graveyard flowers 𝜗𝜚 s.r
۶ৎ in which you are seen at Emily’s funeral looking conspicuous and are questioned for it because no one knows who you are or why you’re at their friend’s funeral.
who? spencer x unknown!reader when? s6 genre: angst (comfort) fluff? content warnings: reader is a professional killer, mentions of father with a psychological disorder and i think that's it, reid with interest... word count: 8k a/n: this was suppose to be smut and i think i got sidetracked, also this would not at all have been possible without a special someone sending me edits, a few honorable mentions will be left down below
Spencer didn’t notice her instantly, he was more laser-focused on keeping his tears in his eyes. He couldn’t fathom the fact that Emily was gone. Emily was like his best friend, his only friend if you didn’t count the eight-year-old in the park near his apartment he often played chess with.
The day was bright, so opposed to the way he felt. The sky was blue and the casket being lowered into the ground was white. The image tugged on his heartstrings; he didn’t know whether to scream or throw up. He had a headache and when salt water stung the corners of his eyes, he went to wipe at them–that’s when he noticed her.
She was wearing all black, dressed perfectly for a funeral. For a moment, without thinking, he thought she looked odd and out of place. She was gorgeous, she had that type of beauty you’d see in a flower–not a graveyard, and that’s what she was: a graveyard flower.
He thought the insinuation ironic, considering she was probably in mourning just as he, but then it occurred to him she was mourning the same person he whom he was mourning, and this was a closed funeral, so he wondered–he wondered who she was, but more importantly who she was to Emily.
“Uhm,” he cleared his throat, catching the gazes of Hotch and Rossi. She was far off, but he could make out a few of her prominent features, such as her hair, her nose–and the color of her nails. “Do any of you know who that is?”
JJ and Penelope’s ears perked up, “what are you talking about Spencer?”
His brows furrowed and he stepped forward, “that woman–”
“No,” Morgan shook his head, “I’ve never seen her before.”
“Maybe she’s an old friend.”
“No, Emily didn’t have any friends–”
“Someone from Interpol?”
“Reid’s right,” Hotch’s eyes bored into the woman’s, eying her–analyzing her.
They watched the mysterious woman wipe her face, and then all of a sudden her body went rigid as if she’d been startled by something. She lifted her face and Spencer could see clearly now, she was gorgeous, and she was looking right at him. But it wasn’t him her eyes strayed to, Spencer watched them flit across the groups, landing on–no doubt–Hotch’s.
He was curious and quite cute–the young one with glasses–you wondered if your sister had worked with these people or if they were merely her friends. You didn’t know much about Emily, you hadn't even known of her existence until a few months ago, when you’d hired a private investigator to look into your family line as you’d begun to discover your father had kept quite a bit from you. He wasn’t dead, but he had Alzheimer's and through his mistaking you for your mother, or sometimes his sister, he began to divulge things–things he otherwise would have kept to himself.
Llike the fact that he had a wife before your mother and that he had another daughter. Emily, he called her. He used to cry for her, ask how she was doing, and more than once you’d have to argue with him that you were not Emily. You were sure you didn’t even look much like her, perhaps you got her build, but you had two different mothers. You looked more like yours and you were sure–because your father’s genes were so minor–this ‘Emily’ looked like hers.
You knew so little–but you’d wanted to get to know her, that’s why you had tracked her down after all, and instead of figuring out how to start up a conversation, you were shopping for funeral clothing because she had “died in the line of duty.” What bullshit was that? You’d scoffed.
No, you didn’t know her, but you were family–her sister for heaven’s sake, and now you would never even get the chance to introduce yourself. She died knowing nothing of you or your side of the family, she died an only child and you didn’t know how to live with that. Could you even call yourself siblings? All you had was blood. And that–to you–was the worst part of it all.
They were watching you, you didn’t know who caught wind of your presence first, but there was one person–an old, mean guy with an angry expression looking as if you had something to do with the death in front of you. You had no idea who these people were, all the private investigator was able to give you was the address of the restaurant she often frequented, and her home address. You had no idea where or who she worked for.
She “gave off a vibe” and he didn’t want to get too close. Well, you didn’t pay him half a thousand to ‘get a vibe’ did you?
Your body seized once more and before you could watch him take that first step, you were spinning around and heading back toward the parking lot.
It was early morning, you always woke up around 4–unless you were on a job–your work wasn’t put on hold simply because you had personal issues to deal with. If anything, going to Emily’s funeral was lenient. You clocked in around 6 and headed straight for your boss’ office.
The normal person would frown at your job, teenagers might think it was cool, but in truth, your job was neither cool nor disfavored. Did you like it? Well, it depends on what day you were asked, some days were easier, others just shy of a struggle–but you chose it, and however gruesome it seemed, you wouldn’t have chosen anything else given the opportunity.
