Went to the hospital today for menstrual cramps, some of the worst I've had so far. I was throwing up in the ambulance and cramping so bad I thought I'd die and nearly in tears and I got some morphine for the pain and sweet Jesus that took the pain away so fast that I almost cried of joy!
My New Year's Resolution is to write my novel and learn enough Japanese to introduce myself both formally and informally. And figure out my transfer path and score a scholarship so I can finally transfer to an actual University.
I'm finally doing it! I'm writing the outline for my novel! It's based on a dream I had a while ago that stuck with me so I can't wait to see it in print! Just know it will be in the sci-if/fantasy genre.😉
First days were never good days. The butterflies woke him up and often it led to bricks settling with the cereal he would eat for breakfast and shortly followed by the need to throw up everything and quit the day until sunrise tomorrow. But some things just needed to be done and this was one of those things.
An FBI agent. He was an FBI agent. That is, if he could keep his legs from turning to jelly underneath him long enough to not fall down the stairs and break his neck on the first day.
Pushing his hair down for the eighth time since six fifteen, when he’d slicked it back, Spencer Reid, brand new probationary agent under the Behavioral Analysis Unit in the Federal Bureau of Investigation, began his thirty minute commute to Quantico, Virginia.
Spencer fiddled with his messenger bag and tried to straighten every potential wrinkle in his sweater vest that he could comprehend as he stood, holding onto a pole with one hand, swaying forward and back with the motions of the train. His tie knot was smoothed over and made to look nice again and again and his scuffed tennis shoes that probably were not the best thing to wear to a professional job were not as scuffed as they could have been, since Spencer had spent the better half of the night before scrubbing them to look nice. They were his nicest pair, of course.
The short walk from the metro station to the Bureau headquarters was spent grasping his bag in a white knuckled grip, his fingers turning cold with the lack of blood flow. The butterflies from early morning had returned, somehow crawling from beneath the bricks and floating to the top of the lake of lactose-free milk and soggy Lucky Charms in his stomach. It was not a pleasant combination of feelings.
Everyone Spencer passed on the street were staring at him and judging his appearance, scoffing at his shoes or laughing at his wrinkled sweater vest, jokes were made about his dorky glasses too big for his face, and even his hair couldn’t escape ridicule. He knew he should have invested in an iron for his vests, but then he would need an ironing board and who had the time for that? His hair kept flopping in front of his eyes, because the wind had decided to start up just in the last few feet of his trek and now Spencer was trying to straighten his hair out once more this morning. He really wanted to make a good impression with his new coworkers.
The inside of the building was immaculate. People milled about or rushed to the elevators and Spencer glanced at his watch, only to become one of those sort, tapping the up button thirty times and tapping their foot while their hands became idle with the folders or their briefcase they were holding.
The ride up the floors was spent in a daze and Spencer took the chance to take a few deep breaths and mentally prepare himself for a normal day, just with new people. He had already done the hard part of passing the classes. Now he just had to meet his new friends. Because they would be friends. Hopefully.
Gideon’s office would be in the back, just past the large glass doors that he wouldn’t be able to miss once he departed the elevator, Gideon had told him. Then his boss, Special Supervisory Agent Aaron Hotchner would be just next door, to the right. He could do this. It’s just like talking to his professors about homework. He did it all the time. It was a breeze.
The glass doors were spectacular, with the FBI emblem frosted onto them and so clean Spencer was a bit hesitant to even touch the handles in fear of smudging them. The office on the other side wasn’t the beehive of activity that he had been expecting. There were certainly enough micro cubicles for there to be a cacophony of noise from hard working employees, but the place was practically empty. A lone man was sat at one of the first cubicles, working at the computer and not even looking as if he had heard Spencer enter.
Thankful for that small grace, Spencer quickly made his way to the far side of the office, where he could see the private offices lining the wall. Of course, not all things could go his way and half-way there Spencer tripped over a stray cord and nearly fell onto his face. Righting himself quickly, and discreetly glancing back at the nameless computer drone, Spencer hastened his speed, but not without keeping an eye on where his feet lay.
He could see Gideon’s name on one of the plaques on the wall next to one of the doors as he made his way past them. Aaron Hotchner’s door was next. The window had blinds covering it and they were shut, but Spencer could see a light on it and so he took a few seconds to breathe again before knocking.
“Come in,” a muffled voice Spencer could just hear replied. Spencer entered on nervous knees.
