Just like any other night
Summary : You go on a (bad) date, instead of joining the rest of the team for drinks, and Spencer decides to drink his jealousy away.
Word Count : 8k
Notes/CWs : Alcohol, Spencer is drunk (not very drunk, just enough to be an idiot), idiots in love, I promise this is fluff. The guy the reader goes on a date with is kind of an incel, no use of Y/N, for all intents and purposes, this is a gn!reader - (title from Jeff Buckley's song I know it's over) Alternative title - Spencer Reid find a healthy coping mechanism challenge (IMPOSSIBLE!!!)
masterlist
the same fic on ao3
"O'Keeffe's tonight ! Non-negotiable !" Garcia declared the second the team put down their go bags, "and no boy genius, you will not get away from this one !"
"But-" the doctor tried anyway.
"No buts ! You know how I love them, but I can tell you're not saying the second 't' and so I don't want to hear it !"
You chuckled at her insistence, and at the defeated look that formed on Spencer's face.
"Pen," you started, in a voice you'd learned watching Steve Irwin approach dangerous animals on TV, "I can't join you guys. I already took a rain check on my date twice, I'm not doing it a third time."
Garcia gasped like you'd stabbed her in the back, "I can't believe you'd choose a man over me," she bemoaned, a hand to her chest.
"Well, in any other circumstances I wouldn't," you slipped your coat on, grabbing your purse, "but I promised I'd tell him as soon as I was off of work. And the first date went so well, I don't want to disappoint him again."
The colorful woman resigned with a dramatic sigh, waving you off, "Fine, fine, go get your prince charming. But you better tell me everything. And I mean everything." her tone left no place for arguing, and you nodded dutifully.
"Yes my love," you kissed your friend's cheek, as Emily and JJ echoed Penelope's wish to hear about the date.
"I have to go get ready, see you all on Monday !" you chirped as you waved goodbye to your colleagues. Morgan winked at you, Rossi nodded, and your eyes lingered on the young genius at his desk.
Spencer didn't look up. In fact, it looked as if he was attempting to make himself invisible, to disappear completely. You assumed he'd curled into himself in the hopes of being forgotten by Garcia's enthusiasm, but something in your chest told you that wasn't quite right. Trying to ignore the feeling, you ruffled his hair as you walked past him.
"Have fun doc," you smiled, "and close that godforsaken file."
Spencer's cheeks flushed slightly, and he quickly closed the folder, clearing his throat.
"You too- have fun, I mean." he replied back quietly, eyes still fixed downward.
Stepping out of his office, Garcia pounced on Hotch, stating that he wouldn't get away from her by overworking himself. Morgan and JJ wished you luck on your date, and you bid all of them goodnight.
"Drinks on Rossi !" Garcia sang as you stepped into the elevator, earning her cheers from the team, and a mumbled "When did I agree to that ?" from the man in question.
At O'Keeffe's, the team settled into their usual booth, and Spencer slid into the furthest corner of it, preparing for a night loud music and louder voices, of his friends trying to get him to dance, of Hotch and Rossi trying to hold a conversation about some mundane thing. A night of little interest for the young doctor.
But as Penelope, JJ and Emily bee lined for the bar, he found himself thinking about the person missing from this little gathering. A date. You were on a date. And not just a date, but a second one, after a seemingly successful first that he hadn't heard about.
It wasn't strange that he hadn't known about it. After all, you rarely spoke of such things with him, and he with you, though that might've been more due to a lack of things to tell on his end. For some reason though, the thought of you, dressed to the nines and laughing at some clever story that wasn't his made his stomach churn. It was stupid, he'd never done or said anything to hint at his feelings toward you, let alone ask you out. The jealousy he felt, the regret, it was all from his own indecision and cowardice. Still, the knot in his chest tightened as the girls returned, handing everyone their drinks as Emily raised her glass, cheering to your date.
Reid barely even lifted his lemonade, lazily circling the straw around the rim of the glass.
"What's up pretty boy ?" Derek smirked, "Did you finally get bored of lemonade ?"
Spencer rolled his eyes, and Emily's shoulder bumped his, "Come on genius, cheer up, we got the guy ! now's the time to celebrate, not sulk," she teased.
"Well maybe I just celebrate more quietly than you all." he simply stated, taking a sip of his drink.
"Why not just let loose a little ? You know, one or two drinks wouldn't kill you," Derek suggested, "I know you're not a fan, but it really does help with the whole anxious tension you've got going."
"Yeah ! Maybe then you'd dance with me boy wonder !" Garcia seconded with a bright grin.
"Don't listen to them Reid. You don't have to drink to enjoy yourself." Hotch chimed in, his tone low and comforting, "It helps, but it's not required."