Spencer found this curious about you as he scrolled through your history. On their off time, the team had taken to figuring out who the mystery woman at their friend's funeral was. It took a little while, but eventually, three months later, Penelope and Spencer not only acquired a photo from a CCTV camera, but through that visualization, they secured a name–your name.
Spencer found you particularly interesting because you seemed to have quite a normal upbringing, and now you were a hitwoman for the United States Government. The team had discussed what to do with the information on you and whether or not they should leave it alone. Spencer was set on approaching you. He wanted to know more.
You must have come across Emily somehow, for you to know her so well–but how was the question? Who were you to Emily and why had she never mentioned you? Why were there no photos of you together, why were there no clear lines that drew a connection to you?
He didn’t know exactly what–though he was trying to pin it on your somehow connection to Emily–but he was drawn to you. Something in the way you carried yourself, even when walking away from the funeral of someone you held dear.
The sky was graying, the trees had no leaves on them and the mornings were cold. He stood outside the roundtable room, leaning against the wall as Hotch and Penelope went back and forth about you. When Morgan arrived, Spencer didn’t notice like he normally did, he was so intent on hearing what his other coworkers were talking about.
“Hey Pretty Boy,” Morgan nodded toward the room, “hear anything you like?”
Spencer ignored him audibly, but pressed his lips together and shook his head. He wanted to approach you, but more than that, he wanted to be granted permission to approach you. He wanted to have a reason to begin communicating with you, but he wouldn’t get it, and so going against what he knew he would eventually be told, he stole your information.
Okay…stole was a big word, Spencer preferred collected. It kind of fit, Spencer thought himself somewhat of a collector, like Gideon, a collector of stories, but instead of keeping photos, he kept memories. It was mostly out of his control, but for the very select that was…
He went through the day as best he could without thinking about you–you and Emily. For the most part, he was good at it, and at one point he even thought he might get away with his plan–but then Rossi pulled him aside in the car park and said, “You’re going after her, right?”
Spencer hadn’t expected the question, but there it was: out in the open. He thought about lying his way out of Rossi’s confrontation, but that would be too easy, and besides–he wouldn’t accomplish that feat even if he tried–Rossi might be getting to a certain age, but his mind wasn’t leaving him anytime soon. Well, that and he practically started the BAU.
This was his plan–to approach you cautiously and calmly. It had been a few months since Emily’s funeral and he wasn’t even sure you would recognize him–what he didn’t know is that just as he had been trying to track you down, you had been spending your time doing the same thing.
You tried to ignore the obvious reasoning as to why Spencer in particular caught your eye. He was cute, definitely your type–and no, you hadn’t been there looking for anything other than closure and to mourn your sister whom you never got to know–but there he was–and when the sun hit his cheeks, you had been able to tell he had been crying. His cheeks had glistened with the lightest shade of red, ti was beautiful, really.
And it tugged at you.
You typically worked alone, you didn’t have just one homestead–you had multiple all over the country that you used when you needed to. Traveling from place to place gave you much more free time than one would think. Your main focus was your target, but just below that was figuring out the relationship Emily had with the rest of her team–with Spencer Reid, especially.
Your boss looked at you, eyes raised, “are you sure? — think about this–are you absolutely positive?”
“I’ve thought about it long enough–this job has served me for the timebeing–but now I’m ready to move on.”
He hesitated, eyes tracking the sealed envelope. A heavy sigh escaped him and his eyes shut, this–you knew–meant he was accepting it. He would no longer have you under his disposal–you were resigning. But–more than that, you were beginning a new job. To be sure, you had one lined up, though you neglected to share that with your boss–you were never particularly close with him, nor any of your other coworkers. You worked best that way. You had but one friend from your hometown, and even then, you only contacted her on occasion.
It was safer that way–for both you and her.
“There will always be a place here for you, you know that?”
You smiled, though it was grim. “Thank you for your time, Sir.”
Spencer never particularly preferred any one spot in his favorite coffee shop. He only had one rule, he wanted to be able to see everything. He either sat in a corner at the front, or near the wall in the back. The stools that sat in front of the large window pane were okay–and because the other spots were taken, it was where he now resided.
He was reading Dostoevsky, his Russian was a bit rusty and he wanted to see if he could finish the House of the Dead as he once had a few years ago. He took to analyzing the punctuation and pronunciation of words that threw him off. Every few seconds he would realize the definition of a word he thought he had forgot.
He was into his book, sure, but it didn’t stop him from noting the girl watching him. He knew better than to think he was imagining it, even if she was pretty and most definitely out of his league. He knew better because he knew your face. You weren’t just some pretty girl, randomly flirting with your eyes, you were — —, and he was just close enough to tell you most likely knew who he was. He held his breath, waiting to see what you’d do when you realized he had caught on.
