendly squeeze. we still have to somehow tell Lila that Michael is gone, but my body physically can't take that thought right now. it'll have to wait until tomorrow.
when I walk away without waiting for his response, there's an elephant's weight on my chest.
taglist (add yourself here or lmk if you want to be added/removed!): @reidsconverse @donald4spiderman @awritingtree @gingeraleluke @bewitchedbibliophile @xoxospencerreid @spencerreidat3am @azuriteannie @written-disasters @si1verscreens @pleasantwitchgarden
Heyy it's me again, lol. Ur criminal minds hcs for Reid were so good!! Thank u for blessing me. 🙌🏻 I was wondering if ud be down to write maybe a one-shot or a drabble of Reid comforting a reader (I almost wrote reider bc I spaced out and like akjsldj) who just had friends leave them when they thought they were really close? I hope that's not too specific!! Thank you sm for blessing the world with ur writing. It literally makes my day so much brighter whenever you post. 🥰
A/N: CUTE!! Reider would be a really cute fandom name for him ngl. Also I’ve fallen out of contact with friends that I thought were gonna be in it for the long run with me but unfortunately it just didn’t work out that way even if we didn’t fall out. ALSO specifics are great with me because then it’s clear what I need to write and what you want me to write so don’t apologize!! Can you tell I don’t know how to comfort anyone?
Tw: some cursing, some abandonment issues, mentions of bullying within the friend group. Isolation, ghosting. Lmk if there’s something I should tag!
Genre: angst, one shot, some fluff
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (can be read platonically or romantically in think. Also can be read as gender neutral maybe?) if I added pronouns or descriptors let me know!!
Wc:1.3k
Criminal Minds Masterlist
It’s strange when you break up with a friend, even more so when the reason that you breakup is something stupid, something avoidable. It hurts even more when you get abandoned, ghosted by someone you thought would be in your life for the rest of it. No one ever prepares you for friendships ending. You get prepared for romantic relationships, death, and maybe sometimes you drift apart from friends but even then you’re prepared.
You stare at the group chat that had defined your childhood and teenage years. Stare at the names followed by “has left the chat” with a feeling in your heart that is only rivaled by death of a loved one if you remembered correctly. It had been a while.
It was a petty argument that only lasted a day, something about how everyone treated you. You regretted bringing it up on the first day that you had been ignored after sending a message. That day turned into a week which turned into them all leaving the group chat without telling you which hurt more than being kicked out of it. Did you really mean that little that they would ghost you that easily?
You never started arguments usually. You never even participated in them, trying to stay neutral in order to keep everyone happy. Always passive and agreeable and everyone liked you that way. The one time you have something to get off your chest…maybe you shouldn’t have said anything.
You tried to message one of your friends first, you hadn’t known her as long as some of the others in the group, but she was always sweet and didn’t seem like the type to ghost.
You 5:43 pm: Irene what happened? I saw you all left the group chat. Is something wrong?
You don’t get an answer back for an hour. And it makes your heart squeeze in your chest. It isn’t really an answer, but at the same time it answered both of your questions. To her you didn’t really matter all that much and something was really wrong.
Irene 7:01 pm: just leave me alone. You said what you needed to say, if you message me again I’ll block you.
You try again with a different friend. One you have known a little longer. One who had complained to you and confided in you and one that you thought you were close to than this.
He doesn’t answer at all, and neither do the other two that you message. Eventually you figure out that your messages never sent because you had been blocked. Going to their instagrams and twitters, everything is gone as soon as you click on them. Even their TikTok’s have nothing for you to look at.
Soon enough you’re fighting off tears, your chest tight and your stomach swirling. Was speaking up for yourself really worth this? Your head spins and your vision becomes blurry as you click on the last contact that’s available to you.
Your best friend. Having known her for the longest time out of all of them, you’d think she’d say something before doing something like this. You two met in elementary school, and were friends before the group got together. If you think about it more your friendship reminded you of the one in Jennifer’s Body. Except instead of saving everyone, you were being ignored and abandoned by the person you thought was going to be there even if everyone else wouldn’t. The person that you thought you could rely on.