The young man sighed, looking up as Garcia and JJ shimmied their way through the crowd. He wasn't the biggest fan of the bitter tang of alcohol. In his opinion, any drink tasted better without it, and all it did was compromise your actions and your memory. But right now, it wasn't the most prevalent thought going through his mind. Right now, Spencer was desperate for anything to pull his mind free of the traitorous thoughts of you at that dinner table, of your eyes on someone that wasn't him, of your hands in someone else's, of your lips on someone else's.
Under the surprised look of his coworkers, Reid suddenly grabbed Morgan's beer, chugging it down with his eyes shut tight, as if the lack of visual stimuli might help with the bitterness of the drink.
"Woah, slow down there cowboy," his friend chuckled incredulously as Spencer coughed, Emily patting his back.
"What was that ?" she asked, half amused half concerned.
"Nothing. You're right," he mumbled as he squeezed out of the booth, turning to Morgan "I'll get you another one."
Tonight, he would drink. Maybe alcohol would dull the grief he felt. Maybe he'd finally accept to dance with his friends. Maybe for a moment, he'd manage to forget you.
The waiter had only just brought the main course, yet you already found yourself aching to ask for the bill.
It had started off so well. You'd gotten ready just in time, clad in one of your favorite outfits, one that toed the line between formal and casual perfectly. Your hair had been cooperating, which felt like a miracle, and you'd even managed to put on that fantastic perfume that JJ had gotten you for your birthday and that you hadn't yet found a good excuse to try.
He'd knocked only two minutes after the agreed upon time, which, in your book, was almost early. As soon as you'd opened the door, you'd been met with a bouquet of lilies, the flowers glowing in their bloom, and the attention warmed your heart so thoroughly that you decided against telling him that they would probably end up somewhere where you couldn't appreciate them in order to prevent your cat from the deadly snack.
The restaurant was dim in a way that made everything look charming, and he'd pulled a chair for you, smiling as you thanked him. The discussion had flown exactly like it should have now that the awkwardness of the first date was behind you, and you'd even found yourself laughing at some of his stories.
And yet somehow, there you were. Smile pinched like you were fighting against the impending roll of your eyes, the hold on your glass just loose enough to keep it from shattering in your hand.
After apologizing for the date's delay, the topic had strayed toward your respective dating history. You'd counted, and in the last thirty minutes, the man in front of you had called three of his exes crazy, had made two comments on "females", and one about how you were supposedly "different". In just half an hour, every green flag you'd encountered up until now turned the color of the half empty wine glass in your hand, and all that was left on your mind was frustration, as well as a nagging question.
How do I get out of this ?
As you ate your dinner, absentmindedly nodding along to your date's words – not that he seemed to notice, too entertained by the sound of his own voice – you reviewed your options. Staying until the end of dinner would mean declining his attempts at driving you back to your place, or worse, to his own. Declining would most likely mean confrontation, and considering the week and a half you'd just spent, you had neither the energy nor the patience to deal with this.
Now, you could fake a case, but considering that the team was at the bar right now, you doubted they'd be in any state to help with that. Of course, Hotch would probably be close to sober, but the idea of texting your Unit chief to ask him to save you from a disastrous date seemed ridiculous.
You were lost in reflection when your phone pinged once. Twice. Three times.
From the look on his face, your date was less than happy to be interrupted in his monologue. Trying your best to appear apologetic, you grabbed your phone as it kept pinging.
"Sorry– I should check this out, I'll be right back–"
Excusing yourself, you made it to the restaurant's restrooms before opening your phone.
9:34
Boy Genius : Hi
Boy Genius : Hows' si it gonig?
Boy Genius : how is it Gong ?*
Boy Genius : Going*
Boy Genius : Sorry
Boy Genius : goof ?
Boy Genius : Can't wrte srry
Boy Genius : Mrgans being mean
Boy Genius : Mss u
You chuckled to yourself at the texts.
9:37
You : I thought you didn't drink ?
Boy Genius : Hi
You : Hi Spencer
Boy Genius : S your date ovre?
Boy Genius : over*
Boy Genius : ?
You : Not exactly
After watching the dots appear as he wrote for a few minutes, you started to worry.
9:44
You : Are you okay ?
Instead of replying, Spencer called you.
"Hey, are you alright ?"
"Couldn't write– Damn phone–" his language makes you gasp teasingly.
"Reid !"
"Sorry– 's just annoying," he mumbled. You could hear the way his words slurred even through the muffled noise of the bar around him. In the distance, you could hear the familiar pitch of Garcia's voice, the hum of Morgan's, followed by bright laughter.
"You didn't answer my question Spence," you reminded, "are you ok ?"
On the other end of the line, the young doctor made a noise akin to that of a horse huffing through closed lips, "m'fine, I'm great, whatever," he replied, deepening your confusion.
"Uh-huh, sure honey," you grinned fondly, and he squeaked, though you couldn't tell if the sound was a reaction to your words or to his surroundings, "Come on, what's up ? Why are you drinking ? I've never seen you drink alcohol before."