You smiled. His stomach dropped at the image. He swallowed and shook his head, trying to grab hold of his thoughts. Without warning, you stood and headed right for him, aiming for the seat to his right. He kept his head down as you lifted yourself onto the stool.
You brought over the lemonade you had been nursing–Spencer didn’t even know this shop sold lemonade, that’s what he kept assuming was in your cup at least.
“Spencer Reid.” You murmured, annunciating each syllable.
Spencer’s lips pressed into a thin line, so he was right–he didn’t know exactly how much you knew, but he didn’t want to let anything slip just in case you didn’t know everything there was to know.
“—,” he only said your last name, but it was enough to make you smile slightly.
“You know me?” Though you tried to neutralize your expression right after, Spencer caught the way your eyes widened briefly. You were genuinely surprised, unlike Spencer, you hadn’t used his information to profile him the way he did for you. Though he wondered if it was a lack of training or skill, he went for the first as it seemed entirely possible assassins were not trained to profile their target. You knew basic personality traits, but you never had to get close enough to get into the psychology of your targets.
“You know me,” he shrugged, sliding his bookmark into House of the Dead and setting it aside, to which you found yourself analyzing. This was the training you were preparing for. You were ready, but you still had to ace the interview–you had to be better than every other agent. You could do that–no you’ve never worked with a team before, and no you’ve never dealt with serial killers but your shots were lethal and you never missed, that had to count for something, right?
“Yes,” you twisted your body in the chair. The man in front of you dressed like a schoolboy, your eyes twitched and you asked, “You were bullied as a kid, right?”
Caught off guard, Spencer blinked, “uhm–what?”
You shrugged, “you’re a genius, I mean, in the worldly definition–but you don’t believe intelligence can be accurately quantified,” you bit back a smile, “I read a few of your papers. I was pleasantly surprised.”
“You were?” He raised a brow, twisting his body to face yours.
You averted your eyes, if you could impress him, that job was yours–you didn’t have a single doubt. Yes, maybe you should have secured it before resigning–but with your schedule, if you hadn’t you never would have made it to this final interview and your opportunity would have been lost until someone else quit or another died. Your eyes flashed at that thought–it had come out of nowhere.
Spencer–of course–saw this as well, but he said nothing. Instead, he noted the single earring you wore, he nodded toward it, “Your father gave you that.” Your heart seized itself, did Spencer know? Had he figured it out? “He passed away last year, that must have been hard.”
Though his expression and tone led you to believe he was genuine, you couldn’t help but feel this had turned into a game. Who knew more about the other–and maybe if you won, he wouldn’t be too mad when he found out you were interviewing for Emily’s position. “You had an addiction problem, it wasn’t recent, but it must have been hard.”
“What? Getting over it?” Spencer didn’t miss a beat, though you thought this would be his trigger, it wasn’t, so there was something you were missing. Something in which he carried with him that was heavier than his addiction.
“No, admitting you needed help.” You reached out an arm, pulled your glass toward you, and took a sip through the straw. Spencer watched you, waiting, eyes narrowed slightly. You thought you had won, but Spencer had been at this a long time–you were egging him on, trying to trap him, get him to slip up for some reason.
Thankfully, he had one more trick up his sleeve. “Yeah” he sighed, “that was pretty hard. But once I did, the rest came pretty easy.”
You nodded, taking in the information. He wondered if you cared or if this was just foreplay to you. What he didn’t know was that you were having fun. This wasn’t about testing out your skills or seeing if you could glean anything viable of Emily off of him anymore; now, you were slightly more curious about Spencer Reid as his person. He was the nerdy kind of cute and you couldn’t help but enjoy your minor quarrels, and be thankful he hadn’t taken any of your jabs seriously.
“Why did you really seek me out?” Spencer finally asked.
You raised a brow. “You honestly want to know?”
He shrugged, “I mean, wouldn’t you expect me to?”
“No,” you shook your head, “I don’t know you, Spencer, how could I assume anything?”
He liked you. It was everything. He didn’t just like your assertiveness. He liked your coyness, your confidence, your intelligence, your brain, the way you spoke, and the way you carried yourself–Spencer was sure he hadn’t felt this competitive since Gideon first challenged him to a game of chess. It was exhilarating, and as you stood to leave, your banter dying down, he found his arm shooting out to stop you. He wanted more.
It had grown later in the afternoon, though neither of you–it seemed– realized just how long you’d been talking. For a lack of better words, it was entertaining. To find someone that could keep up with you–not only on a pyshcological level, but a timed one–was the most brilliant feeling in the world. He didn’t care who you were anymore–in fact, he had forgotten for a time how you knew each other in the first place–he just knew he didn’t want you to leave. He didn’t want to lose whatever it was you had together.