“Ah, Spencer! Right on time.” Gideon was sitting at a chair in front of the desk of his employer, a stern looking man, not too young and not too old. Experienced. “I was just talking with Aaron about you. Come sit down for a moment.”
“I wanted to be a little early, in case the trains were late.” Spencer almost, almost tripped over his own shoes, but he held it together long enough to sit like a normal person in the second chair.
“Like I was saying,” Gideon began, turning back to Aaron. “Doctor Reid will be an invaluable addition to our team. His mind is top notch and we’re lucky to have talked Strauss into nabbing him.”
Spencer felt his face flush a dark red, still not used to being praised so openly like Gideon did. It was embarrassing.
“It’s very good to meet you, Doctor Reid,” Aaron Hotchner said. He leant forward in his chair and held his hand out. “Gideon won’t shut up about you.”
“It’s very nice to meet you finally too, Sir.” Spencer bit his tongue and cheek and shook Mr. Hotchner’s hand. He could feel Gideon’s eyes on him as he did and when the greeting was over, he started to discreetly scratch his palm with his middle finger. He tried to hide it by holding his bag in his lap.
“We have an early start today, Doctor Reid. I’ll show you to your desk and then we have a meeting in the second to last office down the hall. It’s the only room with a round table. The rest of our Unit will be milling about, I’m sure. We can introduce you at the meeting.” Mr. Hotchner stood and Gideon stood as well, so Spencer jumped to his feet, not wanting to be waited on. The two men began walking out the door and Spencer followed after them, holding onto his bag in a vice grip once again. His right hand was hurting already from the scratching.
In the large office space now, instead of the still nameless computer drone, a man with large arms and a dark complexion was standing at one of the computer desks and talking with a pale woman who sat on top of the desk. She smiled when she saw Spencer. That got the man to look over.
And that’s what finally got Spencer to trip up and fall flat on his face after failing to notice the three steps down into the dugout floor, too invested in the face of the man with the big arms and the bigger smile. Everyone around him jumped and Gideon and the woman were crouching down to help him up within seconds.
Spencer, as soon as his nose hit the floor, began spouting off apologies and thanking the woman for grabbing his arm and to Gideon for patting down his vest for dust. His face was bright red now and he could tell there were two little marks on his nose, where his glasses had smashed into his face. He was just thanking the gods that be that he hadn’t started spraying blood out his nose. He might have died from the humility, had that happened. He would have to hand in his badge on his very first day on the job and then where would he be, but never again able to see that startlingly handsome face again.
Okay, not as long as I was envisioning, but now I want to write a bunch of Christmas song fics. lol like maybe next I’ll try the Snow Miser song from the The Year Without a Santa Claus.
It was nearing midnight on the night before the night before Christmas and Spencer could feel in his bones the cold just behind the curtained windows. The fireplace was crackling quietly to the side and he was bundled up with a throw, but even with the cup of coffee as a third protector, the winter wonderland swirling on the other side of the front door was nipping at his toes.
“I really can’t stay,” he said, looking longingly at the platter of sugar cookies freshly out of the oven. Derek was tending to the sprinkles and Spencer caught his gaze from the den.
“Aw, but it’s cold. You don’t like the cold.”
“Yes, but if I’m late in the morning, my mother will start to worry. You know how she gets.” Spencer stood up from the couch, wrapping the throw around his shoulders and brining his mug with him to snag the first cookie while he talked.
Derek chuckled, tapping more sprinkles over the cookies. “But it’s cold outside, baby,” he mock-whined. Spencer smirked from behind a mouthful of sprinkles and butter-crisped cookies.
“And the traffic and the snow. It will be around three by the time I’m home. And I need at least eight hours of sleep and that’s pushing my appointment and Dad’s actually expecting a call from me and he’ll pace in front of the phone until Armageddon.”
“You’re talking to your dad?”
“Not really. But it’s the holidays.” Spencer shrugged his shoulders and grinned mysteriously.
Derek hummed and watched as Spencer took another cookie before even finishing his first.
“Do you really want Mrs. Esther talking? You know how she likes to spin tales. Imagine what she has to say about two FBI agents spending Christmas Eve together. I really should go.” Spencer spun around and made a show of looking for his coat.
“Right here, Baby Boy,” Derek said, holding it. The coat had been abandoned in the kitchen with him shortly after Spencer had first arrived at Derek’s. He swung the thing side to side, taunting Spencer with a smirk at his lips.