"Not true. I tasted Rossi's wine last time," he countered, making you roll your eyes in response.
"Sure, but that wasn't drinking, that was tasting"
To this, you heard him mumble a slurred "tomay-to tomah-to" before Derek's loud voice cut through. He must have grabbed Spencer phone, because you could hear the doctor's protests, now pushed to the background.
"Why hello beautiful," the agent purred, "how's the date going ?"
Chuckling through a sigh, you checked the time, "Could be better. I was trying to find a reason to flee, and it looks like our resident genius just gave me one."
Rendered oblivious to your discomfort by his own alcohol consumption, he exclaimed, "Oh don't worry about pretty boy ! Go and enjoy your date !"
Were you worried about Reid ? Sure, in the way one would be worried about a friend in the hospital, knowing full well that they're in good hands, surrounded by qualified people. But your date didn't need to know that. For all he knew, one of your friends was in mortal danger and their safety was your immediate responsibility.
With that in mind, you wished your friends a good evening, ignoring Spencer's distant protests to you hanging up, and you walked back to the table. Combing some mess back into your carefully arranged hair, you joined him, now wearing a meticulously crafted frown, lips tugged down by concern. The act seemed to work, because as soon as you sat back down, his expression shifted.
"What's wrong ?"
"Oh, it's–" you sighed in feigned exasperation and looked down, "I'm so sorry, I'm going to have to leave early. I need to go take care of a friend."
Disappointment flooded his face, and you almost felt bad.
"Can't someone else ?" he suggested, but you tilted your head and shook it.
"No… All of our mutual friends are drunk, but he's gone past his limit, and I can't leave him like that," you sighed again, and decided to add something to really bury the date, "And he's my roommate, so–"
His frown suggested that your plan had been successful, "You never said anything about a roommate."
Pressing a hand over your mouth, you muttered, "Oh– Sorry, I wasn't planning on– Well I usually don't tell people, because– Well, they usually think it's weird." you fake a nervous laugh as you slip on your coat, "We should do a movie night next time, the three of us,"
"Oh– Uh, maybe," you'd won, "We'll talk about it over text, yeah ?"
"Sure !" you nodded, waving a waiter over and pulling out your wallet. When he offered to pay, you accepted without much of a fight, and in an instant, you were both out of the restaurant.
"Should I drive you ?" he didn't seem too convinced with his own offer, and relief bloomed in his eyes when you shook your head.
"I'll just take a cab. Thank you."
After a rather awkward farewell, you managed to escape. In the rear view mirror, the restaurant slowly shrank until it was nothing but a dot in the distance, and only then did you let out the breath you'd been holding onto. Diving a hand into your pocket, you fished out your phone and checked the time. Barely ten pm, you were headed home, and you regretted not having taken Garcia up on her invitation.
Though you supposed you still could.
Updating the cab driver on your destination, you adjusted your coat. Once in the bar, you'd feel outrageously overdressed, but that thought was quickly swallowed by the memory of Spencer's inebriated voice on the phone. Despite what you'd told yourself earlier, you did harbor some worry for your friend. You had no doubt that the team wouldn't let anything happen to him, and still something gnawed at you – why had he been drinking in the first place ?
When you'd first joined the team, you'd asked Emily if there had been a reason to his sobriety, and she'd been the one to bring up the hypothesis that he might've feared the addictive quality of alcohol. Only about a year later did he first tell you about his traumatic history with addiction itself, and upon hearing about it, his boundary made absolute sense in your mind.
Safe to say that your worry tonight, the one that festered with every second you spent in the narrow car, wasn't born from the alcohol consumption in itself, but from the thoughts that had led him to its decision. Had something happened ? He'd seemed off when you left the bullpen, but you hadn't thought much of it. Was something wrong ? Would he tell anyone about it ? Would he tell you ?
Drowning in the sudden onslaught of questions, you barely heard as the driver announced you'd arrived at the bar. After tipping him for the change in itinerary, you stepped out of the vehicle, heels clicking against the wet pavement as you made your way toward the bustling entrance.
Inside, a myriad of scents flooded your senses, lights and loud music sending shockwaves through your nervous system as you tried to scan the crowd.
A high pitched squeal told you you'd been spotted first, and Penelope strode your way with sparkling confidence.
"What are you doing here ? Oh my lord look at you !" she gushed, hands squeezing your shoulders affectionately as her eyes trailed up and down your figure, "You, my friend, are a vision."
Smiling helplessly at the praise, you shook your head, "Thank you darling, you're glowing."
Garcia gasped in delight and gave you a turn, her colorful skirt swirling under the neon lights, "You like it ? Oh we should totally go shopping sometime !" when you chuckled and nodded, she seemed to suddenly remember why she was only greeting you now.
"Wait, weren't you supposed to be on your date with Mr. Hunk-supreme ?"
A simple shake of your head, paired with lips pulled into a thin line, told her all that she needed to know.