“Yes?” You eyed the place where he grabbed your sleeve. He let go before stopping to think like a normal person–because a normal person never would have said what he had–he asked, “will I see you again?”
You bit your cheek and he noticed, taking pleasure in the fact that he made you smile, and embarrassed enough to want to hide that smile. “Yes, Spencer–but don’t hold your breath.”
“And why’s that?” He stood, thinking to follow you out.
You glanced at him over your shoulder, ignoring the other ignorants people around you. Then, you averted your eyes quickly back toward the floor, a frown falling overe your smile, “it might not be under the circumstances you’d prefer.”
Spencer didn’t ask what you meant by that. He was too enthralled by your slightly solemn expression to register it at first, and by the time he had, you were long gone.
5 in the morning you woke up, dressed rather nicely, brewed a pot of coffee, drank said pot, and headed out around 7 to buy another cup of coffee.
Today was special, it was special because today you were going to see him again, but more than that, he had no idea you were coming. You didn’t know how attempting to figure out what Emily was like turned into obsessing over Spencer’s reactions. You were positive you weren’t insane, and yet, here you were, grinning like a madman as you stepped into the comforting confines of the BAU.
This is it? You thought as you approached the front desk. Many milled about, conversating, running documents back and forth, there was a line–you were sure–meant for the interviewees. You were one of them. The wait was terrible, but when you saw him, it became a bit more bearable.
You would need to overcome this, you would be working with him–you had no time to feel whatever you were starting to feel, you knew it would be much easier if you could put it out of you head and pretend he was no one in particular, but you found it hard. You didn’t find many things hard, but this–for whatever reason–had you struggling.
He didn’t notice you at first, so you took to watching him. It was so tempting to analyze him in everyway you could. It’d pass the time, you tried reasoning, but you knew you it was an excuse. You huffed, folding your arms. You needed to leave him alone, you would force yourself if need be.
You stepped forward when the line moved, stating your name and sliding your ID across the desk. When you passed check in, you headed for the elevator, assuming he’d stay on the first floor talking to whomever he was talking to. A few others joined you in the cramped space.
The light was dim, flickering. You’d have to mention that when you got the position. There wasn’t any way you wouldn’t–you had two ins. Besides, that title had your name written all over it. You’d have to take some psychology classes? So what? You minored in psychology during university. It’d be a walk in the park–hell, you were probably even overqualified for this job–
Similar thoughts tainted your mind while the doors began to shut. A hand shot through the crack and the doors reopened. You felt your eyes roll before looking up to meet the gaze of the idiot who just couldn’t wait.
“Sorry,” Spencer winced, stepping through the doors. He observed you immediately. His shoulder straitened and his body tensed. He swallowed as he filled the space next to you.
“Bit close, don’t you think,” you leaned over and whispered.
His throat cleared and he took a step away, turning his head. He looked flustered. You forgot how easy it was push him back into his shell, but you wanted to do the complete opposite. You wanted that witty banter from before, you wanted to cocky and know-it-all genies you’d played with before.
“I was joking,” you shook your head, amusement dancing in your eyes.
“What are you doing here?” Spencer’s voice lowered as he closed the distance between you once more, looking down at you, though trying to be mindful of the people around you. You didn’t care about them, they were NPCs to you. They didn’t matter in the slightest–maybe that was a problem, but you shoved that thought away.
“Isn’t it obvious?” You shrugged. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. You stepped out, looking around the office; Spencer followed you. “So, this is where I’ll be working from now on,” you nodded, it’s… quaint.”
“What are you talking about?” You watched realization dawn on him. He shook his head and narrowed his eyes, “no–no. You’re not–you can’t–
“–and just what can’t I do?” You met him, your face coming inches below his chin. People milled back and forth once more, Spencer clicked his tongue and pulled you further into the office, toward a few desks separate from the others clustered together.
He bit back a retort, you could see the words swallow in his mouth. He turned away and headed toward–you assumed–his desk, muttering to himself something incoherent to you.
Working with him was going to be a pain–you could already feel it. You wanted him, and not in the way someone normally desires another person–you wanted his brain, wanted to know what ran through it all the times of the day, wanted to know what he dreamt about. You felt your heart squeeze together with the knowledge that you could never get that close to him. You would get what you came for and go back to your old job. She was the only reason, she was the end goal, and it was her you would leave with.
This mundane life of catching serial killers and hurting people who deserved it wasn’t for you. Your life revolved around murdering people you didn’t know, people whom you had no connection to; people who had never done anything to you–some who were even completely innocent or simply collateral damage–all because you were ordered to. You knew once he found out he wouldn’t be able to look at you the way he looked at you now: with curiosity and possibility–he’d see a cold-blooded killer and nothing more.