But before you could message her, one came straight to you. The bubbles popping up as she’s typing something else. You can’t really understand the first paragraph, your mind to overwhelmed by the weeks events to be able to read.
Emilie 7:42 pm: I just wanted to message you before you tried anything with me. I’m honestly not interested in talking to you anymore after how you talked to me and my friends. None of us want you in the group anymore, and honestly it’s fucking pathetic that you’re reaching out and asking if anything is wrong when you’re the reason everyone was upset in the first place. Like you said we were shit friends, and now you wanna act like everything confuses you? If we were so shitty to you, why do you want us to still talk to you? I told Jacob, Josh, Irene, and Paisley to block you if you message them because honestly they don’t need you to try to beg and plead with them. You’re toxic and we’re done with you. Honestly, you look pathetic and desperate for attention messaging all of us like this. I’m not even gonna bother blocking you because it doesn’t really matter that much to me and maybe in the future I could be open to being friends again but for right now, I’m over it. Bye. You should do better.
Now the tears fall down your face, hot and burning as they trail down your cheeks and onto the screen of your phone. Going onto instagram to doom scroll your feelings away, you are immediately met with a photo of your friend group hanging out without you. Taken aback, you try to bring yourself to unfollow Emilie, to block her and effectively cut her out of your life while your wounds are fresh and your friendship is newly ended so you don’t have to torture yourself. But that’s exactly what you do, torture yourself. Instead of unfollowing her, deleting all of the pictures of her and your friend group from your feed, you scroll through them, the tears falling faster the longer you sit there and reminisce. You don’t even hear the front door open and close, and the only reason you know it did is because of the weight that causes you to lean towards the new person in the bed. Warmth blankets around you, the feeling of arms wrapped around your body brings you out of your mind.
Turning to look at the man next to you, you see that Spencer is looking at you as if you’re a wounded animal and it makes you burst out into tears. Maybe you really did look pathetic. “Oh no…what happened?”
You tried to explain, but couldn’t properly while you were blubbering. Instead you just throw your phone to him and let your head fall into your hands. He takes a literal second to read, then lets out a gust of air that usually meant he was surprised and didn’t know what to say.
He moves to hug you again, resting his head on top of yours. “You know…they say that it takes 200 hours to form a close friendship with someone. And when that friendship ends unexpectedly, it can cause a multitude of issues in the future with how you trust and open up to people…”
His ramblings weren’t all that comforting, but just hearing him speak made you start to feel better. Of course he would attempt to make things better by spouting facts that one hundred percent would make anyone else annoyed at him. You snuggle into his arms, nodding your head to show that you’re listening in between sobs. “S-so how long until I s-stop feeling like my h-heart is broken?” You ask. It did somehow feel like being broken up with, or having someone die.
“Well, most grief experts think that a year is a good estimate on how long it takes to get used to the loss of someone major in your life…”
“A year?” You whine, letting your head tilt backwards dramatically. “That’s too long!” It’s kind of a joke, the way you say it. But the way he looks at you lets you know that he knows you’re being somewhat serious.
“She was your best friend…of course it’s going to take some time to get used to not talking to her…however long you take to grieve is how long it’s going to take. It’s not a complete science.”
You nod, and hide your face in his chest. While you still felt like the Earth was ending, maybe it’s not ending right this second anymore.
summary: sharing a room with your boss after a rough case is both torture and heaven.
requested: no
word count: 3.3k
warnings: !!! - anxiety, depression, major anxiety attack, ptsd, flashbacks, sexual abuse/assault, psychologically & physically abusive relationship (past), mentions of prescription drugs, mentions of extreme bruising & weight loss, implied nudeness, potentially suggestive comments
a/n:hi hi hi! I wrote this for @band--psycho‘s bingo challenge w/ the prompt “why didn’t you tell me?” I am rather proud of how this fic came out, but PLS pls pls read the warnings and read at your discretion. it hurt me to write this, and i don’t want to upset anyone who has lived a similar situation. just pls take caution and read what you can handle. I love you guys & hope you like this if you do read it ♥
All Aaron can do as he opens the hotel room door is take a much needed breath. This case was rough - not just in narrowing down the unsub, but in the entire nature of it.