"Bad-bad ?" she frowned sympathetically.
"I'll tell you about it tomorrow," you promised, "right now you should go have fun. Oh, but before you go, could you tell me where Spence is ?"
Hand clasped around yours, Garcia danced her way through the crowd, and like some sort of magical and highly sequined train, dropped you off at your station with a kiss on the cheek. The booth was a locker room for the team members that took turns on the dance floor. Its current guardians, who were surely replacing a long gone Aaron Hotchner and David Rossi, were packed into a corner, seemingly deep in conversation, though not deep enough to stop the young doctor from lighting up at the sight of you.
"Well hi there silly boy," you grinned as he beamed at you. Morgan raised his glass in your direction.
"Looks like your saving grace is here kid," he gave Spencer a brotherly pat on the back, "can I leave you two there ? Some ladies have been eyeing me for about half an hour and I've got an itch to scratch."
"Ew," you joked, "yes, Don Juan, go, I've got him."
Settling in his place, you took a moment to admire the sight in front of you. Spencer Reid, usually so delicately put together, was unrecognizable. His hair was messier than usual, strands forming thin curtains over his brown eyes, themselves lined by puffy flushed skin that had seemed to suggest he'd been crying. His cheeks were a blotchy pink shade, matching the tips of his ears and the length of his neck, down to the hint of collarbone peeking from where he'd clumsily pulled his tie loose. His lips were parted like he was about to speak, but his eyes were the ones doing the talking – they hadn't left you since you'd entered his field of vision, and you could feel some part of yourself melting at the adoration they displayed. Whether a result of his drunken state of a translation of true reverence, the end result remained the same, your own expression softening into fond concern.
"Hi," he whispered, and for a moment, you forgot all about your disastrous date, instead raising a hand to his cheek, brushing curls behind his ear.
"Hi Spencer," you smiled, "so, what's gotten into you ?"
He shrugged, his shoulders lifting and dropping unevenly, and leaned his head toward your hand, "Dunno"
Narrowing your eyes in feigned disbelief, you raised a brow, "Oh really ? You don't know why you suddenly decided to drink alcohol to the point of drunkenness when you haven't finished a glass or even ordered one since I met you ? Come on."
Another shrug, and you pulled your hand away, crossing your arms over your chest, "Do you think me a fool, Spencer Reid ?"
The immediate shake of his head could've had you cooing at him like you would a puppy, had your will been any weaker than it was.
"Then why are you blatantly lying to me ?"
Spencer leaned into the backrest of his seat, eyes finally leaving you and finding his own hands in his lap. Softening your tone, you leaned closer, "You can tell me if something's wrong. There's nothing you could say that could make me think any less of you. I'm just worried."
Tentatively, he glanced back up at you, before dropping his eyes again and giving you another uneven shrug. The sigh that left you was more akin to resignation than to annoyance, and your eyes scanned the crowd for a familiar face before turning back to him.
"Do you want to go home ?" you suggested quietly. Spencer gave a slight shake of his head, and you figured it had more to do with a hypothetical lack of company than with him having a great time in this very overwhelming environment. With that in mind, you worded your question differently, "Do you want to get out of here ? I can stay with you if you'd like."
His honeyed eyes found yours again, and you wished the men you dated had for you half of the devotion his drunken self seemed to hold. His chin lowered in a sheepish nod, and you left the booth to find one of your friends. Once the role of locker room guardians had been successfully delegated to JJ and Emily, leaving Garcia to dance with her personal playboy – who had apparently abandoned his conquest of the previous group of girls – you grabbed your purse and helped Spencer slip out of the booth. Waving your friends goodbye, you made your way toward the exit, a stumbling Dr. Reid a step behind.
The night air was a sweet relief compared to the packed atmosphere of the bar, and yet, Spencer recoiled as it hit him.
"Cold," he breathed through his teeth, wrapping his jacket tighter around his frame. His complaint seemed to amuse you as you hooked your arm through his.
"Come on pretty boy. Let's take a walk," you tugged him forward, and he followed with the gracelessness of a rag doll.
"A walk ?"
"Yes, a walk." you grinned, "You know, that thing where you put one foot in front of the other and move forward ?"
His scoff materialized into a small cloud at the corner of your vision, and you could almost hear the roll of his eyes, "I meant walk where ?"
With a shrug, you led him to a crosswalk, holding him back when he didn't stop.
"Being drunk doesn't suit your brain."
"That's not an answer," he mumbled, shoulder pressed against your own.
"Well I don't know Reid, do people always need to have a destination in mind when they walk ?"
"Most of the time yes, or else they'd get lost."
Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. How could this man still argue everything you said while simultaneously being unable to walk in a straight line ?
"Well then we're walking to your place." you decided as the cars stopped to let you pass.
"My place ?" Spencer's voice was weaker as he spoke, his tone akin to one of a whiny child.