Even if the orders you received came from the same organization his orders did. Spencer would never be able to see past the blood on your hands–that was just the type of person he was.
“I can’t believe this,” Spencer shook his head.
“What’s wrong, Pretty Boy?” Gosh–not Morgan again–he’d just laugh at Spencer. And right now, Spencer didn’t need someone to laugh at him, he needed someone to agree with him–and that person was never Morgan–not even on a good day.
“Nothing–just–,” his breath caught as you existed Hotches office. You grinned at him and waved, no–no you were approaching him now. Spencer could feel the confusion course through his body with every second you got closer.
“Pretty sure I nailed that interview,” you winked.
“Great,” he said full of sarcasm., but it was fake. It felt like bile in his mouth. He hated the taste of bile, it made him want to vomit again, or go back to sleep so the thought of the taste, the remembrance would go away.
You gave a mocking frown and playfully punched him in the shoulder, “meanie.” He huffed, and glancing at you, felt heat warm his cheeks as he held your smiley gaze. He knew things about you he probably shouldn’t–things the rest of the team didn’t know–things you probably wanted to keep to yourself. He couldn't act normally around you because every time he saw your face–he was reminded of the fact that he knew these things and they swayed not a single thoguht about the way he felt toward you.
He liked you–that was his initial thought, anyway. You weren’t angry, like work reports had painted you out to be, thought maybe that’s because he met you first. Before he knew what you were–what you did. It was people like you he chased–people like you he locked up, tossing the key without hesitation.
He wasn’t fooled by your playful attitude, he knew you were a serial killer–though a legal one. You weren’t just a hitwoman like the rest of the team firs thought–you were a very real and a very dangerous assassin Just because your kills weren’t considered crimes, did that make them okay? Any type of person with your mindset would need a high level of trauma tolerance. Assassins had the ability Spencer would never be able to acquire in this life–the inability to form relationships. Spencer’s brain operated in complete contrast, he needed human connection and social relationships. He’d never survive without it.
But where dis this fall on his moral side? Where would you fall on that scale? Did this make you a bad person? Did this form the entirety of your person–you weren’t depressed, and you had emotions, even if you were good at hiding the stronger ones. You showing up at Emily’s funeral proved that more than any words could defend it.
“That was the woman,” Morgan turned to watch as you headed toward the elevator, “the one at Emily’s funeral.”
“Yeah,” Spencer affirmed.
“And she knew you–you knew her?” Spencer didn’t want to admit that he had met you before, he didn’t know how that would be interpreted, he just knew it wouldn’t be appropriate, at least considering the surrounding context.
He held his breath, he didn’t know what to say–did he know you? No? He knew about you, not you personally. “No,” he replied, shifting his focus on Hotch as his boss stepped out of his office, seemingly watching you as well.
“Well then what the hell was that?”
“I don’t know,” Spencer ran a hand over his face and groaned, tomorrow would be complicated. The look in Hotch’s eye told him everything he needed to know, and he still wasn’t prepared to fac eyou again.
Would it be a one on one like last time? Gosh, there shouldn’t have even been a first time–he shook his head. He needed rest, but more than that, he needed to figure out what the hell to do with these thoughts. His fascination wasn’t going away anytime soon, and if he was being truly honest with himself, he did not care.
You weren’t as tech savy as you would have liked, so digging up anything that wasn’t relatively public–was nothing short of hard. Emily was lost on you. You couldn’t find anything before she joined the Beurau, Spencer was pretty much everywhere in the sense of his works and his studies. Aaron was somewhat similar, Jennifer was a snore, now, Penelope was intresting–and David–well, he was just sad. You ignored Dereck for a bit as most of his personel files were locked and as mentioned previously: you did not have the skill set to go around those firewalls–yet.
Perhaps the tech girl could help you–she seemed the most likely to befriend you, the least likely to be sucpicious, though in truth she and everyone else had nothing to be sucpicous of, the only reasoning you weren’t giving them much was because you didn’t want them knowing your connection to Emily.
It was private, a family matter, if you will.
You caught Spencer from the corner of your eye, he was slowly approaching you, though you pretended to jump when you appeared right behind you and slid a hand to your back, murmuring, “follow me.”
He brought you to a secluded room where the other members of the team were waiting around a table, Penelope stood at the front, holding a remote in her hand. She smiled faintly as you entered, but turned back to her debrief as you took your seat next to Jennifer–Spencer shut the door as quietly as he could and slid into the seat to your left.
The case was pretty heartbreaking–a series of child kidnappings that always ended in murder. As of now, rape kits were being distributed between the bodies that had been found, but you wouldn’t know more until you got down there. Florida–of course it would be Florida, you thought.