Between the nature of the kills, and the scare of one of his own - you - being this close to the unsub’s next victim, he is more than ready to give all of you a long weekend.
He’s sure that none of you would disagree, especially when he can hear you sighing deeply to yourself behind him. Another small town means doubling up on rooms again - not that he’d complain though, not when he’s paired with you.
As unprofessional as it might be, he can’t deny the fact that he’s developed feelings for you. It’s no surprise when you’re all around amazing - not only are you supremely intelligent and look at things from different perspectives, but you’re kind, funny, charismatic, beautiful…You’re a wonder, and he can’t help but want to know you more than anyone else does.
“H-hey Hotch, is it alright if I steal the shower first?” You ask, stuttering slightly yet grabbing his attention nonetheless.
“Yeah, go ahead, y/n.”
At your little nod and soft smile, a smile finds its place on his lips. He looks away before you can notice though, not wanting you to realize his little secret.
~.~
Digging through your go bag, you pull out everything you need for a shower - your toiletry bag, your hair brush, your lounge clothes….and your emergency bottle of anti-anxiety meds.
Grabbing everything, you head towards the bathroom, shutting and locking the door. As soon as the lock clicks in place you can’t help but let out a deep, shaky breath you’ve been holding since the unsub grabbed you.
You can feel hot, heavy tears well up on your waterline, threatening to spill over at any second. As the tell-tale tightness in your throat that signals a sob builds, you quickly try to get the shower turned on to cover your sounds. Fumbling, you finally get the shower started just as you start to cry - the heavy pitter-patter of the shower head covering your choked out sob, still cautious that Hotch might hear you.
The last thing you need is your boss - that you’re unfortunately attracted to - to hear you sobbing. You didn’t need him worrying or pulling you from the team. It’s not like you couldn’t handle this.
This being the onslaught of memories, or rather nightmares, you’ve so desperately tried forgetting.
-:-
“Liam, p-please. I’ll stop whatever it is that’s got you like this. Just please, please don’t hurt me…”
-:-
You can’t stop the tears from falling down your cheeks anymore, nor can you catch your breath as you choke on your sobs - pleading to god that Hotch doesn’t hear you.
Undressing yourself with shaky hands, you lean on the counter as soon as you’re nude, staring at yourself through tear-filled eyes - your attention immediately drawn to all the places that were once covered in bruises week after week.
It’s impossible to forget how ugly your body was at that time in your life - the way your skin was splotched in nearly every shade of the rainbow, the way you were visibly - and unhealthily - thin, not to mention the way your eyes - your entire soul - dimmed in despair.
Shaking your head, you try to rid your mind of that image - trying instead to see yourself as you are now. You are not that timid, little, helpless young-adult anymore.
Taking a deep breath, albeit still shakily, you pop open the bottle of anxiety meds and place one in your mouth, turning the faucet on and bringing a cupped handful of water to your mouth to swallow it.
As soon as it’s down you can feel yourself able to breathe better. Sure, you’re still shaky - the meds don’t work that fast - but at least you know that you will be okay.
The meds will help calm your heart rate, and thus your shaking; you’ll shower the feel of the unsub’s arms around you off; and you’ll go back out to your shared room with Hotch, who you’ve never felt anything but safe with.
~.~
Having heard the water of the shower turn on, Aaron lets out a breath. He can’t believe how flustered you make him feel at times. He’s an adult for crying out loud, how do you get him feeling like a teen in love?
Sighing, he leans back in his bed, wracking his brain for anything he could do while he waits for the shower.