"Do you have something against it ?" your brow arched as you glanced his way, eyes following the slight pout of his mouth, the downturn of his own gaze.
"No– I mean I don't– I just," he pushed his glasses further up his nose with the help of his right shoulder, visibly unwilling to pull his hands out of his pockets, "I don't want to– to…" a huff left his lips, "Never mind. It's stupid."
"Hey," you squeezed his arm, "what is it ? Is your place flooded or something ?"
His gaze was fixed on his shoes as he answered, words slurring more severely when he lowered his voice, "Just don't wan' be alone."
His mumbled sentence squeezed your heart as you looked up at him. For a moment, you just watched him. The way loose curls brushed across his brow, furrowed in stubborn reluctance. The flush that had spread up the back of his neck, settling at the tip of his nose and ears, whether from the cold or the beers. From here, he looked nothing like the careful genius you spent almost every day with. From here, he looked nothing like the professional profiler, the one whose eyes always swept across everything like every inch of a scene was a crucial element. From here, he looked like the young man you'd sometimes met, on quiet afternoons filled with paperwork, the one who performed magic tricks to make his friends smile, or rambled about the history of some topic you'd mentioned in passing, turning red anytime someone ruffled his hair.
From here, he looked like a young man you desperately wanted to ki–
The sudden pull of your arm reached your brain before his shriek did. Your feet fumbled for balance, inadvertently catching onto the protruding edge of a tile as you vainly attempted to prevent the fall. Spencer landed first, his backside landing in very conveniently placed bushes with a surprisingly loud crack. You followed suit, hands catching onto the metal fence his back was pressed against, stopping your face from hitting it full force from a few inches. Your knee was already burning up, but you found more useful to swat Spencer in the shoulder than to check for injury.
"Ow–" he yelped, sinking further into the bushes.
"You absolute–" you pushed against the railing to try to stand, only to fall back down, hand braced against his stomach, "–idiot–"
Spencer, uselessly attempting to pull his sleeve free of the branches, whined, "Don't press there– I'm gon' throw up–"
Just as his words reached you, so did the sheer absurdness of the situation, and you hid your face against the young doctor's woolen sleeve as a violent wave of laughter overtook you, shoulders hiccuping with the intensity of it. You felt the moment your amusement contaminated him through the vibrations of his chest, and the mental image of two idiots cackling while half buried into the bushes of someone's front yard only made the laughter burn brighter.
After a few minutes spent fighting for breath, you patted his arm, "Come on genius," while your free hand yanked your own coat free.
"Can't–" he looked up at you with those damned brown eyes, "'m stuck."
Rolling your eyes, you raised to your knees and grabbed the fence again, "Yes you can, come on," and with that, you got back on your feet, stepping away from the bushes before bending down to dust your knees off.
When your eyes met again, the look you found could've lit up the entire street. The brown of his irises was amber and gold from the streetlights, his hair mussed, curls framing his brow with a sweetness that your heart deemed unfair, thumping heavily against your ribs. He looked stupidly boyish in this position, settled awkwardly into the bushes, sleeves stuck to the branches, knees drawn up in a way that made it obvious that his skeleton hadn't been designed to fold this way. Still, he looked utterly entranced by whatever he saw when he looked up at you. You'd never been one for the spotlight, nor had you ever been firmly against it, but with his eyes on you, suddenly you understood both the dizzying thrill of it and the stage fright. Warmth bubbled deep within your chest and climbed its way up your throat, pushing past your lips in a nervous giggle as you glanced away, feigning interest in your scraped knee for a fleeting instant.
"Are you planning on sleeping there boy wonder ?" you look back at him, praying that your teasing tone paired with his inebriated perception can effectively disguise the distinct flutter in your stomach.
Any other day, Spencer would've looked away, red in the face as soon as he'd been caught staring. This wasn't any other day. This was the day his entire belief system had been reduced to dust particles around the halo that the light had created with your hair. This was the day Spencer Reid encountered the divine, and the scientist in him ached to gather as much information as he could before you vanished into thin air. With this in mind, he drank all of you in, his eyes greedily sweeping over everything that made you you, everything he'd always adored quietly, everything that wasn't his to keep.
"Spencer ?"
The thought dug its claws into his heart. Suddenly, he wished he was still at that table, a disgustingly bitter beer squeezed between his tense fingers. He'd never liked drinking, and yet in this moment, he felt dreadfully sober.
Your outfit was a carefully crafted one, as was the subtly elegant way your hair had been pulled back, leaving only a delicate strand, framing your artful features. What he wouldn't give to be the subject of such attentive preparation. What he wouldn't give to be the one you graced with your time.
The gentle brush of fingertips against his knuckles pulled him back to reality, only to nearly send him reeling at the mere sign of concern in your expression.
"Spence ?" your voice was quieter, softer, your own tone betraying you.