You wondered if this was normal for everyone–had it been normal for Emily? They all looked slightly shaken up–though you supposed any sane person would be at the thought of kids being harmed.
You were to leave in 15 minutes, so you had some time to snoop around. You thought of going to Spencer first, but you didn’t want to get attached to him, so you went to Penelope.
“Oh, hey,” she jumped, and noting your presence, she wiped her face, you disregarded to mention it. It could be many things–but you knew the more likely was Emily or the case.
You decided to latch onto the ladder as a conversation starter, “do you always get many kids?”
“Oh–uh,” she shook her head, “it varies, but normally no. They’re not–uh–” she struggled to calm herself down, “not typically the center, though sometimes they do get caught in the middle of…things.”
You nodded, thinking to leave the subject where it was. You wanted to ask about Emily, you knew it’d probably spark the intrest of why you were at her funeral as they no doubt remembered you, but a few reasonable responses were already lined up in your arsenal.
“Do any of you have kids? Or any…former members?” Did Emily have kids? Basic reports over the years said no, but with how vague Emily’s personal file was–there was no description of her background, no spouses, no property–the only things it really had was her father, her mother, and her birthdate–a lot of good that was going to do you.
Penelope’s facial expression halted as her mind ran through your question. Gears were turning in her head: it was obvious by the dazed look on her face; questions of her own began to form as she eyed you. “Just Hotch and JJ,” you nodded, pressing your lips together.
You knew she was hiding something, but you didn’t think it concerned Emily having children–if that were the case you were sure they'd be in protective custody by now. You didn’t feel like asking more about the topic as these children didn’t particularly concern you.
Though that sounded harsh, it wasn’t–not to you at anyway. Emily didn’t have children–regular or secretiv–that didn’t mean she didn’t have a lover, maybe someone whom she was extra close with? Someone who could tell you what she liked to eat in the morning, if she woke up early or late, if she was a cat or dog person–Spencer was a cat persono, you could just tell. You didn’t really have to think long and hard about it.
“You’re smiling, why are we happy?” Penelope gushed…?
You schooled your face and cleared your throat, “I’m not–I wasn’t smiling,” your words were so close to a shudder you thought Penelope might’ve caught it, but she didn’t, and not wanting to jinx it, your ran for the hills.
You weren’t smiling–if you were it was because of Emily, but why would you smile at that? You still knew next to nothing, why couldn’t you just ask? Because then they’d be curious, you’d tell them you were an ex associate, but they probably wouldn’t believe that and start digging.
Eventually they find out who you father was, your connection to Emily–which was largely no conncetion at all–would be out in the open, and you previous job–....Spencer would know–they all would. It wasn’t a secret, it was simply intimate. That was all, you assured yourself, you just wanted to keep it personal, it wasn’t like your previous occupation was criminal…but you didn’t know how he’d see it–and even still, you had nothing to be ashamed of…
You had nothing to be ashamed of.
“So–you stalked each other?”
“I didn’t–quit laughing!” Spencer looked around, “and keep your voice down.”
Morgan snorted again, then sighed and let his head fall back. Spencer had dragged him into the break room as soon as Hotch had released them, “I’m not–I’m just–” they made eye contact, Morgan laughed again, “okay yeah, I’m laughing.”
Spencer huffed and pulled his legs to his chest in the chair he was huddled up in, “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he groaned into his knees.
Morgan frowned, genuinely concerned for his friend, who had become more of a brother to him over the years. “Listen kid, if what you’re saying is true, and that woman really is who you say she is…then we need to figure out why’s she’s here and who she’s working for.”
“That’s the thing,” Spencer shook his head as Morgan stood, Spencer followed him, keeping his voice hushed as they made their way to the jet, “I don’t think she’s workikng for anyone right now.”
Morgan raised a brow, tossing an empty coffee cup, “no? Then why is she here? Could it be an under the table kind of job?”
“No,” Spencer bit his lip, “I don’t think she’s that kind of person…” he ignored Morgan’s raised brow, “I think Hotch knows something, I don’t think he would have let her on the team otherwise.”
Spencer stepped into the elvevaor and Morgan followed shortly behind. They waited for the doors the encapsulate them completely before continuing, “So… what? You think she’s here under her own agenda? Like a vendetta or something?”
Spencer huffed, stuffed his hands into his pants pockets, and leaned back against the wall, “I don’t know…” he pressed his lips together regretfully, “she has a goal, that I’m sure of, but I don’t think I’m apart of it, I don’t think any of us are.”
“I don’t know about that,” Morgan sighed, mimicking Spencer’s stance.
“What are you talking about?”
“I hate to say it Pretty Boy, but I think you incerted yourself,” he shrugged, “partially, at least.”