Maybe he could order food? It’s been a rather long day and he’s not sure when the last time either of you ate was. The entire team had been rather preoccupied with the case.
Deciding that’s what he was going to do, he goes looking for the phone book most hotels/motels keep in their rooms. He might be old school in that way, but he figures that’s the best way to see what kind of food places are around - especially which ones deliver. It can’t be expected that he’ll just know what’s in each and every town they stay in.
Sighing when he doesn’t find it in either of the bedside table drawers, he clambers out of the bed to look in the dresser and desk drawers. He doesn’t get far though as he trips over a book as soon as he gets out of his bed.
Letting out a small grunt, he catches his balance before leaning down to pick up the small, soft-covered black book. As he flips it over he notices your beautiful hand-written name on the bottom right side of the cover. He figures it must be something that dropped out of your bag without you realizing.
He’s just about to set it back with your stuff when he fumbles with it, nearly about to drop it, but catching it before he does. In the process, however, the book opens to a fully written-on page where a sentence catches his eye.
“It’s been another rough week.”
Stopping, he briefly glances over the page, realizing rather quickly it’s a journal - something he should definitely not be reading.
He can’t help himself though, some unconscious curiosity needing to finish what it started.
“It’s been another rough week. The few cases we covered at work were relatively simple, it’s just been a lot of paperwork, but I’ve been laying awake each night not able to expel the memories from my mind.”
What memories? As far as Hotch is aware, you haven’t had anything too traumatic happen. At least nothing that made it into your file or happened on the job.
“I can’t get his face to leave - it’s all I see when I close my eyes at night. It’s him and his terrifyingly malicious smile. How did I ever miss that? Had he truly been a completely different person when I met him? It’s been so long now, I’m truly not sure. All I know is how he scared me day in and day out.”
“It’s not fair that I live with these nightmares when he probably doesn’t even remember my face - let alone my name - even though we were dating for 3 years.”
Aaron can’t get his mind around what this entry is hinting at. You couldn’t have been in an abusive relationship without anyone on the team realizing, right? Surely one of them would have picked up on some small action of yours when something rough happened.
Thinking back on all the time that’s passed since you joined the team - a full 6 years - nothing pops out at him. Sure you’ve always been better at the cases involving domestic abuse and sexual assault. You’ve never had a problem getting the victims - whether male or female - to trust you and open up, but he always figured that was just because you’ve got such a trusting, a welcoming, a warm personality.
Had it really been because you fully understood, and connected, with them?
Aaron had been so lost in his thoughts that he never even heard the shower stop, nor did he hear the door click as you unlocked and opened it. It’s not until your small voice calls his name that he realizes how lost he had been.
~.~
“Hotch?” You question, voice wavering slightly as you can’t help but worry about the book in his hands.
When he jumps at your voice, however, your suspicions are confirmed and you can’t help but drop your head. You really didn’t need him to know anything about how damaged you really were. You’re not sure you’d know what to do if he benched you - or worse - kicked you off the team.
“Y-y/n…y-your notebook was on the floor.”
You can’t help but sigh as he hands you your journal. You know that he’s read some of it, and you know that he knows that you know he did.
“I never meant to read it - I didn’t even read the entire page. I’m sorry that I even started.”
“I know, hotch. I know you wouldn’t read it just for the hell of it. I just -“ you have to stop to catch your racing thoughts. Even though you’re sure he’s bound to do so, you have to ask.
“Please don’t bench me or kick me from the team. I’ve done well for this long, haven’t I?”
“You’ve done amazing, y/n. I-I…why would I bench you? Or kick you from the team?”
At his confused tone, you look up at his expression to find the same bewilderment you heard in his voice.
“Y-you wouldn’t bench me for having issues?”
“No? Y/n, we all - everyone on this team - we all have issues…”
~.~
At your clear confusion, Aaron can’t help but be confused. Why would you ever think that he’d bench you? He has no reason to.