"Hm ?" he piped up, heat rising to his cheeks as your fingers slipped through his.
"Do you need help getting up ?"
He opened his mouth to answer, but every thought in his mind suddenly rushed to get out, cluttering his throat and rendering him utterly speechless. His lips clamped shut again as he gave up on speaking, instead nodding sheepishly.
Instantly, you sprang into action, the hand that wasn't holding his moving to steady him as you pulled him up. After stumbling like a newborn fawn for a moment, Spencer's feet finally found solid ground again, and you let out a small huff of breath.
"For someone so scrawny, you're surprisingly heavy," you noted, breathless amusement coloring your voice, "has anyone ever told you that ?"
"Hm," the doctor nodded, fingers still securely wrapped around yours, "Morgan. Repeatedly."
You laughed, and Spencer thought that if he could get drunk on the sound alone, he'd probably give up on sobriety altogether.
"So," you let go of his hand to dust off the back of his coat, and as his fingers pathetically tensed around thin air, he found himself already missing the contact, "you don't want to go back to your place, because you'll be on your own ?"
The sudden reminder of his impending loneliness had a melodramatic sigh escape from his lips, and he nodded slowly.
"Well, Dr.Professional-Kicked-Puppy," he tried rolling his eyes at the name, inconclusively. "I can't offer to stay at yours because I desperately need to change, but you can crash at mine if you want"
You turned your head to catch the way his eyes lit up, "Would you like that ?"
Spencer nodded quickly, before kicking his legs into action and catching up to you. After a few moments of walking side by side in silence, shoulders bumping with each of his stumbling steps, he gathered the necessary courage to utter a quiet "Thank you", to which you responded by slipping your arm through the crook of his elbow.
The chill night air, the quiet street, the soft hum of the city… Everything that should've contributed to soothing his usually relentless train of thought was only participating in his silent agony. If the young doctor was known for anything, it was surely for his inability to keep his mouth shut, especially at times when he needed to most. This was one of those times.
"So, how'd your date go ?" the words tumbled out before he could stop them, slightly blurred where alcohol lingered. As much as he'd wanted to convince himself he had sobered up, anyone with eyes and ears would've been able to tell that he very much had not. Despite this, he knew with unshakable certainty that he had absolutely no desire to hear you talk about the oh so wonderful guy whom you'd picked over Garcia's slightly threatening invitation to the bar twice now.
Still, he listened as you told him about the man, about the beautiful flowers he'd brought you, about his impeccable choice in restaurant, his fabulous storytelling… He listened, oblivious to the underlying disappointment in your words, to the lack of details in your own retelling, or even to the fact that his own jealousy and drunken mind had completely altered your tone and choice of words, making you sound, to his ears, like a besotted teenager.
By the time you reached the top of your stairs, Spencer's lungs and heart were ready to give out. You'd recounted all of the jokes your date had made – which was just three, but to his intoxicated mind, it might as well have been twenty – and he regretted ever asking. When you unlocked the door and pushed it open, kicking off your shoes with a relieved sigh, he considered fleeing. His thought process was interrupted as your voice pulled him back, making him lift his eyes to meet yours. The soft light of a lamp in the background framed your silhouette as you leaned your temple against the wooden door.
"Are you coming in ? I wouldn't recommend the doormat for sleeping."
The image of you earlier, eyes filled with concern, hair lit back by the streetlights flashed through his mind, and he was once again hit by the sheer adoration he felt for you. When his voice passed his lips, it sounded weaker than he'd expected it to.
"Do you like him ?"
Despite the backlighting casting shadows over your features, he caught the way your brows pinched together slightly. You shrugged.
"He's nice."
Spencer let out a sound that might've been an amused breath or a quiet sob.
"You went on two dates with him, and that's all you can say ?"
Your lips pursed for a moment, before relaxing into a thin smile, "Well, one and a half, since you called me in the middle of dinner."
The young doctor dragged his feet to your couch, plopping onto it and hiding his face into his hands.
"Oh god– Right–" he raked a tense hand through his messy hair, "I'm– so sorry. I just– I–"
It occurred to him, in the form of a distant echo of consciousness, that telling you that he'd called because he missed you and was sickeningly jealous of the man you were with was probably not the wisest thing to say. Thankfully, your soft laughter stopped him in his tracks.
"It's okay, doc." you settled next to him on the worn couch, far enough not to touch, but close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from your skin. Your coat had been shrugged off on a chair, and the sight of your bare shoulders made him feel like a parched Victorian man.
"You saved me, really," you huffed in amusement, settling back against the cushions. Bewilderment felt too light of a term to describe the utter confusion he was feeling.
"What– Saved you ? Was he– Were you in danger ? Oh my god why didn't you say so– We would've–"
You cut him off by flicking his forehead gently, "You would've what ? Stumbled your way over and threatened him by standing on your hind legs like a red panda ? As much as I adore you, boy genius, you're not exactly intimidating. Especially in comparison to a 6'2 man twice your width."