“Partially?” He enunciated, “what does that mean?”
Morgan saw his chance to be smart, but held his tongue in favor of helping his friend truly understand the mess he’d gotten himself into–Spencer better appreciate his generosity (Morgan snorted at his own thought). He patted Spencer once on the shoulder and kept his hand there, “look kid, it’s kind of like tango–she sought you out, and you let her. Or at least–you sat at that table longer than you should have.”
“But that was an accident, I just didn’t realize time was slipping by–”
“Yeah, but why? Or better yet, how? You better starte asking yourself these questions Pretty Boy, or she's gonna do a number on you.”
Spencer paused, watching Morgan push open the door to the roof and head toward the jet. He yelled, “that literally makes no sense!” He bit back an insult when he saw a smile alter the way Morgan walked. Spencer could admit his “buts” were weak, what he couldn’t admit was that he was falling for a killer he’d known for less than a month.
A month passed–a full month, Spencer tried relenting the first week–but he didn’t last. He wondered where you were right now, what you were doing. He wondered if you had decided to go back to your old job, and if that were the case why you even neglected to let the team know so they could begin looking for a new member.
He knew saying it out loud would make him more pathetic than he already seemed, but there was something about you that enraptured him–and now he spent almost every waking moment picturing you in the most mundane ways–but also the most provocative. He wondered–if you were, though of course you were, he’d found multiple sources to indicate your previous occupation–but he wondered if it had prevented you from certain pleasures.
No–he knew he should stray his mind from the topic–from you altogether. But as he left the office, his mind refused to let go of it. He was caught offguard when he noticed a silhouette outside his car. It was as if all his prayers had been answered because it was you.
He wondered if you had been waiting for him, and if you had been, how long you had been waiting for. You’d taken a few days off–that had been the story Hotch relayed anyway–and his mind had been trying to replace the emptiness you’d left behind.
He hadn’t known it until just now, when he saw your stark white expression. He wonderd if you were alright, he hated the thing that had you looking so afraid. He nearly dropped his satchel as he quickened his steps toward you.
“What’s wrong?” He huffed, trying to catch his breath, though Morgan kept telling him to do laps at least once a day, Spencer hated running–hated exercise in general.
“I don’t know,” that was a lie, you knew exactly what was going on, the warning arrived three days ago, the morning before you had asked to be put on a leave of absense. You liked it here, at the BAU, enjoyed it more than you would have cared to admit a month ago. You’d gotten close to people, something you hadn’t needed to do before, hadn’t wanted to.
“Here,” Spencer pulled your hand away from you mouth, you were nibbling on you fingers, it was unhealthy and unsanitary.
“I didn’t know what to do.” You said as a way of explantion when you were safely tucked into his car, but what you really meant was, “I didn’t know where else to go.” Spencer heard it, your silent plea, knowing it probably took a hit at your pride to say such a thing, and though any normal person wouldn’t have, Spencer caught himself smiling to himself. He was glad, glad you felt safe enough to come to him when you feared you were in–what were you in?
His face tensed as he was brought back down from his ego-high. You reached out gripping the sleeve of his collard shirt, trying to imagine what was running through his mind. You’d been in hideout for the past three days, but they found you again, of course they’d found you.
You’d taken out someone incredibly important to them, as an order, but that didn’t matter–not the the cartel.
You were a one on one kind of person, you couldn’t take on an army. So, you resorted to the only thing you could think of, the only thing that had ever made you feel safe, you went back to your boss. But he wouldn’t be of much help to you in a grave, which is where you found him, just days after you’d resigned. You didn’t find your resignation, though, it was either stolen or burned.
You’d left the building a different way you had gone in, you had no way of knowing if they had lookouts watching the building, but chances were: they did. And like you–they had a specific hitlist, and an order.
You drove around for a bit before ultimately deciding you only had one option left. You needed to ask the BAU for help, but like before, you went to Spencer first.
You kenw it was a longshot, that when he found out just what kind of trouble you were in, he’d probably turn the other way, but you were hoping the past month had done you some favor. At least with the team–even if Spencer hated you.
“Who’s after you?”
You hesitated for a minute, your heartbeat almost puncturning the silence with each second you didn’t respond, “the cartel.”
Spencer released a beath and nodded, his grip on the steering wheel tightened and his face hardened. You were prepared for him to tell you to get out, to tell you that he couldn’t help you–he started the car instead, and said, “Call Penelope.”
“We can help you,” Hotch ground out, “but before we do, we need to know everything.”
You froze, feeling the gaze of every other person in the room on you. You felt yourself swallow back bile and take a step back, Spencer was right behind you though, and when you turned, afraid, he caught your arm, sent you wordless reassurance, and squeezed your arm.