Finally taking a moment to look you over, he realizes just how tired and defeated you look. Between the way you carry yourself, and your eyes - your eyes are red and slightly puffy as if you’ve been crying…
“H-have you been crying?” He asks, voice soft as he can’t stop the rush of worry.
He doesn’t want to think that you’ve been crying in the shower while he was literally feet away.
~.~
With Hotch’s question, you stop, letting out a breath as the entire atmosphere of the interaction changes.
“N-no.” You stammer, trying your hardest to appear convincing, but you can’t help the slight drop of your head.
You can’t look at him; you know he’ll be able to call you out on it if he sees your face. That is if he hasn’t already read you.
“Don’t lie to me. Please. What happened today, with the unsub, that was terrifying. You have every right to-“
“I wasn’t crying, Hotch…” You interrupt.
“Y/n-“
“I’m fine, hotch. Please. Can we just…ignore all of this?”
“You know I can’t.” He states and you can’t help but chuckle dryly, defeated.
“I know.”
You can’t stop the hefty sigh you let out, all fight in your body leaving you as you physically deflate - shoulders dropping, head dropping, even your legs going out as you sit on the edge of your bed.
A moment passes where neither of you speak - you too worn out to know where to start and Aaron too confused, and slightly pained, to want to push it.
With a careful step towards you, however, he breaks the tension.
“What’s going on, y/n? What can I do to help?”
“I’m not sure there’s anything you can do, hotch. I’m just…broken.” You sigh, anxiously wringing your hands together.
“You’re not, and there’s no need to be formal right now. I think this is the furthest from formal you could get.” He tries to joke, making you smile only slightly as he takes a seat in his bed across from you.
“Alright…Aaron, y-you saw my journal and I know I mention it enough in there that it’s more than likely you saw it.”
“I want to hear it from you, though. If you want to, I mean. You’re the one to decide whether you trust me with your past.”
“Thank you…I-I don’t really like to talk about it, but I do…trust…you with it.” You start, taking a deep breath as you feel his eyes on you while you anxious play with your hands.
~.~
Aaron can’t help himself as he reaches out to place a hand over yours - the ones you can’t stop moving in your anxiety.
As his hand covers the both of yours, he can feel you immediately relax, watching you let out a breath you’d apparently been holding without realizing it.
“Just out of high school, I was dating this guy…h-he was - amazing. He was kind, he was confident, he was straightforward…h-he made me feel special. H-he, uh, he didn’t stay like that for long…” you start, and Aaron can’t help but notice your leg start bouncing as he still covers your hands.
“I don’t know how I fell for it, but he…he manipulated me and made me believe it was just him and I. I don’t know, maybe it was just that I was so in love with him that I would’ve done - and did do - anything he asked of me.”
“I-I didn’t really have any friends in high school, and when I started college that same year, I purposefully drove people away because I knew he wouldn’t like them.”
“I isolated myself until it was literally only him in my life. Th-that’s when he really changed, I guess. I-I don’t really know because He still seemed like the guy I fell in love with. I was blind, I guess.”
Aaron watches as you shake your head, and he can practically read in your mind that you’re telling yourself to get back on track.
“Anyways, before long he started using me for anything…a-and everything, h-he wanted. If he wanted someone to hit upon, he came to me. If he wanted someone to…kiss on, h-he came to me.”
He can hear you choke on your words and he’s immediately squeezing your hands in his, trying to catch your eye to convey that it’s okay - that you’re safe.
“He raped you?”
Watching you nod and choke on tears, Aaron can’t stop his heart from breaking and his blood from boiling at the same time.
“Too many times.” You croak out and that does it for him.
Before he realizes it, he’s pulling you over to him - in between his legs - and wrapping his arms around you.
“I’m so sorry. You never should have had to go through that.”
~.~
As soon as you register Aaron’s words and that you’re in his arms, the tears start all over again. You’ve never talked to anyone about this before, aside from your therapist you’ve had on and off for years now. Your own family doesn’t even know what had happened to you.