"I–" color rushed to his cheeks, "I can be," he mumbled, "And red pandas don't have any other way to defend themselves, as their claws are mostly used for climbing trees. They have to find other tactics. I don't, I have my brain and a gun."
"Not so sure about the brain part in your state," you hummed with a light smirk, "but in any case, I wasn't in danger. Well, unless you consider boredom and exasperation to be dangers."
"Actually," Spencer piped up, "though some studies show that boredom can lead to impulsive decision making, it's actually a necessary and very healthy way to rest the mind and to cultivate creativity–"
"Spencer"
"Sorry–"
You sighed and shook your head, an amused smile still lifting your cheeks, "Anyway. I wasn't in danger. And it went well, for the most part. But when he started referring to his exes as 'crazy', and going on about how 'women always choose to be with assholes instead of nice guys like him', I just started regretting turning Pen's offer down."
"Jesus," he huffed.
"Yeah." you chuckled, "So when you called, I was just… Relieved."
Spencer barely tried to conceal the smile that dug dimples into his cheeks.
"Glad to be of service."
You bumped his shoulder with your own, and he felt lightning at the spot of contact, "My knight in knitted sweaters" you mused.
The flush of his cheeks spread over his entire face, and he glanced down at his lap to catch his breath.
"That sounds ridiculous," he whispered.
"It sounds perfectly you."
After rummaging through your cabinets, you found some food to snack on and handed it to Spencer while announcing that you were just going to take a quick shower and change. While he grieved how beautiful you looked in your very put-together outfit, the idea of seeing you in lounge wear was making his skin buzz. Or maybe that was another side effect of his drinking. In any case, the idea that you'd cut your – albeit boring – date to come tend to him was making him dizzy again. He pushed a mouthful of biscuits past his lips and tried not to focus on the sound of water hitting the tiles.
Instead, he sank further into the couch and let his eyes close for just a second. You were always there when he did. When sleep tugged him closer, and memories and fiction melted together. Even now, in the darkness of his fogged up mind, you smiled at him, nodded along as he spoke, listened in the way only you did. The first time you'd called him by his first name, he'd froze up, and you'd worried about having crossed a line. You hadn't, of course, but there was no way to rationally explain the dizzying amount of oxytocin that had flooded his veins at the sound of your voice. So he just reassured you that it was okay, that you could call him however you preferred. You'd never used his last name again, only ever switching up with a playful "doc" or a gentle "Spence", both of which always made his knees threaten to buckle.
"Spencer ?"
He sometimes dreamt that you'd whisper his name to wake him up in the morning, fingers carding through his hair. Or that you'd smile through it at the sight of him. On lonelier nights, when he reluctantly allowed himself more depraved thoughts, he'd dream of you breathing his name out in a moan, only to wake up to an empty bed.
In his dreams, your voice heals his wounds. In his dreams, you say his name like there is a hidden meaning.
"Spence,"
He could smell your pomegranate scented shampoo, and he wondered if he could overdose of a smell. What a sweet end that would be.
"Sweetheart," you brushed a stray strand of hair behind his ear, and his lashes fluttered open, "hi," you smiled softly.
"Hm," he blinked drowsily, taking in your damp hair and oversized hoodie, "hi"
"You fell asleep," you were crouched in front of him, one hand on his knee and the other still brushing against the shell of his ear, "you'd be more comfortable in bed."
It took a few long seconds for your words to reach him, but when they did, he immediately shook his head, "I'm not taking your bed," he slurred quietly, "I can sleep here, it's fine,"
"Oh it wasn't a suggestion darling," you hummed, and fireworks erupted in his chest at the term of endearment. He tried to play it cool, which, considering the blotchy red on his cheeks, he was failing at miserably.
"But I dun' wanna bother you," he managed to mutter, "I don't want you to sleep on the couch,"
You chuckled and tilted your head to the side, "Well my bed is big enough for the both of us. If you're ok with that."
Spencer nodded before he could even fully comprehend what that entailed. Still, in his state, the panic and excitement he might've felt was considerably dulled by the promise of comfort.
"Alright then. Come on," you whispered as you helped him to his feet.
You led him to your bedroom, laughing breathlessly every time his weight shifted.
"I get why you don't drink now" you huffed, "you big baby,"
He whined in response, plopping down onto the bed and lazily pushing his shoes off with his feet, and complaining under his breath when he didn't manage to. With an exasperated sigh, you crouched down again and gently untied his shoe laces before pulling them off of his feet. His mismatched socks were next, and as you carefully folded them together, the young genius laid down over the covers with the grace of a wooden plank.
"At least get under the covers," you shook your head as he groaned and clumsily slipped under them.
You rounded the bed and settled beside him, laying on your side to face him. He mirrored you, curls spreading messily over the pillow.