Spencer turned again, his eyes bright with mirth and a teasing quirk at the curl of his smile.
“Your eyes are stunning, Baby, like stars.”
“I ought to say no,” Spencer said, stepping closer and dropping the hunt for his coat. Derek dropped it back to the chair it had been hanging on. They both moved out of the kitchen, side by side, towards the couch near the fire.
Relaxing was resumed and the throw was draped over their feet as they propped them on the rest. “You didn’t put up much of a fight, this year, Baby Boy.”
“I might have had no excuses to give, but at least I can say that I tried.”
“Is your maiden aunt’s mind vicious, Pretty Boy?” Derek’s nose brushed against Spencer’s and they both breathed a chuckle at the closeness.
I only got Day 2 done, but I really like it. :) Hope you do too.
Jean took his first breath of his new life and sat up. His gut was no longer spilled out beside him and he could breathe deep and steady. All around him, instead of the dark storm that had been brewing on the battlefield, was cloudless skies and golden hues.
“You’re early,” a voice said from behind him.
Jean stood quickly and a small hand was on his arm just as fast.
“We weren’t expecting you until late. You must have fought valiantly.” Golden hair and blue eyes as bright as above their heads stared at Jean with a gentle smile and began guiding him towards a golden tree and large fountain.
“The feast is about to start, but we have time to stroll.”
“So this is Valhalla.”
“Yes. Odin is in the meade hall, waiting for the new warriors to arrive. You are early.”
“Damn Romans.”
“May Hel raise her fist over them.”
In the distance, a giant hall came into view as they turned past the golden tree. The hall was hidden by a tall cliff side and a waterfall roared behind it. The river that flowed past was calm, though, and other warriors and other valkyrie were attending to them, holding fruit or meade for them, others performing promiscuous acts as they laid in the sun along the river.
Jean turned to his own valkyrie. They were short and aside from having the same golden color as Læraðr, they looked familiar, like Jean had known them in his before-life.
“Your face, it reminds me.”
“This face I saw you with before the battle. You were kissing them and seemed fond of them. As your valkyrie, I can be whomever you want. I thought you would be glad to see this face.”
Jean felt something stir in his chest, but he couldn’t place the feeling. “But you are not them.”
“No. I can change if you would like? A shieldmaiden? Or a royal wench?”
“No. No, you are fine.”
Bells sounded suddenly, and the warriors at the riverside stood as one and headed in a group towards the meade hall.
“The feast should be starting any minute. Odin will be wanting to receive you.” The familiar face touched his arm again and led Jean towards the hall.
It was huge inside; golden ceilings and dozens upon dozens of tables full of rowdy men of vary age all holding large steins of meade and piling plates full of food and waiting for the Allfather to speak. Jean could point out the same face of young women or men attending the hundreds of warriors as they sat, but he couldn’t point out a similar face to the valkyrie that chose him to attend Valhalla.
The Allfather was everything Jean had imagined. He was old and wise and cracked a good joke at the best of times. He warned of Ragnarök and that Valhalla was the home of the bravest and strongest of warriors, but with pleasure came responsibility and they were all held accountable for preparing themselves for the inevitable.
The valkyrie that greeted him sat at Jean’s side and fed him fruit and refilled his stein without prompting and Jean let them go on spoiling him. The golden hair bothered him, but Jean couldn’t help but feel that he would forget the face from his before-life should the valkyrie change their appearance.
At nightfall, most men headed with their valkyrie to a more intimate seclusion and Jean followed suit, though he had rather different intentions.
“Can you name that face that you took? The one you wear? You must have caught a name if you were able to recognize a love left before war.”
The blue eyes of the petite valkyrie looked up at him and their smile fell minutely. “I am afraid I do not know a name. Not many faces come with a name, you see. Valkyrie don’t need names.”
“But you could have one.”
“If you desire.”
“Do you have one? A name? Has anyone—?”
“I have never had a name, no.”
“I’ll give you one, then. It is no use having company with no name.”
The valkyrie tittered and Jean frowned at them.
“I apologize. I just don’t think you understand a valkyrie’s purpose. We are the bringers of the fallen soldiers of war; hand-picked, yes, but our purpose is to provide for our warrior. Leisure or otherwise.”
“Well, I’ll have a name for you by morning. Just give me time.”