“He hurt me so much, hotch. A-and everything today…it just brought everything back to me. The way th-the unsub handled me - pushing me around, hitting me…threatening me. It was too much like him.”
“Hey, hey. It’s okay. I promise, y/n. You’re safe now, though. I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe…”
You can’t help but chuckle at his words, not having anyone say that to you before and mean it so sincerely.
“h-hotch…Aaron, thank you.”
“Of course.” He murmurs, pulling back to look at you as your tears slowly start to dry up.
He can’t help but think how beautiful you are, even after crying your eyes out - not that you’re aware of his thoughts.
Another few moments pass between the two of you as you slowly stop crying altogether.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Aaron asks, not able to stop the nagging question from slipping out.
“I didn’t want you to look at me any differently. Not as a teammate…or a friend.”
“What do you mean?”
“I-I like you, hotch…even though it’s completely unprofessional. I like you and I don’t want you to pity me or disregard me because I-I’m a bit broken…”
~.~
Aaron can’t stop the smile that grows on his face as his brain short circuits a little. You like him? Like he likes you?
“You like me?”
He can see you pale as you’re looking down at the floor, nowhere near his eyes.
“Yeah…a-and I understand that it’s completely unprofessional and if you need to transfer me because of it. I know it’s wrong to like my boss, but-“
“Hey.” He interrupts, effectively stalling you in your tracks as you cautiously look at him.
“It may be unprofessional, but I don’t really care right now. I like you, too, y/n.”
Watching as you flounder to form thoughts, he simply chuckles and pulls you a bit closer to him.
“I like you, y/n, and nothing could make me pity you or look at you as anything less than what you currently are. You’re stunning, and I feel pretty lucky that I’m the one you decided to share your past with.”
“You really like me, too?” You stammer, apparently still not having processed his words and he just chuckles, nodding.
“I do. I like you a lot, but I think if this is going to work out, you’re going to have to get used to calling me by my name.” He teases, smiling as you nod, still seeming dazed.
“I do call you by your n-“
“Aaron, not hotch. I like hearing my name coming from you.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm. Even if it is when you’re poking fun at me.” He admits, smirking and cocking a brow as he references all the times you’ve been talking with the team - thinking that he can’t hear you - mocking his dry, work-hard boss persona.
“Mm, Aaron Hotchner does have other sides to him then.” You tease, understanding exactly what he was talking about.
“I do, and I’d be happy to show them to you.”
“I’d like that, Aaron. And thank you - for understanding, and not pitying me.”
“What you went through is terrible, and I will forever be sorry it happened to you, but I’ve seen just how strong that has made you - even if you do have some rough days with it.” He smiles.
“What do you mean ‘how strong it’s made me’?”
“Any case we’ve worked that involves sexual assault or domestic abuse, you’re the one that the victims trust and open up to.” He states, holding you in place with his hands on your hips as he looks up at you.
“You use the pain that you went through to relate to them and they see that. They know that you understand them without having any judgment.”
He can see you shy away at his words and he can’t stop the smile that brings to him. He’d spend - and is going to spend - the rest of his life to make you aware of how naturally amazing you are.
“Without you, it’d take us so much longer to solve them.”
“I just like that I can help them know that they’re not alone.” You admit, and he smiles.
“I can tell, and that’s just another thing that makes me like you.”
Noticing the blush that rises to your cheeks, he chuckles and pulls you closer to him, practically pulling you into the bed with him - pulling a small squeal from you.
“Lay with me, will you? I was going to order us food before I stumbled on your journal, but right now I’d much rather hold you, if that’s okay?”
“It’s more than okay, ho-Aaron.” You say, correcting yourself mid sentence and he can’t help the warmth that spreads in his chest.
“Could you order food now, though? We can cuddle while we wait for it, it’s just been an emotional day and I’m hungry.”
He watches you pout and can’t help but chuckle at how adorable you are. For having such a rough case, he has to admit that it ended rather nicely.