For a moment, you stayed like this, looking at each other in the dim light. Then, barely loud enough for you to hear, a whisper cut through the silence.
"You looked like an angel" his voice was hushed, as if this thought wasn't meant for the outside world, "earlier. Well– still."
You were grateful for the low lighting as you felt your cheeks burn up.
"You're drunk," you whispered with a smile, "I think your perception is a little affected."
He shook his head, "I don't think so. I mean, yes, but– you are. I mean, you look– you always look–" he huffed in frustration.
"Thank you, Spence," you grinned, cutting his stuttered attempt short.
After another second, he spoke again.
"Are you disappointed ?"
His question pulled your brows together, "By what ?"
Spencer's teeth pulled at some loose skin on his lip, "The date. It was the second one, so surely the first one had gone well,"
You thought for a moment.
"Well… I guess so. But not exactly surprised, just… passively disappointed." you responded honestly, "Though I didn't expect too much anyway."
Now it was his turn to frown, "So… Why'd you go on a second date with him ? Let alone a first ?"
You shrugged, "Well, I wanted to give it a try. And… He asked."
"Is that all it takes ?" he whispered, not to offend, but with genuine curiosity. And something akin to hope, "To ask ?"
"It depends, but it's always a good start." you hummed, "If no one asked, no one would go on dates."
His frown deepened, "I guess that makes sense."
Again, silence settled over the both of you, and for a moment, you thought maybe Spencer had fallen asleep. Which made it all the more surprising when he murmured your name.
"Yeah ?"
"Would you ever… Go out ? With me ?"
His question gave you pause. Not because of hesitation, but because you remembered his intoxication. As much as hearing the question from his lips warmed your chest, you couldn't imagine what you would do if he didn't remember this conversation in the morning.
"Maybe you should ask me when you're sober, Spence."
"Would you say yes ?"
"Well, you'll have to find out I guess," you teased.
"Not fair," he argued quietly, and you chuckled.
"Well the world isn't fair. Deal with it."
Even in the dark, you could see the way his eyes rolled.
For a few minutes, he seemed to be debating something. He rolled over to his back, hands laced over his stomach, eyes fixed on the glowing stars you'd stuck to the ceiling when you'd moved here years ago. You waited, wanting to see if he'd let you in on whatever was going on in that genius head of his.
He opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to piece the words together without breaking. When he finally spoke, it was in the softest voice you'd ever heard from him.
"I felt horrible." he whispered, "When you talked about it. Back in the bullpen. When you turned Garcia down, and the girls started gushing about that… man that you'd been on a date with." you caught the hollow in his cheek, where he was biting into the flesh, "I couldn't– I felt sad, and– and angry– which is stupid because it's not your fault, and I've just– I've never felt that before. Not the anger, but the– the ache–" one of his hands pressed against his sternum, "It was like someone had punched me in the stomach, and I couldn't think about anything except the fact that you– that you were with some– some guy, and I couldn't stop picturing you laughing, and just– smiling at him, and when Emily talked about how date number two was usually when people kissed, and I just– I wanted to throw up–"
You waited to see if he was done with his train of thought before speaking.
"Well, I didn't kiss him," you'd intended for this to be some sort of humorous remark, but it only pulled a sigh of genuine relief from Spencer.
"So… You drank because you were jealous ?" you suggested. At first, he seemed about to protest, but then his features softened and he pursed his lips.
"I guess so." he fidgeted slightly, "But mostly, I was… Frustrated. A few years after I'd started at the BAU, I'd asked Elle why I couldn't get a date. She told me the only reason was that I didn't ever ask anyone out. And– I couldn't get that out of my head. What if you'd– what if you'd met someone you really liked, and I'd missed my only chance because I'd been too busy getting stuck in my own head ? What if–"
You took his hand in his before he could damage the skin around his nails any further, effectively interrupting his spiraling.
"You didn't miss out on anything. Just… Ask me again when you're sober. Even if it's while stumbling over your own words. Even if it's written down because you couldn't make yourself say it. I don't care. Just ask again." you whispered, "Trust me."
His fingers curled around yours, and he nodded slowly.
"Now," you reached out to turn off your lamp, "You should sleep, or you'll be even worse off in the morning."
He groaned in complaint, and you chuckled at the sound, "Hey, you chose to drink. You could've just called me, sober."
"Would've lacked the dramatic effect." he joked as his eyes closed.
"Whatever you say doc," you leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before drawing back and whispering, "Good night."
"Good night," he echoed through a tight throat.
As he drifted off, cheeks still burning, Spencer pulled your hand to his lips and returned your quick kiss. He didn't know if he'd have the courage to ask you out again as soon as he sobered up, but he knew that however long he took, you'd be right there, waiting.
Finally this is done !! Idk how to feel abt it yet, so don't hesitate to lmk what you thought ! Reblogs and comments are so so appreciated, and will earn you a virtual kiss on the forehead <333