You took a breath and turned back around, “6 months ago, I was granted a weekend off,” you neglected to bring up your job, you were sure everyone in this room already knew. You bit your lip to keep it from trembling, “he’s…forgetful.”
“He has alzheimers.” Spencer reworded.
You sighed, “yes, he does. And in one of his older delusions, he mistook me for someone else.” You turned away, trying to keep yourself calm as your readied the biggest blowup of your life, “My father thought I was my half-sister, I kept telling him I was —, but he was insistent, he kept saying, “I know my little girl, you’ve gotten older, Emily.”
Bated beath was released at your admission, “Emily didn’t have any siblings.”
“Neither did I,” you ran a hand through your hair, sweaty from the stress.”
“Right,” Penelope pressed her lips together in an apology.
“It’s,” you waved a hand, “that’s why I’m hear, I needed to do some research, all I had to go off was a name and my Father’s whereabouts. When I found he last known location, I resigned as soon as I could and I came here, imagine my surprise,” you said the last bit with dripping sarcasm.
“Oh,” Penelope held a hand to her face and to your confusion, Jennifer wiped a tear as well.
“And that’s all?”
You inhaled and swiped at your eyes, “that’s all.”
Aaron nodded, took a breath, then released it, “alright, let’s get to work.”
“You didn’t have to do this,” you murmured as the team rubbed sleep from their eyes, they were all ready to get home, to their warm beds. They’d been working nonstop and finally–finally–found the group within the cartel that had killed your boss–the ones that were after you. It was raining outside, you could hear it, you didn’t rember Februaruy being so cold, but perhaps that was just because it hadn’t crossed your mind as much.
You were used to being secluded; complaining about the cold always seemed to come with the job, but now that you’ve experienced how warm life could be, how warm a semi-normal job was, you were able to miss it.
No, it wasn’t part of your plan–but neither was having a sister, neither was having a branch of the cartel after you; nor was getting close to and even relying on your teammates–and definitely not falling in love with your late sister’s coworker–nothing, you realized, had stayed the course. Everything had gotten lost and just now, you understood you didn’t wanr to look for it.
“No, we didn’t,” Aaron was the first to answer.
“But you did…”
“Which must mean,” he sighed.
“That we love you,” Penelope cooed.
You winced when she hugged you, but smiled your way through it, “thank you.”
“Anhytime,” the team headed out, all but one.
You turned toward Spencer raising a brow. “What?”
He shrugged, and rounded your desk, picking up a few of your things and throwing them into his satchel, “nothing, just–I assume you need a place to stay for a little.”
You shook your head, “I should be safe now, I can go back home.”
“About that,” he paused, “...You got a call yesterday, you have three days to move all your things out.”
“What?” Your eyes widened and your eyebrows shot upward, “they’re evicting me?” you snatched your phone from the table and called your landlord, though to be sure, she did not answer, “you’re not pulling my leg?”
“I’m not,” he held up his hands.
“Ohhhh,” you groaned and face palmed into the table, tired, and irritated, and angry, but having no energy to show any more emotion than the first.
“Come on,” Spencer’s hands ran along your back.
You lifted your head, “really?”
“Before I change my mind,” he grinned and began walking away. Your stomach flluttered as you watched him walk away, the ghost of his touch left behind on your shoulder. You rolled your eyes roll, but a grin spread across your face and a little laugh escaped you, “I love you.” you whispered.
But he wouldn’t know that, not for a little while anyway, because though he was being nice, it didn’t mean anything more than that. Spencer was a nice person, Spencer was kind and smart and funny and he was a lot of the things you were not–but you could try, couldn’t you?
Yes, you were slowly losing the part of you that hated the world. You thought it might have began thawing upond that first forced encounter witht he nerd in front of you. No–you were absolutely sure of it.
Spencer was in his own little world as he started his car. It had taken some time, but now he knew for sure exactly what he thought of you and the person you were. He’d known from the very beginning. He didn’t need some reports to tell him who you were or some teenage magazines to understand what he was feeling.
Spencer might have had trouble discerning curiosity from intrigue, but desire was desire. And he desired you in every way he knew existred. He knew what you were, and he knew he didn’t care, and he didn’t think to question it because he knew he was crazy, all geniuses were or went someowhat insane, and Spencer’s crazy was normal compared to most of them if you really thought about it.
He loved a murderer, a serieal killer, but you weren’t like those that he chased, you didn’t kill for fun or because you had some personal end goal in mind, you only killed upond receiving an order, if anyting that was a plus, it meant you were trained, though you could probably kick his ass if you really wanted to, he had a feeling as long as he was careful, you wouldn’t hurt him….much.
a/n: honorable mentions edit 1 edit 2 edit 3 edit 4 edit 5 edit 6
@darkmatilda @theylovemelody
